Quin Harper stared into the depths of her closet, clutching her tiny white Chihuahua puppy to her chest. The puppy, Sylvie, had been a birthday gift from her best friend Magda. Though Sylvie annoyed her to no end with her constant yapping and desperate need for attention, Quin had grown quite attached to the little brat.
“What should I wear tonight?” Quin asked, placing a little kiss to the puppy’s head before setting her to the floor. She skimmed her hand over the bottoms of her dresses, mentally crossing selections off her list of possibilities. When her fingers touched the black and white georgette cocktail dress, she knew she’d found it at last.
Quin had been talked into accepting the invitation to the latest club opening in Soho by Magda who was desperately searching for a husband. Even though they lived in one of the only places close enough to an alternate universe that women over thirty-five who weren’t married were not looked at like old maids but rather as focused business women, Magda couldn’t seem to shake her estrogen’s influence. Quin had long since abandoned her desires to find the man of her dreams and to settle down. In fact, the mere thought made her skin prickle. The idea of giving up her lifestyle, which she’d become quite accustomed to in her forty years, was as terrifying as it was irritating. In the last few years, she’d even stopped casually dating so much. Her business, a boutique that she owned and Magda managed, was doing incredibly well and it had consumed most of her time since it’d opened two years ago.
Quin smoothed a hand down her flat stomach and surveyed her choice of underwear, trying to decide if the lacy nude-colored boyshorts she was wearing would work with her dress. Once she’d decided that they in fact would, she slid on the dress, transferred the necessary items to her favorite black clutch purse and headed for the door. She had been instructed to meet Magda at the club, Fuse, at ten. It wasn’t that Quin didn’t want to go—she loved a new club opening as much as the next New Yorker, but the overly enthusiastic tone in Magda’s voice on the phone earlier told Quin to be cautious. Magda had a penchant for attempted matchmaking, though she never seemed willing to turn around the practice to herself. Quin took a fleeting glance in the mirror next to her front door, smiling confidently at herself before leaving. Expertly, she placed her thumb and index fingers in her mouth to give a piercing whistle that almost immediately brought a cab to a stop in front of her. After giving the cabbie the necessary information to get her to the club, she settled back in her seat and texted Magda.
The drive took hardly any time at all according to New York standards and Quin found herself sliding the fare plus a generous tip into the cab driver’s hand at just quarter past ten. She walked right past the paparazzi who were clearly not interesting in taking pictures of her and told the bouncer her name, granting her access to the bass-vibrating room ahead of her. Magda was waiting by the bar with two dirty martinis, one untouched and clearly waiting just for Quin’s arrival.
“It took you long enough to get here.” Magda gestured towards the drink intended for Quin, and Quin took it eagerly.
“Are you sure we’re not too old to be here?” Quin asked, looking around and seeing that the average age of the club’s inhabitants seemed to be under twenty-five. Magda rolled her eyes and stepped away from the bar, indicating to Quin that they were officially in mingle mode.
Quin saw some faces she recognized and some she didn’t. The human landscape of the city was ever changing, so that really didn’t surprise her. But, there were the regulars, ones that she and Magda small-talked with politely, having the same conversations with them they had at every function. Quin really loved her job and all of the happiness it brought her. She got to be surrounded with beautiful designer clothing and talk to designers every day. She had worked her way through the fashion sales industry from the bottom up, starting out by folding sweaters and jeans at Bloomingdale’s and was finally her own boss. The road had not been easy and she had made many sacrifices to make her dream a reality, but, as she noted from the fabulous dress she was wearing that had given to her by the designer, it was totally worth it.
“Don’t look now,” Magda said suddenly, her eyes widening slightly as she looked over Quin’s shoulder, “There’s a guy staring at you.”
“You tell me that and then you expect me not to look?” Quin asked, “Is he good looking? Do I even care that he’s looking at me?”
“Oh… you care,” Magda smiled, “Let’s go get another drink so you can check him out.” Quin nodded and followed Magda’s lead. Quin wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Magda had set her up on a series of dates with a ridiculously wide range of men. Apparently, Magda thought that if she pushed every kind of man in Quin’s direction, something would eventually take. The walk to the bar wasn’t far, and within a manner of seconds, they were facing the crowd and Magda was trying to discreetly point out the man in question.
“So, where is he?” Quin asked.
“Over there, group of three guys. He’s the blonde one with the scarf.”
“Scarf?” Quin asked, rolling her eyes lightly before attempting to subtly follow Magda’s line of sight. When Quin found the group in question, she slowly turned around to face the bar.
“That’s Taylor Hanson.”
“What?” Magda questioned, turning around to look at him again, “How do you know what Taylor Hanson looks like today?”
“They were on TV the other day during my lunch break,” Quin told her, “But he’s a baby. Are you sure he was looking at me?”
“Not looking, staring,” Magda repeated, raising her eyebrows slightly and turning once more for the bar. Quin ran her finger around the edge of her drink as she continued to look at Taylor Hanson out of the corner of her eye. Every few seconds, he would in fact glance over in her direction.
“Would you stop laughing?” Quin asked when she noticed that Magda was laughing at her.
“I think he’s in love,” Magda teased, cracking up immediately after the statement left her lips.
“Ridiculous,” Quin mumbled, downing the rest of her martini like it was a shot.