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“Maybe I won’t go,” I said, doubting my decision to be a mercy-date for him. “If he’s that much of a jerk, he should suffer.”
“Go,” she said. “It’s the chance of a lifetime. You’ll get to see how the one-percent lives.”
“Ha,” I said with a sardonic laugh. “More like the zero-point one percent…”
“Even more reason to go.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, determined to go through with it, I went to Suzanne’s apartment in Chelsea to find a dress good enough to wear to Cipriani's on Wall Street. Suzanne was an assistant to a fashion designer in Chelsea and had immigrated to Manhattan from London after she won a competition. We went through her closet, looking for something classy and sexy at the same time, so I could fit in with the rich bastards crowd. I tried on several dresses, discarding a red silk dress with a high neck and pleated skirt, as well as a floral dress that seemed more in line with a summer cocktail party on a patio than in an expensive restaurant venue.
“What about this?” she said and held out a black sleeveless dress with a low-cut V neck and cinched waist. It fell just above the knee. “This is classy enough but it also shows a bit of cleavage, which you have in abundance.”
I tried it on and it emphasized my very round butt and bust line, but also my narrow waist, for which I thanked my mother’s good genes.
“What do you think?” I said and turned in a circle.
Suzanne stood with her head tilted and examined me from head to foot. She was almost my size, except her curves weren’t quite as full as mine, so the dress was a bit tight. Not too tight that I couldn’t breathe or sit, but almost.
“With your blonde hair, it looks smashing. You look a lot better in it than I do, so I’d say it’s the one.”
I stood in front of her mirror and examined my reflection. I did look classy. With heels and some work on the face and hair, I might be good enough to count as arm candy for an evening with family and business associates.
“This is the one,” I said, smiling.
I left Suzanne’s place with a pair of heels, which she said were the most desirable shoes available at the moment. I didn’t know heels, since I never wore them, being more of a Brainiac than a Fashionista. I took her word for it.
Finally home, I had a shower and washed my hair. I put on a robe and sat at the kitchen table while Candace blew out my hair and then hot ironed it so that it was long, straight and shiny. Then, she applied a coat of makeup.
I slipped on the dress and hose, then the heels. In the end, I had to admit I looked the part. Candace had mad makeup skills and she highlighted my features with some extra mascara and lipstick. It made me look much more glamorous than I could have accomplished on my own.
“You sure the lipstick is the right shade?” I asked, noting the plum-pink color that matched my own lips.
“It’s perfect. You look high end, not cheap. Exquisite, actually. He’ll be really happy.”
“Worth four grand?”
She laughed. “I thought you weren’t going to take the money.”
“I’m not, but when he sees me, I want him to think he’s getting his money’s worth at least. I haven’t been dressed up for over a year…”
“It’s time you get out and circulate again,” she said. "Meet someone good.” She squeezed my shoulders, knowing the troubles I’d escaped over two years earlier. Troubles that I wanted to leave behind in the past where they belonged.
“I highly doubt Mr. Big Shot 69 is my man,” I said with a sour expression. “He’s rich and gorgeous, but what kind of asshole calls himself Mr. Big Shot 69 and cheats on his fiancée?”
“A very rich asshole. Hopefully with a big dick to match his credit limit. And if you want to sample the appetizers, or eat a cocktail sausage, who'd blame you?”
“Eat a cocktail sausage," I said and made a face of disgust. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
"I'm here every night," she said with a laugh. "You’re going to stand there looking beautiful, drink champagne, eat canapés and make polite small talk to rich assholes, occasionally wowing them with some political science. It’ll be fun."
"Yeah, sure,” I said and grimaced.
“You just wait,” she said while I spritzed on some perfume. “I bet you’ll have so much fun that you’ll go on an actual date with him once you tell him the truth. He won't be able to resist you, now that he's girlfriendless.”
“Always the optimist,” I said with a sigh. “He’d have to have repented from his cheating ways before that would happen.”
“Look, your life is good, now,” she said and nodded. “Try to enjoy it for a change. You've holed yourself up in this apartment for almost two years surrounded by books. The bad stuff is behind you.”
