“Oh my god, are you serious?” Marley giggles over the phone. “Why doesn’t he just stay bald? Bald guys can be very good-looking, like the Rock or Vin Diesel.”
“Well, for one, James didn’t have the physique of the Rock or Vin Diesel,” I say dryly. “He’s more along the lines of Fred Savage.”
Marley giggles again.
“Hey, Fred Savage isn’t that bad. I mean, he’s old but he looks young still!”
But I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself to comment on the pros and cons of an 80’s sitcom star.
“This would never happen if my art would just take off already,” I vent miserably over the phone. “Why why why?”
My friend immediately becomes serious.
“Becoming a successful artist takes time,” she reassures. “You’re very talented and I know one day you’ll be able to support yourself solely with your illustrations. In the meantime, you have City Girls. Don’t be sad because it’s a good gig, girlfriend! The clients suck sometimes, but it’s fine. At least it was just a wig, and nothing more serious.”
I sigh. Deep down I know Marley is right. Most artists have to wait tables at shabby restaurants or change bed sheets at the Hilton just to get by. Meanwhile, I get paid a pretty penny to put on a smile and get wined and dined by rich, successful men. I have it easy by comparison, and I should be grateful.
Plus, I am making progress with my career. I did sell some illustrations in the past month, and while I may not be making a living at it just yet, it’s more than nothing. But I’m still far too enraged by tonight’s humiliation to be anything but angry.
“You weren’t there!” I assert. “Everybody at the skating rink was looking at us in disgust. It was so embarrassing.”
Marley laughs sympathetically.
“But Nells, they’re just random strangers you’ll never see again. Besides, clients are clients, and at least you got paid tonight, right?”
I let out a sigh. She’s right. She’s always right because Marley is one of the most grounded individuals I know. Even when life throws her the wildest of scenarios, she’s able to keep her wits about her. My friend is the only person I know that could bring me back to Earth during one of my freak-outs.
“I know,” I finally grumble. “But still, I want more than this. You have an amazing husband, a beautiful child, and your dream career. I want that too!”
“Sure, but not so long ago I was in exactly your place,” she reminds me. “My current life fell into my lap exactly when it was supposed to. And your dream life will come to you when it’s supposed to too.”
“Yes, but when?” I ask, continuing my pity party. “It’s incredibly difficult to meet a boyfriend when you’re working for City Girls. And let’s be honest: most guys don’t want to date an escort for obvious reasons. They think we’re sluts, so I have to keep this job on the downlow!” Tears fill my eyes now as I look down at my feet.
But then Marley’s voice comes in my ear, perky and excited.
“I know what you’re talking about, but I may have a solution. Let me set you up on a blind date. I have a great guy in mind,” she says enthusiastically.
“I don’t know,” I say hesitantly. “Blind dates are usually bad news.”
“Trust me, you’ll like this guy,” she quickly responds. “You’ve always liked the same guys as me.”
I make a face, although she can’t see.
“Oh eew, I don’t want to be set up with an old boyfriend of yours or anything! That would be gross.”
She giggles.
“What?! No! I didn’t mean it like that. The man I have in mind is open-minded, and I’ve never dated him, I promise.” I ponder the idea for a moment. Blind dates generally don’t work out well, but on the other hand, it couldn’t possibly go any worse than tonight. Plus, I am kind of desperate. I haven’t been on a real date in probably more than a year at this point.
“Okay,” I say with some apprehension. “But does he wear a wig?”
Marley giggles mirthfully.
“Not as far as I know,” she drawls.
“Okay,” I sigh. “Then I’ll go out with this guy if you insist.”
“Eeek!” Marley squeals into the phone. “Oh, I’m so excited. You’re going to love him because he’s incredibly handsome, so smart, and filthy rich too.”
I worm my toe into the shabby carpet, suddenly very curious about the guy she has in mind.
“Who is he?” I ask. “Why is he still single if he’s all these good things?”
But my friend just clucks.
“You’ll have to wait and see because I’m not going to let you dive into an all-night Google research project. You’ll like him, trust me. I’ll text you the details of the date, okay? Watch your phone.”
“This better be good,” I mumble in a tragi-comic way. But then I perk up. “No seriously Marls,” I say, suddenly remembering my manners. “Thank you so much. I appreciate the fact that you thought of me.”