The Wing Girl: A laugh out loud romantic comedy. Nic Tatano
“I’m a nine. Rox?”
“Sorry,” said Roxanne. “I got pancake flippers for feet.”
“Ariel?”
“Eight.”
“So much for tonight.” She yelled for Ariel, who was going through my other walk-in closet. “What’s the dress situation?”
Ariel stuck her head out of the closet and shook her head. “Nada. No dresses or skirts. Not even a pair of shorts except for some old ones that look like they lost a battle with a spray can and a weed whacker.”
“Those are my cleaning shorts,” I said.
“I’m assuming you clean this room once a year, whether it needs it or not,” said Ariel. “You know, a man would find this boudoir very inviting.”
I looked around my bedroom and took in the unmade bed, pile of clothes thrown on the floor and a potato chip bag which shared the night stand with a couple of empty yogurt containers. “Fine, I’ll get a cleaning service.”
“A snow shovel would be quicker,” said Roxanne.
“Seriously,” said Serena. “You don’t have a single skirt?”
“What can I say, I like pants.”
“Do you even bother to shave your legs?” asked Ariel, ducking back into the closet.
“Of course,” I said, then shrugged. “Well, not every day.”
“So,” said Roxanne, “besides the hair, what else is on the to-do list?”
Serena was making notes on a legal pad. “You ever try contacts?”
I nodded. “I had them in high school.”
“Did you like them?”
“Yeah, but they were a pain to clean all the time, so I went back to glasses.”
“Figures,” said Serena, who made a check mark. “After the contacts, we need shoes and an entire new wardrobe.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“I’m starting a pile for Goodwill,” yelled Ariel, still in my closet. “Geez, it looks like Hillary Clinton lives in here.”
I saw one of my favorite pantsuits fly out of the closet. “Hey!”
“Shaddup and take your medicine,” said Roxanne. “Meanwhile, put your hair back up.”
“I thought you said men like it down?”
“They do, but I’ll need half a day to fix that mess and our dinner reservations are in an hour.”
I stepped off the stool. “So, I’m deemed okay to be seen in public with you guys this evening? I won’t embarrass you?”
Serena got off the floor and gave me the once over. “It will have to do, but we are going to change one thing tonight.”
“What’s that?” I asked, folding my arms. “I’ve apparently got no shoes, no clothes, my hair is a toxic waste dump and I can’t ditch my glasses or I’ll end up going home with someone who looks like Alan Greenspan.”
“That, right there. Your attitude,” said Serena. “Tonight, charm school begins.”
His eyes locked on me like a laser from across the room. Tall, well built, thick black hair and dark eyes to match. Rugged face, nice smile, dimples running the length of his cheeks. Probably about my age. Dark slacks, starched white French-cuffed shirt with gold links, red tie with a perfect dimple in the knot. Shoes shining like mirrors, something my late father always told me to notice. Looks like he stepped off a wedding cake.
Another “total package” as Ariel would say. Can’t say I’d argue.
He started weaving his way through the bar traffic and headed for the chair next to me that was left purposely empty by my friends.
“Remember what we talked about, Wing Girl,” said Serena.
I nodded, downed a bit of wine, and smiled as he reached the table.
He placed his hands on the back of the empty chair, obviously waiting for permission to sit. Good. Polite. Looked right at me. Big smile. “You’re the girl on TV.”
“Woman on TV,” I said. Serena jabbed an elbow into my ribs. “Ow.”
“Right,” he said. “You did that great story the other night on the State Senator. Nice that we have people like you to keep politicians honest.”
“They’re all a bunch of scum. Next week—” I was interrupted by another elbow. “I mean, thank you, I appreciate the compliment.”
Ariel reached one long leg under the table and pushed the empty chair out a bit. “Maybe our new friend would like to join us.”
“Uh, right,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting down. “I’m Vincent Martino.”
“Belinda Carson,” I said.
“Yeah, I know.” Serena, Ariel and Roxanne introduced themselves since I’d forgotten to do it, my mind too busy going over the directives they’d given me.
Serena widened her eyes as she looked at me and gave me a gentle kick under the table. Say something. Anything. “So, uh … I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
The guy smiled. “That’s okay. Vincent.” Roxanne rolled her eyes then threw down the rest of her drink.
“Right, Vincent.” I remembered the orders I’d been given. Ask him about himself. Nothing too serious. “So, Vincent … are you married?”
“Madonne,” said Roxanne, as the man’s face tightened.
“No,” said Vincent, who looked at me as if I were a space alien. “Did you think I’m some married guy out cheating on his wife?”
“Uh, no, I was … you know … just making conversation.”
Serena snorted, stifling a laugh.
“That’s one hell of a pick-up line,” he said.
“Sorry.” My pulse spiked as the checklist in my head got jumbled. My armpits grew damp. “Do you … uh … what do you do?” I smiled and exhaled. That was pretty safe.
“I work on Wall Street.”
“So, you work with some shady characters.”
The man shook his head and turned toward Roxanne. “Geez, Rox.”
I furrowed my brow. “What’s going on?”
“Vincent’s my cousin,” said Roxanne, cocking her head toward him. “I asked him to be our test subject tonight.”
“So you weren’t really going to hit on me?” I asked.
“I did hit on you. At least I was trying to. I would have even taken you out if we’d hit it off because Rox said you’re such a great person. They weren’t going to tell you it was a set-up if things went well, but … ”
“So, Vincent,” said Serena, who took out a legal pad and put it on the table. She clicked her pen in the air. “If you wouldn’t mind giving us your first impressions for the record.”
He looked at me, his eyes seemingly asking for permission. “What the hell, go ahead,” I said.
“Would be nice if she remembered my name ten