Last-Minute Love (from 2nd book in the Year of the Chick series)

Chapter Four

I escaped my Paris daydream and entered the great hall of the library. It was filled with those long desks and green lamps I’d seen in so many movies. The place was also full of people, just like I’d imagined, only most of them were using laptops instead of reading books.Slightly less romantic. I moved along until I reached a great wooden archway, with the following message engraved in the middle: “A good book is the treasured life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured on purpose to a life beyond life.” In that moment I thought about every book I’d ever read more than once or that I couldn’t forget. “Jane Eyre” came to mind, and how my heart would always beat so fast, when she finally got together with Mr. Rochester. Then of course there were the modern literary feats like “Shantaram,” the only book where nine-hundred pages went so fast I actually cried when it was over. I had yet to encounter another book that could vividly paint so many pictures through emotions. I knew without a doubt that my very first novel wouldn’t measure up to anything grand, but standing here in this library, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life trying to write one that did.

I ventured back into the marble corridor, with round golden chandeliers hanging high from the domed ceilings.

My stroll came to a stop when I heard a little cough.

I turned to see Laura trying her hardest not to look bored.

“FINE,” I said. “We can go.” I looked around one last time and sighed. “I hope New Yorkers appreciate what they have.” My voice seemed to carry a slight echo and I liked it. “Yeah that’s right! I hope you all appreciate it!” That second statement resulted in some strange looks, so we quickly made our way to the exit. Even as we left, nothing could take away the soul-enriching feeling of this visit.

Now how could any trip that included men top a moment like that?

***

A steady beat blared in this darkened hole of a bar. Candle lit tables snaked their way through the crowds, and Laura and I had managed to grab one. Tonight was “five-dollar lychee martini night” until eleven p.m., and both of us had taken full advantage.

We were currently sprawled across a long leather couch, with a table of empty martini glasses showing the night’s damage.

“I can’t get any fucking reception in here!” cried Laura. She raised her cell phone at different and increasingly awkward angles. Just then one of the guys from the table next to us tapped me on the shoulder. He was a tall skinny guy with short black hair, and he looked a few years younger than me.

“Hey, I’m Adam!” he said. He whispered the next part: “My friends and I are interns at Bam-A-Lamb.” He pointed to a table full of hipsters in their early twenties, horizontally-striped shirts and thick-rimmed glasses all around.

“What the hell is ‘Bam-A-Lamb’?” I said, rolling my eyes freely at his all-too-eager face. “It sounds like a company that murders baby sheep with a machine gun.” The healing properties of alcohol were now in full force, as I had James off my mind and was deep in my “no-man” zone. This made things easy for me, and brutally honest for others.

“No it’s spelled L-A-M,” he explained. “And it’s the hottest Internet start-up the world has ever seen!” He crossed his arms to reveal two unimpressive forearms, as his eyes travelled down to my black slinky top.

This guy and his company were not the sort of thing that would make my underwear spontaneously combust in a fit of ecstasy. Instead my eyes said “bored” and the rest of me was dead. This didn’t seem to faze him, as he slowly leaned in closer and smiled. “You have an interesting accent,” he said. “Are you from out of town?”