Zoey was convinced she would say or do something awkward, or worse, draw a blank in the middle of a conversation. For some time now, her job at Melinda Forde had been almost her only extended daily contact with people. There, she merely had to rely on a script built on lies, but she was going to have to wing it soon and she didn't know if she was ready.
"At least I clean up okay," Zoey said, staring in her mirror. In her stunning sapphire dress that accented her figure and matched her eyes, she felt fairly confident that Blake was going to be blown away by her, and felt a spreading sense of hope as she called herself a cab.
FOUR
Fortunately for Zoey, Big Tony's was situated in a part of Manhattan that was much closer to her apartment than the dating agency. Traffic was light by New York standards, and it wasn't difficult for her to get there at all. Her only problem on the ride over was that the cab driver was seemingly addicted to the sound of his own voice.
The diner was a small building with a simple welcome mat and glass doors that bore steel handles. Inside, there were around two dozen elegantly-decorated round tables that appealed to Zoey immediately. A soft jazz instrumental wafted through the intimately-lighted space, and pictures of famous New Yorkers hung on the walls. It was one of those places that sold the atmosphere it provided nearly as much as the items on its menu.
Zoey allowed herself to be led to the table Blake had reserved, and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea while she waited for him to arrive. She was still jittery, but her mood had greatly improved.
Ten minutes later, she was nibbling on a roll, mostly out of simply needing something to do. She texted Blake, only to get an automatic reply. Zoey didn't like the look of that in the slightest, but she told herself to stay positive. After all, it had only been ten minutes; people were late all the time, and busy people set their smartphones to automatic reply-she had done it herself just a few days ago. But two more drinks and twenty minutes later, things began to get embarrassing.
"Miss, are you ready to order now, or are you still waiting for the rest of your party?"
Her waitress had asked the question with all the politeness in the world, but it was clear from her tone what she thought had happened.
Zoey was unwilling to accept that yet. Not after everything else that had gone wrong that day.
"He texted to say he was running a bit late," she lied. "Got a flat on the way over here. They've said it may take a bit of time to fix, so he suggested I order an appetizer in the meantime."
With that, Zoey put in an order for Asian dumplings and prayed she would have someone to share them with by the time they arrived. She did not, but mercifully her waitress tactfully avoided the issue.
Zoey found she could barely taste the ginger-flavored pot stickers before her. She wanted to cry. Not in the composed, quiet, way an adult cries, but with the wild abandon of a child throwing a full blown temper tantrum. She wanted to kick her legs and scream "it's not fair" at the top of her lungs. She wanted someone to wipe her eyes and tell her everything would be all right. But she knew her mother was right about one thing: she wasn't nine anymore. Adults didn't get to throw tantrums.
Zoey was perfectly aware that there was no point in doing so, but she waited another fifteen minutes anyway, just to give him the benefit of the doubt. By that point, she had been at Big Tony's for a full hour and texted Blake three more times.
She finally settled her bill, feeling dejected and unloved, and took the subway back home, no longer caring what an army of jostling people might do to her dress.
"Some relationship expert I turned out to be," she muttered dejectedly. "I try to help people find love all day, but I can't even find a good match for myself."
By the time she reached her apartment, Zoey felt as if a storm cloud was hanging over her. She fell into bed and reflected that, aside from the sympathetic waitress, at least there were no witnesses to her humiliation, and that it was still possible, if unlikely, that Blake had an excellent excuse for not showing up.
FIVE
The next morning, however, Zoey woke up to a very long text from Blake, explaining where he had been the previous night. As it turned out, about two hours before the date, he had discovered the Facebook page of a woman he used to know, named Elmyra. In high school, Blake had allegedly carried a torch for the girl, but he'd never had the courage to tell her so. He had messaged her, and the two had talked for several hours. It had been long past midnight when the conversation ended, and only then had he remembered his rendezvous with Zoey. He apologized for standing her up, but even more, he was sorry to report he and Elmyra had decided to go out on a date.
Zoey's face crumpled as she read the message. She had been forgotten. Just plain forgotten, and dumped via text message. She couldn't decide whether to cry or break everything within reach, so she settled for swearing furiously every few moments. She called the agency and told her mother she was sick because she didn't think she could face looking at another human being.
Zoey remained at home all that day and the next one, seething at being so horribly cast away. Her phone lay on the floor in several pieces-she had thrown it against the wall when Blake texted to ask if she could recommend a good hookah bar for him and Elmyra to meet at.
By the morning of the third day, Zoey felt reasonably sure she could get back to work without breaking down at her desk, so she got ready and hopped on the subway.
She would have been stuck standing the entire way to Manhattan, except the five-year-old kid from a few days ago was there again, and she talked her into taking her seat. Half a dozen people praised the girl for doing what any of them easily could have, and he took the accolades in her stride, giving most of the credit to her mother for teaching her manners.
Zoey thought about what her mother was teaching her: cynicism, deception, apathy and greed. She had to admit that Melinda had been a much more loving person a long time ago, before her relationship with Zoey's father had started to go south. But Zoey didn't want to spend her commute thinking about relationships-she would have enough of that to do when she got to work.
She picked up her smartphone and went to her favorite news site. Almost immediately, she saw something among the top stories that made her sigh.
"Spotted at the city's exclusive Three Rivers restaurant: real estate magnate Stelios Zakiridis and reality television star Brie Hudson. Speculation is that the pair are dating, though neither could be reached for comment."
The article was accompanied by several paparazzi photographs of Stelios and Brie in the vicinity of the restaurant. Zoey couldn't help noting that her client wasn't smiling in any of them.
"Melinda Forde strikes again," she muttered. "Well, at the very least this will get my mother off my back for a while. She might even be in a good mood for once."
And yet, Zoey felt a nameless sort of worry, like another boot was about to drop. She tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the old guy a few seats down. He was singing and old soul ballad in an effort to try and woo a woman half his age. She was listening politely, but it was obvious it wasn't working. Nearby, two teenagers were filming the whole thing for YouTube. Zoey briefly toyed with the idea of belting out the old Carmen Sandiego theme, but in the end she decided she had enough problems already without a train full of people looking at her awkwardly.
When Zoey arrived at work, it was to find a very conspicuous looking black town car in front of the building. The moment she saw it, she had an ominous feeling, and when she went inside, it grew stronger still. Her office door was open and she could hear an animated conversation going on inside. Her mother was talking to someone, and there were no prizes for guessing who it was.
Tentatively, Zoey stepped inside.
"Oh, there you are, Zoey dear. We've just been talking about you. Mr. Zakiridis has some concerns he would like you to address. I think I shall just leave you to it. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Zakiridis."
Before Zoey could utter a word of protest, Melinda was gone. Zoey saw the bottle of champagne she kept in her fridge was on her desk. It was nearly halfway gone.
She turned to Stelios, who looked very disgruntled indeed. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were a little wild.
Seeing her staring, he smoothed his hair back and took a breath. "Let me see," he began in a voice he was clearly trying to keep even, "if I can convey to you what happened to me last night … "
"Mr. Zakiridis … "