9. Lizzie
9
LIZZIE
T he one thing I haven’t thought of is how to get back to my place without my ex’s car. Everything with Dillan had happened so fast, it hadn’t crossed my mind. Rex hasn’t texted me back—he’s lousy when it comes to checking his phone. I decide it’ll be best to first get to the car via subway, seeing as it’s on my way, anyway. Maybe it will start.
There’s no way I’m trekking back to the restaurant on foot. It’s several blocks away, and I’m wearing heels and a tight dress—not exactly the best outfit to take a stroll in. Luckily, the subway is nearby. It’s my least favorite mode of transportation, but it’s the cheapest option most of the time. The only reason I didn’t opt for it on my blind date was because a car is a safer choice than navigating public transportation alone so late in the evening (plus, it ensures a quicker exit strategy if needed).
The train car is packed with commuters, all trying to find their own place in the tiny, cramped space. During the ride, I try to stop thinking about Dillan, if for no other reason than I don’t want to drive myself crazy.
A tiny part of me regrets throwing away the note, but honestly, there was no reason to keep it. The number hadn’t worked and staring at it again will only make me sad. Even trying several different combinations of the last two scribbled numbers didn’t make a difference. I’d done all I could, and the best thing to do is let it go.
My mood doesn’t improve much when I finally get back to Amelio’s and realize that Rex’s car is gone. My first thought is that it’s been stolen, but given the fact I wasn’t even able to get it to start, I realize it’s likely been towed. This is confirmed by one of the waitresses who is heading into work and sees me standing in the parking lot like a loser. Great. Just freakin’ great.
During the subway ride back home, I get the joyous privilege of texting Rex about his car. As I rummage through my purse to find my phone, I hear it ding several times with a slew of messages. Once I go through them, I realize he’s already well aware of it being towed and, needless to say, not very happy.
By the time I get home, I’m mentally and physically drained. I unlock the front door of my building, kick out of my heels and dance upstairs. I know how I look in my wrinkled red dress, messy hair, and smudged makeup, and if I’m honest, I feel a bit disheveled too. Dillan marks my first one-night stand, and even though I firmly believe in the equal right of women and men to embrace their sexual freedom, the night has an oddly awkward tinge. No, not the night itself—it was the most wonderful night of my life and probably always will be, despite the disappointing ending. It’s just, well, a tad unfamiliar for me. Perhaps it’s the novelty of the situation or the fact that I stepped out of my comfort zone. Either way, it was a unique experience. Period.
For once, the elevator is operational and empty—such a blessing.
As I step out onto my floor, I take a deep breath and start to sneak down the hall. My apartment is at the very end, and I’ve got to pass Mrs. Loughty’s door to get there. She’s the last person I want to talk to. I’m almost positive she already knows I stood up my blind date, and she’ll have a million questions as to why. Returning in the afternoon wearing the same outfit I left in, looking a sexually satisfied mess as I do, will not look good.
I tiptoe closer and closer, pausing to listen at her door. When I don’t hear anything, I figure she’s either out or napping, so I release the breath I’m holding and keep walking. I only take two steps before her door opens.
“Elizabeth, darling . You’re home .” Her voice echoes in her UK accent, which has lost its lovely tone and taken on a stern, almost schoolmistress-like quality.
Biting back the feeling of being seven years old again and not having done my homework, I pivot to greet her, trying not to appear guilty. “Mrs. Loughty, good morning. You’re looking well.”
Her gray hair is pulled back into a neat bun—as it always is—not a single strand out of place. Draped over her hunched shoulders is the frayed green knitted shawl she tends to wear around the house.
She has her hands on her hips, giving me a loving smile. “You mean good afternoon.” There’s a teasing tone to her voice.
“Right. Afternoon.”
“Well, you obviously had a good time last night, my dear.”
My face is burning from embarrassment. Not that I’m embarrassed by sleeping with Dillan, but there’s something about an elderly British lady finding me coming home from a one-night stand that makes me feel guilty. Especially since I’d ditched the blind date she set up for me. But, my lucky stars, it seems as if she doesn’t know we never met. What a relief! That’s a conversation I do not want to have right now.
“It was definitely an interesting night,” I say quickly, hoping and praying she won’t press on. “Well, I need to get changed. Talk to you later.”
I only manage half a turn before she asks, “Who was the man you chose to spend time with instead of Herbert?”
Shit.
Part of me thinks about ignoring her and making a quick escape. Just full-on booking it to my door, but I know that’s not the mature way to handle things. Doesn’t stop me from thinking about it though. Oh, and can we talk about how she outright demanded to know who I’d been with? It strikes me as incredibly rude, but hey, I’ve come to expect that level of bluntness from her over the years.
Logically, I know I don’t really owe her an explanation for my actions (well, maybe I do, considering I did agree to the date she orchestrated), but emotionally, it’s an entirely different ballgame. With a playful smile, I turn back to her.
“I’m sorry?” I put all the innocence I can muster into my voice and facial expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Mrs. Loughty shoots me a look that clearly signals she’s not buying my virtuous act. “I spoke to Herbert last night, and he said that you two never managed to connect. So, when I didn’t hear you come back last night, I was worried. But…” She gives me a knowing glance and arches her gray eyebrows. “It looks like I didn’t have to be.”
“Yeah, about that…” I hurry to try and think of a good enough excuse, cursing myself for not doing so on the ride over. “Unfortunately, my car broke down, and my phone died, and…” Even as the words spill out like some weird verbal diarrhea, I know how ridiculous I sound.
Mrs. Loughty snorts and crosses her arms. “I was not born yesterday, you know. I may be old, Elizabeth, I’m not that old.”
Smooth move, Lizzie.
With a heavy sigh, I give her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Loughty. I ended up reconnecting with an old friend from high school. You were so nice and excited about setting me up with Herbert that I honestly feel guilty for not making the date. I’m very sorry for standing him up. I didn’t mean to. I just…lost track of time.”
It isn’t entirely a lie. At least parts of are true. I do feel guilty. But I can’t bring myself to tell her what really happened. She’s already giving me that disapproving “mom look” older women seem to perfect, even when they’ve never had kids.
There’s a semblance of disappointment in her eyes, which only makes me feel ten times worse. “Well, you can call Herbert yourself and apologize for your behavior,” she declares, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I already told him you probably had a perfectly legitimate excuse, and you’ll call him the moment you can. You will do so, my dear, won’t you?”
“Great, thanks so much,” I say through gritted teeth.
God, when will this ordeal end?
I take a few steps back toward my door. “I really should go. I promised Pippa I would help her rearrange the apartment today,” I say, looking for an excuse to be anywhere but here.
“Oh, that’s lovely . I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.”
Dammit, Lizzie. Lie better!
“Of course. I can’t wait for you to see it either.”
Oh, my gosh. Stop. Talking. And just go.
It’s so hard not to run away, especially when I can feel her eyes piercing into the back of my head like daggers. Even when I get to my door, it takes all my strength not to drop my keys as I try to unlock it. It isn’t until I’m safely in my own home and the door is bolted behind me that I finally exhale.
Dropping my shoes on the pile near the door, I bury my face in my hands and let out a sigh.
“I hope for your sake that was a sigh of absolute, total satisfaction.”
Peering through my fingers, I look up to find my best friend and roommate, Pippa, leaning against the kitchen counter and digging into a huge bowl of Cocoa Puffs.
Seeing her instantly comforts me. Mostly because I know whatever I’ve been through, I can tell her, and she won’t judge me for a second.
We’ve been best friends since we were twelve. I remember watching when this tall, skinny girl with dyed black hair and thick eyeliner had been led into class wearing a cheeky expression on her face, and introduced as the new student. I knew right then and there I wanted to be her friend. Everyone thought she was the weird kid who drew on herself in class. I thought she was one of the coolest people I’d ever met.
Now that we’re much older, I know I was wrong. She’s the coolest person I’ve ever met. And while her hair is back to its natural light brown, and she goes much easier on the eyeliner, she has swapped her pen drawings for actual tattoos from the parlor she manages.
“I did a bad thing,” I tell her with a wince.
“Good, bad, or actually bad?”
“All three. Simultaneously and doubly. At least.” I hunch my shoulders and scrunch my nose.
“Nice.”
“No, Pippa. It’s not nice. At least not anymore.”
Pippa takes another large spoonful of cereal before motioning to the door with her spoon. “Does it have anything to do with that bullshit stuff you just spouted to Mrs. L?”
“Oh, God, you heard that?”
Pippa rolls her eyes with a smile. “You’re not the quietest person in the world, Liz.”
With a heavy sigh, I push off the door and cross the small apartment we share, flopping face-first onto the couch. Instead of responding, I let out the longest, pain-filled groan I can muster.
Pippa patiently waits for me to finish before asking, “Oh, Liz, you didn’t have a one-night stand with some rando, did you?”
I peek up at her from the couch. “You’re one to talk. What about that glittery-haired girl I saw sneak out of your bedroom the other morning?”
“That wasn’t a one-night stand,” Pippa argues. “She’ll be back when her tattoo needs to be touched up. Besides, I know we’re a sex-positive household, but your track record isn’t exactly the best.”
Immediately, I think of Rex. “That’s fair.”
“So, what happened last night?”
“I went to the restaurant, fully intending to go on that stupid date Mrs. L set me up on. Even if it was a bust, I figured I’d at least get a free dinner out of it. When I got there, I ran into…someone else and, well, one thing led to another…”
Pippa gasps with a knowing grin. “My little Lizzie met somebody else when she was supposed to be on a date with another person. You minx !”
Pippa makes it sound like an award—which it is. I catch myself smiling, even though, truth be told, I’m usually the poster child for good behavior. Well, almost always; there’s that delightful exception: my job as an exotic dancer. “Oh, hush. It’s not as scandalous as you’re making it sound.”
“So, who was this other guy? He must have been hot as hell to make you forget about your date.”
“Dillan Maxwell.”
Silence.
The spoon clatters against the bowl, sending milk onto the floor. Pippa stares at me with wide eyes. “Dillan Maxwell? As in the Dillan Maxwell you used to pine over back in high school?”
“Yup. That’s the one.” I sigh wistfully as I think about Dillan and how many times I came last night.
Carefully, Pippa sets her bowl on the counter.
The next thing I know, she’s leaning over the back of the couch, her hands squishing my cheeks as she grabs my face and forces me to look at her. “Elizabeth Ashley Moore. Did you have sex with the man you’ve been in love with since high school?”
“First off, that’s not my middle name. Second, let go of my face .” I pry her hands off my cheeks before batting them away. “And third…yes, I did.”
“You little whore!”
“ Pippa !”
Pippa lets out a whoop of joy and playfully swats back at me. “I’m so damn proud of you .”
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “It was a one-time thing.”
“What? Why? You two had such great chemistry back then, and obviously you still do if you fucked him. Don’t you want to see him again?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why? Did he have a small dick?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” His dick was more perfect than perfect, but I’ll spare her the intimate details. A lady never reveals too much about her gentleman callers. “I can’t see him again because I don’t have any way to reach him.”
Pippa nearly drops her spoon into her cereal. “Are you telling me that you guys spent the whole night together and you never got his number? Lizzie! For shame!”