Fidelity

“...You what?” Maria asks with her mouth slightly open.

“There's nothing wrong with it,” I reply.

“Uhm, in any case, you should've consulted me before making this decision,” she says. “Sweetie, it doesn't matter if you show up alone at your own book party. You're a single, twenty-seven year old girl who's slowly making her way to fame. It's okay to be single. Not only that, but you're so cute, Luxie; you could pick up a man if you really wanted to.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” I roll my eyes as I rub my pixie-short hair. “There's nothing wrong with a male escort. You're acting like I murdered somebody.” I glance over my shoulder. “Everyone does it!”

“Oh my God, Lux. Male escorts were made for rich old women who can't get any. They're not for people like you,” Maria says.

“Yeah, well, be prepared to meet my escort tonight.”

She frowns. “If he's one of those really buff, muscular guys, I'm calling the cops.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I mean, for the food.”

She smiles. “It's a celebratory lunch; I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

We exchange goodbyes, and she picks up the tab. I run to the parking garage and prepare for a journey home in the outskirts of town. Home is a cramped town house outside of New York City, and renting it was on a whim. I had low expectations moving out here, some nights praying profusely to have a book deal, other nights hunting for teaching jobs at the local universities. Being a published author makes me feel like I've finally accomplished something, but we'll just have to see if this really is good news.

After five hours of changing outfits into this dress and those shoes or those pants and that blouse, and so many other mix-n-matches, the doorbell rings. I end up wearing a blue paisley dress and one white stiletto. I almost fall down the stairs and carefully hold onto the banister all the way down. I swing open the door.

He has messy, curly hair and is impeccably dressed in a navy suit, a burgundy and blue striped shirt and a beautiful silk bow tie. He smiles. “Hi, I'm Andrew.”

I take in a deep breath. “Uhm, hello. You're...you're uh, you're early.”

He laughs. “Yeah. My GPS said it'd take us a while to get to the condo.”

I blush. “Looks like I'll be late to my own party then.”

Andrew grins. “Looks like it.”

I run back upstairs, almost tripping again, and grab the other shoe. I shove everything I could ever need into my knock-off Coach handbag – chapstick, lipstick, lip gloss, mints, gum, cell phone, and more mints. I rush down the stairs, and he helps me down half-way. “You should be careful,” he says, holding my hand.

“Yeah, probably.”

In the car, I examine his every feature. His hands have prominent veins and fingers that are neither thin and wispy nor fat and clumsy. His pink lips are full, his nose perfectly straight. He turns to me. “You live pretty far from the city.”

“It's cheaper out there.”

“Mm.”

We sit in silence until we reach the city. He parks in a garage, and we walk out, stuck in a huge crowd. Andrew reaches for my hand, and we try to maneuver around everyone unsuccessfully. He slips his hand around my waist as I frown. He gives me a small smile and winks, easily slipping by anyone and everyone. I trail behind him, bumping into this girl and that man, apologizing with every step as Andrew weaves in and out.

“It's over here,” he says, pulling me into a revolving door. The lobby is all marble with plush, vintage armchairs in one corner. We ride up the elevator, and this is the only one with quiet jazz music. The wooden walls look glossy under the fluorescent light, and Andrew's arm moves slightly. My face feels warm.

“Floor five,” the automated voice calls.

We step out, and Andrew directs me down the marble hallway. “What's the occasion?” he asks.

“I recently sold my book to Penguin.”

“Congratulations.” He smiles, his arm tightening around my waist.

“Thanks.” I knock on the door.

It opens slowly. “Dear God, you took your sweet time, Luxie,” Maria says. She raises her eyebrows at Andrew. “C'mon in.” The room is half-full with old friends from here and there, my agent and my publisher. Maria nudges me and points to Andrew. “Gorgeous,” she mouths. She straightens out a curly ringlet as she approaches her guests.

“Here's our girl,” Daniel says, fixing his tie. “You always took forever to get ready.” He looks Andrew up and down. “Who's this fellow?”

“This is my date, Andrew. Andrew, this is my ex-boyfriend and harsh critic, Daniel.” Daniel pushes back his sandy blond hair, and they shake hands. Daniel has a menacing grin.

“So, how long have you two been together?”

“Not very long.”

“I see. Lux and I have a long history together; we dated for two years in college, attended the same grad school, and even wrote along side each other at the same fellowships.” Daniel's blue eyes pierce mine. “Isn't that right, dear?”

“It's a shame you two aren't still together,” Andrew says coolly. “I think she's moved on to bigger and better things.” He presses his lips on my cheek. After he removed them, the kiss lingers there, his phantom lips still present. Daniel excuses himself. “Why'd you date that guy for two years?”

“I thought I loved him.” I look at Andrew, and he brushes my brown hair out of my eyes. “Sometimes, you forget there's another world out there.”

“I hope you never forget that.” He grins.

More friends gather around and congratulate me and follow up by asking who Andrew is. The minute I say “my date”, everyone has a coy smile on their lips. I don't know what to tell them; is there shame in hiring a male escort?

Maria tries to hand us drinks, but we refuse them. “Sweetie, it's your party. You should be getting drunk. I bought this champagne just for you!”

“I'm just glad to see all my friends here in one place. Thanks for the party.”

Maria turns up the music and starts dancing, her movements fluid and quick. Everyone else joins her, but no one else can dance like Maria. During college, she used to go out to clubs and gay bars to dance, soaking in all the dances she saw. Maria pulls me to her, and we dance, her with her smooth moves, me and my rigid hip twists. Andrew places his hands on my hips and swings me back and forth. We fall into a rhythm while Maria dances away, grabbing Daniel away from my publisher. I turn to Andrew, and we laugh.

With each song, Andrew and I grow closer and closer together. “I'm a terrible dancer,” he says. My old friends are having a great time turning each other and twisting like we used to in our cramped rooms during our fellowships, in our dorm rooms at night.

We thank everyone for coming, and they all pull me into long hugs. Congrats. Congratulations. Nice work. You deserve it. All these words of encouragement help me remember why we all became friends in the first place and how much I missed them.

It's four in the morning, and Andrew and I leisurely walk back to his car. “You really didn't need a date to your party,” he says. “Why'd you decide to pay for one?”

“I don't know. I'm new to the city; I have a teaching job at NYU, I just put out a book, I don't have any friends except Maria and two other people. I guess I just didn't want to feel alone.”

“I hear those words all the time for different reasons.”

“What words?”

“'I just didn't want to feel alone'.” He takes in a deep breath. “I guess everyone feels lonely every once in a while.”

“Do you?”

“Feel lonely?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I'm this twenty-eight year old guy who goes to the Met or to a theatre or to a party and gets paid to do it. But at the end of the day, these women aren't my friends; they're just clients.”

“That's too bad.”

He pulls up into my little driveway and opens the door for me. We slowly walk up the stairs to the door. I feel the dirt under my toes as I stand in front of the door. “Well, thanks for everything.”

Andrew smiles and brushes my hair out of my eyes. “My pleasure.”

He presses his lips against mine.

“Do I have to pay extra for that kiss?” I ask.

“What? Oh, no.” Under the dim porch light, his ears turn a little pink. “I'll see you around then.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

I fumble with my keys and lock the door, watching him pull out of the driveway and slowly roll out of the neighborhood from my living room window.