Meg Cabot - Queen Of Babble - In The Big City

“Regrettably,” I say.

“Well, it just so happens,” he says, “that Pendergast, Loughlin, and Flynn just lost their morning receptionist to a touring company of Tarzan, the musical.”

I blink at him. “Your dad’s law firm?”

“Correct,” Chaz says. “The receptionist position there is apparently so demanding that it has to be split into two shifts, one from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon, and the other from two in the afternoon until eight in the evening. The afternoon shift is currently held by a young woman with modeling aspirations, who needs her mornings free for go-sees… or to recover from her hangover from partying the night before, whichever you care to believe. But they’re looking for someone to fill in for the morning shift. So, if you’re serious about wanting a job, it might not be a bad gig for you. You’d have your afternoons free for Monsieur Whatsisname, and you wouldn’t have to sell off your Betty Boop collection, or whatever it is. It only pays twenty bucks an hour, but it comes with benefits like major medical and paid vaca—”

But he doesn’t get to go on. Because I’ve already thrown myself at him when I hear the words “twenty bucks an hour.”

“Chaz, are you serious?” I cry, grasping big handfuls of his T-shirt. “Will you really put in a good word for me?”

“Ow,” Chaz says. “That’s my chest hair you’re pulling.”

I let go of him. “Oh God. Chaz! If I could work all morning, then go to Monsieur Henri’s in the afternoons… I might be able to make it. I might actually be able to make it in New York City after all! I won’t have to sell my stuff! I won’t have to go home!” More important, I won’t have to admit to Luke how much of a failure I am.

“I’ll call Roberta in human resources and set up an appointment for you,” Chaz says. “But I’m warning you, Lizzie. It’s not easy work. Sure, all you’re doing is transferring phone calls. But my dad’s law firm specializes in divorces and matrimonial planning—in other words, prenups. Their clients are pretty demanding, and the lawyers are pretty uptight. Things can get really tense. I know, my dad had me work in the mailroom one summer when I was just out of high school. And it sucked.”

I’m barely listening. “Is there a dress code? Do I have to wear panty hose? I hate panty hose.”

Chaz sighs. “Roberta can tell you all about that. Listen. Not to make it not all about you for a change, or anything, but do you know what’s up with Shari?”

That gets my attention. “Shari? No. Why? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.” For a minute, Chaz looks younger than his twenty-six years—which is only three years older than Shari and I are, and yet in so many ways, light-years older than that, even. I personally think that’s what comes of sending your kid off to boarding school during those integral tween and teen years. But maybe that’s just me. I can’t imagine having a kid and purposely sending him away, the way Chaz’s parents did, just because he was a little ADD. “She just can’t seem to stop talking about this new boss of hers.”

“Pat?” I’ve heard the Pat stories ad nauseum myself. Every time I talk to Shari, it seems like she has another story about her intrepid new boss to share.

But it isn’t a wonder, really, that Shari’s impressed by the woman. She has, after all, been instrumental in saving hundreds, maybe even thousands of women’s lives by getting them out of their abusive family situations and into new safe environments.

“Yeah,” Chaz says, when I mention this. “I know all that. And I’m glad Shari likes her job, and all. It’s just… I hardly ever see her anymore. She’s always working. Not just nine to five, but evenings and some weekends, too.”

“Well,” I say. Regrettably, I’m beginning to sober up already. “I’m sure she’s just trying to keep afloat. From what she says, the girl who had the job before her kind of left everything in a huge mess. She told me it would be months before she got it all straightened out.”

“Yeah,” Chaz says. “She told me that, too.”

“So,” I say. “You should be proud of her. She’s helping to make a difference.” Unlike me. And, I want to add, Chaz, who is only working on his Ph.D., after all. Although when he gets it, he intends to teach. Which is admirable. I mean, molding young minds, and all. Certainly more than I can say I’ll ever be doing.

But young girls, they do get weary…

Okay, I totally have to stop thinking of that song all the time.

“I am proud of her,” Chaz says. “I just wish she could help make a difference fewer hours of the day, is all.”

“Aw.” I smile at him. “You’re sweet. You wuv your girlfriend.”

He shoots a sarcastic look at me. “Maybe you do have a personality disorder,” he says.

I laugh and take a swing at him, but he ducks.

“What about you and Luke?” he wants to know. “I mean, aside from the shameful secret you’re keeping from him—about your abject poverty—how are you two getting along?”

“Great,” I say. I think about asking him what I should do about Luke’s mom. The guy who’d called—the one with the accent—had left another message, sounding wounded that Bibi hadn’t shown up to their meeting. Again, he didn’t leave a name, but again, he’d mentioned their standing appointment, and that he’d be waiting.

I’d erased the message before Luke got home from class. It just didn’t seem to me like the kind of thing a guy would want to listen to. About his mother, that is.

Of course, I was considering the fact that I hadn’t blabbed the whole thing out to Luke anyway the minute he walked through the door a sign of my newfound maturity and ability to keep my mouth shut.

The fact that I’m not blabbing it to Chaz now is even further proof of my incredible New York sangfroid.

Instead I say to Chaz conversationally, “I’m still doing the tiny woodland creature thing, and it seems to be working.”

Chaz blinks at me. “The what?”

And I realize, belatedly, that I’ve been lulled into a false sense of comfort by his easygoing nature… so much so that I’ve started talking to him about stuff I normally reserve for Shari’s ears only! What am I doing, talking about my woodland creature theory with another GUY? Worse than just another guy—my boyfriend’s best friend?

“Uh, nothing,” I say quickly. “Things are fine with Luke.”

“What’s the tiny woodland creature thing?” he wants to know.

“Nothing,” I say again. “Just—nothing. It’s a girl thing. It’s not important.”

But Chaz totally won’t let it go. “Is it a sex thing?”

“Oh my God!” I cry. “No! It’s not a sex thing! God!”

“Well, what is it then? Come on, you can tell me. I won’t tell Luke.”

“Oh, right,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve heard that before—”

Chaz looks wounded. “What? Have I ever ratted you out to any of your boyfriends before?”

I glare at him. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before. At least, not one who wasn’t gay or using me for my money. Back when I had some money, I mean.”

“Come on, just tell me,” Chaz says. “What’s it mean to do the tiny woodland creature thing? I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“Just… ” I can see I have no choice but to tell him. Otherwise, he’s never going to let it go. And with my luck, he’ll bring it up in front of Luke. “It’s just this theory I have, all right? That guys are like tiny woodland creatures. And to lure them in, you can’t make any sudden moves. You have to be subtle. You have to be cool.”

“Lure them in to do what?” Chaz asks, seeming genuinely not to know. “You’ve already got Luke. I mean, you’re living together. Although I still don’t understand why you can’t tell your parents that’s what you’re doing. They’re going to find out it isn’t Shari you’re sharing your place with eventually. Don’t you think the fact that you have an address on Fifth Avenue is going to make them a little suspicious?”