Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming Page 13

  “Sasha, at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I think I know what’s best for you right now, and trust me, I believe he is exactly your type.”

  “Listen here! I don’t have a—”

  Vance interrupted as I tried to set the verdict straight, “See you this Friday at seven sharp. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “No! I think…Vance? Hello?” Before I had a chance to argue, the phone went silent. “Bastard!” I tossed the cellphone on my desk and returned to my writing. I had no intention of participating in a blind date even if it was the last man standing, and humanity’s survival depended on it.

  Five minutes later, I reluctantly answered my phone, again. The dynamic duo was back at it, this time it was Aimee in for the round.

  “You are deliriously mad!” I scoffed, as I heard Vance laughing in the background.

  “I saw a picture of him.” She laughed under her breath. “Good Lord, he’s gorgeous! Like, Calvin Klein, supermodel please take off the underwear gorgeous.”

  “I don’t care if he looks like sweet baby Christ, my answer is no! Listen, I’m really—”

  She interrupted. “Oh, you’re saying that now, but you’ll be thanking us later, trust me.”

  I sighed. “So why would he be interested in a complete stranger unless he’s desperate, or there’s something wrong with him?”

  Aimee laughed before answering. “Funny, he asked the same about you!”

  “Oh. My. God. You did not tell him I wanted to meet him! What the hell is wrong with you people?” I huffed.

  “Oh, but I did! Muahaha!” She pushed out a maniacal laugh.

  “You idiots! Tell him you lied!” I hung up before she could say another word.

  “Do I detect a date sometime soon?” Martha asked from her cubicle.

  “I have no interest in their deviant get-together games, so no, no date.”

  “You prude.”

  “I’m not a prude. I’m self-involved. There’s a significant difference.”

  “Well for heaven’s sake, how long do you plan on isolating yourself in your apartment before you remember the fun you had when you used to date?”

  “And why on earth would I want to date when I have you and Riccardo reminding me of the misery I’d have to look forward too.” I laughed scornfully.

  “You’re looking at the glass half empty, but remember this. As is the glass refillable, so are men replaceable.”

  “Martha, you’re married, easier said than done.”

  “Just don’t sign a binding contract and you’ll have it made. That’s where I went wrong.” She chuckled.

  “You’re a lost cause. I’m finishing my paper now.”

  “Touché!” She laughed.

  ***

  I was finally at a place in life where I was okay being alone. Matt’s mom had told me I would find myself again, and I did, and I didn’t need a companion along the way, nor did I need anyone to feel complete. I was sleeping peacefully with my little pill most nights and taking care of me again. I enjoyed my time to myself and life, for the most part.

  I worked the remainder of the week focused on work and avoided giving thought to the undesired date I refused to attend. I was focused and worked harder than I ever had to try to prove to my boss I was stable enough for a full-time promotion.

  The week rounded to an end. I was sitting at my work desk and glanced at my calendar. The small white square was blank with the exception of the 31 in the left-hand corner. It was New Year’s Eve and almost everyone had left the office for the day, except us few in which the New Year paper was dependent.

  “Martha, are you and Riccardo celebrating tonight?”

  “He’s got a few guys coming over for poker and Corn Hole. I’m sure I’ll be entertaining the first wives club as usual.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “You’re welcome to come if you don’t mind a handful of middle-aged men gawking at you.”

  “Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot! I totally forgot about the party tonight. Aimee’s going to tan my hide! Hang on.” I dug through my handbag looking for my cellphone. It displayed seven missed calls and three text messages, all from Aimee.

  I listened to the first voicemail. “Welllllllllll, are we excited about tonight or are we excited?”

  The second message “I can’t wait until this evening. Jesus, he’s hot. His name is Jason, and he’s excited to meet you.” Aimee’s voice was overly exuberant, and her unreserved enthusiasm about me dating was just repulsive.

  I speed dialed her number without bothering to read or listen to her other messages.

  She answered too quickly. “Where have you been?” her voice was desperate for a response. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

  “Hiding!” I rolled my eyes, sitting back in my chair.

  “I hope you’re getting ready! We’ll be by in a couple hours.”

  “Mmm, I’m stuck working.” That wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “No! No, you’re not!” she insisted. Her voice was almost scary. “You are not going to stand him up and make us look bad. I don’t want him thinking my best friend is a flake!”

  “But I am, and what difference does it make, I’d probably never even meet him otherwise. Tell him I came down with something.”

  “No, he’s Vance’s colleague and they’ve been hanging out lately. You know what, no, stop making excuses and get your ass home and get cleaned up before I come down there and physically make you!”

  I leered at the wall in response to her tone. “I have nothing to wear!”

  “Nordstrom has nothing on your closet, sister, don’t give me that load of crap. Listen, it doesn’t have to be a date, you don’t even have to sit next to him during dinner. Jason is completely capable of entertaining himself, and he’s so hot that he’s actually beautiful. You’ll want to sit with him. Come on, Sash, you won’t even have to entertain him, he’s the company’s lawyer, he’ll have plenty of people to keep him company.”

  “Well, that makes it worse. Now everyone’s expecting him to bring a ravishing date,” I groveled.

  “Did you hear me? He is B. E. A. U. T. I. F. U. L! Just say you’ll go, pleeease, pleeease, pleeease! We never get nights out together anymore.”

  “We had drinks last Friday night at Henry’s,” I said smugly.

  “Stop making excuses. That doesn’t count.”

  “You really are delusional...whatever.” I exhaled noisily. “I’ll go, but don’t expect me to mind him any attention. I’m only going for the free beverages and to shut you up.”

  “Eeeek!” Her squeal was piercingly loud. “Oh my God, I love you so much. Hurry up and get ready, we’ll be by the apartment at seven to pick you up.”

  I hung up, feeling all but excited. “Dammit.”

  Martha began clapping her hands laughing. “At a girl.”

  I smirked. “I enjoy being a loner. Would you believe the nerve of her and Vance! They set me up on a blind date with his co-worker and just expect me to go. They didn’t even ask prior to the arrangement, they demanded it.”

  “Oh, that’s right! I remember her calling Monday. If Riccardo had a hot friend I’d do the same.” Martha walked into my cubicle and leaned against my desk. “Listen, it’s been a coon’s age since you’ve allowed yourself to have a little fun, and going to the bar last Friday for a beer is hardly my idea of fun. You need to be enjoying these younger years and living life to the fullest. Old smoky pants would’ve wanted to see you enjoying life again as you once did together.”

  My lips twitched into a small smile of agreement.

  “I may be getting old, but I remember a thing or two from my younger days, and I tell you what I remember most is just how much I missed out on. Now get out of here and enjoy the weekend and give that young man a chance. Who knows, he could turn out to be the man of your dreams.”

  I smiled at her meekly. “I doubt that. I haven’t had a dream in a very long time.” Nor did I plan to.

  “Go
on now. Getty on up and out of here.” She shooed me with her hands. “I’ll proofread your papers and send them to press.” She grabbed the stack of papers on my desk. “I’ve got it, now go on.”

  I collected my belongings and poked my head in her cubicle before leaving. “Happy New Year, Martha.”

  “You too, young one. You’d better be hootin and a hollerin Monday and it better be juicy!”

  ***

  I shuffled through my closet until I found a black cocktail dress and tried it on. It was too over the top. I tried on a red lace dress; it was too sleazy for a conservative work party. I tried on another black dress, but it looked gaudy. “Ugh!” I took it off and tossed it on the floor, intending to donate it and then returned the other dresses to the rightful hangers. I began digging through the whole closet. I had clothes with the price tag I’d never worn, and some that I wore maybe once and was over it. I added shirts to the growing pile topped on the black dress, tossed on some old jeans, and then headed to the dress rack doing the same, throwing one old dress on the pile after another. I paused when I found the little ivory dress I had never actually worn out of the house. I pondered a moment, and then tried it on. It made me nostalgic of both good and bad memories, but I wanted to wear it all the same.

  I rolled on pantyhose, paired the dress with my new black satin Jimmy Choo stilettos, and matching clutch, and headed into the bathroom to drop my rollers.

  I wore my hair down, swept to the side with a few strands pinned back from my face. I took a long look in the mirror and stared at the tears swelling in my eyes. “No, no, no, no.” I quickly grabbed a tissue, blotting the tears. I wasn’t sure if it was the unknown that worried me, or the surfacing memories of Matt, but I felt a deep, unsettling sensation soaring through my stomach. “Breathe!” I coaxed myself into slow, steady breaths, pushing the anxiety from my body.

  After calming myself, I fixed my makeup and sprayed perfume on my wrists, rubbing it on my neck. I slid Matt’s ring on my right hand and stared at it a moment, now feeling guilty. It’s been more than a year. You’re doing nothing wrong. Stop this now. I took a deep breath and headed into the living room to wait by the window. “Well, if this isn’t déjà vu.” I remembered sitting here in this same window, with this same dress, waiting for a date that would never arrive. For that reason, I admittedly was grateful to see Vance’s car pull up, despite my desire to stay home.

  The drive would have been informative had I paid attention to the conversation in the front seat between Vance and Aimee. I tuned into my own little world. I was too busy remembering Matt, and my dream of wearing this dress tied in with the guilt of going on a blind date.

  After opening his car door, Vance walked around to the passenger side and opened Aimee’s door, then my door. She stood, revealing a dazzling red, full-length dress on her statuesque body. Not even the slightest bump showed, indicating she had given birth. Vance was just as handsome in his tux with his blond hair sculpted in place.

  We walked together up to the walkway of the imposing twenty-two thousand square foot brick home, as Vance had pointed out. Huge poinsettias sat on either side of each step leading to the front doors. Countless strategically placed twinkle lights draped rows of trees surrounding the property making it look magical. The sounds of a piano playing festive music emitted from the house, catching my attention as I moved up the walk.

  A young gentleman stood just inside the door collecting coats, with a beautiful young woman standing just behind him handing out crystal flutes filled with champagne. I glanced over my shoulder as the valet drove around the side of the house, parking Vance’s car. I handed the gentleman my coat then accepted a glass of champagne.

  “Because everyone should have a hundred matching Waterford crystal flutes for their guests,” I murmur to Aimee.

  “Right?” her tone matched mine.

  Every last detail of the house was extraordinary, possibly beyond. The black and white checkered floor shone, reflecting light from a huge scintillating chandelier. A colossal painting of Automedon with the Horses of Achilles, maybe eight feet tall hung on the wall next to the twisting stairway banister. A white velvet sofa stood just beneath, and another painting; Andromeda’s Return began the long collection of art lining the hall. I marveled, awestruck at the impeccable dwelling that surrounded me.

  Guests gathered into the great hall, where they stood mingling and listening to the live entertainment. A pianist with a tailored coat sat at the black Steinway grand piano, his fingers frolicking effortlessly. I would have been content to listen to him play and people watch without ever saying a word. Vance introduced Aimee and me to some of his co-workers when a man moseyed in our direction holding a glass of champagne as if toasting the crowd. He was a hair shorter than me in my three-inch heels, and could have made a perfect spokesman for alopecia hair care commercials for men. As he scrunched his nose to adjust his wire frame glasses, my first thought; he was a dead ringer of George from the TV show Seinfeld.

  His squinty little eyes lit up. “Well, well, well…wow! You must be Vance’s friend he was talking about in the office.” He assumed, in a big voice, much larger than expected. He blatantly eyed me up and down resting his sight on me with lascivious wink.

  I glanced at Vance, who pressed his glass against his mouth forcing back a smile.

  “I’m Sasha.” I strained a smile, offering an extended hand. Now came a second thought; Please God tell me this isn’t Jason. Looks aside, his somewhat flippant delivery was unappealing.

  “Max Devorski. I work with this handsome stud,” he playfully nudged Vance’s ribs. “I wanted to check out the lovely lady Vance plans to introduce to our friend.”

  “Ahhh.” I sighed in relief. “Thanks… for the compliment.”

  He leaned into Vance’s side. “I’m next in line if you’re dishing em up lookin’ like this one.” He winked again.

  I caught Aimee in my peripheral view, burying her face in Vance’s shoulder. Her breathy laughter was eased by a slight glare.

  “Sorry,” she mimed.

  Vance’s face slightly lit up too, as if he had read my thoughts. Perhaps my sigh was a bit theatric.

  “Well, it is nice meeting you, Max.” I smiled awkwardly.

  Max returned the smile oblivious of the cynicism in my reaction. “Well speaking of the devil, here’s your plus one or should I call you his?” My eyes followed as Max’s stubby finger pointed from his glass to the hall.

  I noticed a dashing man in a black tuxedo entering the room with a flute in his hand. He was tall, dark-haired, handsome, but there was a sudden feeling of distress that claimed me with his appearance. And in that moment, my pulse ramped, my heart pounded too hard to hear all else. I was motionless, petrified at what my eyes were seeing. My glass slid from my fingers, shattering. Champagne and glass splashed around me. “Jack.” Like a ghost, the air whooshed from my lips. My body numbingly cold with disbelief, it was he, Jack, in the same tuxedo from my dreams, his breathtaking appearance untouched. My heart raced a million beats a minute, pulsating in my ears as he approached. His soft blue-gray eyes held mine captive. His features sharp, his jaw firm, and his lips—I caught my breath.

  “Well.” He flashed a disarming smile. “First impressions aren’t always everything now, are they?” he said, with a wink. Reaching into the breast pocket of his tuxedo, he removed a gray pocket square then knelt down at my feet. “May I?” He looked up awaiting approval.

  I nodded, unable to speak. I didn’t need to look around to know all eyes were staring at us.

  Jack gently wiped the champagne and glass off my stilettos. With a polite wave, he beckoned the young man collecting coats. “Excuse me, my apologies, sir, there’s been a slight mishap. Would you see that my friend finds another glass of champagne?” Jack politely smiled.

  The man stood a moment observing the mess, then hurried off.

  Jack extended his hand, his eyes beamed; I had never seen anything comparably beautiful.

  Sk
eptically, I accepted it. He helped me step from the glass. “Thanks,” squeaked from my mouth. I was mortified, but that didn’t matter. I was touching him. His flesh, it was real, approximately 98.6 degrees, maybe hotter, much hotter, at least in appearance. I wasn’t dreaming. Jack was a real person, the most attractive real person I had ever seen in all my life, and I was touching him.

  Still holding my hand he said, “I’m Jackson, my friends call me Jack.”

  “I… I…” I stumbled, verbally impaired. God, kill me now! Breathe Sasha. Breathe! It took ridiculous effort to gain composure.

  “Sasha,” he said, smiling again as he shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Nice… to meet you!” I paused, my jaw trembled, staring at him, and then I unconsciously repeated, “Nice to meet you, it’s nice…I already said that.”

  “You did,” he agreed with a breathy laughter.

  Words couldn’t express the sweeping wave of humiliation that stung like bathing with jellyfish; I had never experienced so many sensations at once.

  Aimee broke the ice with her concerned laughter. “Well, now that you two have met, I’m Aimee, Vance’s wife. He speaks highly of you.” She smiled glancing between us.

  “I’m sure it’s all lies.” He shook her hand. “It’s lovely to meet the enthusiastic voice from behind the receiver.”

  Aimee blushed. “If you’ll please excuse us, Sasha, and I are going to see what’s keeping the hostess.” She hooked her arm through mine, firmly turning us both with a swift tug, smiling all the while. Her teeth now clenched tightly. “What was that?” she asked, hardly moving her lips.

  “What was what?” I asked, too befuddled to decrypt her meaning.

  “Have you lost your fricken mind? You looked like you saw a ghost. I thought you were going to pass out.” Her words equally expressed anger and confusion.

  “You said his name was Jason!”

  “Jason, Jackson, potato potato! Don’t change the subject. You’ve been in such a quandary over dating that you’ve nearly lost your marbles even talking to another man.”