Page 9 of Merry Little Mishap

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I finally answered Mrs. Caporali, my final words punctuated by the screeching smoke detector I just installed.

“You’re telling me that Henry Cavill could have been here tonight, and you didn’t invite him?” Camilla Martinez, my boss and staff writer atNew York Prestigegasped as she stared at my phone. I tried to steal it back, but her manicured, cranberry nails swiped feverishly across Nick’s Instagram feed.

“He’s hotter than Henry,” I defended, the almost sacrilegious statement for who she compared him to.

It was true though, Nick was hotter; a little older than me—probably mid-thirties—a tad larger in the forearms than Henry, and with just as deep of a voice.

“Sure, he’s not superman, but he might as well be.” I sipped on my third Mistletoe Martini, trying to dance as little as possible as a jazz pianist playedSanta Babyin the corner. The music, the chatter, and the massive fifteen-foot Christmas tree that sat center of the lobby were all enriched by the soft, Manhattan snow that sauntered across our skyscraper view of Madison Avenue and 42nd Street.

“Well, he’s definitely a hero, or better yet, the man of my dreams.” Camilla oohed and awed, flipping the phone over, showing me the screen occasionally. On it, Nick carried a case of new tennis balls to an animal shelter, Marty barking by his side. “Did you see his vinyl collection? Oh, and he makes his own pizzas?”

“He fixes everything in the building, too. He’s good with his hands.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Camilla peered over the table-top candle, her large, black eyes caught in the flame. “And wait… he saw your dildo?”

“God, don’t remind me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, my cheeks hot from embarrassment and strong vodka.

“Relax, amiga. He’s obviously cool about it.”

“Ok, yeah, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s always catching me in the worst situations.”

“But he still comes over, doesn’t he?”

“He has to, he’s my super.”

“But nobody is making him drink your coffee. Coffee’s a date.”

“Coffee’s a courtesy. It’s hospitality.”

“This day and age, coffee is the precursor to dinner, which is also the precursor to moving in and splitting the rent. You’re practically twelve months away from getting engaged.” Camilla reached up, fixing my antler headband with the flick of its little jingle bells. I tried not to roll my eyes, the thought of ever marrying Nick, let alone being on a date with him felt so unreal.

I tugged on my black turtleneck, feeling antsy as I adjusted the length of my plaid skirt. Nick was clearly into models, which meant at least half the staff here was his type, but not me. Even Camilla, the only other Latina in the building, was different than me. She was taller, her hair flat and sleek, her breasts fuller, and her hips more trimmed. She was devastatingly gorgeous in her luscious black, floor-length gown, shimmering gold earrings, and thin see-through stilettos. She didn’t have to even resemble Christmas, because she lit up the entire room with her radiant smile. If only I could have an ounce of that confidence.

“He said he hasparticulartaste.” I took another long sip of my Martini, catching Camilla’s attention.

“Yeah…particularlyfor a twenty-five-year-old Puerto Rican,” she laughed as if I were being stubborn and foolish.

“No.”

“Uh,yes.”

“He likes magazine hotties.”

“Youarea magazine hottie.”

“Yeah, maybe forHighlights Magazine. I feel like a girl amongst women out here.”

“I see what you mean.” Camilla gave me some playful side-eye.

“So, you agree?”

“I do. But not for the reason you think. You’re gorgeous, trust me, and you don’t need to be some amazonian blonde to be desired. You need confidence! That’s what’s sexy, that’s what’s attractive.” Camilla tucked a strand of my hair back into my ponytail. “Honestly, I’d kill for these curls; I know Nick would, too.”

“You’ve had too much Jingle Juice,” I scoffed.

“It’s true! Your hair is to die for! Your lips are real, your smile is white, your skin is glowing like Rockefeller Center.”

“Ok, now I know you’re drunk.”

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