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Chapter 3
Nara
Damn,I hated being late. And the irony was, I was always late. It was something in my DNA. I was just not made for being early. Or even on time, for that matter.
“Ouch, dammit!” Oooh, did I just say that?
“I’m so sorry, Miss Kincaid. I’ll be more careful.”
A model-esque saleswoman entered the wedding shop dressing room where I was acting as a human pincushion. She was dressed in head-to-toe black. Even the bun secured at the nape of her neck was black.
“Now, doesn’t that dress look lovely on you,” she purred. No doubt she said that to everyone getting fitted for a marginally attractive bridesmaid dress that they’d never wear again. She waited. Guess she was expecting a reply.
“Yes, the dress is nice.” I sighed, looking down at the sweeping skirt. How was I going to walk in this? “It is better than the pink and purple confections I’ve worn in my other friends’ weddings. Who, by the way, are now all divorced.”
She looked like I’d just thrown dog poop on her, and hightailed it out of there, leaving me with the smirking seamstress.
She felt my pain. I could tell.
Before they let me escape, I was informed I’d be charged for the balance of the bridesmaid dress, having previously only paid the deposit. I handed over my credit card, fingers crossed that it would go through.
“Thank you Miss Kincaid,” she said, handing the card back. “You can pick up your dress next week—”
But I didn’t hear the rest. My Uber ride was waiting out front.
I ran out the door, slipping into the car without my usual security measures like making sure the make, model, and license plate matched what the Uber phone app said would be coming for me. But it was quickly obvious there was nothing to worry about. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’d just been picked up by Betty White’s younger sister. Betty White of Golden Girlsfame.
“Hi, sweetie. What were you doin’ in that bridal shop? You getting married?” She steered into traffic like a champ. Go, Grandma!
“Oh, my best friend Joi is getting married in a few weeks. I’m in the wedding.”
“Isn’t that nice. She pick an ugly dress for you?” She cackled.
“Actually, it’s not too bad. It’s midnight blue, very simple.”
“So you can wear it again, right? Just like they all say!” More cackling. She was awesome.
She shook her white, permed head. It was a wonder she could see over the steering wheel. “I remember my first wedding, back in 1955. Damn if we didn’t wear ugly dresses back then. We looked like cake toppers. And shit, I was a virgin for my first husband…” She jabbered the whole way across town while I checked my phone in the back seat.
We pulled up in front of the Hotel Vertigo. I wouldn’t have minded riding around with this ace driver longer, but duty called. I tipped her a ten and ran inside.
“Where’s the auction?” I breathlessly asked the concierge.
He pointed at the giant sign I’d just blown past, the one that said “Avenue A Fundraiser” in huge letters. I followed the arrow on it and headed down a corridor.
I quietly crept into the packed ballroom to avoid attracting attention. The fundraising auction was well underway, and I could see my assistant, Mimi, up in the front row. I sent her a text to check in.
u bidding for me?
u bet, boss!
who u bidding on?
guy stage right. tall. expensive suit.
ok. thnks.
I fished out my glasses so I could see the guy from the back of the room. This was another of those trendy New York fundraisers where certain desirable men and women were “auctioned” for dates, with the proceeds all going to charity. The Avenue A homeless shelter was a great organization, and one I’d always supported. Bidding on a date wasn’t really my idea of fun, but to raise money for a good cause, I could be convinced. Apparently, I’d missed the part of the auction where they sold off the women. Something about that was skeevy in a way that it wasn’t with the guys. But I pushed the thought out of my head.
There were six nice-enough looking men on stage, lined up in chairs like an old episode of The Dating Game. I mean, not to be rude, but you couldn’t auction someone with running sores, could you? This was a charity fundraiser, after all.
And wouldn’t you know, the guy Mimi had pointed out to me via text looked like a douche. Figures. The guys in these auction-a-date fundraisers were always douches to one degree or another.
The things I did for charity.
“Nara! How lovely to see you!” If I’d just ridden over with Betty White’s younger sister, this was her cousin. Another 80-something cutie with a tight perm, veneers, and a pushup bra.
“Mrs. Dolan, how nice to see you.” She ran several of Manhattan’s big, high-profile fundraisers, and had dragged me into this one. She was damn good at separating people from their money. Just look at me.
“Thank you for coming, my dear. The shelter so appreciates your support. Tell me, what is it your company’s technology does again? I think you told me once before…” She must have been hard of hearing from how loudly she spoke; several people turned to give us the stink eye until they realized they were dissing an octogenarian.
I steered her away from the crowd. “We make an app that notifies a mom—or dad—on their phone the moment their baby has a dirty diaper.”
She looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. But her bright smile never wavered.
“Oh, an app. I think I’ve heard of those.” She wandered away.
Which was fine with me. I needed to text Mimi to make sure she wasn’t spending me into the poor house. I would pay for a douchebag in the name of charity and to help out the adorable Mrs. Dolan. But I wasn’t going to sacrifice my shoe habit. Such as it was.
There was a shuffle at the front of the ballroom. The auctioneer on stage appeared very pleased with himself for having “sold” some guy named Bill or Bud—or was it Brodin?—for the highest amount in today’s action. And the lucky sucker who got him?
Me.
The room broke out in applause, and my phone blew up with texts from Mimi, quite pleased with herself.
I thanked her. What else could I say? She’d done what I’d asked her to do. Now, all I had to do was pay for the date, suffer through some time with him, and call it a day. I’d done my duty for the Avenue A homeless shelter and Mrs. Dolan until their next fundraiser rolled around.
There was a tug on my sleeve. Mrs. Dolan was beaming. “Nara, you got a good one, I tell ya. They saved the best for last! Now, let me take you up front to meet your new date.” She started moving toward the stage before she realized I wasn’t following. “Sweetie? C’mon.” She gestured with her head. The tight perm curls didn’t move.
Ugh. I’d meet the guy on our date, and not a moment sooner.
“I need to get back to work. I’ll follow up with my date later.” I glanced at my watch for effect. Where was Mimi? Hey, maybe she could go on the date forme…
“Well, okay. If you insist. But I’ve known the young man since he was little. He’s a nice guy, I tell you.”
Nah. I was good.
Mimi finally appeared at my side, red curls bouncing. Like always, she was the picture of efficiency.
“Thanks, Mrs. Dolan,” I said, bending to give her a quick hug. She smelled like powder. “I’ll let you know how the date goes. But I have to head out right now.”
Mimi sensed something in my urgency. That’s why she was my assistant. I’d be lost without her and her sixth sense.
“Nara! Our Uber is here! Gotta go!” She took me by the elbow, thank god.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” I called over my shoulder as we ran.
As we flew out the door, I saw my future date walking around like a puffed up peacock.
It was gonna be one fun date.
