Perfectly Dateless (18 page)
“If my future includes a Porsche, I’m not sure I have anything to worry about. I’ve never been in a sports car before. Well, besides Claire’s Mustang.” Crawling into the sports car is a lesson in gymnastics. One has to wonder if there’s a graceful way to enter a Porsche. If there is, I haven’t learned it.
“You become as valuable to your next boss and maybe that will be your next perk. I’ll be happy to give you a reference when you’re off for school. Though I’d rather you just stay here and do junior college.” He turns the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. “It never occurred to me to hire a high school student, but my dad knew what he was doing when he hired you. I guess once in a while the old man does know what he’s doing.”
“Your father came to the high school to speak about his businesses. I’m fascinated by him. He’s got so many irons in the finance fire that I couldn’t stop wondering, how does a person get like that? Where they can manage so many different things at once and keep all the balls up in the air. I knew this was the place for me if he’d hire me, so I simply asked.”
Gil laughs. “Here I thought my dad had found a needle in a haystack. You’re telling me you found him? It’s just like him to take credit for you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he did that.”
Gil steps on the gas, and my neck is tugged by the velocity. He weaves in and out of traffic like a video game, and all I can think of is the coroner explaining to my father how I ended up in a twenty-four-year-old’s Porsche with a mystery cell phone.
She was such a responsible child too.
“One stupid action,” my dad would say in his sermon voice. “One stupid move is all it took, and she’s gone. Gone.” In my imagination, my dad shows no remorse over my untimely demise, only disappointment that it’s my own fault.
“C-could you slow down, Gil?”
He comes to a hard stop at the light. “My dad didn’t buy you a BlackBerry, though, did he?”
“Nope. That was definitely your idea.”
The tires peel as he takes off at the green light. I’m short of breath. I decide it’s best to get the conversation away from Gil’s dad and any leftover childhood animosity brewing in his adrenaline-charged head.
“My parents don’t think much of technology. That’s why I didn’t tell them about the phone. I only got a laptop because my physics teacher told my dad I’d need one for college. My dad loves the idea of physics for me, until it involves an actual major.”
“Physics, huh?”
“My second love. After finance. I love that it’s so easy. You simply spend less than you take in, and everything works out in a nice, neat equation. Sometimes with a remainder. If you understand the rule of seventy.”
“You are such a nerd. Are you serious?”
“Thanks, Gil. I needed that reminder.”
“I’m just kidding. I didn’t know anyone like you in high school.”
“We were there, Gil. You just didn’t notice us. It’s the story of my life. Popular kids stay on one side of the school and nerds on the other. You probably weren’t even aware there was an entire population of us at your school. We’d still be invisible if Claire’s video hadn’t gone viral.”
“Is there a particular guy you want to notice you? What type of guy is he? Brainiac like you, or the jock type?”
“I don’t know. Both. I guess.”
“Oh, you want it all. I should have recognized that about you. You’re not one to settle.”
“It’s not like that.”
Working in a small office has its perks—it’s easy to get noticed if you work hard—but on the annoying side, there are no boundaries in a small office. Everyone knows your business and thinks they have a right to all the answers. It’s just an extension of my home life. It seems everyone wants to comment on why I’m such a wreck.
“Look, it’s no one special, Gil. I’m focused on my grades, getting into the right college. I just need a prom date so high school isn’t a total loss. But this week is our party, so I’m planning on an all-out assault.”
“A prom date?” He laughs at me. “Go with a group of friends. You’ll have more fun and the guy won’t be trying to—” He clears his throat. “Prom is overrated. I’m glad you’re not looking seriously at anyone. You have plenty of time for that. Look at me. I’m twenty-four and I’m just now starting to look around and see what’s out there. What life has to offer. There’s no hurry to grow up.”
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“Telling me what I want. Why does everyone think they know what I want? I’m not a child.”
“I never said you were! You sound like a woman to me right now. Screaming at me.”
“Women wouldn’t scream at you if you called them back. Showed them some respect.”
“That’s what you want? A guy who respects you? All girls say that.”
“Maybe because it’s true.”
He snickers. “Do you want to be respected or get a date? I’ll tell you how to get a date.”
“A date with a guy like you? No thanks.”
“I’m hurt.” Gil looks over at me, his face lit by the streetlight, his eyes on my bare legs. I yank at my skirt. Gil is persuasively charming, which is why I’ve generally kept my distance from him. He may not be interested in me in that way, but Gil has a way of making every woman feel as though she’s the only one. I look at him, and he abruptly removes his eyes from my legs and presses the gas pedal with vigor.
“You’re not half bad,” he says.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Most girls do something with themselves, that’s all I’m saying. You don’t even try. You give off that vibe that you don’t care, so we guys don’t think you do.”
“I don’t have any vibe!”
“You do. It’s like you’re too good for us. Too smart for us. Girls like you are so serious. I mean, don’t get me wrong. When guys want to get married, you’re totally the girl they’re going to call, but if you want a boyfriend . . . Well, in high school, guys want a girl that other guys want.”
I sit back in the seat and cross my arms. “You cannot tell me all guys are as small-minded as that.”
“True, I can’t, but I can tell you a good majority of them are.”
“Chase doesn’t think like that.”
“Chase?”
“Just a guy I’ve gone to school with my whole life. He’s going into the Air Force Academy.”
“Well, if Chase doesn’t think like that, why isn’t he your boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Don’t tell me your parents have rules about that too.”
I wish that were the only reason. “We’re just friends, Chase and me.”
“Ah!” He punches a fist to his chest. “The worst rejection of them all. Did he say that?”
“He hasn’t said anything. I barely see him.”
Gil pulls the car over to the side of the road and stares at me. He is blissfully handsome, and for a moment I wish I were slightly older, slightly more worldly. He slides open his ashtray and pulls out a business card. “This is my sister. She owns her own hair salon.”
I hold the card. “That’s great.
She’s got her own business?” “She’s got her own business because she knew what she wanted, and she didn’t let my father tell her styling hair was a ridiculous profession. Now, her shop is the talk of the town in Los Gatos. She charges two hundred dollars for a haircut, and she teaches in hair shows across the country. She’s really living her dream.”
“Two hundred dollars!” I exclaim and let go of the card.
He writes something on the back of it. “You take this to her. Chelsea is her name. You tell her I sent you and I’ll pay for anything you want done.”
“Why?”
“Because guys your age want the girl everyone wants.”
“A hairstyle isn’t going to make me that, Gil.” I laugh. “What if I don’t look like that girl when all is said and done? And barring major surgery, I don’t see how it would.”
“The haircut is nothing. It’s the level of confidence you project that makes guys take notice. You treat the guys as badly as you treat your boss, and you’re home free.”
I hesitate to take the card.
“Daisy, I’m not doing these things because I want anything from you. I’m doing them because I want you to make different choices than I did, to find out what you want in this life and take it before someone does it for you.”
As I take the card and place it in my backpack, my confidence level grows by leaps and bounds. “A haircut. A real one, not one my mom does at the living room table, but one with professional shampoo and a blow-dry?” I cover my mouth. I think I just squealed in front of Gil. “Thank you, Gil.”
“Thank
you
, Daisy. I know you do a lot more for the business than I can afford to pay you. I wish just one of the full-time girls had your computer skills.” He smiles in a fatherly way, and for some reason I am beaming with pride.
“No one would ever consider you a failure, Gil. I sure wish you’d stop considering yourself that. You’ve taken that company to a different level, and it’s only getting better.”
He merges back into traffic and I see him grin. Life is full of surprises. Not the least of which is my boss.
My first act of treason is going to be this week’s party. My second? Dyeing my hair without my mom’s permission. As far as acts of rebellion go, coloring my hair (a normal color, meaning one in the realm of believability) is probably considered lightweight on the scale of defiance.
Friday, December 3
Mood: Nervous
Fact: There are over two million sweat glands in the human body. I am using all of them.
Tonight is the night. I have bathed myself in prayer and I’m going to take Gil’s advice. I’m going to make my feelings known to Chase and suffer (or reap) the consequences. I need to know if, by “my Daisy,” he meant it in the come-hither, I-want-you way, or the this-is-my-little-sister way.
“It’s better to know, right?” I say to Claire as she lights luminaries on the brick path.
“Less talky, more worky.”
“Why are we using luminaries? Can’t you turn on the lights? Luminaries seem so Martha Stewart. Martha is not cool.”
“Because it’s so
Gossip Girl
. It goes with the theme.”
“We have a theme?”
“Remember, I taped all the
Gossip Girl
episodes, so I’m going to show them on the big screen outside. That way, if couples want to relax, they can stretch out on the grass and watch Blair Waldorf start some real trouble.”
“I’m not even allowed to watch that show,” I remind her. “Where do you put luminaries in Manhattan?”
“Shut up. You’re not allowed to be at my house without my parents here, you’re not allowed to be at Greg’s house in your scruffies, and you’re not supposed to have a BlackBerry, and yet here you are worrying about my choice of light source. Makes you wonder, huh?”
“Claire.” I pace the pathway. “I don’t have a good feeling. Maybe we should just call the whole thing off.”
“It sort of helps if you start your sentences a few words back, so I have some kind of clue what you’re talking about. We’re not calling the party off. If you’ve gone prophetess on me suddenly, God probably has a better use for it than spouting doom about our party.”
“I’m not prophesying. I just have a bad feeling.”
“That’s from all the lying. You’ll get over it. Go get dressed, the guys will be here in half an hour.” She lights the last luminary. “I’ll be upstairs in my room.” She slams her front door.
I sink down on the steps. This would be so much easier without guilt. Without conscience. “I feel sick to my stomach.”
A black Mercedes pulls up into the driveway, and Max steps out of the car and looks at me over its rooftop. “Hi, Daisy.”
“Hi, Max. How’d you get in here? We didn’t pay off the security guard until nine.”
“I told him in broken English that I was the gardener. Last-minute stuff before the party.”
“A gardener who travels in a Mercedes?”
“What can I say? I’m a good gardener.”
“We hired a bouncer,” I tell him. “So you don’t need to protect us from anything.”
“Claire fired the bouncer. He came to stake out the place, and he scared her.”
“She did not.”
“Ask her,” Max says.
“What are you really doing here?” I cross my arms. “You’re fashionably early, which is impossible. Early is just rude.”
“I’m here to watch out for you.”
“Watch out for me?” I laugh. “I’m going to a party. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I’d have too much fun?”
He shuts his car door and comes to sit next to me on the steps. He smells divine. “Wow, this is some view up here.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I’m caught staring at him when he turns. “You have the most amazing bone structure.” I feel his jaw. “It’s like you’re always sucking in your cheeks, but it’s totally natural, huh?”
He starts to laugh. “Cut it out, that tickles. So what am I to believe? That I have dimples and a birth defect? Or amazing bone structure?”
“Well, both, of course.” I put my hands back in my lap.
“At home, they say I look like Ivan without the blue eyes.”
“Who?”
“He’s a famous model. His dimple—excuse me, birth defect—is in his chin. He starred as Nacho on the soap opera
Calientes
.”
“You have a soap opera called
Hot
? Is Paris Hilton in it?” I start to giggle uncontrollably. Usually this is where I’d insert some inane fact, but this time I’m not even tempted.
“Daisy, let’s blow this Popsicle stand. Let me take you out. Come with me, and let me show you how to tango. We’ll have asada.” He smirks. “Steak.”
“Steak?” My eyes brighten. I look behind me and giggle nervously. “I would love to see you explain that one to my father.”
“We’ll stop there on the way.”
“You’re sweet, Max. I’d like nothing more, to tell you the truth, but I can’t leave Claire. She’s not in a good place tonight, and I’m sort of the designated parental unit. I’m worried about the house. She acts like she’s fine, but I worry if someone starts to destroy something, she’d just let them.”
He breathes in deeply. Every move he makes is utterly fascinating and effortless.
“You remind me of my boss in some ways.”
“Why, is he devastatingly handsome?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Oh. So when are you quitting this job? I can’t take the competition.”
“I wouldn’t call him competition. He calls me ‘jail bait.’”