What Love Looks Like Read online

  “Well that’s great,” he said. “I hope this one works out for you.”

  “It’s really new, so we’ll see.”

  Ryan and I talked for nearly an hour while Jenna, Nick, and Gwen gossiped about work. The only drawback to hanging out with coworkers was that professional and personal lives tended to blend into one. Ryan and I talked about everything but East Coast Prime, however. I learned that he too had a shelter dog and that he lived a condo in New Albany, one of the nicer suburbs of Columbus. He studied business management at Ohio State, and he was a Pisces. The five of us drank at Union for another couple of hours before going our separate ways. Jenna went reluctantly back to her husband, and I went home more buzzed than I’d intended and got cozy with my iPad and Sunday night television.

  Monday morning followed a long night of uninterrupted sleep during which I dreamed about Jay for what felt like hours on end. It was peculiar to dream about someone whose face you could scarcely remember. I had fragmented recollections of his features but was having difficulty trying to piece together the whole of his splendor. And I had a strong sense that the whole was worth more than the sum of its parts. But Jay’s energy alone was enough to fuel my visions while I slept and to keep me blissfully unaware of the harsh wintry weather outside.

  I used that Monday as a personal day and spent the morning lounging around my apartment listening to music, drinking entirely too much coffee, and savoring another day away from my office. I actually had plans that afternoon too. It was my former roommate Erica’s twenty-ninth birthday party. And while I didn’t fully understand why it was on a Monday afternoon (though a few of the girls had quit their jobs after getting married, which probably had something to do with it), I was grateful for the time off and the chance to see everyone. Stacey, our other former housemate, had been in charge of planning the party.

  We were meeting at Jacob Neal, a spa in the Short North, which was convenient for me because I just had to walk downstairs and back up again when it was over (particularly convenient if I consumed too much champagne). I was fairly certain that nearly everyone invited to the party was either married or engaged, and at least half of the girls were pregnant. And then there was me, Elle Coppola, who’d only had sex once in the past five months, and who was stuck on the dream I'd had the night before of a man I barely knew who lived 564 miles away.

  The birthday girl was already there when I arrived, and she greeted me warmly with a hug as I handed off her birthday present—a Bond No. 9 Andy Warhol fragrance, which I purchased on Gilt so I looked like a hero even though I'd only spent fifty bucks. Stacey greeted me next, her enormous diamond glistening from the skylight hitting it in just in the right spot and sending sparkle in every direction. It blinded me in the left eye, making me wince.

  “Did my ring just blind you? Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Stacey said, cackling.

  “A little bit, but it's okay.”

  Cutting me off, she said through laughter, “Erica, my diamond just blinded Elle when she looked directly at it!”

  Stacey was married to the son of Columbus’s most prominent plastic surgeon. As a result, she had already received complimentary implants and liposuction. I heard that shaving off the bridge of her nose before she got pregnant was on the books too. Virtually all Stacey spoke about anymore was her father-in-law’s high-profile status (apparently he’d invented some sort of facial filler) and how lovely her life had become since taking on the family’s last name.

  The other girls arrived one by one. There was Jess, a pregnant newlywed who, according to Erica, envied everything about Stacey, including her diamond, her successful husband, her constant world travels, and most recently, her boobs. Then there was Caroline, also married, though for a little longer than the other two, and also pregnant. Megan, who I knew well, showed up next; she was Erica’s sister. Megan had a boyfriend like my ex—a drunk, and I’d tried desperately to convince her there was no changing him, but apparently she hadn’t learned that yet because her Facebook profile still linked to his.

  Serena, my other newlywed, newly pregnant friend, was there too. I'd been a bridesmaid in her wedding the year before. Unlike the others, Serena wasn’t obsessed with babies before getting married, but she had shockingly morphed from a down-to-earth girl who smoked pot every day into a total bridezilla, so I supposed anything could change with the drop of a garter belt. Then there was Amy, the only other single person. She’d just exited a long-term relationship and, according to Erica, was really bent out of shape about it. Judging by the permanent scowl on her face, I believed it.

  We had a small private space in the rear of the spa, where fragrant candles and the smell of massage oil permeated the interior. The rectangular space was earthy, clean, and Zen-like. It contained six pedicure chairs, one massage table, and a lounge area where hors d’oeuvres were displayed. I added to the display a bottle of East Coast Prime’s private label champagne, along with some sushi I’d drunkenly picked up from the North Market on my walk home from Union the day before.

  Due to time restrictions we were each allowed choose one spa service. I opted for a pedicure and took a seat between Serena and Erica. As we waited for our technicians to come over, we caught up on each other’s lives. I told them how I still couldn’t stand work or my boss, but that I had no choice but to stick it out because of the dreary economy. Interestingly, neither of them seemed to relate to my sentiments, nor to really anything negative at all. They had no complaints to speak of. Instead they talked about weddings and babies and asked if I was seeing anyone new.

  It felt almost ridiculous telling anyone about Jay, because the relationship was scarcely more than a spot on the radar of my life. But nonetheless I brought him up, since he was pretty much the only thing on my mind that got me even remotely keyed up.

  “You’re lighting up talking about him,” Serena said excitedly. “What does he look like?”

  “He’s gorgeous. Way out of my league.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Erica said. “You look amazing, Elle. I’ve never seen you look better.”

  “You’re the one who’s out of her mind.” I hadn’t even worn eye makeup that day. And my eyes were such a pale shade of blue that I looked comatose when I didn’t apply mascara.

  “Maybe he’s the one,” Serena said. “Long distance, instant connection, gorgeous stranger . . . sounds like something straight out of a movie. If the sex is good, he’s a shoo-in.”

  “Don’t get carried away.” I said. “It’s really new, and we know so little about each other.”

  “Well, you better get to know him!” Erica said. “If you really like a guy, you need to be all over it. Good guys who are also good-looking are few and far between. Not everyone out there can find a fiancé like mine.” She winked. She did have a great fiancé, the kind I wanted someday. Mark was funny, sweet, owned his own business, and was easy to talk to, even for a shy person like me. “I’m serious, Elle, you’re pushing thirty. You don’t want to be single at thirty-five, do you?”

  My mind went instantly to Penny, and I shuddered. “Well, no . . .,” I was slightly offended and rudely awakened at the same time. “He’s coming back to Columbus in a couple of weeks, so I’ll work on it.”

  I wasn’t stressed about my fling with Jay until exactly that moment. Suddenly, I felt pressured to make it work no matter what. What if Jay was the first and last guy of his caliber who would ever want me? It was already a total fluke that he was even interested at all. Erica was right, I was on the verge of entering a new age bracket, and who knew what sort of vibe thirty-something single women exuded to men? I could be giving off a vibe of desperation without even knowing it! Yikes. It felt like being the last kid picked for a team in gym class, something I was painfully familiar with.

  I swore to myself that things would be different with Jay. He would be the one—the one I’d work to get and work to keep. Worst-case scenario, I could move to New York. And that wouldn’t even be so bad. I could get used to a l
ife in the big city. Sure, I’d miss my family, but New York was vibrant. I felt tense as I was forcefully scrubbed with pumice by a nail technician, and each grind of the stone to the sole of my foot was like a painful reminder that landing Jay would be no easy feat. I wondered why he hadn’t texted me yet (it was nearly one in the afternoon). I started to panic, so I shot him a message that simply read, Hi there.

  Hey babe, he quickly responded.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. His texts were like crack to me. When they waned I felt low, and when they came through I was high; I felt invincible. Maybe I really could make something of my new fling after all. Jay had everything going for him, and according to my friends, so did I. I just had to convince myself that they were right.

  5

  Following Erica’s birthday, I was resolute in the decision to make Jay Conrad mine. Erica and the other girls were right: I had to I seal the deal during Jay’s impending visit. Ending up with him would be the ultimate vindication. The mean girls from high school had long since settled down with their high school sweethearts, the former jocks who now had protruding abdomens and diminishing hairlines, but not me. I’d spent the past decade growing as an individual and finding the crème de la crème of men. With Jay by my side, I could do anything I wanted and be the person I always wanted to be.

  Always the pessimist, Jenna reminded me that I should be wary. She believed it was likely that Jay was so good looking that he was inevitably a player. And even Jay himself had even mentioned in a text message to having had only negligible relationship experience. But I argued that for the right girl he would change. And I was the right girl. I had to be. Since meeting Jay, I'd felt transformed. I had a shot at happiness with someone who no doubt had women falling at his feet.

  Two weeks felt like two long, agonizing years as I waited for Jay to arrive back in Columbus for our first official date. He’d landed just before noon for his meeting on a Thursday, and we were going to dinner later that evening. I’d taken the following Friday off, knowing that I’d be too hungover to work. I always required a drink to loosen up on a date, and for a date with Jay, I’d probably need three or four. I planned to drink in proportion to his hotness, just to be on the safe side.

  Being at work that day was torturous. Knowing that Jay was in Columbus while I was indentured to a time clock was excruciating. It took every ounce of my willpower to not get up and walk out of my office for good. The day dragged on, teasing me as if it were fully aware of the pot of gold waiting for me at the end of it. On top of the day crawling by, I had to stop at the downtown restaurant on the way home to greet a few customers. There, I got stuck talking to Ryan about an upcoming bridal shower.

  “We can’t set up the tables that way in the Ambassador Room, Elle. It just won’t work for thirty-five people,” he said, showing me the floor plan that I’d created.

  “Can we talk about this next week?”

  “Why, do you have somewhere better to be?”

  “She sure does!” Jenna said, perkier than normal. “She’s got a super hot date tonight!”

  “Oh really?” Ryan shifted his stare from Jenna to me. The three of us were squished into the tiny manager’s office.

  “Yes, really,” I said, blushing.

  “Well,” Ryan said, taking a step backward, “please don’t let me keep you from him.” I thought I detected a hint of bitterness in his tone.

  “Have fun, send pics!” Jenna said.

  “Yeah, right.” I quickly escaped before anyone else could ask me any questions.

  As I was leaving, I heard Ryan whisper to Jenna, “She’s got a date?”

  Jenna replied, “Yeah, a guy she’s seeing from New York.” More whispers followed, but by then they were beyond my range of hearing.

  The dog sitter had Luna until later in the evening, so I had a full two hours to primp myself into perfection for Jay. After showering and blowing out my hair, I lounged around in a silky bathrobe, which I always did before a date to feel feminine. I was on edge but excited at the same time. I played some soft music to soothe my nerves and sipped on half a glass of white wine to loosen up. I couldn’t believe how anxious I was. It felt that so much was riding on how Jay felt about me that night.

  The wine and the music soothed my nerves, so I selected my attire. I chose a Banana Republic shift dress for its exquisite fit. It was cobalt blue, long-sleeved, and very short—hitting my leg well above the knee. I went barelegged, donning a pair of nude Via Spiga platform pumps that I’d purchased from Nordstrom for Jay’s viewing pleasure. Determined to look better than he’d remembered, I’d gone spray tanning the day before and looked like a giant brunette latte, precisely as I’d intended.

  I accessorized, doused myself in perfume, and did a triple take in the full-length mirror. I left my apartment sufficiently wound up and feeling good about myself. As a rule, I used driving time to psych myself up before I went on any date. But Jay’s hotel was less than five minutes from my apartment, so I didn’t have much time. To make up for it, I played some Kanye, which always made me feel like a badass, and was on my way.

  I sent a text telling Jay that I’d be there in five, and instructing him to come down and look for a white Volvo. I did my best to drive slowly, trying to quell my overzealousness enough to avoid a speeding ticket. When I arrived at the Hyatt, I saw the revolving door rotate and several people dressed up for the night exited the lobby onto the street and hopped into taxis. No sign of Jay. I did a quick circle around the block and pulled through again. He finally emerged.

  He looked exactly how I remembered, only better. He was unaware that I was watching, but the sight of him was just what the doctor ordered. He was the kind of guy who stopped traffic and turned heads everywhere. Even other men seemed aware of his charisma. I noticed him spot my car and walk toward me. My heart rate increased. My palms were clammy, my body was overheated, and my cheeks were flushed. There was no turning back. Jay opened the car door, smiling, and I instantly detected his signature aroma of cologne and cigarettes.

  “Hey, hot stuff.” he said. “We meet again.” Calm, cool, and collected; he was everything I wasn’t but everything I knew he would be.

  “Hey. Nice to see you.” I said.

  He hugged me awkwardly in the front seat of my car. My small coupe and fitted white coat restricted us from really locking into a full-fledged embrace. He wore a pair of slender dark jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black fitted sport coat with a white pocket square. The whole thing was very Tom Ford, my sartorial weakness when it came to men's fashion. His shoes looked new, and his tan was still visible.

  “How was your flight?” I said, finally able to muster speech.

  “A little bumpy, but I’m here. I’m glad to be back. I’m starting to like Columbus.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, keeping my eyes on the road ahead of me. “I hope you like the restaurant.”

  “If you picked it, I’m sure it’ll be great,” he replied. His confidence was unnerving, and I imagined that it came from a lifetime of good looks and, consequently, special treatment from everyone he encountered; it was a confidence that I did not possess.

  We made small talk as I drove us fifteen minutes south of downtown to Grandview Heights. I couldn’t tell if Jay was uneasy at all, but I was, and I was pretty sure it was obvious. Any time I sensed an awkward silence looming, I’d immediately fill it with excessive small talk, exactly the way I did when we first met. I couldn’t handle awkward silences, especially with him. I wanted to have all the earmarks of someone who was fascinating, vital, and full of passion.

  The restaurant I chose was Third & Hollywood, aptly named for its location on the corner of 3rd Street and Hollywood Avenue. It was a contemporary American bistro with shadowy lighting, a lively bar, exposed brick, and an open kitchen—exactly the kind of atmosphere in which great first dates were made. I'd spent hours the week before selecting just the right venue, one that would deliver the perfect casual but sexy ambiance. It was slightly hip wit
h just a touch of romance. My choice said, “I’m a cool girl and I like you, but I’m not obsessed with you—I can take you or leave you.” As if I’d ever leave him.

  I finally stopped rambling by the time we entered the restaurant. The noisy crowd at the dimly lit bar filled our ears instead of intermittent silence. The hostess, who eyed Jay up and down, gave us a forty-minute wait for a table and instructed him that she’d “do anything she possibly could to get us in sooner.” Earlier in the day I hemmed and hawed over calling ahead to reserve a table, but ultimately opted against a formal reservation. I wanted to appear blasé and to have a go-with-the-flow air about me. With a guy like Jay I wouldn’t score a second date if I came off as too regimented too early on. Even though I didn’t grow up with men falling at my feet, I knew what made them linger and what made them run. While waiting, we took the last two seats at the end of the bar. Jay ordered a Jack Daniels and Coke, and I asked for a glass of Cabernet.

  “You look hot, by the way,” he said, not appearing apprehensive in the least. But why would he be? He undoubtedly went out on dates with different woman all the time, so surely he was used to the dynamic of it all.

  Relieved that the lights were low and that I could blush without his noticing, I smiled and glanced at him from the corner of my eye, feeling my cheeks redden. “Thanks.”

  “How does your wine taste?” He looked into my eyes attentively. His intensity was disarming. I had to constantly remind myself that he was just a man, not a mythological deity.

  “Excellent. Would you like to try it?”

  “Sure.” He took my glass and sipped the wine with the elegance of a sommelier. “Red wine’s never been my thing, but that’s not bad. You have good taste.”

  “Well, I know how to order a good bottle because of my job. A few years ago, I was clueless about wine, but now I have an appreciation for it. I like a full-bodied red.”