Write It Up!: Rapid Transit / The Ex Factor / Brewing Up Trouble

He shrugged off the strange irritation that settled on his shoulders at hearing her say that. And it bothered him even more to realize the irritation he felt was for himself. “Consider it done,” he said.

With that, Daniel took off for the bar and Julia 6’s appletini. Surely that was going to be the next trendy beverage of choice for party-girl barflies, he told himself as he went. Because in spite of the naturalness with which they’d connected, and in spite of the ease with which he’d talked to her, and in spite of his singular reaction to her, he reminded himself that Julia 6 was like every other woman.

And damned if he wouldn’t prove it tonight.

BY MIDNIGHT, JULIA AND Daniel were talking again, with a lot more than four minutes allotted them, at Marquee, arguably New York’s hottest club. She watched as the bartender placed an appletini and a Scotch and water on the bar before Daniel, who dropped a twenty and a ten beside them to cover the twenty-two-dollar tab, telling the bartender to keep the change. Another gold star, she thought, for the generous tip.

And yet another for the fact that the two of them had been talking naturally and comfortably about everything under the sun since leaving the speed-dating party, without a single awkward moment to muck things up. Julia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to talk to a guy with such ease right after meeting him, and she was perfectly content to keep doing it. Talking, she meant. Not, you know, doing it. And looking at Daniel, she could see that he was perfectly content to keep doing it, too. Talking, she meant. Not the other thing. Which earned him yet another gold star beside his name.

At this rate, by night’s end, he was going to be his own galaxy.

After collecting their respective drinks, they threaded their way through the throngs of people milling about beneath the boxy yellow-gold lights, until, miraculously, they saw a couple surrendering a table to their right and quickly ducked into it. But instead of sitting opposite each other, they made a silent but unified decision to fold themselves onto the sleek, red-leather banquette by the wall, side by side.

The music wasn’t blaring quite as loudly here, and they wouldn’t have to shout at each other to talk. Despite that, when they first sat down, they only sipped their drinks and gazed at each other for a moment, as if neither could believe how quickly the night had moved. Julia hated to think about it ending. Then she wondered just how it would end. And if it would still be night—or morning—when it did.

She shook the thought off. No matter how comfortable she felt with Daniel, she barely knew him. Glancing down at her watch, she told herself to find out everything she could ASAP.

“So…what do you do for a living?” she asked, surprised that neither of their occupations had come up yet in conversation.

That was good, though, right? That they’d had so much else to talk about, they hadn’t even touched on what was usually the first thing two people getting to know each other discussed.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought his smile fell just the tiniest bit as she concluded the question, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying, “I’m sort of self-employed.”

For the first time since meeting him, Julia felt a hint of dismay. Had he sounded evasive just then? He’d been answering her other questions straight to the point all evening. Why not now?

“Doing what?” she asked. Surely she’d only imagined his hesitation. It depended on what he was self-employed as. If he said he was a male escort, she could see where it was coming from. And she could see where she was going to. Out of his life. Fast.

Again, he sounded as if he were being deliberately vague when he told her, “I kind of work in the arts community.”

Uh-oh, she thought. Maybe he was gay and still in the closet, and that was why he was hesitating. He was by far the most attractive and appealing man she’d met in a long time. He was well groomed and fashionably dressed. And her karma being what it was—namely, bad—it would be almost mandatory that any man she was attracted to who wasn’t a jerk was either gay or terminally ill, or had a chemical dependency or stalker tendencies.

“What part of the arts community?” she asked.

Seeming resigned now to having to give her a more complete answer, he sighed and admitted, “I’m a writer.”

She brightened. A writer? Well, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell her what he did for a living. “I’m a writer, too,” she said. “I’m on the staff of Tess magazine.”

“Tess,” Daniel echoed. “Women’s magazine, right?”

She nodded.

“I think I’ve seen it around.”

Well, duh, she thought. Tess was only the training manual for every bad girl in the making, telling today’s young women not only what to do, say, wear, drink and buy, but also where to go. Uh, for clubbing and shopping and traveling, Julia meant.

“So what kind of stuff do you write?” she asked Daniel.

He seemed to hesitate again before finally telling her, “Right now, I’m working on a…a kind of travel piece that I hope will sell to Cavalier magazine.”

“Cavalier,” she echoed in the same tone of voice he’d used to identify Tess. “Men’s magazine, right? I think I’ve seen it around.”

“Touché,” he replied with a grin.

Oh, she’d love to touché him.

“But it’s not exactly a woman-friendly magazine, is it?” she added. “I mean, it’s not as bad as Playboy or Penthouse, but it isn’t exactly The Journal of Sensitive Men, either.”

“I like to think of it as the magazine for men who never quite left their college fraternities behind.”

Now Julia was the one to grin. “Apt description.”

“And I like to think of Tess,” he added, “as the magazine for women who think Barbie is the quintessential female consumer.”

“No, we think the Bratz dolls are the quintessential consumers,” she countered with a chuckle. “Barbie’s middle-aged now, after all. Not to mention monogamous. And much too wholesome for the likes of Tess. So you’re working on a travel piece?” she asked, turning the topic back to him. “I hope you’re not just in town for a visit.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’ve lived here since I started as an undergrad at Columbia twelve years ago.”

Which would make him about twenty-nine or thirty, she thought, age being another area they had yet to cover. Funny how all their vital statistics seemed of no importance to either of them. They were too busy discussing all the philosophical quandaries of life—and college hoops—which Julia had barely ever touched on with guys before. Now that she thought about it, that went a long way toward explaining why so many of her past boyfriends had had such a short shelf life.

“I went to Columbia, too,” she said. “I must have started the year you graduated. School of Journalism, right?”

“Of course.”

“We seem to have a lot in common,” she pointed out unnecessarily.

“Yes, we do.” And, like Julia, he seemed to find that both interesting and agreeable. “So what kind of stuff do you write for Tess?”

Julia told herself that was her cue to be evasive and vague, too, that there was no reason to tell him she was writing an article about speed-dating. She’d just started her research and would be attending a lot more parties like tonight’s over the next couple of weeks, even going out with some of the guys she met. That was something that could really put a crimp in any potential relationship she might start with Daniel. What guy wanted to date a woman whose objective was to date several men in a short span of time to see who was best?

But Julia discovered, not much to her surprise, that she didn’t want to be dishonest with him. Lying could really put a crimp in any potential relationship she might start with Daniel, too. Besides, he was a journalist. He’d understand about getting a story. He’d know the research was just a part of the job.

So, without hesitation or evasion, Julia told him, “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m doing a story on speed-dating. Consider yourself my first primary source.”

CHAPTER THREE

SOMETHING ICY AND ROCK HARD slammed into Daniel’s midsection at hearing Julia’s admission, and it was all he could do not to choke on his drink. “You’re writing about speed-dating for Tess?” he asked after he finally managed to swallow.

Her laughter was touched by nervousness when she said, “Yeah. Pretty funny, huh?”

He wasn’t sure if it was funny, but it certainly answered one question he’d been asking himself all evening. Namely, why would a gorgeous, funny, interesting woman like Julia need something like speed-dating to meet men? And she was covering the event for a story the same way he was. Interesting. He wondered if the objective of her article was also the same as his.

As if he’d spoken the question aloud, she said, “I’m supposed to be looking for Mr. Right. See if speed-dating is a venue where a woman can find a forever-after kind of Prince Charming.”

Ah. No. Hers wasn’t the same objective at all.

“I and two other writers,” she continued, “have been assigned three different types of alternative dating to cover. They are doing coffeehouse dating—you know, where patrons of a coffeehouse fill out forms about themselves and stick them along with their photos in binders that the baristas manage?—and ex-dating. Which is where a woman sets up her ex-boyfriend with another woman. It’s big on the Web. We’re all supposed to see if we meet any decent guys for a feature story in the February issue. Valentine’s Day.”

“And have you?” Daniel asked experimentally. “Met any decent guys, I mean?”