“A disaster,” I say miserably. “I mean, it was great, at first. We went to see Danforth at his ridiculously amazing Bel Air estate, and he ended up giving us all the pieces on loan. Then Jake surprised me with a hike in Griffith Park to check out where they shot the fight scene in Rebel Without a Cause.”
“Oh my god,” Melissa sighs. “I love that movie so much. James Dean? Swoon.”
“Then what happened?” Della demands.
“Well, he took me out to dinner that night,” I say, my heart sinking just remembering. “To this steak house in Hollywood, and afterward I kind of . . . kissed him in the elevator? Actually, I pretty much attacked him.” I look down at my lap, my cheeks burning from the memory.
“Living it up when you’re going down.” Della grins. “So you were all set to break the strike?”
“No!” I protest, ignoring just how close I came. God, I remember how strong his hands were on my hips, the heat of his mouth on mine . . . and the feel of his cock, pressing up against me.
I clutch a cushion and gulp my wine. “We agreed, everything but. So then somehow we’re back in his room, and we’re hooking up, and it’s just so fucking hot. You know, when you think you’re about to literally combust if you don’t have him RIGHT NOW? And then you called,” I sigh, coming back down to earth with a bump.
“Sorry, babe.” Della nudges me. “But at least you didn’t sleep with him, right? That would have been worse.”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “But honestly, I feel so shitty, it doesn’t make a difference. I can’t believe I actually liked him. He really had me fooled.”
“What a snake,” Melissa mutters.
“A rat, actually,” I agree.
“A SUPER rat!” Della yells out and I manage a laugh.
“What about you?” I ask. “Is Zach still on the strike, too?”
Della sighs. “Yup. I’m trying everything: sexy lingerie, switching his DVDs with porn. I was even masturbating on the couch when he came home from work yesterday. He just walked right past me without saying a word.”
The doorbell rings, and I go to pay the delivery guy. Since I’m in crisis mode here, I went crazy, and basically ordered everything. I’ll be eating plum duck for days, and I can’t WAIT.
Melissa snorts when I bring the bags over. “Are you expecting the defense line of the Bulls over?”
“Now that would take her mind off this stupid bounty,” Della cracks.
I groan, and shove an eggroll in my mouth. “I’m never dating again.”
“Not so fast.” Della looks thoughtful. “You know, this could be an opportunity.” She gets a glint in her eyes that usually signals the approach of a really bad idea. Or several of them. “I mean, you said you wanted romance, right? And all these guys are lining up to sweep you off your feet.”
“And into bed,” I remind her. “For a fifty-thousand-dollar prize!”
She waves away my objection. “So, you don’t have to fuck them. Just play along! You get to reap all the benefits—moonlit walks, romantic dinners . . . And who knows, maybe you’ll wind up meeting someone great.”
“She’s right,” Melissa agrees. “You’ve got all these guys wanting to date you right now! And Della’s right—you need to start looking at this as a blessing, not a curse.”
“Have you even checked your messages lately?” Della asks, picking up my phone from the coffee table and checking the screen. “253 voicemails? Oh my god, Lizzie!” she squeals.
“I know,” I say sheepishly. “I just haven’t had time to listen to them all yet and—”
“You’ve got time right now, though, right?” Della puts it on speaker before she hits play.
“Hey sexy,” the first message begins in a deep baritone voice, and we all burst out laughing. “I got your number from Stu, remember, he’s your mom’s neighbor’s cousin’s workmate? Anyway, he said I should give you a call. I’d love to take you out sometime, show you the sights.”
“Like your bedroom ceiling.” Della smirks.
“Next!” Melissa yells.
“Hi, Lizzie? This is Adam Silverstein, I guess you remember me as Mr. Silverstein, from fourth-period math.”
“Oh my god, eww!” I cry. “He’s like fifty!”
“Next!”
We cycle through them all. There are messages from old boyfriends, high-school flames, guys from work, even. Guys I’ve never even met before, which worries me for a minute as I wonder how they got my number in the first place . . .
“So who’s it gonna be?” Melissa asks, a mischievous look on her face. “You need to pick one.”
“Says who?” I challenge. “Come on, you guys. This is like clicking randomly on some OK Cupid profile and expecting him to be a cute, hot, funny, solvent dude without major mommy issues or a shrine to his ex stashed in a bedroom closet. He’s a unicorn! He doesn’t exist.”
“One more,” Melissa begs, and hits play on the next message. This time, a voice I actually recognize comes through the speakers.
“Hey, Lizzie . . . it’s Alex. I don’t even know if you’ll remember me, but I recently moved to the city for work, and I saw on Facebook you’re living here now. Anyway, I’d love to reconnect. Give me a call sometime.”
I sit bolt upright. “Alex McNally. Holy shit.”
“Who’s Alex?” Della asks, walking over to the kitchen counter and pouring herself another glass of wine.
“He’s this guy I knew in college,” I say, still in a state of disbelief. “He rode a motorcycle,” I say dreamily, “a Harley. And he kind of looked like Jordan Catalano on My So-Called Life. You know—the floppy hair and the deep, soulful eyes.”
“I loooooved Jordan Catalano,” Melissa moans, rolling her eyes so far up in her head so that for a second she resembles a zombie. “But can he read?”
I laugh and toss a pillow at her. “Of course he can read!”
“So what happened?” Della demands. “Why’d you guys break up?”
“Well,” I say with a sigh. “We were never really together or anything. We just made out a few times after some dumb parties, but that was about it. I had a huge crush on him, though. I’m sure it was painfully obvious.”
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” Della hands the phone to me.
“I don’t know . . .” I pause.
“Go for it!” Melissa urges me on. “I mean, what do you have to lose anyway?”
“My self-respect, dignity, and precious moments in the limited timespan of life?” I stare at the phone in my hand warily, like it might self-destruct if I so much as push a button.
“Seriously, Lizzie,” Della says, her hands on her hips. “What are you waiting for? Call him back! This is your chance to actually get what you want! Unlike the rest of us. And if you fall for one of these guys, I might even get my husband back.”
And as much as I want to disagree, I know she’s right. After all, if not now, when? There’s no better time to start living on the edge than after your heart gets completely pulverized.
Bring it on, I think as I find his message and hit the call back button, clearing my throat and taking a deep breath, summoning all of my courage as the phone begins to ring.
“Hi, Alex, it’s Lizzie. I’d love to go out with you.”
26
Lizzie