Page 23 of Babydaddy To Go
“I’m really looking forward to this,” the model, Jasmine, tells me. “You know, I have a friend with cystic fibrosis. It’s a terrible disease. You’re awesome for raising money for it!”
“This fundraiser is for diabetes research,” I inform her plainly.
“Right! That’s what I meant. My friend has diabetes. She can’t eat any gluten.”
I huff against the window. Is this girl for real? Of all the models-for-hire I’ve had to ‘date’ over the last few years, Jasmine is by far the most annoying.
“Do you like my dress? It was made especially for me. You know, I’m really good friends with the designer, Luce Divito. If you want, I can introduce you. You’d look great in his designs.”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty happy with my designer.”
Undaunted, Jasmine continues to chat. “I love modeling. I’ve been in New York for almost ten years now. I moved here when I was twelve. I got my first print run that same year, so I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m really good. D&G is considering me for their next perfume campaign. My agent is working it out…”
I tune her out as best I can. Apparently, the paparazzi love it when I have a date. They get off on writing about my relationships. Because of this, my agent hires girls to escort me to events like the one I’m going to tonight. They’re not prostitutes. They’re models working in the city. Like Jasmine, they’re pretty prominent. The more beautiful the woman on my arm is, the better the tabloids treat me.
What I’m really looking for is a relationship, not a business arrangement. I want a woman to wake up to. I’m thirty-five years old. It’s about time I settled down.
My agent doesn’t care. He would rather I never get married. The paparazzi will follow a bachelor longer than they’ll follow a guy with a wife and kids. He says I’ll be more successful if I’m single and only go out with models like Jasmine. Because I want my businesses to do well, I go along with it. I’m hoping my good behavior will convince my agent to let me get married eventually. So far, it hasn’t worked.
“So my cat climbed a tree. I didn’t think they did that in real life! He’s not really my cat. He’s just a cat that wanders the street outside the apartment I share with a few other girls. We adopted him as our own. His name is Cookies. Anyway, he climbed a tree, and I had to call the fire department…”
“Listen, Jasmine,” I say when I can’t take it anymore. “You’re being paid to be here, so you don’t have to keep talking. Can we just agree to be quiet for the rest of the night?”
She doesn’t seem affected. Jasmine shrugs and leans against the window, falling asleep quickly.
The silence is welcome. I couldn’t stand another minute of Jasmine’s nasally explanations of whatever she did or witnessed. Doesn’t she realize no one cares? I’m not being paid to listen to her bullshit. The worst part is, she never asked me about myself. I wonder if Jasmine behaves this way on dates, too. It’s no surprise she’s single if that’s the case.
Traffic is heavy, so it takes longer than usual to drive from my restaurant to the Ritz. Their ballroom is smaller than some others in New York, but the non-profit hosting this event likes the name of the hotel. The rest of the details don’t matter.
As we drive, we pass by Alyssa’s street. What was she doing outside my restaurant tonight? I can’t imagine what was running through her head when she saw Jasmine waltz down the sidewalk on my arm. I wanted distance, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I couldn’t look at her face, just in case it showed the pain I caused her.
The Ritz overlooks Central Park. People pour from the Park to watch as limos like mine release celebrities in front of the overpriced hotel. We’re stuck in a long line of black cars. After fifteen minutes, my driver finally pulls up in front of the hotel.
A doorman opens the car door and steps aside so I can climb out. In an attempt to keep up appearances, I offer my hand to the now-awake Jasmine so she can climb out safely. Despite my snapping at her earlier, she smiles brightly at the flashing cameras as we walk into the hotel. If modelling doesn’t work out for her, she might want to take up acting. She’s playing her part perfectly.
Paparazzi, tabloid photographers, and a few entertainment news hosts line the red carpet. My agent said I don’t have to stop for them if I don’t want to. I don’t want to, but Jasmine tugs me towards a famous host for questioning. These kinds of interviews always feel more like an interrogation than anything else. They’re asking me questions in the hopes that I slip up and give them something they can use against me.
“Nathaniel Glover! Who is the beautiful woman you have with you tonight?”
“This is Jasmine,” I say, forgetting her last name. My agent is going to rip me a new one for that. “Isn’t she gorgeous? Just look at her dress.”
I pull my arm away so Jasmine can twirl for the camera. She loves the attention more than I ever will. Part of why I go along with these stupid charades is to have something else for the gawkers to focus on.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“At his restaurant,” Jasmine replies, using her practiced line. It’s not technically a lie – today at my restaurant was the first time we met in person.
“Well, isn’t that fun! Food bringing people together. That’s my kind of love story.”
We all laugh like this is the funniest thing we’ve heard all day. The host thanks us for our time and allows us to move on to the next person. Jasmine is all too happy to repeat the same conversation a hundred times, all the way up the carpet.
After what feels like an hour but was really less than thirty minutes, Jasmine and I are in the lobby of the Ritz. Formal signs lead us to the ballroom.
I’ve been in the Ritz ballroom a few times. This event is different than those. The ballroom is dimly lit with crepe paper twisted between the bannisters. It looks more like a kid’s birthday party than the black tie event I was expecting. No one else seems to care. It’s been a while since I last attended a charity banquet. Maybe this is how things are done now?
Jasmine decides that she’s on a networking trip rather than a fake date. She drags me towards a gaggle of producers and actors who are maintaining a short distance between themselves and the shrimp appetizers.
“Hi!” Jasmine says brightly. I recognize a few of the faces. This is the cast and crew for an action movie coming out later this year. They filmed in New York City and had their wrap party in my restaurant. “I’m Jasmine.”