“Rebecca!”

I spot Carol standing near the drop-off section just outside of the JFK airport. Her short, blonde pixie cut from college is replaced with long strands of brown hair pulled into a perfectly set bun. I smile as she pushes up her stylish glasses and heads my way. I have to admit she looks stunning. She makes wearing a bun look like fashion chic. I think I’ve always been jealous of the way confidence just seems to ooze out of her. I peek down at my raggedy jeans, Chuck Taylors, and my $10 T-shirt, slightly embarrassed at just how plain I look.

Finding fancy clothes is difficult with my size. I hate the term “plus size”, yet that’s what the world insists on labeling me as. If I’ve gained weight since college, Carol doesn’t mention it. I grab my suitcase and haul it across the sidewalk trying my best not to get run over as I make my way toward Carol. “Oh, my god. Becca, it’s so amazing to see you!” She hugs me, and the memories of our late night study sessions, frat parties, and college heartaches come rushing back to me. I didn’t even realize how much I’ve really missed her until right now. Carol is like the sister I never had. Sometimes being an only child sucks. Not to mention I don’t have any younger or older sisters for my mother to marry off.

“You look great, Carol. New York has done you good.”

“Thanks, girly, it’s a crazy world over here, but you’re going to love it! I can’t wait to get back to my apartment. I have so many plans for tonight!”

“I’m excited to be here. Thanks for letting me crash with you.” Excited wasn’t even close to how I really felt. Scared. Anxious. Ecstatic. Pumped. I feel invincible – ready to take on the world.

“It’s not a problem, really. I would’ve been terribly offended if you hadn’t have asked.”

She hooks her arm through mine as she tugs me toward a sleek, black Lexus. It’s like we’re teenagers again, off on an adventure. Taxicabs flood the airport, pulling in and out every few seconds. It’s a miracle anyone can get out of here. My attention is drawn to a handsome older man stepping out of Carol’s car.

“Ms. Gellar,” he says, quickly bending down to grab my suitcase. His movements are so swift that my suitcase is settled into the trunk of the car in what seems like a blur. He walks over and opens the back passenger side of the Lexus. If he didn’t look at least 20 years my senior, I would say he’s pretty sexy.

“Oh, I almost forgot, this is my driver, Steven,” Carol says, grinning. Whoa, she has a chauffeur?

“He’s fantastic, if you need anything – he’ll get it. Even tampons and stuff.” The thought of Stephen, who coincidentally reminds me of Liam Neeson from Taken, picking up tampons for me makes my cheeks burn.

“That’s okay, I’ll be good.”

Steven chuckles, obviously amused at my shyness. “It would be my pleasure picking up anything you may require, Ms. Gellar.”

“Please, call me Rebecca.” The only people who call me by my last name are my professors and the occasional telemarketer. Gosh, I hate telemarketers. I always feel bad when they call because you know half the time they're just as miserable as you.

“Steven, on our way home let’s stop by Cheri’s place.” Carol’s PR business must be skyrocketing if she can afford her own butler. I can only wish to have half the success Carol’s had.

“Who’s Cheri?” I ask.

“She’s one of my clients. She runs her own fashion line, Retro Thrift. She does a lot of affordable pinup styles and some great formal dresses that look like they’re from the 30s,” Carol says, digging through her black leather purse and pulling out her phone. “Here, check it out.” Carol pulls up Cheri’s online web store. It’s like looking at old photographs. The dresses on Cheri’s site are absolutely gorgeous. I have no idea how she’s managed to make them affordable. Unless thrift is a new word for overpriced vintage clothes.

“Wow, I wish I could wear all of them.” I’m such a nerd for vintage fashion. My mother is always rolling her eyes at me when I find vintage outfits at the Salvation Army. She can’t understand why people want to dress like they’re from the past.

“Yeah, I just need to pick up a few outfits for a photo shoot we’re doing tomorrow,” Carol says, throwing her phone back inside her purse. A loud buzzing sound draws her attention back to her phone as she scoops it out of her bag. Carol bursts into laughter, shoving her cell in my hands.

Carol,

Take care of Becca. Please.

Love,

Mrs. G

I am mortified that my mother has Carol’s cellphone. I didn’t give it to her, which means she probably copied it out of my phone contacts. She’s too sneaky for her own good.

“Becca, I have to warn you, this isn’t the first time your mom has called me. She called before I came to pick you up.” I turn to Carol, covering the red blazing on my cheeks. “And she called again about an hour ago.”

“Oh, god.” It was like I was back in freshmen year of college spending my first night away from home. I can still remember the way the other college girls in our dorm stared at me when my RA came in, saying that my mother had called to ask if I was doing all right on my first night away from home. Can you say utterly embarrassing? Yup. That’s her.

“She said she’s worried about you.” Carol eyes me with curiosity. Yeah, she would be, but I actually think she’s more concerned that I’ve totally blown it with Miles.

Not that I would count that as a bad thing.

“I think she’s worried that I might’ve ruined her shot at grandbabies.”

“What?” Carol laughs, playfully shoving me. “Are you pregnant?”

“Gosh, no!” That would be a serious problem. Not just because I’m totally not ready for babies, but if I was, Miles would definitely be the wrong guy.

“Miles came to see me before I left,” I admit, avoiding Carol’s stare. She can see through anything. It’s like she has x-ray vision of the mind.

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, he wants to get back together.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“No, definitely not.”

“You know, you never really explained what he did to mess up. You promised to explain it to me in person. Are you ready to tell me now?”

Somehow when I really think about it, Miles’ betrayal feels partly my fault. Maybe I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend. Maybe I made him stray. Our physical relationship seemed a lot more important to him than anything else. It’s not that I’m a prude about sex, it’s the fact that Miles made me feel incompetent on the subject. He has a nasty habit of trying to tell me what he wanted by bringing up what old girlfriends used to do. From there the chemistry between us sort of flickered out. I wanted to work on “us,” but unfortunately, Miles didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. I guess it was easier to go fuck someone else.

“He cheated on me with his co-star.”

“Ew, you mean the blonde in Future Outlaw?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who plays his love interest on the show.”

“Lovely,” Carol huffs. “The little slut.”

“She is lovely. She has legs for miles and she’s thin. According to the latest gossip, Miles had dumped his no-name girlfriend, me, for his thinner, with an emphasis on thinner, girlfriend. What’s worse is I just found out through STARS magazine that they’re engaged.”

“What. A. Douche. He doesn’t deserve you.” Carol grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “He really doesn’t. And please don’t listen to the stupid TV or any of those gossip magazines. You’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you? I mean, I do and I’m not even into girls,” she says.

“Thanks, girly.”

Carol playfully nudges me with her shoulder. “I know you’ll be okay, but is there anything that I can do? I mean I do know some people,” she says, giving me a knowing look.

I miss having someone to talk to, at least someone other than my mother. It feels great knowing that Carol has my back. It makes this trip out here a little easier. I hope the transition is just as smooth.

“I’m okay, a little shaky, but okay,” I smile.

“Well fuck him.”

“I just wish I could forget we were ever together.”

“Cheri has just the thing for that!” Carol says, excitement coursing through her. “C’mon, let’s pick up the outfits I need from her, an extra something for you, and get back to my pad. We have to get ready for your date tonight,” Carol says, winking.

“Date? How the hell do I have a date?” I really hope Carol doesn’t plan on hooking me up with a friend of hers. I hate blind dates.

“It’s complicated. In short, I’m meeting Tristan Knight, another client of mine at a club opening. It’s tonight. He wants to talk over some plans for getting publicity for the new art gallery he’s thinking of opening. I only agreed to meet tonight because he said he didn’t mind if I brought a friend along who just moved here. He actually said that he would bring a friend too.”

“Oh gosh, Carol. I’m really not up to meeting anyone tonight. I need to catch up on sleep. I have jetlag.” I think I’ve filled my quota for meeting beautiful men today. After Nicholas, I don’t think I can handle another. It’s like sensory overload waiting to happen.

“Sweetheart, nobody gets jetlag from California to New York. It’s only four hours, tops.”

Part of me wants to whine and complain that I don’t want meet some rich, stuffy guy, but Carol is definitely what I would consider wealthy, and she isn’t stuffy. Not one bit.

Carol’s apartment is on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I remember reading about the area online. Or rather drooling about it. The neighborhood is known for its history of artistic workers and its wealthy community. I’m not surprised that she wanted to live in an artsy neighborhood. Even when we were living in Los Angeles, Carol always talked about moving near the art center of Los Angeles. But I have to say, LA doesn’t have anything on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.