Patrice: So, you want to impress your hot “friend” on your “date” that isn’t a date? Do I have that right so far? ;) lol
Katrina: Yes. In my usual pathetic style, I don’t know what I want. That’s why I need you stat. I’m serious, though. Just friends. I need to stick to my resolve. You know that better than most people in my life. So, what do you think? Can you come help me figure out if I even own anything that says all that?
Patrice: I’ll be right over. Should I bring coffee?
Katrina: You need to ask?
Where was my resolve? What happened to my determination to steer clear of men when Jack came near? I know, this is technically just a day in Santa Monica. It’s not an actual date. He didn’t say it was a date, did he? No. That’s right. He actually said, “Katrina, if you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, how about we spend the day in Santa Monica?” Not a date at all. He might as well be one of my girlfriends— a tall, muscular, chiseled, version of a girlfriend. Wait, what? Well, yes. That works. We’re going as girlfriends. Except Jack is very much a man. And men are danger.
While I wait for Patrice, I stare into my closet like a ravenous teen boy examining the contents of the fridge after grocery day. And my expression is the same. There’s nothing in here! Well, that’s not actually true. I have tons of clothes. I love my own style and when I am home in L.A. between shoots, I sometimes hit thrift shops to find some unique pieces. The problem is how to dress for a date that’s not a date. Maybe Maria had the right idea running off to that convent in The Sound of Music. She wore the same habit every day except when she sewed those god-awful outfits out of curtains.
I hopelessly stare at my closet, feeling like my feet will grow roots and someone will have to come excavate me from this spot. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door. I look out to see Patrice’s tightly coiled dark hair and beautiful smile looking back at me.
“Hey, girl” I take one of the to-go cups from Patrice’s hands. She gives me a hug.
“You are the lifesaver of all time. You know that, right?” I raise my cup to her.
“So I’ve been told. But, anything for you, girl. Plus, I haven’t seen you since Africa and I want to hear all about your trip. What time are you meeting Prince Charming?”
“Not Prince Charming. Friend Charming. Though, good night, he’s dreamy. But Thomas was cute, right? And he is pond scum. He is the barf that comes out of fish who eat pond scum. So, who’s to say Jack isn’t the same? I have zero discernment when it comes to men.”
“He sounded pretty dreamy from the first description you gave after he saved the day at the truck stop.” She looks at me expectantly.
“Yes. He is so very, very dreamy. Last night he even saved me from the bouquet toss … and the way he held me when we were dancing … What am I doing? I don’t need this temptation.” I huff out a resigned sigh.
“Hey, look at me, Kat. You are a delightful, engaging, beautiful woman. Crazy as the most recent admit to the mental hospital, but amazing besides that. You deserve a good man. Jack sounds great. Have a day with him. What can it hurt? You’re not getting into a relationship. Anyway, you’re off to England next, right? No time to settle down right now even if he is perfect.” She folds her arms as if to settle the matter.
“Mental hospital, huh? And you are my best friend?” We laugh.
We move into my bedroom and I start grabbing things from my closet to consider for our review while Patrice sits cross-legged on my bed drinking her coffee.
I hold up option number one, “This bohemian top looks too whimsical.” She nods.
“The white tee with jeans shows off my curves, so it may not send enough of a this-is-totally-not-a-date vibe. Clearly, I want to show him we’re friends. I just don’t want to look like I’m representing the local Amish community. Do Amish people even live near L.A.? I don’t think so.”
Patrice busts out a laugh and almost spews coffee across my bedspread. “No Kitty Kat, I’m pretty sure the Amish are on the East Coast, not near Hollywood. Keep trying. I know we’ll find something.”
I throw my hands up. “I’m a basket case. Look at me. I can’t even get dressed.”
“Go. Sit. Drink your coffee and give me a chance to look.” She always knows how to dress me when I’m at a standstill. She finally pulls out a white ruffled tee with a pair of ankle-length khakis. She even picks a cool necklace and bracelet to soften the look. That’s my girl. I knew she’d pull through. I’m feeling very friendly as I get dressed and look in my full-length mirror. Here I am, the friend. Going to beach with my friend.
Patrice and I sit in my living room finishing our coffee while I tell her all about Africa. Before I realize, it’s 9:20 a.m. “I’ve gotta run. Time for the friend-date, or whatever this is.”
She gets up and throws out her cup. “Girl, you are going to have one fun day. Let it be that. Stop overthinking and have fun. Forget he’s a man. Scratch that. Remember he’s a man but forget the fast for one day. Just have fun. Come home and hop a jet for Europe. If it turns creepy or disappointing, text me. I’ll call you and give you an exit route – then you leave early. I’ll see you when you get back stateside. K?”
I hug her. “You are the very absolute best. You know that. Thanks, Patrice. Girls night when I get back, okay?”
“You’re on for sure.”
I grab my bag. We head out to my porch. I lock my door behind me and walk down to my car. One day on a beach. No big deal.
When I pull up to park in front of Philz Coffee, all thoughts of mantras and friendship seem to get sucked into a black hole that miraculously opened up on the sidewalk just seconds ago. Jack is standing there waiting. This man isn’t merely attractive. He sends wonderful warmth to my heart and basically any number of other body parts. As if I weren’t already done for, he smiles. I would give up chocolate to get to see that smile on a daily basis over breakfast. Whoa! Where did that thought come from? Get a grip, Kat. You’re on a man-fast. Edelweiss and all. Picturing nuns helps cool my overactive imagination. It’s better than a cold shower and far more convenient.
chapter six
Jack
Katrina pulls up in a little red Mazda Miata. It suits her: sexy, fun, and unique. She hops out and waves. “Hey, Katrina. You ready for a day at the beach?” Smooth, Jack. You sound like a dork.
“Hi, Jack. I’m ready. Just let me grab my bag.” The corners of her mouth tilt up in the sweetest half-smile. Her relaxed attitude and confidence are infectious. I feel this calm come over me that I haven’t felt all morning.
“I thought we’d start out heading over to the Santa Monica Stairs – have you been before?”
“No, I actually haven’t”
“You can get some great shots there too, if you want.”
“Sounds good. I didn’t bring my camera, but I have my phone.”
“Great. I’ll drive if you like, so we can just leave your car here.” I try to conceal the euphoric feeling I’m having so I don’t overwhelm her. I can’t believe we are going to spend a whole day together.
She comes around my car and I open her door for her. I might be old-fashioned, but Mom raised Caleb and me to care for women. When she steps down the curb, her shoulder grazes my forearm. I feel a warm tingle as she moves away. Her eyes lift up to my face. She might have felt that too. Maybe. I don’t want to read too much into this. I have a sudden urge to grab her by the waist and kiss her. I stuff that thought down and walk around to the driver’s side door.