discomfort.
I can really appreciate her invite though. I need to get out – for my own sanity. I haven’t heard from any of my remaining friends this week, even after I sent Jessica that pitiful email. I am still under the assumption that everyone, (excluding Jessica) isn’t intentionally trying to avoid me. Instead I secretly hope they are all busy (as I happen to be), now that we are back to our normal lives. I decide to take Emily up on her offer because I do not want to spend another night relentlessly staring at my phone and hoping desperately for someone to call, while lounging in my pajamas and playing Sudoku.
“You know what, I’d love to come. It sounds like fun.” I say, and hope I am right.
****
I arrive at Sangria determined to enjoy myself and not let my personal woes interfere with my evening. When I walk into the bar, the lights are low and the air is hot. It is packed with people scattered in every which way, as I try to push my way through the crowd and find Emily.
I wanted to feel good tonight, so I could forget all about Jessica’s rage and Ben’s rejection. I also know from hanging out with Emily and her friends before, they don’t hesitate to dress to impress with their perky fake boobs and flawless smiles. So, in order to keep up with the ladies, I put on a cute black jersey dress with lacey sleeves. I added a contrasting blue belt to cinch my waistline to let it open up to a flirty flared skirt. I even put on a pair of stilettos and spiced up my normal makeup routine by adding some eye shadow and curling my eyelashes.
I push past the swarmed bar area, filled with all different types of men in business suits and women in sophisticated dresses, making me feel like I more than appropriately dressed. This place isn’t half as disgusting as a bar Ben would pick for a Friday night. For some reason, the bars he likes are full of tattooed guys with bad body odor and young girls with tongue rings and daddy issues. This place actually has an excellent vibe and people I can relate to, a smartly dressed, professional crowd.
Emily appears in the distance and waves me over to a swanky booth in the corner, where she and her friends already ordered a round of martinis and some tapas.
“Megan you look fabulous!” Emily shouts, placing a kiss on either side of my cheek, “You remember Darla and Fiona don’t you?”
I do. I remember both of them very well. Darla is a six-foot tall Amazonian woman with long jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. She once spent her later teens and early twenties modeling all over Europe, living off the trust fund from her wealthy Moroccan father she barely knew. On the other hand, Fiona is a lawyer with curly auburn hair and a body to die for. She is a perfectly pair shaped woman with curves in all the right places. She is a yoga instructor on the side and is extremely bubbly and a pleasure to be around. Emily refers all her clients to Fiona for all their legal real estate needs. Coincidently, that is how they became such good friends. But somehow between Darla taking a yoga class Fiona taught, and Emily taking on a more active role in the single lifestyle had the three of them quickly becoming friends and hitting it off in the windy city.
“Hey Megan, long time no see.” Fiona says taking her toothpick full of olives out of her martini glass and bites down on one. She slides over in the booth, to let me sit beside her, “Love the dress. Very chic”
“Thanks” I reply then look over at Darla and say hello.
Darla doesn’t respond, and hasn’t even once looked up from rudely texting on her cell phone to acknowledge me. Finally she places her phone on the table and grabs a bacon wrapped scallop to plop in her mouth.
“Was that him?” Emily asks Darla with bright eyes.
“It was.” Darla says in a singsong voice.
“Darla just met someone.” Emily adds in an attempt to involve me in their conversation.
“Oh that’s nice.” I smile, “Who is he?”
“Oh that’s the best part.” Emily grins and the three of them share a laugh.
“What? Is he famous or something?” I innocently say.
“No” Darla laughs and takes a sip from her martini. She leans back in the booth