t’s only a couple of months but it feels like a world away when I meet Sonya in Rare Roasts for a snatched midweek morning coffee. The clatter and the steam and the morning voices all jangle my nerves. Sonya is busy on her phone and I’m at risk of becoming irritable.
When she looks up finally, she smiles, lifts her latte and says, “So. Before I have to dash, tell me all about your fairy tale life.” She took a sip and a beat before she said, “Give me some inspiration for the grinding interview ahead.”
“Oh, poor baby. Off to meet a rockstar in a horribly luxurious suite in the Park Plaza?” I mean it to sound playful. I’m surprised when a sour note trails off at the end. Sonya’s eyebrows tighten before she answers.
“It’s a fashion designer at the Carlyle. And he has been pretty hard work. He gave me a massive hard time about the schedule and insisting on providing his own pictures, which my editor is still spitting nails about. He sent a long email of questions I can ask him.”
She takes another sip and a deep breath. “It’s his first New York Fashion Week show. That must be incredibly nerve-wracking. A show costs a fortune to put on and I know he must have backers leaning hard on him on every side. I understand but I’m looking hard to find a positive outlook for the morning.”
I do sympathize. “I’m sorry, Sonya. I didn’t mean to sound cranky.”
She waves it away. “It’s okay, honey, don’t worry about it. I just have to find a way into the interview where I can ask him about his inspiration and let him give me his sales patter. Some way that I can stay focused on his work and not the things I really want to ask him.”
“Ooh.” She has my attention, “What’s that?”
“What I really want to know is whether it’s true that his backers are all from the Russian Mob. But are you alright?” Sonya looks into my face as she reaches a hand across the table. “It’s not like you to be like that. Not even first thing in the morning.”
I take a gulp of my Americano. “You were asking about my fairy tale life?” she nods, “I’m starting to think it may have a little too much fairy tale content.”
Sonya looks surprised. “Are his stories getting stale, Alexa? Or is it something else?”
“His stories are still just as steamy and toe curlingly wonderful as they always were.” I feel my throat tighten. It seem’s like drowning a kitten to say, ‘but’ after talking about the tales he weaves so lovingly for me, “but when we started out, they were the way that he pursued me. That was how he made up for being a long way away.”
Another gulp of coffee doesn’t make the morning brighten. “Now he’s been suggesting we move in together.”
Sonya blinks, “Into the wonderful penthouse he’s always telling you about?” She raises her cup. “But what a tragedy. How appalling.”
I try to smile and my head shakes. “Over the last six weeks, he spent more time in Kuala Lumpur than he has in New York. If I moved in with him, I’m afraid I’d lonelier than Tobias, my sister’s poor fish.”
“You’ve talked top him about it?”
“Of course. But he always tells me how well he’s doing. He’s driven and competitive. And he’s incredibly ambitious. I think he wants his own airline eventually.”
“You poor thing.” The sarcasm drips from Sonya’s words.
“But I never see him, Sonya. It’s worse than not having a relationship.”
“Really? Are you sure?” she arches an eyebrow.
“Ok, no. When I am with him, it’s… wonderful. And his stories are really fantastic. But they’re stories.”
The words surprised me as I heard them come out of my mouth. “I’m starting to think I may have to start a new story of my own.”