The Meridian Gamble Read Online Free Page A

seems ridiculous.
    And as we munch on our Chinese
Chicken Salads in the Asian Fusion restaurant, as I try to force myself to
listen to her blabber about marketing tacky jeans, the strangest thing begins
to happen. Right before my eyes, my friend begins to flicker and morph, and
change into a different person. I think I’m starting to go crazy with my
overactive imagination, because Staci begins transforming into Marjorie. Her
yellow hair grows longer, and its thick curls straighten into long brown
tresses. Her lips become more refined and seem to squeeze into a perfect,
heart-shaped pout. The bright swipes of blush on her cheeks turn into a light,
pale powder, and her figure seems to melt away in a manner that Staci can only
dream of, as her dark business suit becomes a high-collared, white lace dress.
    For a moment, the entire restaurant
seems to disappear, and I’m transported to the breakfast table of a grand
Victorian manor. And Marjorie, the sister from my story, stares back at me.
    I shake my head, somehow pushing
the vision away. And it scares me just a bit. Does this mean that I’m wildly
creative and meant to be a writer, because of the vividness with which I can
make my stories come to life? Or am I maybe going insane?
    “So what do you think? Do you want
to go?”
    Staci stares at me expectantly, and
I realize she’s been talking all along, and I have no idea what she’s been
saying. But I decide to run with it, because it’s easier than explaining the
place where my mind just went.
    “Sure, I’d love to go. Where are we
going?”
    “Downtown Pub!” she says, in an
exasperated tone. “A few of the people from Drexler Wexler are going to be
there. Who knows, there might be some cute, successful guys.”
    And suddenly, I remember exactly
why it is that I hang around with Staci so much, because she’s the perfect
wingman, one who forces me out of my rut to go on the eternal hunt for hot men.
And though Downtown Pub probably isn’t my type of place, I realize that if I
want to move ahead in advertising, mixing with the suits from Drexler Wexler is
exactly the kind of thing I need to do.
    “Heck, yeah. That sounds like a lot
of fun,” I force myself to say.
    “Great,” Staci says. “Say, do you
mind if we cut out of here? I want to hit Bloomie’s on the way back …”
    The waitress
walks by, and Staci waves her over so we can divvy up the check.
    “So there’s this one guy at Drexler
Wexler I’m kind of into,” Staci says. “His name is Darcy.”
    We’re walking down the sidewalk on
Fifth Avenue, navigating our way through the bustling lunchtime crowd.
    “Oooh, tell me more! What’s he
like?”
    “Well, he’s cute. And very
successful. He just made Executive Director of Marketing. We’ve kind of been
flirting over the phone, but I’m hoping if we get together, it can turn into
something more than just business.”
    I know Staci. She’s probably making
a point to mention Darcy so that I’ll steer clear, which is fine by me. One of
the reasons she’s such a great wingman is that we have an unspoken agreement to
never go after the same guy. And it works out well in most situations, because
we’re both wallflowers who aren’t overly aggressive, and we both like different
types. Staci is into the boring businessmen, guys she thinks will cheer her on
as she climbs the corporate ladder and father her 2.5 kids. I tend to stay away
from the metrosexual type and go for more masculine men. I tend to want
something … more.
    As she tells me about her lust for
Darcy, something catches my attention on the other side of the street, a man in
the crowd. He’s still a ways off, but I can see him with such clarity for some
reason, like my eyes focus in on him with telescopic vision; he’s
African-American, a bit taller than the mob around him, and dressed in a
business suit like every other guy. I’m not sure why he stands out to me, but
as I stare at him, the psychic weirdness of the day