I decided I'd spend Valentine's Day in my apartment. Locked up in my bedroom, hidden under the blankets. Valentine's Day also marked my three-week anniversary in my new job. I was hired to write weekly columns in a style and fashion magazine. Kinda like Carrie Bradshaw, I thought, but living in the wrong city.
My parents urged me to come to New York. They wanted to see if I was doing alright. I guess the weekly telephone calls they're getting aren't convincing enough.
Yes, I caved in. I gave my mom my new number. But with one condition: under no circumstances was she to give out that number. To anyone. Especially to Bridget, who according to my mom was calling their New York home every other day.
My telephone rang and I sighed. I didn't want to leave my bed. Who could it be?
Chloe? It's me Anne.
Oh, hey Anne. What's up? Is something wrong with my column?
No, no. It's fine. I called to see if you have any plans for tonight.
Ummm. No...
Perfect. I'll be there in two hours to pick you up. Wear something sexy.
Wait!...
Great! Now I can't even enjoy a peaceful evening at home.
Two hours later I was dressed in a strawberry red figure-hugging dress with nude Louboutins. I put my hair in a low ponytail and applied my makeup generously.
The doorbell rand and I pressed the button of the intercom.
Anne: Wow! You look amazing. I almost regret asking you to join us.
C: Us?
A: Yeah, a couple friends of mine are waiting downstairs. All single. We thought it'd be nice to go out and have some fun. I thought about how you said you're single and decided to invite you.
C: Thanks! Does that mean I'm a hopeless case now, too?
A: Let's not waste time. The limo is waiting.
We rode the elevator down and exited the apartment building. The limo was parked in front of the house and loud cheers were audible.
We got in and Anne quickly introduced me to the rest of the bunch. All of these women were past their 30s. Though some were married or at least in a serious relationship at some point in the past, they now all agreed that they're feeling better now that they're single. Singles apparently have more fun in LA.
I studied the women. They all seemed happy but I couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't all a lie. And if this was going to be me in ten years.
That's it if I stay here for that long!
We arrived at this super exclusive club were you have to wait months to be added to the guest list. We slid past the bouncers and entered the club. The music was loud but not deafening. The people were cheerful but not drunk. The men flirty but not desperate. I joined Anne at the bar and we downed two shots of tequila each.
A: There are a lot of single men here tonight. Who knows, one of them might be Mr. Right!
C: I doubt that.
I answered but she didn't hear me. Instead she gave me a cheeky grin and left me alone at the bar. I looked around. There were indeed a lot of single men here. But none of them really caught my eye. I looked closer. Most of those single men were in their 30s. Or even 40s. A lot of them wore suits which made me think they just got here from their jobs.
