Chelsea is gorgeous. A few years younger than me with shoulder-length blonde hair that’s straight as pin one day, curly the next and who has the fashion sense of a New York City high end designer. Her nails are always painted, her makeup flawless, and her clothes wrinkle-free.
Kind of like me pre-Jade.
I’m not complaining. I’ll take my stained Target clothes, smeared makeup self any day as long as Jade’s there when I get home.
“Happened last night to whom?” I remove my hands from the keyboard and give her my full attention.
She throws her bag on the other chair and crosses her legs. “Hannah. And her son of a bitch ex.”
“What?” I lean closer, my elbows propped up, a pen between my hands.
“That slimy fucker slid in under Hannah’s nose at the venue we were going to have the gala at and stole our spot for some hospital fundraiser. She called me last night and said we have to start our search all over.”
“Now we have nowhere to hold the gala?” I shake my head.
“I looked up a bunch of places and I’m thinking we head north of the city.” Chelsea’s leg bounces up and down while she speaks.
“Will people travel that far?”
I’m not sure if it’s Hannah’s own money that’s keeping RISE afloat right now, but she’s putting together a huge black-tie event with a silent auction to be held at the end of summer to raise money for the various smaller charities that our foundation supports. We had the venue secured, or so we thought.
“I think so. Half of them live on the north shore anyway. That’s where the money’s at.”
I nod, she’s right. Chelsea and I both come from the city, but Hannah, she grew up in the north burbs until she relocated downtown.
“It’s a little farther north, but it’s right on the lake and there’s a hotel. I called this morning and we may have to change the date, but they have some availability.” Chelsea stands and grabs her bag.
“Where do you find the time?” I follow her, turning on the copier and heading to our small kitchen area to start the coffee. We all seem to support the economy and grab our own cups on the way in, but we have guests in the office on occasion.
“Let’s see. I’m not going to school, I don’t have a seven-year-old or a mother who needs help.” She raises her eyebrows and I laugh.
“Be jealous.” I spin the opposite way into the kitchen as Chelsea goes to her office. “Be very jealous,” I call out.
“I did have a date though,” she announces, and I leave the coffee for later, exiting the kitchen and making my way over to Chelsea’s office. Hannah didn’t mention anyone coming in first thing today anyway.
“A date?”
Chelsea’s dating is much like someone put her in a reality show with the most unwanted men in America and made it her quest to find something good about them. Spoiler alert—she never does.
“He took me to a poetry reading.”
I rest my shoulder on the doorframe. She moves around through her office, a woman on a mission, plugging her laptop in, setting out her notepads. The woman is meticulous.
“Sounds romantic.”
“It was open mic night.” Her tone is dry as she boots up her computer.
“Fun.”
I’m guessing from her unenthused blank stare it wasn’t.
“He recited a poem.”
“About you?” I smile.
“Yeah, Vic, in the hour he knew me he wrote me a poem.” She rolls her eyes.
“It could happen and that would mean something.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in signs?” She takes a seat at her desk. “I thought we were in this whole ‘single forever’ thing together?”
Chelsea’s divorced, too. I don’t know much as far as who, what, when or why, but divorce is divorce. The stigma hasn’t faded. People still give you that look like your dog got run over when you tell them you’ve been divorced. The assumptions of cheating spouses, addiction problems, money problems, secrets and lies. It’s like someone opened the door to your soul and peers in to see all the ugliness you tried to hide. Her one saving grace is that she never had kids with the bastard.
“You’re telling me he wouldn’t have wooed you if he’d written a poem about how beautiful you were on a whim?” I cross my arms in front of me and give her a disbelieving look.
“No. However, I probably would’ve nailed him in the taxi on the ride home, but we wouldn’t be picking out china patterns.” She shakes her head.
I thought I was cynical until I met Chelsea. But she seems to work at it like it’s part of her job description.
“Still, he’s creative. That’s a good sign. Most bad boys aren’t creative.”
“He cried on stage.” She looks at me over drawn brows. “He read a poem he wrote about his breakup with another girl.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I try to stop myself, but I laugh anyway. This is Chelsea’s life. Someone could write a book about it, I swear. Maybe I should introduce her to Quinn.
“Wish I was. Another dud and I couldn’t even kiss him goodnight. I mean...rule number one is don’t talk about your ex on a first date and this guy goes and cries over her while reading a poem he wrote for her.”
“Ouch.” I cringe.
“Yeah, smack me with a Band-Aid on my bruised ego. I’m taking a break from men.” She throws both of her hands up in front of her.
I roll my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Watch me. Bye, bye. It was a shame though, he had that cool hipster vibe going on.”
Her attention shifts to her computer as she types in her password.
“Hipster?”
She laughs and points at me. “Don’t even say it. I told myself I’d try all flavors of men.”
I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m not laughing. I can’t even remember the last time I had any flavor at all.”
Then we both laugh. Tears leak from the side of my eyes and Chelsea sounds like she’s hyperventilating she’s laughing so hard. “He had dark-rimmed glasses and a beanie and dressed like he grabbed his clothes off his bedroom floor.”
The door opens, and Hannah stops in her tracks, staring over at me bent over and clutching my stomach.
“You started the Monday morning divorcee dating recap without me?” she whines, tossing her bag on the chair in front of my desk, her hands cupping her coffee as she hurries over to Chelsea’s office.
I grin inside. She’s so different than Jagger. He’d be barking orders at me before he even finished passing by my desk.
She squeezes by me, plopping down, well, Hannah doesn’t plop anywhere. She slides into the chair with elegance and grace. Her tight dress and contrasting high heels will probably be the biggest trend next month. She’s one of those women who oozes class and is always a step ahead on fashion.
“Give it to me. I need a laugh,” she says and takes a sip.
“Chels went on a date this weekend,” I say, and Hannah’s smile tips up from ear to ear.
I told you, Chelsea’s dates are like finding little chunks of gold in a sea of crap.
“YAY!” she raises one arm in a little cheer. “How bad was it?”