“A line of girls? Well, then…let’s buy this pair. If you think I look hot, that’s good enough for me.”
She goes and talks to the technician while I study myself in the mirror. I don’t see the big difference, but I’m used to ignoring my reflection unless I’m shaving.
She returns, stepping up behind me to study how I look again. I can’t help feeling nervous; it’s so important to me to look good for her.
“Well?” I question. Has she changed her mind?
“Very hot,” she confirms.
“You think so? Would you be one of those girls in line?”
“Hell, I’d be first in line.” She makes a dramatic Dream Girls-like arm motion. “I’d be all, watch out, bitches…he’s mine.”
He’s mine? Oh God, that’s making me wild inside.
I swallow as I watch her in the mirror’s reflection. “How soon will they be ready?” I ask anxiously. I need these glasses now.
“You can take the contacts tonight. They’ll deliver the frames to you tomorrow.”
Thursday I suffer through the contacts only a few hours in the afternoon so Brooke can see me wearing them. It’s as long as I can stand them, and that’s with repeated eye drops. As it is I spend half of my lunch hour trying to get them in, after being too chicken to try in the morning.
I can’t tell what’s more painful, adjusting to the little discs stuck to my eyeballs or all the attention my new look is garnering. I have to wonder, why didn’t anyone tell me I looked like a super geek in my old glasses? I always thought they were cool.
All the girls seem to be intrigued with me now. Even Morgan gives me the look when I go to Brooke’s that afternoon.
“Hey handsome,” Brooke says as she reaches for her macchiato. “Are you coming over tonight to help with the website? I’ll show you my dress for Sunday.”
“Sure,” I say enthusiastically. “Do you want me to pick up dinner?”
“Nope, I’ve already ordered us a sushi platter.”
“You were that sure I was coming?”
“Have I mentioned that I’ll be wearing my yoga pants?” She teases.
I grin. “Well then, I’m coming for sure.”
Brooke suddenly looks up and I turn to see Morgan in the doorway.
“Sorry Brooke, but Arnauld just called and he needs you in on this call. They are in the conference room across from his office.”
She stands up and grabs her Blackberry and notebook. “Okay, thanks Morgan.” She touches my shoulder as she steps away from her desk. “So, I’ll see you later.” She winks, and I nod, smiling.
On my way out of Brooke’s office I pause at Morgan’s desk.
“Morgan, can I ask your advice?”
She looks surprised, but nods. “Sure.”
“As you know, I’m escorting Brooke to the Emmys Sunday.”
She jumps in. “Yeah, before I forget, do you want the limo to pick you up at your place, or Brooke’s?”
I have no idea how to answer that, but it occurs to me that at the end of the night I don’t want to just have the driver drop her off. “Well, why don’t I go to Brooke’s and then they’ll just have one stop?”
“Okay, then be there and ready to go at five. Oh, and you do know it’s black tie, right?”
She must really think I’m an idiot, but I remember I need her help so I remain polite and calm.
“Yeah, thanks Morgan, I’m set with a tux. But Arnauld said my hair looks stupid and I don’t want to embarrass Brooke. Do you know of a good barber I could go to that would make me look all right?”
I can tell that my question has pleased her. “Great idea. Let me do a little research, and I’ll email you within a half hour. It’s kind of late notice for the top people though.”
“Well, I could do it any time tomorrow late afternoon, or Saturday.”
Morgan makes notes on her pad.
“Also, I have no idea about these things…do I bring her a corsage or something?”
Morgan snickers. “No, this isn’t the prom.”
I blush, feeling humiliated. “Okay, so no flowers then.”
“Well you could bring her flowers when you come to her place…you know, to congratulate her for her achievement. That would be sweet.”
“Do you think roses?”
“Actually Brooke loves peonies. She orders herself an arrangement once a month because they’re her favorite. I’ll call her favorite florist, Mark’s Garden on Ventura Blvd., and have them put together an arrangement. You should pick them up at four-thirty Sunday. I’ll email you their address as well. You can pay for them there.”
“Wow, thanks Morgan. You’re amazing.”
She glows with the compliment. Maybe she really isn’t that bad.
“You’re welcome. Take good care of Brooke. Okay, Nathan? This is a big night for her.”
“I’ll do my best.” I assure her.
• • •
When I get to her house that evening the sushi’s just been delivered, and I bristle at the young delivery guy checking out my girl in her yoga pants.
I’m wearing my new glasses that make me look “really hot” and to seal the deal I’m wearing a size large narrow black Gap T-shirt that I previously would have never considered wearing. Normally I wear extra large because I like my clothes loose and comfortable. But the contacts and new glasses have got me feeling bold, like it’s time to break new ground.
“Hey, Brooke,” I say stepping inside.
“Oh my,” she says when she sees me and gives me a hug.
She steps back and nods. “I would strongly suggest you wearing that shirt and those glasses more often. They really show off how handsome you are.”
I love how she says that so matter-of-fact.
“And look at you.” I grin, gesturing to her outfit.
“Yes, my yoga pants have made another appearance just for you.”
I sigh. “It’s the simple things that make me happy.”
She pulls me towards the kitchen. “Come on, I bought Sapporo beer to go with the sushi.
After dinner we clean up and start to head into the studio.
“Hey, before we start can I show you the two dresses I’m trying to decide on for the Emmys?”
“Sure,” I agree. I may not know anything about women’s clothes but I’d look at Brooke in anything. Who’d have thought I’d ever be judging fashion?
She disappears into her room and comes back out a few minutes later in a long black fitted gown of some velvety looking material. It’s elegant and makes her look older than she is.
“What do you think?” she asks, sounding uncertain.
“You look beautiful, Brooke. It’s really fancy.”
“Fancy?” she smiles at me, her fashion idiot friend. What was she expecting?
“You look great. But you’d look great in anything.”
She makes a face at me. “All right Mr. Picky, let me show you the other one now.”
She’s gone a longer time and she comes down the hall even more tentatively.
This dress is a deep red, almost wine colored and it makes her pale skin glow. The fabric sweeps over her curvy hips and thighs. I look at her long neck and then down to where her breasts nestle in the top folds of the dress.
“Wow,” I say quietly. I can’t stop looking at how pretty she looks, soft but sexy, shy but provocative. “Wow.”
“Right?” she questions. “I like this one too. Here can you help me with this zipper?”
She steps close, turning around and I freeze as my gaze trails over her.
Her back is exposed all the way down to the top of her bottom, the softest white skin I’ve ever seen. My mouth actually waters as I fight the urge to run my tongue all the way up the length of her. I want to softly kiss her across her shoulders and then wind my hands around her until they are cupping her breasts.
“Zipper?” she asks looking over her shoulder to see what’s holding me up.
With great focus I take the tiny zipper pull between my fingers and drag it up as slow as possible without giving myself away. I desperately want to leave her back naked, smooth as a field of freshly fallen snow.