Becca breezed into Amy’s office just after lunch, and dropped herself into the only other chair, kicking off her shoes and propping her stockinged feet on the corner of Amy’s desk.
“Please don’t do that,” Amy said automatically, without any hope of the other woman listening.
“Hey, I took my shoes off this time!”
“Down, Bec. Paws on the floor.”
Her friend made a face, but swung her legs down. “What is with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You look like hell. Did someone say something horrible to you at the party last night? Is that why you disappeared on me? Tell me who it is, I’ll ruin their next portfolio presentation.”
Amy closed her eyes, both amused and horrified at the thought. “God, no, it was nothing like that! Relax, you don’t have to torpedo anyone’s career.”
Becca would do it, too. She had absolutely no fear, part because she knew she was a moneymaker for the firm and also because she’d probably never had a moment of self-doubt in her life. Amy might hate her just a little bit for that.
“So what happened? Why’d you bail?”
“Nothing happened.” She gave up pretending she was focusing on her screen, and swung her chair around to look across the desk at her friend. “Honest. It got a little too noisy, I went out to sit on the patio for a bit, and then I went home. I looked for you to say good night, but you were in the middle of a group and—”
“And god forbid you actually do anything that might cut into my brown-nosing. No, I get it. Or, I don’t get it but I get you. Did you at least have a little bit of a good time?”
Amy bit her lip, her mind going exactly where she’d been trying to avoid all morning, before she yanked it back ruthlessly. “Yeah. Yeah, it was… it was interesting.” She sighed, giving up any chance of keeping secrets from her friend. Becca would poke relentlessly until she gave in eventually; might as well cut to the chase and save time. And, honestly, Amy was dying to tell someone. “Did you know Jenny MacDonald was there?”
“Who? Oh, the photographer? Wait, the one you fangirl on?” Becca leaned forward, and Amy thought that if her ears could move, they’d be flicked forward in rapt attention.
“I do not fangirl… okay, a little. Yeah. She was there last night, and I got to talk to her.” Amy passed over the part where Jenny sought her out; somehow that felt too personal to share. “So thank you for inviting me, I had a really good time. No, that does not mean I suddenly want to go to every social networking event,” she added before Becca could get a word in.
The other woman grinned, a silent admission that she was about to try exactly that tack. “All right, fine. I’ll take what wins I can, Ms. Antisocial. I’m glad you had a good time, and did you get her autograph?”
“Jesus. No, I did not.” She hadn’t even thought of it, and now thanked God for small mercies. “Now, was there something you wanted, or was I just your excuse to get off your floor for a little while?”
“Busted.” Becca didn’t look even a little embarrassed. “Roddy is on the rampage again, and the only options are faking sympathy when he finally corners me, or hiding somewhere he’ll never go. Which means either the ladies’ room, or here.”
“Nice to know I rate above the bathroom,” Amy said dryly. “Sit and be quiet, or I’ll call Rod myself and tell him where you are.”
“You’re my bestest, if cruelest friend.” Becca mimed zipping her lips, then she pulled out her phone and started checking email. Amy eyed her cautiously for a moment, then turned back to her open screen.
But the data in front of her could have been written in Sanskrit, for all she was focusing on them. Instead, her traitorous brain kept replaying that encounter on the patio.
She hadn’t asked for an autograph, no. But she had, hesitantly, admitted that she owned a print of a MacDonald photo, and that had led Jenny to tell her about that particular photo shoot. She had just finished the story - an absolutely hysterical anecdote about an overheated car engine and an ostrich that wouldn’t take no for an answer - when she happened to glance at the watch on her wrist, a high-tech beauty that probably cost more than the rent on Amy’s apartment. “Oh shit, it got late, and I have a breakfast meeting. Amy, I’m sorry, I —“
“No, it’s fine, I totally understand.” Amy had smiled and nodded, even though her inner toddler was threatening to throw a tantrum at having their conversation cut short, although she later realized with a shock that they’d been talking for over an hour. “It was a pleasure talking with you.”
“Same. I—” and for a moment Jenny had seemed hesitant, her gaze on Amy, then flicking away, then back again. “Do you have a card with you? I’d love to stay in touch.”
Amy wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t had a heart attack in that moment, but had managed to dig into her purse and find the sleeve of cards she’d been given when she took the job. She’d handed out maybe a handful in the two years she’d been at Thomas & Thomas, but she still carried them with her anyway.
Jenny took the card from her, those long, capable fingers holding it for a moment before tucking it into her purse. “Thanks. And you should get inside before they close down the bar for the night - you must be freezing by now!”
Amy hadn’t been; when she’d gone back inside, the room felt too warm and noisy, and filled with people she didn’t want to talk to, so she’d gone home.
And then she’d laid in bed, replaying the entire evening, cringing at half the things that came out of her mouth. Amy knew that she was reasonably smart, well-read, and a decent conversationalist, but there was no way you could prove it by what she’d said that night. By the time she’d finally fallen asleep, she was convinced that the breakfast meeting had been made up in order to create an excuse to leave, absolutely certain the other woman had asked for her card as a polite gesture, to be thrown out the moment she got home.
She’d had one chance to impress Jenny MacDonald, and blown it.
“Not that it matters,” she muttered to herself, then glanced guiltily over at Becca, who either hadn’t heard her, or was ignoring her. Even if she’d managed to sell herself as the most delightful thing since whenever, it wasn’t as though anything was going to come of it. It hadn’t been any kind of a meet-cute, and they weren’t going to become Best Buddies. That didn’t happen to people like Amy.
God, she needed to get out more.
“I need to start dating again.”
Becca’s head came up like a beagle about to bay. “Oh my god, yes.”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Shut up.”
“You’re the one who said it. What brought this on? No, wait, don’t care, you said it, and so it will be done. And none of those dating websites, either. They’re full of weirdoes, creeps and serial idiots.”
“The world is full of weirdoes, creeps and serial idiots.”
“Okay, true. But there are some good lays out there, too.”
“Most of whom want to get it on by the second date. Third at the latest.”
Becca nodded. “And you’d don’t do that, I know, I remember.”
Yeah. And that was the problem. A couple of years ago, she’d gotten fed up with batteries and fantasies, and decided if she couldn’t find a relationship, she could at least get laid. That had lasted four months and three different partners, each one leaving her feeling worse than the last. The sex had been….okay. But whatever itch she’d needed to have scratched, none of them had come remotely close. And it was depressing as fuck, so to speak, so she’d given up.
At least her batteries didn’t mock her for not ‘getting into it’ or being too picky.
“Right. You’re a logical, practical woman, so we’re going to do this logically,” Becca said, and Amy groaned, putting her head down on her desk. Why had she said anything while this crazy bitch was in her office?
“Do I even wanna know?” She really didn’t, but better be forewarned about whatever Becca was going to do.
“Look, you can’t do one night stands or pickups, I get that. I mean, it’s kinda weird, but I get it doesn’t work for you. And - because you’re you - once you get to know them you’re too scared of actually making a move because the window’s passed and it gets all weird?”
Head still down on her desk, Amy nodded. It had been embarrassing as hell, explaining that, but Becca at least had never once made fun of her for it.
“So. People you get a chance to know, but not too well, and not in your immediate social group. Gather-In to the rescue!”
“What?” Amy lifted her head. “No.”
“Yes! There are gathers that aren’t too weird, or too obviously about hooking up, I’m sure of it. We’ll find one, maybe two. Dip your toes in.”
Amy tilted her head. “We?”
“Of course we.” Becca looked almost insulted. “Did you think I was going to shove you out there all alone? Besides, peer pressure works. If I’m going, you sure as hell are going with me.”
Amy knew exactly how this was going to go: Becca would collect a new black book of dating partners, and she’d…well, at least she wouldn’t be sitting home alone feeling sorry for herself. Or regretting not having at least made an attempt to flirt back with Jenny, just to say that she had given it a shot.
Becca took her silence for assent, and went back to her phone, holding it up to display the Gather-In logo. “Hiking? No, sorry, not even for you am I doing that. Cooking?”
“Cooking would be good,” Amy agreed. She liked food, and having a partner who could cook would be nice, right?
Her email pinged, and she left Becca to her search, prepared to answer yet another question about where a reimbursement check had gone.
She swallowed at the header boldfaced on her screen.
Hi, it’s Jenny MacDonald.
Becca was saying something, but Amy had no idea what because her ears were filled with a buzzing white noise. She rested her elbow on the desk, fingers covering her mouth, and stared at the email.
Jenny’d emailed. She’d kept the card. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
“Bec?”
“Mmm?”
“Email just came in that I need to deal with.”
“You’re kicking me out? Making me go back to work?” Her friend sounded outraged.
“I’m totally kicking you out. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yep. I’ll have a list of groups we can join for you to look at.”
“Mmm, great, okay.” Amy nodded, still staring at the screen.
“You’re not getting out of this, girlfriend. I’m gonna have a list, and you’re going to have to pick at least two.”
“Okay, fine, go,” and she fluttered her free hand over her shoulder at Becca until she heard the door close behind her.
Amy took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the mouse, not quite ready to click yet.
“She probably just wants to say thanks, or something. Polite. She seemed the sort to be polite.”
Her mother had warned her, years ago, that she expected too much from people, and that was why she was always disappointed. Not expecting anything was easier, and didn’t hurt as much when you were right. And maybe Amy had internalized that too much, but it wasn’t like her mother had been wrong, either.
Two fingers of her right hand pressing against her mouth as though to keep hope from escaping, she clicked open the email.
Amy, hi.
The breakfast meeting was a bust - they offered half my usual fee, and the coffee wasn’t even any good. I got up for that? Worse, I cut our conversation short for that?
Anyway, we’re in the city for a few more nights, and I was hoping that you might be free for drinks? There’s a little wine bar around the corner from the hotel that looks adorable, and I was hoping to try it out. How do you feel about joining me tonight, around 7?
— Jenny
Joining her, not her and her husband. Amy read the email, then read it again, looking for something between the lines she must have missed, because there was no way that could be what it sounded like. Maybe she was projecting, or maybe Jenny was just one of those people who made everything sound more suggestive than it was, and her friends got used to it.
Maybe Amy would have a chance to be one of those friends. She took a deep breath. Holy fuck. She was going to have - intentional! Asked-out! - drinks with Jenny MacDonald.
Lifting her hands over the keyboard, she bit her lower lip, thinking intently, then typed:
Hi! My schedule is clear, and drinks sounds great. Office casual okay? (Office casual is jeans and a cardigan, fair warning). Just give me the address?
- Amy
The response came back almost immediately:
Link’s here. Jeans and a cardigan are fine!
The bar wasn’t one Amy knew, but she knew more or less where it was.
See you then.
The urge to add a little heart, or something equally stupid, came and went so fast she could almost pretend it never happened, and she hit send before she could change her mind.