Page 26 of Single Daddy To Go

“Yeah, but Ally, what about more than that? I mean, you can’t watch movies all the time. He’ll want to attend charity events where the tickets go for ten thousand dollars, and socialize with his buddies at upscale resorts in the Hamptons. Trust me, it’s a whole other world. One that we can’t afford,” she says.

I shake my head, still confused.

“But none of that matters! He can’t expect me to buy a ticket to a charity that costs a thousand dollars. He knows I can’t afford it.”

“Of course you can’t afford that,” Haley says quickly. “But it’s not the ticket, sweetheart. Of course, he’ll buy that for you. It’s everything else. The dress. The jewelry. The professional hair and make-up. You know, the girls who attend those events don’t just go to a salon to get their hair and make-up done. They pay for stylists to come to their homes, which costs a pretty penny. And it’s like that for everything,” my buddy continues. “You have to look and act a certain way with a man like Rob Lockhart, and sweetheart, you and I aren’t it,” she says with a sad smile. “You with your day care job and me with my freelancing? We’re not the type of woman he dates long-term. For hook-ups yes, but not more than once or twice.”

Oh my god, is my friend right? She can’t be. I’ve been raised to believe that money is a means to the end. It’s not the ultimate goal. But Haley seems to be saying something else. She’s saying that these folks live in a world completely different from ours, where everything is gilded in money. You’re expected to look and act a certain way, and given my meager salary, I can’t even afford to show up, much less participate.

Reading my mind, my friend nods again.

“And remember,” she says in a low voice. “Robert Lockhart is known for having multiple women on his arm,” she reminds me. “Remember those photos we found? The paparazzi shots? He often had two women on his arm, and an army trailing behind him. This isn’t a ‘going steady’ type of guy, Ally. He’s the kind who likes to sample women, and you were the flavor of last night,” she says in a low voice.

Her words cut me to the core but I try not to show it.

“Thanks,” is my stiff reply. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I begin walking to my room, but Haley stops me with a hand on my arm.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, Ally,” she speaks. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, you know? You’re a really sensitive girl who believes the best about everyone and everything, and I don’t want you going into this with a blindfold over your eyes. He’s a billionaire, sweetheart, and all that Cinderella fantasy-stuff? That’s all it is. Fantasy. Guys like that don’t date girls like us. At least, not for the long-term.”

I nod and turn my head away so that she can’t see my eyes fill with tears.

“Thanks,” is my wooden reply as I step into my bedroom, softly shutting the door behind me. But once inside, I fall limply onto the mattress, and the tears slip hotly down my cheeks to dampen the bedspread. Is what Haley said accurate? Am I just a plaything for a billionaire? A one-night nothing?

I don’t want to believe it, but now that I think over our interactions, there’s a kernel of truth to her words. Rob didn’t ask for my phone number of any contact information. He didn’t plan a second date, or ask me out again. He didn’t even drop me off himself. He had his assistant do it for him.

Of course, none of these actions are definitive because they fall into a gray zone. After all, it’s true that I’ve never dated a wealthy man. My usual type is a penniless artist barely scraping by with his music, books, or screenplay. So maybe things with Mr. Lockhartaredifferent. Maybe what Haley said is true, but in a different sense. The usual signals aren’t what I’m accustomed to, and I have to get used to a new way of operating.

With a tired swipe at my tears, I maneuver upright on the bedspread and take a deep breath. I should be elated from having a magical night with a handsome, charismatic billionaire who seems to like me.You can do this,the voice in my head encourages.The world always wants to pull you down, but that’s not you, Ally. You’re an optimist.

I cast a glance at myself in the mirror. The glow of last night has faded, but I force myself to pull my shoulders straight and let out a glimmer of a smile. I want to see where this goes with Rob Lockhart, and even words won’t stop me.

10

Rob

The Annual Fair is going to be a fucking nightmare. I can already tell. My driver pulls up to the curb and opens the door of the black town car for me.

“Thanks Umberto,” I grunt. “I’ll probably only be here for an hour or so.”

Umberto nods, tipping his black cap discreetly.

“Of course, Sir. I’ll wait right around the corner. Just call when you need me.”

I step out onto the sidewalk. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is totally not my scene. There are dozens of well-dressed parents streaming into the school wearing glittery gowns and penguin suits. This is a fucking day care event, for crying out loud. Why are they dressed to the nines?

But that’s how it is in Manhattan, especially in the ritzier areas. People want to one-up one another and show off how much they have, even if it’s something as humble as a school benefit. Thus, the women dripping with diamonds, and men in formal tuxedos. Me? I’m in a black suit with a white shirt. Dressed-up but not over the top.

My mood darkens even more when I catch sight of Meredith Petersen. She’s a woman who came onto me non-stop when I was single, and even more so when I was married. After news about my divorce went public, Meredith double downed and has been leaving me messages at work with lots of not-so-subtle hints about “catching up” and “grabbing a night cap together.” Bullshit. That woman wants my money and will stop at nothing to get it.

Fortunately, tonight she’s hanging on to some old geezer’s arm and laughing merrily into his face. The woman must have found new prey. Good. I don’t want to fend off her advances in front of both my daughter and hers.

I stalk towards the entrance of the school, which today is festooned in red and black balloons, the official school colors of Ladybug Tots. Fuck. What preschool has school colors? My eyes glance over the sight inside, which makes my heart drop. Adults, standing around with champagne glasses in their hands, laughing and chatting as children dressed in their party-clothes scamper about. This could be a bar mitzvah except the stakes are much higher: who’s going to outdo whom when it comes to donating the most money?

I’m just about to head off to the bar they’ve set up over in one corner, when suddenly a vision appears. Oh shit! It’s Ally. She’s impossibly gorgeous in a pink gown that reveals without being too revealing. Her enormous bust is demure in a sweetheart neckline, and the dress hangs all the way to her ankles, showing off perfectly pedicured pink toenails in glittery sandals. She’s insanely beautiful and this fundraiser just got ten times better.

“Hi Mr. Lockhart,” she murmurs, coming close. “Glad you could make it.”

My eyes gleam at her.