Flipping Coins

“You look--wow,” Jordan gasped, holding his chin thoughtfully as he stared at me with popping eyes.

I bit my lip, cheeks already flushed from the way he had stared at me when I had first walked in. “Um--thanks, Jordan.”

“Seriously, though,” Jordan gushed, stepping forward to admire me at a closer angle. “You really know how to clean up! Like, professionally. Did someone help you with this?”

“If you count a stick of eyeliner--which isn’t too pleasant when it pokes you in the eyes twenty times--a hot straightner--those can really burn you, you know--and a nasally saleswoman, then yeah,” I said, smiling, "I’d say I had tons of help.”

Jordan grinned at me, his eyes finally meeting my own instead of roaming my body. “The things women have to go through.” He shook his head solemnly.

I laughed, nodding my head in agreement. Then I shouted, “Oh yeah! And before you ask or tease, the reason I look all Frankenstein-bride-ish on the finger,” I held up my index finger, which was wrapped tight in several band aids, “is because, apparently, my skin is so tender that even an unsharp needle can cause it to flow with blood.”

His eyebrows raised, and I knew the sarcasm was well on its way.

“Even if you are going emo, I would hope that my girlfriend wouldn’t be as mentally challenged as to think that an unsharp needle would do the trick of splitting open a vein,” Jordan said seriously, smiling with his eyes.

“I was attempting to sow, thank you very much,” I said indifferently. “Excuse me for not being programmed at birth with the skills of an 80 year-old grandmother.”

“Wow I picked a winner!” Jordan laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we began to walk out of my apartment building--into the cool night--where distant grumbles of thunder threatened to ruin our perfect date. I dared them to try.

As promised, the joint was fancy, luxurious, and expensive. You could tell from a mile away that it was--with its enormous water fountain sprouting impressive jets of water in the air, and the cobbled stoned entryway where a crowd of clean-shaven valets were waiting to service their high-maintenance customers. Jordan watched my reaction, shooting me an eyebrow-raised expression when I caught him staring at me.

When I got out, I was not expecting to have the attention of all four of the suddenly excited valets waiting along the columns of the building. Every one of them ran up to me, all overwhelmingly helpful and asking politely for my keys so they could service me.

And I had a feeling service me had a double meaning.

“Uhh....” I said unsurely, twirling my head around wildly in search of my redheaded date.

“Miss? My name is Tony,” one of the extremely friendly valets introduced eagerly. “I would be more than happy to take your car for you---“

“No, ma’am,” cut in another valet with curly black hair and bright blue eyes. “Don’t mind Tony--he smokes. I, on the other hand, can help take this fine automobile from your beautiful hands. Maybe I can take you for a spin, if you'd like---“

“Excuse me,” cut in another stern voice--this one thankfully familiar,” but I’m the one with the keys here.” I turned around to find Jordan walking toward me, dangling my car keys on his finger with a firm jaw set about him. “And I would very much like it if you’d step away from my girlfriend, gentlemen.”

I smiled with relief as Jordan tossed the keys to one of the suddenly frightened valets and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Sorry, sir,” the fidgtey valet instantly apologized in a high voice. “I’ll take care of your vehicle for you.”

With that, the valets scampered off to their previous post, whispering among themselves and shooting back glances at me and Jordan.

“Let’s go,” Jordan muttered, twirling us in the direction of the restaurant.

As we walked inside, I attempted to make conversation. “Well, I had no idea what that was about."

Have I mentioned that I'm stupid? No? Well--yeah--I'm stupid.

Jordan cocked a grin, assuring me he wasn’t mad, and said as-a-matter-of-factly, “I know exactly what that was about.”

Scrunching my eyebrows, I looked up at him. “Oh do you now?”

Jordan rolled his eyes, looking down at me draped in his lanky arm. “Oh come on, Emie!” Jordan yelled with a smile. “You can’t be that blind! Those guys were hitting on you because you're mucho attractive-o while they're mucho horny-o. Simple as that.”

I made a face, as ready as ever to deny that statement, until another male employee held the door open for us as we stepped inside the adorned building. By then, my jaw had dropped before I could sputter my opposition out.

It wasn’t as typical as I had imagined it would be. Yes, the harp music and high ceiling was expected, but the combo of the bright lighting, the mini flowing water fountains, and the extravagant architecture of the building was absolutely mind blowing.

A very polite young woman clad in a uniform that--for some odd reason--gave me the striking image of a sailor stuck in my head, smiled at us warmly as we strode inside. “Bonjour, my lady and gentleman. Welcome to Le Cygne Bleu, where luxury isn’t a noun, but a way of life. What is your name?” She looked from Jordan to me, still smiling the dazzling smile of Miss America.

“Hillman,” Jordan instantly answered, straightening his posture with pride for his heritage.

The hostess smiled and ran her finger down a chart placed upon her stand. Meeting the name she was searching for, her smile gained volume as she flickered her eyes to ours again. “Very good. Now follow Janice,” the slim lady to her right nodded her head to show that she was referring to her, “and you two have a great evening. Au revoir!”

We followed Janice, marveling at the sight of the elegant restaurant as we passed through, until she stopped at a corner table set up with lit candles, a massive set of silverware, two glasses of water, quality menus, and a vase of red roses.

This place did not mess around when it comes to customer comfort.

Janice treated us like Gods walking the Earth--refilling our drinks whenever they were even hinting the need of replenishment, maintaining her unwavering politeness and never tardy when needed--all the qualities of a dream assistant. Jordan, on the other hand, continuously brought up my appearance--which was flattering and uncomfortable at the same time.

Right in the middle of my slightly humorous story on how some work drama between two coworkers had went down, Jordan leaned forward, laughing as he stared at me. “I’m sorry, babe, but I can not get over how stunning you look tonight! It’s like I’m on a date with Jessica Alba! It’s absolute craziness.”

I laughed nervously, and you can guess what happened next, right? If you were going to say that I would blush and sputter out a thank you, then you were wrong! Minus fifty points for you, my friend. (Actually, no. You wouldn't be my friend because that would mean I'm associating with a loser. Umm--ew. How would that look for my image?)

In reality, my cellphone rang from my clutch purse (yes, I bought a clutch purse. It’s incongruous, I know.) And, like I have mentioned several times before, karma was ready to strike at me whenever a possible opportunity arises, and so I naturally forgot to take my phone out of ring mode. And, of course, it was set on full blast, thanks to a certain someone.

Wake up
Grab a brush and put a little makeup
Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup….

“I’m so sorry!” I whispered to everyone glaring at me in the restaurant, the belated blush from Jordan’s compliment instantly rising to my cheeks as I dug desperately inside the tiny clutch bag.

Whispers and shushes erupted from around us, and the piercing gazes of eyes felt heavy upon my shoulders. My fingers swarmed with sweat and became shaky as they finally pulled out the suddenly slippery cellphone blaring out rock music.

It slipped from my fingers, but I caught it on the edges of my fingertips before it could crash on the floor. My catch caused it to flip open, and the music finally stopped--which only made the whispers more audible, and I slapped the phone to my ear quickly.

Scooting out of my chair, I shot Jordan an apologetic look before I ran out of the restaurant--back into the cool, suddenly humid night.

“Hello?” I groaned into the phone, the embarrassment of what had just happened slowly seeping into realization.

“Emie?” Ryan’s worried voice echoed into my hearing.

“What do you want?” I demanded, irritated that he just had to keep continuously calling me--especially in the middle of a fancy restaurant filled with very important people.

Ryan sighed, and his voice was slightly wobbly and high. “Emie, I tried to tell you sooner, but you hung up on me. I warned you that this could happen. I warned you, Emie! Why didn’t you---“

“What is going on, Ryan?” I asked, now slightly worried. Ryan was never this jittery unless he was A--drunk or B--upset. I was betting on B, but hoping it was A.

“Brendon is gone,” Ryan revealed with the darkest, lowest voice he could muster.

Of course it would be B.

“Gone?” I squeaked. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“I mean that he lost us as soon as we got off the plane!” Ryan yelled. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this, Emie, but he’s been listening in on every phone call we’ve shared on this tour! He made me promise to not tell you or call you when he wasn't around. He heard what you said about him today, and it tore him up. He was quiet the whole plane ride--wouldn’t say a word to us, which is very un-Brendon-ish, you know. Then he ditched us the second the unbuckle seatbelts sign lit up. I don’t know where he is, but I don’t trust Brendon by himself--especially on such solemn circumstances. You know what happened last time---“

“Don’t remind me!” I shouted, causing many of the valets to look up in my direction. “Ryan, we need to find him. God, if…if he does something to himself…if he tries to ki---“

“He won’t,” Ryan assured me. “He won’t if you get to him first. You have to fix this, Emie. I know you’re upset with him and all of us guys, but this is something you have to do. This has someone’s life on the line.”

“Of course I’m going to help! I know! I’m going to fix this,” I swore, nodding my head to myself. “I will fix this.”

“Thank you, Emie,” Ryan praised. “You won’t regret this. Now, the guys and I are all going around the city, searching. Just start with places you know he would go to, and then start looking all over. We have to find him.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “I’m on it. Thank you for calling me, Ryan.”

“Thank you for answering, Emie.”

And with that, I hung up, turning back around and shooting the cat-whistling, eyebrow-wiggling valets the bird.

I liked this Emie much better than the glamorous one I was turning into.