WARNING: This story contains adult content
Chapter Eight: The message ended with directions to a cafe in Kitsilano, The Starving Artist
The Sweater Curse
Chapter Nine
My friend Cleo and I sat at a table in our restaurant, the chic Pablo’s Bistro. She wore a printed linen spring dress with matching wrap, her dark brunette hair swept up and away from her ageless face. Cleo had climbed the ladder of success upon the back of one husband after another. I’d met her in my teens when she and her husband had moved into our neighborhood; she was one of the younger wives. Her husband was a fragile, old millionaire.
As we chatted in the bistro, handsome, attentive, white-apron-clad servers circled around us.
Cleo took a sip of her cocktail and… “When will I meet Romeo?”
“This Saturday at seven. I’m throwing a dinner party for fifteen of my closest and dearest friends.”
Her iPhone sat on the table inches away from her glass. A quick scroll and… “Well, la-de-da. Of course, I’ll be there, darling. Tell me more about him. All I know is his name. Jay, Jay, Jay, I say on those special nights—when I'm feeling amorous.” When I laughed, she said, "Of course, he’s gorgeous, or why bother? More details.”
“He lives and works in Kitsilano.”
“Um.” She sniffed. “Kits is nice. What does he do—beside you? Lawyer, banker, corporate executive? What, darling, what?”
I knew better than to tell her the complete truth. “He manages a café.”
“Oh, baby, no. Manages? Doesn’t own? I’ve heard Matthew is still interested. I could arrange a—.”
“No, thank you.” My conversation with Cleo should have clued me in to the disaster to follow, but no. Foolishly, I followed through with my plan.
Precisely at seven, my guests began arriving at my stylish apartment in West Vancouver. They grouped together and immediately began to whisper.
“Look at how he’s dressed.”
“Who cuts his hair?”
“It really isn’t like her to date white trash.”
“Is he the writer who read at Ronald’s party? No, he can’t be.”
My caterer served the entrée as my friends spoke of lavish vacations. Jay didn’t utter a word.
Between mouthfuls of New York cheesecake, my friend Alester inquired. “What type of car do you drive? Lexus, Audi, BMW, Ferrari, Porsche?” He owned a luxury car dealership.
“I don’t own a car,” Jay told him. My friends looked at him blankly. “I use public transit.”
They nearly gagged.
“Well, I guess you’ll be able to use Gwen’s Audi now,” Alester said.
It was a loaded comment, but Jay simply replied, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Over cocktails, one of my friends commented, “So, Gwen tells us you manage a café.”
“Oh, yes, I do, The Starving Artist. It’s a collectively owned and operated café in Kitsilano.”
“Collective?”
“For emerging and established artists and artisans,” he innocently informed them.
“You’re an artist?” The room fell deathly quiet.
“Yes, I’m an author.”
“With which publishing house?” Victoria inquired. She had recently divorced the executive editor at Fitzgerald and Fraser.
“Oh, no, self-published.”
I heard gasps and saw shocked faces. The minute he left for the bathroom, they started yapping at me like a pack of Pomeranians.
“You’re letting him use your car?” and “He’s a gold digger. When he finds out you have no money, he’ll dump you.” and “He’s not good enough for you.” and “He’s not rich enough.” and “He’s just a dreamer.” and “You can do so much better.”
I meet this attack face-on. “I’m in love. You’re my friends. I thought you would be happy.” My voice was measured, controlled.
“Are you planning to tell Finn about Jay? Or juggle them both?” Alester sneered. Finn owned the apartment I lived in rent-free. He lived half of the year in Ireland and the other half in Vancouver with me.
“Friends? Honestly, Gwen, how did you pick us?” I should have known Cleo would defend me. “This is none of our business. There’s no ring on her finger. She’s free to do what, and whoever, she wants.”
“And besides, I’m planning to move out,” I said bluntly, hoping to silence them.
“Really? You’re jobless, penniless. Where are you going to go?”
Before I could answer Alester’s question, Jay walked back into the room.
Sunday, December 21, at approximately 4:40 PM PT
The Sweater Curse
Chapter Ten
In a one-bedroom apartment in Kitsilano, Jay led an austere lifestyle.
Write now...
Summer like dreams
doesn't die
It just waits
to be reborn
written on Tuesday, December 9
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