“Oh, I can help. I can help a lot. Come on.” She takes my hand and leads me to the stairs. “You too, Shorty. She’s gonna need some moral support.” Simca trots happily behind us.
A half hour later, the miracle is complete. Marcy has me in a pair of dark skinny jeans, which seems oxymoronic in light of my size 16 ass, but they have some good stretch in the mix, so everything is sort of locked and loaded. A black V-neck sweater with matte black beading around the neckline and cuffs and my flat zebra-pattern pony-hair slip-on loafers, in case he’s short. We matched the outfit with a pair of black-and-white diamond hoop earrings that Shelby gave me for my birthday last year, and a bracelet made of ten thin strips of dark metallic pewter leather that winds around the wrist twice before snapping closed. My hair is in a high ponytail, with one of those cute little bumps at the top that make it more grown-up on a date and less cheerleader than my usual ponytails. And my makeup looks amazing, very natural: skin looks glowy, blemishes covered. She cut the fake eyelashes into small pieces with three or four lashes per piece and stuck them in strategically to boost my natural lashes and make me a bit more vamp and a lot less Vampira. A sheer shimmer on my lids, and a pale nude gloss on my lips, I look like me, just shinier. And for the first time in a long time, I hear Mrs. O’Connor’s voice in my head. “Stand tall, like the queen you are; be your most present and authentic you. The rest will come.”
“You are a godsend.”
“I’m better than that. Here.” She hands me a caramel.
“Yum, snacks! Just one?”
She puts up one finger. “Not snacks, edible. Eat half now. If things start to go sideways, eat the other half.”
“Edible? Of course it’s edible, it’s candy. Why can’t I just eat the whole thing?”
Marcy shakes her head. “Not edible like you can eat it. Edible like edible marijuana edibles. A guy at work has lupus, so he has a card and he gave me this as a gift to thank me for a favor I did him. I thought you could use it more than me.”
“Seriously? Weed caramel?”
“Trust me. Very mellow. Takes the edge off. Half now, half if you need it later. You know, if the gibbering starts.”
If I get really nervous, I can start running on at the mouth. I bite the caramel neatly in half, then return the second half to its wrapper and slip it into my purse. It is sweet and creamy with just a hint of bitterness, and a back note of something similar to rosemary on the finish. Not super delicious, but not terrible either. Mrs. O’Connor’s mental pep talk notwithstanding, I’m all about doing whatever gets me through the night.
“Shall we call you an Uber, fancy-pants?” Marcy asks.
“I was just going to drive over, help keep me from drinking too much.”
“Yeah, well, not anymore. You just ate half a weed candy, no driving for you.”
“Oh, good thought. Uber it is.” I pull up the app and enter my address. “Okay, Andre will be here in two minutes. Wish me luck.”
Marcy reaches up and puts her hands on my shoulders. “You will be fine. The date will be great or horrible or mediocre or wonderful or whatever, but you will be totally fine.”
I can feel an ease coming over me, and I don’t know if it is the caramel kicking in or just Marcy’s soothing words, but either way, I’m grateful.
“Thank you. See you in a bit.”
And I head out my front door.
? ? ?
Okay, these are insanely delicious,” Jack says around a mouthful of pork belly taco.
“Indeed,” I say, reaching for a second taco al pastor.
After two very perfectly crafted cocktails at the Violet Hour, and some perfectly benign conversation, it became clear that Jack and I had absolutely no romantic chemistry. He isn’t really over his divorce as yet and has something of a preference for small Asian women. He confessed this after he completely lost his train of thought in the middle of a story about his son, when a very pretty Japanese woman walked by our table en route to the ladies’ room. I had already eaten the second half of the caramel before entering the bar, having frozen where I stood from the moment I got out of the Uber, so I was mellow enough to call him out on the obvious ogling. He blushed and admitted that he had agreed to call based on Lawrence’s persuasive nature.
“He threatened to not invite you to the Halloween party, didn’t he?”
Jack nodded sheepishly.
“It’s all good. Between us, I think you are a very nice guy, but not really my type either.” Which is true. While Lawrence did his best with the height—Jack is about dead even with me—he is also super skinny. I am not a delicate flower; I probably outweigh him by forty pounds. If I were even inclined to get physical with him, which I certainly am not, I’d probably break him in half.
“Friends, though, I hope,” he said, raising his glass to me.
“Absolutely.” I clinked his glass. “You hungry?”
“Sure, we can order something if you like.”
“I have a better idea.”
Which is how we ended up at Big Star across the street from the bar. Apparently the irony of edible weed? You still get the munchies. And now that we aren’t concerned at all about making a good impression on each other, we’ve ordered half the menu and are eating with abandon. Jack has guacamole on his shirt, I have pastor juices running down my arm, and we are both having a very good time.
“So why is Lawrence doing the full-court press on you, if I may be so bold?” he asks. “I would think you wouldn’t have any trouble finding dates. You’re very attractive.”
“Thank you. I’ve, um, been out of the game for a while, easing back in. Friends of friends seem like an easier way to get back into things. Safer, I guess.” I dip a house-made chip into salsa. There is a hint of lime on it, and we’ve already been through two baskets.
“That makes sense. I would think it would be harder, as a woman, to feel safe with online dating. He didn’t mention an ex . . .”
“It was a long time ago. Difficult breakup. And then more of a career-focus thing for me. Time just got away from me.”
“But now you’re ready to be back out there. That is great. Good for you. I’m working on it too.”
“Well, don’t praise me overmuch . . . the dating wasn’t really my idea.”
Jack reaches for a lamb and chorizo taco. “Yeah, I’m going to need more than that. Life coach recommendation?”
“Something like that.” I give him the brief on the bet, and he laughs.
“I think it is a fun idea. Maybe in six months you can check in on me, dare me to get back out there.”
“Only if I find a little Asian woman to offer you.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
We clink our bottles of Shiner Bock beer and keep eating.
? ? ?
You’ll like him,” I say to Marcy, offering her the bag of marshmallows I found in my pantry. She waves me off with a sly grin, and I continue to eat the pillowy, bland, sugary sweets.
“I’m sure I will, dear heart. He sounds like a very great guy, what with his inattention and Asian-lady fetish.”
“Don’ be ssnmarky,” I say, mouth full of marshmallow.