Like a Boss - Annabelle Costa Page 0,23

he says, “they’re ridiculously swanky. You need to dress up. And I was just wondering if you have anything kind of… you know, flashy yet elegant.”

I stumble out of bed in the direction of my closet. I push a few suit jackets out of the way and gaze upon my small supply of dresses. They’re mostly black. I don’t think any of them cost more than fifty bucks. I don’t know if any of them qualify as “flashy yet elegant.”

“Not really,” I admit.

“Okay, no problem,” he says. “I’ll buy you something. Are you free this afternoon?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “But you don’t have to buy me anything. I’ll just run over to the Gap and pick something up.”

“The Gap?” He sounds horrified. “No, Ellie. You’re not buying a dress at the Gap. Let me pick you up and I’ll take you somewhere decent.”

Somewhere decent. I can’t even imagine what sort of place he has in mind. Good thing he’s offered to pay.

“I’ll pick you up at three,” he says. “Why don’t you bring your makeup and stuff and you can change at my place. Then we’ll go straight from there.”

“Where do you live?” I ask.

“I’m sharing a studio apartment in South Boston,” Luke says.

I frown at the phone. “You… what?”

“Just kidding, Ellie. I’ve got a house out in Lexington. You didn’t really think I’d live in a studio in South Boston, did you?”

Sometimes I kind of hate him.

_____

As I’m coming out of the shower, I hear the doorbell to my apartment ringing, followed by three sharp raps. Then the doorbell rings again. Somebody is eager. “Okay, I’m coming!” I shout, wrapping a housecoat around me.

For a moment, I wonder if it’s Luke showing up early, but then I realize that there’s a flight of stairs to get to my apartment and no elevator. So I’m thinking it can’t be him.

Instead, it’s Sadie. Holding a mixing bowl filled with ingredients.

“Time for your cooking lesson!” Sadie chirps.

Oh no.

“Listen,” I say. “This is very nice of you and all, but…”

Sadie’s face falls. I can’t do this to her. She’s such a nice old woman and she really does mean well. I think I’m going to have to learn to make…

I look in the mixing bowl. I see prunes. Oh my God, what are we making here?

“I just have to be done by three,” I say. “Because I’m meeting… someone.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sadie says cheerfully. “Hamantaschen doesn’t take nearly that long. We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to give your suitor a sample.”

Haman… what now?

“Now we can either make them with apricots or prunes,” Sadie says.

“Apricots, please,” I say.

Sadie frowns. “Prunes are better for your bowels.”

Oh, for the love of God, let this be over quickly.

_____

It turns out that Sadie is not that great at making hamantaschen. She ends up consulting her recipe at least two dozen times, but she can’t see very well and her handwriting looks like chicken scratch. So essentially, we have to make up the recipe as we go along. When we finish, we have about a dozen little apricot-filled triangles that are roughly the consistency of hockey pucks.

Sadie is tidying up my kitchen while I get dressed in jeans and a tank top, when my cell phone rings. It’s Luke. “You’re early,” I say.

“I’m always early,” he says. “That’s how you throw the enemy off their game.”

“I’m the enemy?”

“Everyone is the enemy.” I hear honking in the background. “Hey, you think you can come down here? I see like six steps to get in your front door and that’s not gonna happen. I’m right outside your building.”

“Give me two minutes,” I say.

When I emerge from the bedroom, Sadie has wrapped the hamantaschen in tin foil for me. “Was that your suitor?” she asks.

“He’s not my…” Oh hell. “Yes. It was.”

“Oh, good,” Sadie says. “Now give him these pastries. You don’t have to tell him I helped. That can be our little secret.” And she winks at me.

I really didn’t want to come out of the building carrying a tin foil package of hamantaschen, but Sadie is watching me, so I don’t have much of a choice. I am just way too nice.

When I climb into Luke’s car, I discover I’m incredibly underdressed compared to him. He’s wearing a suit and tie, looking just like he came from the office. Actually, maybe he did.

“Were you at work today?” I ask him.

“Of course,” he says, as if anything else on a Saturday afternoon would be ridiculous. He glances