Page 29 of Latte Girl
FlirtiniFriday
Hailey
“Have fun!Besafe!”
I roll my eyes at my mother’s words, but hold back on any sarcastic replies. I completely forgot she’d be working tonight. I offered to cancel my plans as soon as I realized, but she wouldn’t have it and got one of her friends from the health centre to spend the night at our place and watchAmanda.
“You sure this is alright?” I ask her. “I can come homeearly.”
She shushes me. “I mean it. Have fun. You work so hard, sweetie. You deserve a night out with yourfriends.”
I didn’t mention that I’d be seeing Steve as well. My mom is convinced that we ended things because Steve was too selfish to deal with my other commitments, and that I just put on a brave face and let him break my heart. It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but no matter how many times I explain this to her, she still refers to him as ‘SelfishSteve.’
I give her a kiss goodbye and feel like a pre-teen heading off to a sleepover. This is definitely not how most twenty somethings start theirnightsout.
Brittney invited us to her place to get ready and have some pre-drinks. She’s one of the students who work part time at Dark Brown, and shares a house with two other girls from her school. She lets me inside the cramped apartment and I feel like I’ve stepped onto the set of one of the most stereotypical movies about college life ever made. There’s a framed Beatles poster on the wall, a shelf decorated with empty vodka bottles and a string of purple mini lights, along with an obligatory sagging futon tucked away in thecorner.
“Hey girl hey!” she cries, pulling me into her tiny bedroom where Trisha is already sitting on the chevron patterned bedspread. More mini lights are tacked to the walls oftheroom.
“I’m kind of low on drink supplies,” says Brittney, opening up a bottle of Smirnoff, “so I can offer you vodka with cranberry juice, or justvodka.”
“I’ll take one with cranberry juice,” I laugh and then add, “I alsobroughtwine.”
“Sweeeeet. Wine is my thangggg,” drawls Trisha from the bed, swaying to the dance music pumping out of a speaker on Brittney’sdresser.
Clearly the two have already had a few vodkas without me. I didn’t really peg Trisha as having a wild side, but sitting here in Brittney’s bedroom and seeing my coworkers in outfits other than their uniforms has made me realize how little I know about their lives outside the Dark Brownbubble.
In true college student fashion, Brittney gets us a few mugs to drink the wine out of and then sits down at her dresser to start doing her makeup. Trisha and I watch, entranced, as she flicks her eyeliner out into a wing so perfect it would even make a MAC employee drool. We both ask if she’ll doourstoo.
“Of course, ladies,” she says, gesturing for us to move closer, “but we better get this done fast, because if the vodka starts hitting me any harder I don’t think I’ll be able to draw astraightline.”
It’s just after nine thirty when our Uber car pulls up in front of the bar. We’re all tipsy by now, and getting out of the car in high heels is a bit of astruggle.
“What evenisa flirtini?” asks Trisha, clutching my arm as we walk up to thefrontdoor.
“It’s a martini with champagne and pineapple juice,” answers Brittney, digging in her purseforID.
This is definitely not Brittney’s first night out. She’s wearing shimmery high-waisted black pants and a silky top with a deep V-neck, over which she’s thrown a cropped motorcycle jacket. Her heels are high enough to be a health hazard, and while she was giggling as much as Trisha and I in the car ride over, she’s now adopted the poised attitude and expression of a runwaymodel.
“You lookfierce, Brittney,” Trisha tells her, punctuating the statement with a gesture like a cat swiping itsclaws.
I have a feeling I should make sure Trisha holds back on the flirtinis forabit.
While we don’t quite live up to Brittney’s fashion icon status, I have to admit that Trisha and I also clean up good. Trisha is rocking a naughty secretary sort of look, pairing a tiny, skin-tight pencil skirt with a blazer and sheer blouse. I have a clingy navy blue mini dress on. I chose the colour to match my eyes and offset my hair, and while I’ve got it covered by my coat right now, there’s a keyhole back that adds a littleva va voomto thewholelook.
Va va voom? Really? Maybe I should lay off theflirtinistoo.
As we show our ID to the bouncer and step through the door, the thought that I’ve been trying to bury in the back of my mind since agreeing to this starts pounding togetout.
I don’t know if I told Steve I’d be here in spite of the fact that I might run into Jordan, or because of it. It’s not a question I’ve allowed myself to contemplate, so I can’t tell if the rush I feel when I walk in and scan the bar for his face is one of excitement or alarm. I do know that when I looked in the mirror to take in the effect of Brittney’s makeup job and my half hour struggle with a hair curler, my first thought was to imagine his reaction if he saw melikethis.
Scouting out the bar doesn’t bring me any immediate sighting of him. What it does reveal is a huge, crowded room filled with fuchsia lighting and dominated by a long glass bar. The walls are lined with white leather couches in shadowy alcoves, and while it’s still too early for anyone to be getting their freak on, I can see a raised dance floor at the far end oftheroom.
When Steve mentioned a cocktail bar, I expected something a bit more modest. This place looks like a New York fashion week after party. I start to wonder whether I dressed stylishly enough to drink here, and more importantly, whether I canaffordtodrinkhere.
The three of us stand in the entrance, gaping like provincial girls thrown into thebigcity.
“Hailey!” a voice calls, snapping me out of my glamour-induced daze. Steve is approaching the threeofus.
