ME: Nope. They’ve been here, obviously, but they don’t ask to drop in and I don’t offer to host them.
GW: Is it because you see them enough at work?
ME: Partially.
GW: What about sexy times with your lady friends?
ME: Happens elsewhere.
GW: That’s why there are hotels?
ME: Bingo. And I caught the sarcasm in that, BTW.
GW:
ME: Mimi is the only female that’s had an overnight at my house.
GW: Ever?
ME: Ever.
GW: Huh.
ME: What? You think I’m a freak?
GW: No. I think it’s insightful that the your-house-is-a-sanctuary thing is an absolute in your life. You are fortunate to have that.
ME: I know.
GW: We totally got off track as far as comfort movies.
ME: I like that we can talk about anything.
GW: Me too. I’m better at texting than talking on the phone.
ME: With me? Or with everyone?
GW: Everyone. Calling someone it’s like . . . is this a bad time? And then I feel guilty when that person says yes, and they have to call you back. Whereas with a text, people can respond when they get time. Or we can get caught up in epic texting sessions.
ME: We’ve had a few of those this week.
GW: Yes. And I’m confident that if my texts were bugging you, you’d tell me to bugger off.
ME: Liddy is rubbing off on you.
GW: So is Dallas. I actually checked my horror-scope today.
ME: And what did it say?
GW: That a tall, dark, handsome, sort-of-stranger would . . . TELL ME HIS FAVORITE COMFORT MOVIE.
ME:
ME: Fine. Here it is: Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
GW: Okay. Why?
ME: It makes me laugh. Every time. Now, are you going to psychoanalyze me for that choice?
GW: Dude. No way. I love that movie. It’s in my all-time top 5.
ME: Spill your comfort movie.
GW: Ladyhawke.
ME: Really? Why?
GW: What’s not to love about a young Rutger Hauer?
ME: GABRIELLA
GW: All right, besides the animal-crossed cursed love, a stranger who’s never had that kind of love believes in it to the point he makes it his goal to break the curse for them.
ME: Confession time. I’ve never seen it.
GW: We can’t be friends until you watch it.
ME: What? That’s not fair.
GW: Talk to the hand, Lund.
ME: Is it appropriate to watch with Mimi tomorrow night?
GW: No. It’s PG-13. Watch it tonight. Or else you’ll never hear from me again.
ME: Are you seriously threatening to boycott our burgeoning friendship over a movie?
GW: Yep.
ME: Harsh.
GW:
ME: Then I guess I’ll win our Friendly Fire game. Good thing you’re not competitive and don’t care that this is the tie-breaking game this week.
GW: Oh, I’ll still challenge you there. It is your turn, BT-dubs.
ME: I’LL WATCH IT OKAY?
GW: Yay! You won’t regret it.
ME: You owe me a movie night. A movie I get to pick. And we have to watch it together.
GW: Deal. But not at your house, right?
ME:
GW: Ha—you deserved that. Go make some popcorn and settle in.
ME: Bossy much?
GW:
ME: Later—
Twelve
GABI
Monday morning, after a long weekend and not hearing from Liddy at all, the text from her sent me into a panic.
LE: Sorry, love. Major crisis here and I’ll be in London at least another week.
She was in London? But she’d promised to take me shopping for interview clothing tomorrow. My interview at Wolf Sports North was on Friday!
LE: Don’t freak out, darling. Call Dallas. She did an outstanding update on your hairstyle. I’m guessing she’d love to help you out. Let me know how the interview goes . . . but I’ll not wish you luck because you’ve got this! XOXO
No, I didn’t have this.
Rather than texting Dallas, I called her.
She answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“Dallas! Please, please, please help me—”
“You’ve reached Dallas Lund.” A giggle. “Gotcha. It’s my voice mail. I’m on sabbatical until whenever. Leave a message.”
I might’ve laughed at her dickish sense of humor if I wasn’t completed screwed.
Okay. Think, Gabi.
I started to pace.
Could I just go to Nordstrom Rack or T.J. Maxx and hope I’d find something decent?
No. Liddy pointed out that my attire for this interview had to be spot on. Nothing too sexy or too dowdy. Style with an eye to fashion trends but not a slave to those pieces that might be considered too haute couture. Hadn’t she said that classic styles were the kiss of death? But what was considered classic? Did that include a little black dress? Because that’d definitely been on my must-have list after I realized I’d taken dressed down to another level when I’d worn a T-shirt and jeans . . .