Around five in the afternoon, Lainey and I return to our building, and I’m exhausted. I feel like I had been with Serena from Gossip Girl for the afternoon. We shopped at no fewer than seven stores, had lunch at a small cafe, and finished the excursion with manicures and pedicures. I really could use a nap before getting dressed and heading to dinner with David—something I’m still trying to wrap my head around—but I have less than two hours until I am supposed to meet up with him, so no time for a nap. Besides, I am so nervous, I don’t think I could sleep even if I tried.

I put away my new things and can’t believe how much I spent on so few clothes—more than $800. I don’t think I’ve spent this much on clothes over the past ten years! And all I got were two dresses—one I would call fancy, the other a sundress—a top, a pair of linen pants, a pair of jeans, a cute pair of sandals that lace up my ankle which Lainey called gladiator sandals, and a pair of two-inch heels, which I’m afraid to wear because I’m not experienced with heels, but Lainey insisted I get them and learn how to wear them. I must seem so ‘back-water’ to her, but when you’re five nine and trying not to draw attention to yourself, you don’t wear heels.

The craziest purchase was the lacy bra and panty set. I had a couple of sets of ‘date-night’ undies, but they were nothing like the lacy number Lainey helped me pick out at the lingerie store. The bra makes my 34B chest appear to be a whole cup size fuller. The lace and satin materials are smooth and luxurious and are the exact same color as my ‘fancy’ dress.

I lay my date-night ensemble on my bed and carefully put everything else away. While admiring my new clothes hanging in the closet, I sadly note that what remains looks, in a word ‘pathetic.’ I decide that I need to do more shopping but next month. I don’t want to put anything more on the credit card than I need to.

I strip down and take a relaxing hot shower. I love the shower in this apartment. There’s excellent water pressure, and the shower-head is huge. Ms. DeWitt called it a ‘rain-fall’ shower-head. The ten-inch flat disk lets down dozens of streams of water and soaks your whole body, and it does feel just like standing under a steady rain—or what I imagine it would feel like and if the falling rain was hot. The shower back home teased you with a weak trickle, and half the streams shot off every which way except at the person in the shower.

After I dry off, I start with putting on the lacy undies feeling sexy and naughty. Moreover, I feel empowered. Who knew that underwear could give you such a feeling? Next, I slip on the dress and smile as the luxurious fabric makes me feel like a million dollars. That said, if a dress costs you $179, it should make you feel good indeed. Lastly, I slide my feet, with their freshly polished toes, into the high-heeled shoes.

I’m just about to check out the dress and shoes in the full-length mirror when Lainey calls from the front door, returning as she promised to help me with my new collection of makeup. Daily, I only wear lip gloss. On a date, I may wear mascara and blush, but not usually. One of our stops was at Lainey’s favorite cosmetic store, and she helped me buy a full collection of makeup made with minerals instead of synthetic chemicals.

“Ready?” she calls.

“As I’ll ever be!” I reply, and on unsteady feet, make my way into the living room. This is the most dressed up I’ve ever been for a date, and the butterflies in my stomach threaten to flap their wings so hard they might just carry me away.

“Day-um!” she says, faking a southern drawl. Her eyes are wide and bright. “Like I said in the store, that dress was positively made for you. And with those shoes… This David guy is going to lose his mind!”

Feeling as though I’m towering over Lainey, and I may topple over, I tell her, “I’m not so sure about this. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to walk in front of David and pull off these heels let alone safely walk to the restaurant. I should just wear the linen pants and that black top and those cute gladiator sandals.”

“You can do this, Talia! C’mon. Lemme show you,” she says. Hearing her confidence, I feel like maybe I can. She pulls my shoulders back and shoves my hips forward a bit. She demonstrates how to walk with one foot in front of the other like I’m walking a line, not just walking, and instructs me how to, ever so slightly, twist my hips for both balance and to seduce every man I walk past.

When Lainey feels I’ve got ‘the walk’ down, she drags me to the bathroom to start my makeup. She makes quick work of the eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara telling me what she’s doing along the way. She brushes on the two blushes ‘contouring’ my cheekbones and finalizes the look with the lip stain.

“I love your auburn hair,” she said, running her fingers through my shoulder-length locks. “I wish mine was so straight.”

“What?” I ask, shocked and totally in love with her flowing, wavy locks of light brown and blonde highlights. And I’ve never heard my hair called the color of auburn before. “Mine is so plain. Yours is… glamorous.”

“Ha! After an hour of taming it with gels and crap! Not to mention the three hours I spend in my hairdresser’s chair every five weeks for the color. No, this,” she says, laying my hair behind my shoulders reverently, “is elegant and refined.”

I stand, wobbling slightly, to look at myself in the mirror eager to see the results of Lainey’s makeup, not to mention how the dress and heels look.

“Hmm,” Lainey says looking up and down before I can get to the mirror. “You’re missing something…” She taps her chin as she inspects my ensemble, and then her eyes brighten. “I know! How could I forget? What do you have for jewelry?”

“A watch?” I say shrugging hopeful that it’s enough.

“No. Mood killer. I’ll be right back! Wait, your ears. Pierced or not?”

“Pierced,” I answer. They’d been pierced since I was four months old. My mom had them done because everyone thought I was a boy since much of my clothing and blankets were Jude’s hand-me-downs. I pull back my hair to show her the small gold hearts Jude bought me for my birthday one year—bought or five-finger discount, I didn’t want to know.

“Comfortable wearing something else?”

“I suppose.”

Lainey is off like a shot, and I head to the mirror in my bedroom.

Standing in front of my reflection, I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. I look like me, but I don’t. I look… sophisticated. I look like a woman, not a high school kid anymore.

My blue eyes look bluer, and I’m not sure if it’s Lainey’s amazing touch with the cosmetics or if it’s the effect of the magenta dress I’m wearing.

And this dress! In the store, I could see that it fit, but with the shoes, and probably the makeup too, I am stunned at the effect. I thought we’d be buying a black dress, but Lainey insisted that an LBD—Little Black Dress—would be too predictable. She found this bright pink one, and I gave it a go. It’s not a color I ever considered. It’s too bright. It draws too much attention, yet the shade is a perfect complement to my skin tone. It makes my hair look richer, redder. I still feel it will draw too much attention, but Lainey’s enthusiasm for the garment was infectious. And the design of the dress with its gather at the left hip, gives my narrow rectangle of a body the illusion of a bustline, waist, and hips, something I hadn’t fully appreciated in the store without the heels. Oh, the heels. The shoes are a perfect jewel to my feet, shaping my calves, and with the simple dress, makes me look elegant.

“I’m back!” Lainey shouts, returning and zipping into my room. Holding up a small black purse, she asks, “Do you have a clutch for your phone, keys, and cab fare?”

I shake my head ‘no.’

“This one will look great!” She opens the purse and reaches for something inside. She slips a silver, cuff-style bracelet onto my left wrist. It’s a couple of inches wide, smooth and shiny, and makes my wrist look delicate. “I cleaned these with alcohol,” she says excitedly as she hands me a pair of slim drop-style earrings with a silver ball at the top and a tear-drop of silver at the bottom of the smooth, two-inch chain. I remove the small hearts and slip in Lainey’s. I shake my head slightly almost laughing at how the dangly earrings feel. Finally, she produces a long silver necklace with hammered, intricate filigree embellishments, three different designs, set in every few inches. She slips it over my head and then repeats the action with the long length, doubling the chain so that it’s like I’m wearing two necklaces.

I look in the mirror, and my own breath is taken away. I’d always ever worn gold and am startled at how the silver gives my coloring a very clean look and lets the color of the dress and Lainey’s makeup job shine.

“Hell, woman. You look so good I’d date you!”

I almost start to cry feeling very emotional all of a sudden. “Lainey, I can’t thank you enough. You’re so—”

“Phaaa!” Lainey scoffs. “Don’t mention it! This is all my pleasure. Seriously.” Lainey gives me a hug, and I have never felt so loved by a friend before, let alone someone I’d known only two weeks.

She pulls back, and I look at the clock next to my bed. It reads 6:40 p.m.

“I hope I don’t embarrass myself in these shoes. I don’t want him to see me teetering down the sidewalk, or even worse, falling!”

“You’ll be fine! Remember, look forward, not down, shoulders back.” Again, I try to absorb even an ounce of her confidence. “Now, Trent and I are going to a place just across the street from the John Hancock Building, so if you need a rescue, just message me, and we’ll be there in a shot! And if this David guy doesn’t take you to The Signature Room, message us that, too.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Lainey gives me a quick hug before heading to her apartment. I practice walking in these heels a little more, then stuff my phone, keys, the lip shine component of the lip stain, and some cash into the clutch. One last look in the mirror, feeling I at least look more like the part I’m supposed to be playing—‘fake it until you make it’—and head out.

When I see her walking up Van Buren Street where I’m waiting for her in the back seat of my driver’s car across from the library where we’d agreed to meet, my heart starts racing. The past couple of times that I’ve seen her, she had easily captured my attention, but now all I want to do was to hop out of the car, grab her, escape back into the back seat of Chip’s car, and disappear into our own little world. Vaguely, I recall my ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ rule and think I may have to revise that philosophy.

Seeing her now has me totally enraptured. Previously, she’d been casual, wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt… but now? Now she’s dressed to kill. In fact, I almost don’t recognize her. But that hair, that smile… those eyes. The bright pink dress hugs her gentle curves, and the color makes her alluring eyes move vibrantly. And she’s wearing heels that make her calves so shapely. My cock is hard as a rock, and I force my thoughts to anything other than sex to try and make my dick cooperate, so I don’t look like some teenage boy with no control of his hormones. God forbid the paparazzi catches wind of this and are hiding out waiting to snap pictures and spoil this evening before it has even started.

Convincing Chip, my driver and bodyguard, to let me take Talia out without him was like passing a Democratic bill in a Republican congress. But I won with the caveat that he would keep eyes on me from afar. I really want to know if this girl likes me for me instead of the perks my wealth allows. I hop out of the car and onto the sidewalk and ‘casually’ spot Talia. I watch her face as it lights up when she sees me.

“Good to see you again,” I say. I glance at my watch and smile. “A few minutes early,” I acknowledge.

“Good to see you, too, David.” I watch her expression to see if there is any recognition on her face that I’d fibbed about my full name. Still nothing. How is this possible? And how do I keep up with my ruse?

“Shall we grab a cab?”

She nods, and I glance up the road spotting a yellow taxi. I flag the car down and open the door for Talia to slide inside. Once I’m seated next to her, and the door is closed, I tell the driver where to take us. On the drive, I ask Talia about her day, and she tells me that she went shopping and got her nails done with a friend.

“I’m not sure about the color, though,” she says, showing me her purple fingernails.

I take her hand in mine under the pretext of looking at the color in a better light. “I like it,” I tell her, and then keep her hand in mine.

In no time at all, we pull up to the John Hancock Building. I pay the driver, and we get out of the car.

I extend an arm to her before we head into the building. When she accepts my arm, my heart does some creative gymnastics, and I mentally will my dick to ‘lay low.’ I lead her to the elevator bay, and we step into the car that seemed to be waiting for us. I’m beyond grateful that we are nearly alone in the elevator aside from a few visitors speaking Mandarin and giving us no mind. We exchange idle chit-chat until the Chinese family gets off on the ninety-fourth floor, the observation deck, leaving us alone. We fall quiet for the first time, but it’s not as much awkward as it is energized. To be enclosed so close to her… alone. I want to take advantage of the privacy, but I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of Talia.

Fortunately, the ride is a short one, and her modesty is spared from the rapid series of thoughts zipping through my mind about the two of us alone. The elevator stops, and the doors open to the restaurant. I guide her to the host stand where the maître d’ is getting another couple situated, and I watch Talia as she takes it all in—the dinner guests, the artfully plated food, and the sensational views. I get the distinct feeling that she’s never been to a restaurant like this.

I notice that Talia starts rubbing her thumb and forefinger together again.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“No. Well, maybe a little,” she says with a quiet laugh. “Why?” she asks, looking up at me shyly and concerned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. You do this thing with your finger and thumb… I know this guy who does the same thing when he’s uneasy. I just assumed… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Talia lets out a small laugh and says, “Oh this. Yeah,” she says holding up her hand and rubbing the two digits together. “Drives my mother nuts.”

“Mr. Waterst—” the maître d’, Clark, says. My family and I have been coming here for years, and Clark has been here just as long, maybe longer.

I quickly cut him off as he’s not aware that I’ve ‘changed’ my name. “Yes. Redding,” I say, stressing my false last name. “Party of two,” I say smoothly.

Clark looks in the books and then looks up, winks at me, and says, “Right this way, Mr. Redding.” With every ounce of professionalism, Clark takes this change in stride, and he leads us through the restaurant. We are seated at the most perfect table next to the windows—the table I’d requested. I do love watching the night-time skyline come alive. I have a feeling that watching Talia’s reaction will be better.

“This place is amazing,” Talia sighs, looking around the restaurant. Personally, I’ve been coming here since I was able to sit in a booster seat, so maybe I’ve missed the charm that everyone loves. I look around the room and imagine it as someone who has never been, but nothing compares to the vision in front of me. Talia is simply breathtaking.

Before I can say anything, our server approaches our table. She welcomes us, rattles off the specials, and asks if she can get us something to drink while we look over our menus. I order my standard, a dirty martini, and Talia orders a Diet Coke.

The waitress heads off to get our drinks, and Talia picks up her menu, reading it carefully. I already know what I’m getting, so I take the time to watch her. “It all looks so… fancy,” she says, looking somewhat overwhelmed. “What do you recommend?” she asks.

“My personal favorite is the grilled filet of beef with the mushrooms and bourbon cream sauce. But if you’re not into beef,” I say, picking up my menu to find the other items I’ve enjoyed. “The seafood risotto is incredible. The roast chicken is good, very simple if that’s what you’re looking for.”

I watch as she finds these items on the menu. First, she spots the risotto, and her eyes widen. Then she finds the chicken and is still looking shocked. When she finds the grilled filet, her eyes almost fall out of her head. Her eyes start skimming over the price column, and she says, “I think I’ll go with the chicken.”

I find it interesting that she’s chosen one of the least expensive things on the menu. Most of my dates scan the prices and find the most expensive thing and order that.

Our waitress delivers our drinks and asks if we have any questions or if we are ready to order.

“I was thinking of ordering the raw bar as an appetizer. How does that sound?” I ask Talia.

She quickly finds the item on the menu and answers carefully, her eyes darting from me to the waitress and all around. “Well, I’ve never eaten those things before.” I feel like she feels out of place here. I mentally plan a lower-key dinner the next time. And there had better be a next time the way my body is reacting to her.

“We don’t have to get that. I thought I’d ask. How about spicy food? The chili rubbed shrimp are great. So is the goat cheese gnocchi.”

“I like spicy food,” she says, smiling shyly.

I nod to the waitress who nods back, an understanding that I’d like to order the shrimp and gnocchi. “And for dinner, Talia would like the roasted chicken, and I’ll have the grilled filet, medium rare, please.”

“Excellent. And to drink with dinner?” she asks.

“Would you like a chardonnay with your chicken? Or would you prefer a pinot grigio?” I ask.

“I’m fine with the Diet Coke,” she says softly.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she assures me. I wonder about the soft drink. This is the second time she’s not ordered alcohol. She seems quite innocent, and I half wonder if she’s under-age, but maybe she’s just keeping her wits about her, something I quite admire as many of my dates have gotten beyond buzzed from multiple cocktails.

I order a glass of the 2012 Hidden Ridge Cabernet Sauvignon for dinner, and the waitress collects our menus and leaves us.

“Your name,” I say to the beguilingly beautiful girl across from me. “I’ve been wondering. Is it short for Natalia?”

She looks surprised by my question, and I immediately feel stupid for asking and making her uncomfortable. “No,” she answers carefully. “It’s a nickname of sorts.” She offers a small smile, and I gather that she’s not in love with her real name and decide to let it go. I remember my friend Kelly Murphy. A guy. He was named after his grandfather. Originally, the name was a man’s name, but recent convention has rendered the name female. So, he went by the nickname Lee for the last syllable.

“Well, I like the name Talia, nickname or not,” he tells me. “I’ve always wanted a nickname, but Dave doesn’t feel right to me. It just feels lazy like someone couldn’t finish saying my name.”

“David suits you,” I agree. I love how his name feels on my tongue.

We lock eyes, and I feel like the rest of the beautiful room and elegant patrons fade away. I could totally get lost in his gaze.

Just then, the waitress brings our drinks and breaks the spell. My Diet Coke is served in a beautiful cut-glass tumbler. David is set up with a large, empty wine glass. The server pours a small amount into the wine glass from a small carafe. I watch carefully as David swirls the wine glass, then picks it up looking at the red liquid re-collect in the bottom. He gives a gentle sniff, then takes a sip. He clearly knows what he’s doing. A part of me is intimidated, but the other part feels secure. He’s not just drinking alcohol to consume it and get drunk, he’s appreciating the libation.

“Mmm. Excellent,” he tells our waitress who then pours the rest of the wine into the glass and takes her leave.

“So, I was thinking, after our drinks yesterday. Schools. I told you about my high school. Where did you go? And if you had gone to college right after high school, where would you have gone?”

“Well, I went to the local high school. Public, the one everyone went to from the surrounding three towns. And only fifty-six kids in my graduating class at that. And college? I probably would have stayed near home and gone to Southern Illinois University. Where did you go?” I ask, steering the attention from my pathetic lack of prestigious education.

“Undergrad at Notre Dame for business, then Stanford for my MBA, just like my dad.”

I didn’t know much about universities, but Notre Dame was a name I recognized, in part from their football team but also as a smart institution. And a second degree? An MBA. I vaguely know it’s a business degree, and that Stanford is an elite school. I’m impressed, and I start to feel a little intimidated. But David doesn’t seem like he’s bragging or flaunting anything, so I try and put my negative thoughts about my lack of an education to bed.

“What’s your dad like?” I ask, always fascinated with the idea of having a dad around and steering the conversation away from school altogether. I was always jealous watching Heather and her father. They had a great father-daughter relationship, and I imagine that David has the same with his dad.

“Typical, I guess. Works like a dog Monday through Friday. Golfs on the weekends. Always pushes me to be my best. He made me into the man I am today.”

“And your mother?”

“She’s funny. And classy. When I was away at school, she was always sending me care packages and cards, even flew up a few times when I was either in the school play or receiving an award. In the summers, I’d go with her to her volunteer functions, or we’d just wander the city. She took me to all of the museums a lot, and the library was a favorite of ours.”

“Do you see her often?” I ask. I like how his eyes light up when he speaks of her.

“I do… and my father. We have dinner together at least once a week. Every Sunday night and sometimes during the week.” He smiles. He must have a great family. My heart is happy for him, yet breaks for myself. “How about you? What are your parents, or family, like? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Oh, crap! I think to myself. Serves me right for asking him questions about his family. “Well…” I search my brain for the best relationship in my life. I deduce it’s with my brother, so I start with him. “My brother, Jude, is into cars,” I start and quickly decide that maybe he’s not the best one to start with. His ‘into cars’ is more like stealing them. “My mother, she’s a free spirit.” I mentally pat myself on the back for the double entendre. “And my dad, well, he’s, um…” I stall to find the perfect words to describe the non-existent relationship. “He’s no longer with us,” I finish. I can’t tell him that I have no idea who my dad is, or that I’ve never even met him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” David says, reaching across the table and taking my hand, which had taken to curling the edge of my napkin from nerves of all the half-truths I was dabbling with. Suddenly, I realize that he’s thinking my dad died. To be honest, since I don’t know who my dad is, he could very well be dead.

Our uncomfortable discussion is quickly ended as the appetizers are brought to the table, and I suddenly realize how hungry I am.

The food is amazing, and the company is even better. David is so easy to talk to, and I love watching him talk. The sound of his voice is so smooth and rich. We talk about things to do in the city since I am new and have only visited a couple of the big museums. He talks about other cities, both in the States as well as other countries. I’m fascinated, and if I’m fully honest, a tad bit jealous with the extent of his travels.

I talk about my favorite thing—books—and he convinces me to read some of his favorites like The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, and I do my best to sell the romantic stories I love so much.

Yet all through dinner, I can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something. But perhaps that’s my own guilt for hiding so much about myself.