Face Time – Chapter 1

Laura

March 22, 2012 – New York City

I’m being stood up by my coworkers yet again. When I enter the Blue Bar at the Algonquin at 7:30pm, no one I know is here. Either they are painfully late (and usually that’s my M.O.) or they’ve been here and left. Neither are real possibilities. Craning my neck around the room, I search for a familiar face amongst the boisterous and chatting crowd. All the side tables are full and most of the seats at the bar too, but I don’t recognize anyone. This is the second week in a row these bastards I call friends are no-shows.

Walking towards the bar, I dig in my giant sack of a purse and place my iPhone on the long, dark wood bar before slinging my coat across the back of a chair. It’s almost spring time in New York City. The days are warm and sunny, bright light bouncing off the buildings and heating the sidewalks strewn with winter’s trash, possibly the only thing to hate about the city once the snow melts. The evenings, though, carry a biting frost, whipping around the streets and avenues, chilling me to the bone. I hate any season but summer.

“What can I get you, Laura?” Charice asks, leaning over the bar to kiss me on the cheek. She knows me pretty well. The Blue Bar is only a block away from work, and, every Thursday, I meet my other single coworkers for a drink before heading home. Everyone else I work with is married and gets on a train home promptly at six.

“Gin and tonic, please, Charice. And, since I’m alone, again, be heavy-handed.”

“You got it.”

As Charice turns away to fill my glass with ice, my phone jumps to life, a message blinking on the screen from Jessie, one of my missing coworkers. “I can’t make it. Have to run home to Rob. Bad day at work for him.” 

“Of course he had a bad day,” I mumble at my phone, “because he’s an idiot.”

Soft laughter catches my attention, and I look up to find the man next to me shaking his head with a smile.

“What?” I snap at him, Jessie’s betrayal still stinging. “Mind your own business.”

“Whoa. Sorry.” He sits back in his chair and raises his hands in front of him in surrender. “Didn’t mean to anger the locals.”

I immediately regret my abrupt reply, letting my ten-year New York City attitude fly off at him because his smile is sweet and with one eyebrow arched at me, I laugh. He just caught me being a rude New Yorker, which is something I boast to others doesn’t exist. “No, I’m sorry. Been stood up. Again.” I slam my iPhone on the bar, gently, and then check to make sure I didn’t damage the screen. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you though you were eavesdropping.”

“Kind of hard not to.” He rakes his hand through his messy hair, and my smile lifts. Is he Japanese? Chinese? I’m not good at guessing between Asian nationalities unless I hear a name or native language. I’ve been to Thailand, Shanghai, Singapore, Malaysia, and Japan before and love everything about the far east.

I scan him from his hair down and assess him for a few distinct markers. He’s not wearing a ring (I always look for a wedding ring first), a little rumpled, his button-down shirt open at the neck and sleeves rolled up. No coat hanging on the back of the chair. My guess is he stepped off a plane this evening because his eyes are rimmed in red, and his voice is quiet and raspy, belying the laughter he produced at my expense.

“You’re right. These bar stools are close together.” I shift in my seat and smile, well aware I’m already flirting with him. “You’re almost done with your drink. Let me buy you another as an apology. Charice,” I call, leaning forward and catching my friend’s eye. “He’ll have a second one. On me.”

“I think this is the first time a woman has ever bought me a drink.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Right. So, Laura-who-buys-drinks-for-strange-men-at-the-bar…”

“You look like you could use another…?” I incline my head at him, hinting he should produce a name and fast.

“Lee. Lee Park.”

“Like, Bond, James Bond?”

“No, that would be, Park, Lee Park.” He sips at his fresh glass of bourbon. One ice cube.

Park. He’s Korean. Park is the Smith of Korea. Korea was the one country I missed during my tour of Asia twelve years ago. I had a plane ticket to go but had to fly home because my aunt died.

“I just flew in from Shanghai. Business.”

“Shanghai. Quite a haul of a flight.” Jabbing the straw in my drink up and down a few times, I lean forward and take a long sip.

“And I’m only here for three days including today. Fly back home to Seoul on Saturday.”

Damn. He’s not from New York or even the East Coast. “The jet lag must be a nightmare.”

“It is, but you get used to the constant ache of tiredness when you travel as much as I do.”

We both nod at each other, and I pick up my phone and check again to make sure I didn’t receive any messages. Nope. I better down this drink and head home.

“Sorry,” Lee says, jerking his chin at my phone as I set it down with a sigh. “Boyfriend stand you up?”

“No. A friend, coworker. Actually, several asshole coworkers who I’m going give the finger to tomorrow.” I mock sneer at him, and he laughs. Lee passes the sense-of-humor test. “I’m not dating anybody.”

This is hard to say with a straight face and no eye contact. Up until two minutes ago, I was ready to flirt with him and ask him out on a date, though the last time I hit on a stranger at a bar I ended up in a six-month relationship from hell. But Lee’s not even from around here. Seoul is far away. The other side of the world. Might as well be a different planet.

“We have this standing Thursday night drinks date here with a few coworkers, but the past couple of weeks I’m the only one to show up. Oh well.” I rub my fingers in along my scalp, loosening my long brown hair from the twists at my neck and easing some of the day’s tension. The gin is helping too. “Seems like everyone’s spring time obligations started early this year.”

Lee relaxes in his chair, taking a long sweeping look at me, and I’m suddenly conscious of the way I’m leaning back to stretch my arms thus thrusting out my chest and making a good display of my stomach peeking out from the black merino sweater I chose to wear today.

I laugh and lean forward, pulling my shirt down. “I’m a little beat, too.” He nods in response. “I’m sorry I distracted you from your drink. If you want to be left alone to enjoy some peace, I can mind my own business.”

I’m giving him an out. Not every person wants to be social and talk to their neighbor at the bar after a long flight. I’ve traveled enough to know it’s exhausting.

“No, no, not at all, Laura. I know your name now and don’t mind talking especially with a drink in front of me.” He relaxes again, his eyes leaving my body and concentrating on his drink. He takes a sip and gently places it back on the bar, turning the glass once.

Okay, small talk. Where to start? “Are you from Seoul originally?”

“No, I’m from Seattle, but I am Korean, and I have relatives in the country I visit often. Seoul is my home base now, for the last five years.”

“And you’re in town on business?”

He smiles at my question, and I take a sip of my drink. I need to loosen up. I sound like I’m interviewing him.

Change tack. I smile back and say, “It’s too bad you’re here for such a short stay. The city can be lovely this time of year, but I’m sure Seoul is also hitting spring.”

“It is. Seoul is a little warmer than New York, but not by much. We have just as much snow on the sidewalks. Do you live around here?”

“No,” I rest my chin on my hand. This long day shattered my body, and now every muscle in my neck and back are relaxing towards bedtime. “I work at HBO which is around the corner on Bryant Park. I live in Chelsea.”

“I love Chelsea. It’s a fun neighborhood.” Lee nods his head and takes another sip before rubbing his tired eyes. He loves Chelsea? Maybe he’s gay? But I’m not and I live there. “It’s changed a lot in the last five or six years.”

“The whole city’s changed a lot in the past ten years. Do you come here often?”

“Hmmm.” He rubs his chin and the shadow forming across his cheek. “About two or three times per year. I’m mostly in Seoul, Shanghai, Tokyo, Bangkok, and several places in India. When I’m in the States, I’m either here or back home in Seattle, sometimes Detroit.”

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of traveling,” I blurt out, and Lee laughs so hard other people at the bar around us turn to stare at him. “I’d love to travel the world like that.”

I would. I would have stayed abroad forever and seen the world before I was forced to come home. That seems so long ago now — a whole other lifetime ago — but I never stopped dreaming about escaping New York to travel again.

“Well, it’s not all fun and games and having drinks at bars with beautiful women,” he says without a hint of irony, the compliment flying straight at me and knocking me in the face. Heat builds up on my neck. I’m thankful my hair is down.

“My work requires a lot of long flights, day-long meetings, expensive hotels with empty bars, and room service without anyone to talk to. At least when I’m back in Seoul, I can see my friends and go out.”

“That’s true.” I lightly clear my throat and drain the rest of my gin and tonic pushing the tall glass away from me. I haven’t had dinner yet, and everything is warm and fuzzy from the alcohol zipping through my bloodstream. “So, you don’t get any time to enjoy the places you go?”

“No, unfortunately not.” His face falls, and his shoulders sag down with it. I don’t know him, but he seems tired and worn out to me except for the few times he’s smiled or laughed. Traveling the world for fun is a lot different from traveling for work. Work demands meetings, long hours, and jumping back on a plane as soon as you’re done. No time, I guess, for exploring the countryside, lying on a beach, or trying all the favorite local hot spots. That’s my kind of traveling, the kind of traveling I did in my early twenties.

“Well, that’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear it.” I check the time. 8:30 already. If I don’t leave soon and get dinner, I’ll be up way too late and my boss, Mary, has an 8am meeting tomorrow she wants me in the office for. But now I feel obligated to Lee somehow. We’re having an easy conversation, and he’s alone in the city. Maybe…

I smile lightly at him, and he smiles back, a zap of energy running between us that startles me enough to touch the blush on my neck. My skin is burning under my cold fingers.

Maybe…

He drains the last of his bourbon and sets his glass down. “Well, Laura, I hate to leave you like this, but I need to go to bed before I pass out. Jet lag.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, I totally understand.” Keeping the disappointment from my voice, I futz with my iPhone, turning it on and off. “I’m done with my drink and should get something to eat before going to bed. Have you eaten?”

Lee pulls out his wallet and a mass of colored bills flash before me, all shapes and sizes, receipts, and credit cards, all neatly tucked away but impressive in their amount. “Yeah, I ate before coming back here. Let me settle the tab.”

“No.” I push his wallet back with a light touch, trying not to brush his hand. “Really. Drinks are on me. Charice has my card on file.”

He hesitates for a moment, and I try to make eye contact and smile, but heat is pouring off my body so rapidly, I’m starting to sweat. “If you insist.”

I’m glad he wasn’t going to argue with me. I hate when people do that.

I toss my iPhone in my bag, and, once Lee is turned from me, I grasp the front of my sweater, pumping the fabric in and out to get cool air to my torso. I follow him out along the crowd of people, wave to Charice with one hand, holding my coat in the other, and she jerks her head at Lee with a smile. I mouth back, “No,” and shake my head. I’m sure Charice was watching us talk the whole time, hoping he’d ask me out or something, but no. Not going to happen.

The Blue Bar is attached to the Algonquin, a small, luxury, boutique hotel with a distinct literary history. Dorothy Parker and her round table of friends lunched at this hotel all the time and people often lodge here for this fact. Lee exits the bar straight into the lobby, and I step in behind him slipping on my black, boiled-wool fitted coat and wrapping my bright pink scarf around my neck.

“It was nice to meet you, Lee. I hope you get some rest and your day here tomorrow isn’t too long. I hear the temp will be in the fifties. You should eat lunch outside.” I extend my hand to him, being careful not to let it shake from tiredness, gin, and the fact I was having a good time talking to him and didn’t want the evening to end.

He grasps my hand and holds it tightly for a moment, turning it on its side and rubbing his thumb over the back. It’s such a familiar gesture, and I wasn’t prepared for how genuinely bittersweet a good-bye would be, my heart beating faster, and my mouth drying.

He really is handsome. I always go for tall, white men, blond, good-looking and adventuresome, but never Asian men, even after all the time I spent in the Far East in my early twenties. Why did I not think of them? Lee is casual and relaxed, wearing a beautifully cut shirt and flat-front tailored black pants, shined business shoes, and his sleeves cling to his strong upper arms. Breathing is difficult right about now.

When he lets go of my hand, I stuff it in my pocket and finger my Metrocard, wetting my now dry lower lip. I should stop wanting things I can’t have.

“Thank you for the drink, Laura.”

“You’re welcome.” I wave and turn to go, buttoning up my coat, but before I can exit, Lee calls my name.

“Are you busy tomorrow night? I’m in meetings until six, but I’d love for you to have dinner with me.”

“Oh. Hmmm,” I say, thinking. Friday night. I usually go out drinking and clubbing all night until I can’t stand or speak anymore and someone stuffs me in a cab home. Ha, just joking. That was me ten years ago. Now, I attend a spin class at the gym and then head home for takeout and a movie. I know, thrilling, right? “I think I’m free. I could have dinner with you, if you like.”

His face softens and splits into a wide, charming smile. “Meet here between 6:30 and 7:00?”

I point back at the Blue Bar. “I’ll be right there.”

“Great. Good night.”

He waits while I exit the hotel before turning to head up to his room. I wasn’t expecting a date.

Wait, dinner isn’t a date. It’s just dinner with someone he can talk to instead of having room service. Whatever. I didn’t have anything else to do, and I didn’t want our conversation to end earlier anyway. So, dinner? Why not?

—-

The lobby at work is quiet at 7:45am. Normally, I’m not in the office until 9:00am, and even then, I drop my bag at my desk, boot up my computer, and head straight to the cafeteria for breakfast. If Mary, my boss, is in, I get breakfast for us both. I like egg, cheese, and a sausage on whole wheat toast. She likes oatmeal with brown sugar, cinnamon, and pecans. I’ve been working for her for the past three years, and, before Mary, for another woman I liked, but she left to work for a different network.

All told, I have worked here five years which is hard to believe. Before this, I never held a job for longer than a year. This job and my return to New York was a concession I made to keep the peace in the family. All the years I spent waiting tables, working hostess jobs, and tending bar throughout the South taught me the good manners I needed to be an administrative assistant. My job is a lot of diplomatic smiles, talking on the phone, and sitting quietly in the room while Mary manages huge, network-sweeping projects.

I swipe my badge at the turnstiles, wave to the security guards, and head up to the office, my short heels clicking on the marble floors and echoing through the lobby. When I get to my desk, Mary’s door is open and the lights are on. Her corner office overlooking Grace Plaza at the intersection of Sixth Avenue and Forty-third street is one of the best offices on the floor. The view this morning is taxi cabs in traffic and endless red brake lights leading uptown.

“Good morning, Mary. You’re in early.” I peek my head in before I even take off my coat, and Mary is searching through her email at her desk, her short, straight blond hair pinned back over her ears.

“The kids all decided to get up at five. They have no respect for my schedule whatsoever.” She laughs and sips her coffee. Mary has two young kids, and her husband takes the morning shift. “Bill didn’t want to get up, and since I had to be here early anyway, I got them dressed and came straight in.”

“Do you need more coffee? I can run to the caf for you.”

“No, thanks. There’ll be breakfast at the meeting this morning, right?”

“Yes. I had it taken care of.” Taking off my coat, I slip back out of her office and hang it up.

“Thanks, Laura,” Mary shouts from her desk. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be late for all your meetings and starve to death, Mary.”

She laughs, and though I can’t see her, I know she’s nodding her head. “You’re right. Hey, come back in here.”

I grab my moleskine I keep all my notes in and re-enter her office.

“You look different today. Hot date tonight?”

When I picked out my outfit this morning, I wondered if it was too much. It must be too much.

“Is it too much?” I ask, sweeping my hands down. I left my long hair down and curled and decided on a black V-neck sweater that shows some cleavage. I wavered over my dark red skinny pants. All the time I spend in the gym (because I have nothing better to do) means I can wear the skinniest of pants without feeling self-conscious, but I tend to wear trousers to work or even jeans. We’re laid back here.

“No, absolutely not,” she says with a smile. “You must be going on a date then. Who is he?”

“It’s not a date. Just dinner. He’s some guy I met last night who’s in town for a few days.” I wave my hand and scrunch my nose. “Not relationship material.” I wish he was.

“Okay.” Her sly smile makes me laugh.

“Mary. I swear. Just dinner.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a date, Laura, but I’m happy to see you go out again… After Rene.”

“Thanks.” I shift on my feet. I try never to think of Rene anymore. He was karmic payback for all the stupid shit I did in my twenties, for all the guys I met, slept with, and left.

“How’s your mom doing?” Mary asks, sipping the last of her coffee and throwing the cup in the trash.

“Good. The usual. Museums and fancy trips with the latest boyfriend, lots of walking, dinners with my aunt. Thanks for asking. I’m going to get coffee, and I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

I was wrong to wear the hot, revealing pants for this dinner tonight. I shouldn’t flirt with Lee anyway. I can’t bring him home, and I don’t trust hotel rooms on first dates. Tomorrow, Lee will be on a plane back to Seoul, and I will never see him again. Well, too late now. I have nothing else to change into.

“Damn, Laura,” Dana, another admin, calls out as I pass her desk. “Those pants are awesome. Your legs look a mile long.”

Turning all the way around as I hit my stride, I laugh back at her. The pants will be fine.