Queen Of Babble: In The Big City

Chapter 9

“A receptionist?”

That’s what Luke says when I tell him the news. For once, he’s gotten home before I have, and is making dinner—coq au vin. One of the many advantages of having a boyfriend who is half French is that his culinary repertoire extends beyond mac and cheese. Plus, there’s the kissing.

“Right,” I say. I’m sitting on a velvet-cushioned stool in front of the granite-topped bar beneath the pass-through between the kitchen and dining/living room.

“But.” Luke is pouring us each a glass of cabernet sauvignon, then hands me mine through the pass-through. “Aren’t you… I don’t know. A little overqualified to be a receptionist?”

“Sure,” I say. “But this way I’ll be able to pay the bills and still do what I love—for part of the day, anyway. Since I haven’t had any luck finding a paying fashion gig.”

“It’s only been a month,” Luke says. “Maybe you just need to give your job search a little more time.”

“Um.” How can I explain this to him without revealing the fact that I am flat busted broke? “Well, I am. If something better comes along, of course I can always quit.”

Except I don’t want to. Quit Monsieur Henri’s, anyway. Because I’m starting to like it there. Especially now that I know who Maurice is: a rival “certified wedding-gown specialist” who owns not one but four shops throughout the city, and who has been stealing away Monsieur Henri’s clientele with his promise of a new chemical treatment to combat cake and wine stains (no such treatment exists), and who overcharges his customers for even the simplest alterations, and underpays his vendors and employees (although I don’t see how he could underpay them more than Monsieur Henri is underpaying me).

Worse, Maurice has been bad-mouthing Monsieur Henri, telling every bride in town that Jean Henri is retiring to Provence and could pick up and leave at any time, due to his business falling off—which is apparently true, judging from the Henris’ private conversations, which they aren’t aware I completely understand. Well, almost completely.

As if all of that were not bad enough, the Henris have heard a rumor that Maurice is planning on opening up another one of his shops… DOWN THE STREET FROM THEIRS! With his glitzy red awning and matching signature red carpet (yes!) outside the front door, the Henris don’t have a chance of competing… not with their subtle yet tasteful front window display and modest brownstone.

No, even if the Costume Institute calls tomorrow, I plan on sticking around at Monsieur Henri’s. I’m in too deep to get out now.

“Well,” Luke says, sounding dubious, “if it makes you happy… ”

“It does,” I say. Then I clear my throat. “You know, Luke, not everyone is cut out for the traditional nine-to-five thing. There’s nothing wrong with taking on a job you’re maybe overqualified for if it pays the bills and allows you to do the thing you really love in your spare time. As long as you really do the thing you love, and don’t spend all your free time watching television.”

“Good point,” Luke says. “Taste this and tell me what you think.” He holds out a spoon containing some of the juice from the coq au vin. I lean over the bar to taste it.

“Delicious,” I say, thinking my heart just might bubble over with joy. I have a boyfriend who loves me… and is a terrific cook. I have a job I love. And I have a way to pay the rent on the kick-ass apartment I’m living in.

New York isn’t working out so badly after all. Maybe I won’t be Ann Arbor’s next Kathy Pennebaker.

“Oh, hey,” I say. “We’re going out Saturday night with Chaz and Shari. To celebrate my new job. And because we haven’t seen them in forever. Is that okay?”

“That,” Luke says, stirring, “sounds great.”

“And you know?” I’m still leaning across the pass-through. “I think we should really try to make it a fun night. Because I think Chaz and Shari are going through a tough time.”

“You get that feeling, too?” Luke shakes his head. “Chaz seems pretty miserable these days.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows. I can’t exactly say Chaz seemed miserable when I saw him. But then maybe I was too busy bawling my eyes out to notice. “Wow. Well, I’m sure it’s just a transitional thing. Once Shari settles into her new job, they’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” Luke says.

“What do you mean, maybe?” I ask. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Nothing,” Luke says innocently.Too innocently. He’s smiling, though, so I know whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.

“What is it?” I’m laughing now. “Tell me.”

“I can’t tell you,” Luke says. “Chaz made me swear not to tell.You, of all people, especially.”

“That’s not fair,” I say, pouting. “I won’t tell. I swear.”

“Chaz said you’d say that.” Luke is grinning, so I know whatever it is he’s not supposed to tell me, it isn’t something bad.

“Just tell me,” I whine.

And then, just like that, I know. Or think I know, anyway.

“Oh my God,” I cry. “He’s going to propose!”

Luke stares at me over his bubbling chicken. “What?”

“Chaz! He’s going to ask Shari to marry him, isn’t he? Oh my gosh, that is so great!”

And I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. Of course that’s what’s going on. That’s why Chaz asked me those searching questions about Shari in their place the other day. He was feeling me out to see if Shari had said anything about how living with him was going!

Because he wants to make it permanent!

“Oh, Luke!” I have to hold on to the counter to keep from falling off my stool, because I’m practically swooning, I’m so excited. “This is so fantastic! And I have the best idea for a dress for her… it’s like a bustier, you know, but with off-the-shoulder capped sleeves, in dupioni silk, and with little pearl buttons down the back, totally fitted through the waist, and then pooching out into this totally elegant belled skirt—not a hoop skirt, she wouldn’t like that… Oh, you know, she might not even want a belled skirt. Maybe I should make it more—well, here, this is what I mean.”

I reach for a notepad that his mother has left lying around—Bibi de Villiers, it says on the top of each page, in cursive—and scribble out the design I’m thinking of with a pen from the bank we both use.

“See, something like this?” I hold up the sketch, and see that Luke is staring at me with a mingled expression of horror and amusement.

“What?” I ask, shocked by the look on his face. “You don’t like it? I think it’ll be cute. In ivory? With a detachable train?”

“Chaz isn’t asking Shari to marry him,” Luke says, half grinning and half frowning. It’s clear he can’t tell which to do, so he’s doing both.

“He isn’t?” I put down the notepad and stare at my sketch. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive, ” Luke says. Now he’s completely grinning. “I can’t even believe you’d think that!”

“Well.” I am so crestfallen, I can’t hide it. “Why not? I mean, they’ve been going out forever—”

“Right,” Luke says. “But he’s only twenty-six. And he’s still in school!”

“Graduate school,” I point out. “And they are living together.”

“So are we,” Luke says with a laugh, “but we’re not getting married anytime soon.”

I force a laugh along with him, although the truth is, I don’t see anything funny about the situation. No, we may not be getting married anytime soon. But the possibility is still there, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

But of course I don’t ask him this out loud. Because I’m still woodland-creaturing him.

“Chaz and Shari have known each other for a lot longer than we have,” I settle for saying instead. “It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing if they got engaged.”

“I guess not,” Luke admits—but grudgingly. “Still, I don’t exactly see either of them as the marrying kind.”

“What’s the marrying kind?” I ask… sort of hating myself even as the words are coming out of my mouth. Because it’s totally obvious from this conversation that marriage is the last thing on Luke’s mind.

And it’s ridiculous that it’s on my mind. At all. I mean, I have so many other things to worry about besides getting married. Like making a name for myself in my chosen field. Or even getting a paying job in my chosen field.

Plus, I’m supposed to be playing it cool. We’re living together on a trial basis. Like Shari said, Luke and I haven’t known each other that long…

But I can’t help it… maybe because my chosen field is all about helping women who have someone who is willing to make a commitment to them do so in the most perfect gown imaginable.

And I can’t help thinking that if I could get my love life in order, I’d have more time to concentrate on the career thing.

So, really, the only reason I want to get married—or even just engaged—is so I can be better at my job.

Plus the fact that Luke is… well. Luke de Villiers, the hottest, coolest guy I’ve ever known. And he picked me—ME.

“You know what I mean,” Luke is saying. “The marrying kind. People who don’t have anything else going for themselves. So they just get married, because they don’t know what else to do.”

I blink at him. “I don’t know anybody like that,” I say. “I don’t know anybody who just got married because they had nothing else going for them.”

“Oh, yeah?” Luke eyes me. “What about your sisters? I mean, no offense or anything, because my cousin Vicky’s no different. But from what you’ve said… ”

“Oh,” I say. I’d forgotten about Rose and Sarah. Who actually got married because they got pregnant. It’s like no one in my house ever heard of birth control. Except for me. “Yeah.”

“I actually know plenty of couples like that,” Luke assures me. “You know, from school… people who just don’t have a life, so they glom on to someone else’s—be it for money, or stability, or just because they think that’s what they’re supposed to do straight out of college. And trust me… they’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure they are. But… some of them must really be in love.”

“They probably think they are,” Luke says. “But when they’re that young, how do they even know what love is?”

“Um,” I say. “The way I know I love you?”

“Ah.” He reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand, smiling tenderly down at me. “That’s sweet. But I’m not talking about us. Hey, I almost forgot.” He raises his glass. “To the new job.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised. My new job is the last thing on my mind at the moment. “Thanks.”

We clink rims.

I’m not talking about us,he’d said. That’s something, isn’t it? That he believes we’re different. Because we are different.

“Want to set the table?” Luke asks, as he checks the coq au vin—which is filling the apartment with such delicious aromas that I suspect Mrs. Erickson, from 5B, will be knocking soon, to ask if she can have a bite. “I think this is going to be ready in a minute or two.”

“Sure,” I say—then, with elaborate casualness as I hop down from the stool and walk over to the case on the sideboard where Mrs. de Villiers keeps her silver—not her silver WARE. Her silver. Which has to be hand-washed after use, and put back in its special antitarnish cloth-lined case—so I can set the table, “So if he isn’t proposing, what is it?”

“What is what?” Luke wants to know.

“What Chaz told you not to tell me,” I say.

“Oh.” Luke laughs. “You promise not to say anything to Shari?”

I nod.

“He’s thinking about surprising her with a cat. From the animal shelter. You know. For the two of them. Because Shari loves animals so much.”

I blink at him. Because Shari doesn’t love animals. Chaz does. Chaz must be thinking about getting a cat for himself. Which isn’t a wonder. I mean, he’s alone so much, with Shari working all the time, he probably just wants some company. I kind of know the feeling, with Luke in classes all day.

But I don’t say this out loud. Instead I smile and say, “Oh.”

“Remember, don’t tell her,” Luke warns me. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I lie. “I won’t tell her.”

Because you have to tell your best friend when her boyfriend is planning on surprising her with a pet. Any other course of action is unthinkable.

Jeez. Guys really are weird.