Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
An hour before the meeting, I change into a soft pink sundress that hugs my curves and has a flared skirt that reminds me of vintage dresses that girls wore to dances in the fifties. It’s sweet looking and my reflection convinces me to leave my hair down. It’s a little cold to wear the sundress but I’m doing it anyway. I put a jacket on and head out.
At the Pearl I freeze up for a moment, thinking I look like I’m in costume, neither buttoned up in work appropriate clothes nor wearing something chic and expensive like the gamblers at the roulette table on the main floor. I wonder why I wore this. Because you want him to see you in it. As a grown woman in her favorite dress. Not as an accountant or stripped down as a secret lover on his couch. For once in your life, you want him to look at you and take notice.
I ride the elevator, scan my thumbprint and swing open the door. For an instant I’m scared he won’t be here. That I’ll be stood up and sitting here in my sad pink dress like a wallflower past her expiration date. I’ll wait ten minutes and leave, I decide.
But Mickey’s here, and there’s a tablecloth on the table we usually use for computers and paperwork. Dishes sit beneath silver domes and there are candles lit, a bouquet of pink stargazer lilies in a vase. He stands up and comes to take my hands, kissing my cheek.
“I was hoping you’d come. I thought I’d better make it worth your time,” he says.
He’s so handsome standing there, and he’s ordered dinner and gotten my favorite flowers. I take off my jacket and hang it on the back of my chair. It feels formal and weird but I’m the one who wanted to set a weekly date to see him and presumably hook up. I sit down, smooth my dress and when he pours wine in my glass, I put my hand on his wrist.
“You didn’t have to set up a lavish dinner,” I say. I like that he did it, and it’s romantic. I’m not sure why I object to it. Maybe it just feels feigned. This is something a lover would do for their other half. And by no means were we in anything that could be labeled as a real relationship, so why pretend to do things like we are?
“Look at you in that dress,” he says. “I love your hair down. You never wear it like that.”
Where is his swagger? I wonder. The most confident man I ever met is almost hesitating.
“Wearing it down looks right with this dress. I know it’s old-fashioned looking but I love it,” I say.
“I love it, too. I—” he goes to a drawer and takes something out, brings it to me. It’s a velvet box. “Open it.”
I feel my heart thump as I lift the lid. On a bed of creamy satin there’s a stunning diamond necklace. It’s delicate and gleams with a bluish fire under the candlelight. I touch the stones with my fingertips, a row of round diamonds with narrow baguette diamonds between them. I look up at him again, a question in my eyes.
“According to the jeweler it’s a vintage midcentury riviere necklace,” he says. He takes it from the case and places it at my throat, fastens it. I feel the coolness and weight settle against my skin. It feels strange and awe-inspiring.
“My dress is from the fifties,” I tell him “So they go together. When did you—”
“I got it a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for the right moment. I think this is the right moment. Do you like it?”
My fingers flutter to my neck and touch it. I nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you. But I can’t—I don’t need a diamond necklace. I’m here to save up for the test to do my CPA. I’m not a sugar baby or something.”
“I know,” he says. “I wanted to get it for you so I did. There are no strings attached. You can walk out of here with it now and say you don’t want to see me anymore.”
I’ve hurt his feelings. He is keeping it light, but I see how serious his eyes are and how tense his shoulders look.
“I don’t mean it wasn’t nice of you. You’re very generous. But I didn’t come here to get a fancy dinner and some gifts, Mick. I’m here to see you.”
“I know,” he says, “but I did this because I want to. You deserve to feel special and I want to make that happen. If I can only get Wednesday nights then they need to be great nights. This is just good planning,” he says.
Good business, is what I hear between the lines. He’s trying to keep me happy. Treat me like a mistress who gets dates and presents to mollify her so she doesn’t make demands. I touch the necklace again and decide that I’m not turning it down on principle. I’m keeping it.