A Little More Than Convenient

|Carmen Sanchez|
Checking my hair once more in the rearview mirror, I jumped into my car and started to drive the route to Applebee’s. After meeting Trent...what was his last name? Anyway, after meeting Trent, I sped home and tried to decide what to wear. It was Saturday, and it was a lunch date, so I guessed that it had to be casual. But I wondered, is casual any way to make an impression. I honestly didn’t know if I `µwanted to make an impression on Trent or not, but even if this went nowhere, I still wanted him to remember me. So, I chose a pair of Miss Me Jeans from the Buckle (one of my many college splurges), a black and white cardiwrap from Maurices, and black American Eagle flats from Payless (not a splurge). For my jewelry, I wore gold earrings, a gold necklace with an Eiffel Tower on it, and a ring with amethyst in the middle. I did my hair in a loose side braid, and did my makeup. I hoped I looked okay.
Applebee’s (no surprise) was quite crowded, but then it was Saturday, lunchtime, and Applebee’s. I really hoped that Trent What’s-His-Last-name had gotten a table, so that we wouldn’t have to wait forever to get a table. When I walked in, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so I just kinda stood there. Finally, the greeter said, “Can I help you?”
I said, “I don’t know, actually. I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but I’m not sure if he’s here.”
“What’s his name?”
“Trent...something.”
“Are you Miss Carmen...Something?” she asked laughing.
I laughed too, “Yes, that’s me.”
“Okay, follow me,” the girl behind her said, motioning for me to follow her.
Our table was in the back corner, and very private. I was very happy about that because I like to eat in private. Especially if it’s spaghetti.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied.
It was silent for a few moments until the waitress walked up and asked for our drink orders.
“Sweet-” I was gonna say tea, since I was seriously on a budget, but I was interrupted.
“Order anything you want. I’m paying,” Trent said.
“But-”
“No, buts. It’s the first date and a gentleman always pays for the first date.”
“Okay,” I replied, “a Margarita.”
Trent ordered a glass of something I didn’t know, let alone pronounce. The waitress walked off.
“Okay,” I said, “what’s your last name?”
“Remington,” he replied, laughingly, “what’s yours?”
“Sanchez,” I said.
“Middle name?”
“Isabel,” I replied, “and yours?”
“Don’t laugh,” he said, “it’s pretty geeky.”
“I won’t,” I replied.
“Benjamin,” he said, facing turning red.
I squinted at him. “Benjamin isn’t terrible,” I replied, “I have a friend, who’s middle name is Benjamin. Beside’s you, of course.”
“You consider me a friend?”
I blushed. “I don’t know. Maybe not yet.”
He grinned. “Okay, so-” he was interrupted by the waitress. She had straight, dark brown hair and honey colored highlights. “Hello, my name’s Ginger and I’ll be your server for today.” She sat down our drinks and said, “What can I get y’all today?”
“I-we’ll have the ribeye. Medium rare, baked potato loaded, and salad with ranch.” Trent answered.
The waitress scribbled furiously. “Okay, then,” she said, walking away.
I looked at Trent, shocked.
“What?” he asked, “if that’s not what you like, I can-”
“No,” I interrupted, “that’s just it, that’s exactly what I was going to order. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” he said, grinning, “and I’m sorry. Most women I take out are too afraid to order steak.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How come?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. At first, I’d just let them order their salad or vegetable carbonara, but I got tired of it. So, I just started ordering steak for them.”
I chuckled. “Well, that’s nice.”
He nodded. “Carmen, do you remember why I asked you here?”
I thought for a moment. “I remember spilling coffee over your Joseph A. Bank suit, and then talking about how terrible our days had been.”
“Right,” he replied, “I wanted to discuss our dreadful days. Shall I start, or you?”
“Could you?” I asked, “Mine’s embarrassing.”
He laughed. “Mine is too, but okay. I was at the bank today because my boss has been doing cutbacks and promotions, and-”
I figured he’d been a cutback, but before I could say anything, the waitress sat down our salad. “Enjoy.” I took a bite, swallowed, and said, “Were you a cutback?”
“No, he replied, “I’m up for a promotion to vice president.”
I nearly choked. “That’s not horrible.”
He chuckled and partly dug into his salad. “No, but listen to this: they think I’m good at what their looking for, but they don’t know if I’m a people person, since I’m twenty-five and not married yet.”
I snickered. “That’s funny. I’m twenty-five and not married, either.”
“Yeah, so basically, I stay where I’m at, which I really don’t want to do, or get married in like, a few days and get the promotion.”
I shook my head and finished my salad. “I didn’t even know companies could base promotions off of a person’s personal life.”
He chuckled. “Me, neither.”
A few minutes later, the waitress refilled our drinks and brought us our steaks. I sliced a small sliver of it and brought it to my mouth. It was delicious! As I was stirring my potato, Trent said, “So, what made your day so horrible?”
I finished chewing, swallowed, and said, “It all started after I got out of the shower. I had eleven messages on my voicemail.”
He snorted. “Eleven messages?”
I chewed another piece of steak. “Yep, eleven. One was from my mom, two from the bank, some from my many credit cards, two from my sister...,” I trailed off.
He smiled and took a sip of his drink. “Okay, so what’s next?”
“Well, my sister was bothering me and my mom about her wedding and pink chiffon dresses, which is why they called. And then, well, see, I’m in debt. Way in debt. The bank called twice to tell me that, evidently I don’t know I’m in debt, and that I might have to apply for bankruptcy. That’s what I figure the credit card companies were calling about. And then there was, like, three messages from my ex-boyfriend, Christian.”
He eyed me. “Three?”
“Yes,” I said, staring at my half-eaten plate. “I guess it’s kind of stalker-ish.”
He laughed. “I can’t say that I’ve ever had a girlfriend like that.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You’re very lucky. You know, it’s weird that we both have sisters getting married. And so close together.”
“Yeah,” he said, “Tara, my sister, is older than me. Is your sister older or younger?”
I sighed. “Elizabeth, well, Lizzie, is younger than me by a year. And, she’s the only sibling I have.”
“Tara’s two years older than me, and Tristan, my brother is three years younger than me. He’s still in college. He’s nothing but a player.”
I chuckled. “A player?”
“Yeah, he’s got a different girl every week, or is it every day?”
I laughed again. Trent was very charming. I finished my steak. “So, basically, I’m broke, and you need a wife. We’re both screwed.”
He laughed again, but then stopped short. “I have-oh, never mind.”
“What?” I asked, “You can tell me.”
“It was just a crazy joke,” he said, his face reddening.
“Come on,” I prodded, “I won’t laugh.”
“I was just thinking. Have you ever watched Ned and Stacey?”
“Sure,” I said, “it’s hilarious.”
“Well, you know how they got married out of convenience?”
“Yeah...,” I replied slowly, and then it clicked, “you’re not suggesting we get married are you?”
“I told you it was stupid. But, see, it would help us both. I’m not loaded, but I have a lot of money. I could pay off and keep you out of your debt. I need a family, and if we got married that’d help me get my promotion.”
I downed almost all of the rest of my margarita. “O-kay,” I replied, stretching out the O and the Y. “What would this include?”
“Just a little wedding. Maybe at the courthouse?”
I contemplated. “How long would we be married?”
“Hmm,” he thought, “until I got my promotion and your debt was paid off. Then we’d part ways and become acquaintances again.”
“But what if one of us starts feeling something else. I mean, we’ll be living in the same apartment. There’s bound to be sexual tension.”
He shrugged. “I guess we could separate. Or divorce, either way, really.”
I thought some more. “Do you think this could actually work?”
He nodded. “Yes, I sure do.”
I swallowed the last drops of my margarita. “Okay, Trent Remington, let’s go ring shopping.”