bulging in his arm like the David statue. His eyes were his best feature, a brown like melting chocolate, and mischievous, like he would be the first guy at a party to do a keg stand. His ears stuck out slightly from the sides of his head and this tiny imperfection made him seem even more personable. He had a shadow of a beard across his square chin and mouth, a hint of goatee. He had a dimple in his right cheek. He reminded Alexis of the skater guys from high school who would annoy her by performing noisy, messy tricks outside the window while she was studying in the library.
Alexis found herself hoping his blond highlights were natural, as she didn’t find men who dyed their hair very masculine, and then wondered why she cared what this particular man did with his hair. In the picture, he was wearing a traditional white chef’s attire, open at the throat and showing a gold Jewish star peeking through. He had large hands and a huge grin that stretched across his whole face, like Mick Jagger’s. She wondered how he could be both black and Jewish (he must be, with the last name Cohen?), then remembered Sammy Davis, Jr., was black. And Jewish. And why on earth was she standing here trying to figure out this man’s heritage when she had a column to write?
Carlos took the flyer out of Alexis’s hands slowly. “Ha! You’ve got the hots for him already! This guy is a lady-killer. Like, thirty women have already signed up for this class. It’s the most we’ve ever gotten for one of our special cooking series. I think he looks like one of those Calvin Klein models that have that billboard on Canal, you know, the ones in their underpants that everyone gets all worked up about?”
She rolled her eyes. “I do not have the hots for him, I don’t even know him,” Alexis said, putting on her coat. “If he has good ideas about nutrition I could use him on the blog, that’s all.” Really! Carlos was so immature sometimes.
“Sure, sure. Well, it will be good to see you there,” Carlos said. “It’s next month, so you might want to sign up now because there’s only two spots left.”
“No problem. I’ll just pay now,” Alexis said. “How much is it?”
“Fifty bucks,” Carlos said.
Alexis swallowed. She only had a hundred dollars left in her bank account. She was due checks from advertisers on Skinny Chick, but so far they were behind on payment. Since the recession, checks were arriving in the mail slower and slower. She made a note on her iPhone to call around to her various advertisers when she got home, and signed up for the course. Since it was related to her blog, she could probably write it off come tax season.
“Can you take a check?” she asked Carlos, who was greeting people as they hustled in, carrying gym bags and flashing IDs at him.
“For you, doll? Anything.”
Alexis reached into her Chanel bag she had on loan for five more days from the Web site Beg, Borrow, Steal . She carefully wrote out the check, dating it for a week from now, when she’d hopefully have more dough, hoping Carlos wouldn’t notice. He didn’t.
“See you in class,” he sang after her, as she pushed through the revolving front door of the gym.
“Namaste,” she called back jokingly, her head spinning with Sarah’s news and the fact that she’d just signed up for her first cooking class ever, and one she really couldn’t afford. But really, all she could think about was Noah’s deep, warm brown eyes. She suddenly had to meet him. She was filled with excitement about a total stranger. What did that say about her?
The day was definitely not going as scheduled.
Fat and Fabulous
PEDICURE BEFORE FOOD
Okay, so I know my job is to talk about food, and how important it is to eat it. And believe me, I eat frickin’ plenty. But if someone threatened me with an imminent Indian burn on my arm unless I chose between pedicures and food, I’d starve. May we discuss? Oh, how do I describe the warm flow of
Alexis found herself hoping his blond highlights were natural, as she didn’t find men who dyed their hair very masculine, and then wondered why she cared what this particular man did with his hair. In the picture, he was wearing a traditional white chef’s attire, open at the throat and showing a gold Jewish star peeking through. He had large hands and a huge grin that stretched across his whole face, like Mick Jagger’s. She wondered how he could be both black and Jewish (he must be, with the last name Cohen?), then remembered Sammy Davis, Jr., was black. And Jewish. And why on earth was she standing here trying to figure out this man’s heritage when she had a column to write?
Carlos took the flyer out of Alexis’s hands slowly. “Ha! You’ve got the hots for him already! This guy is a lady-killer. Like, thirty women have already signed up for this class. It’s the most we’ve ever gotten for one of our special cooking series. I think he looks like one of those Calvin Klein models that have that billboard on Canal, you know, the ones in their underpants that everyone gets all worked up about?”
She rolled her eyes. “I do not have the hots for him, I don’t even know him,” Alexis said, putting on her coat. “If he has good ideas about nutrition I could use him on the blog, that’s all.” Really! Carlos was so immature sometimes.
“Sure, sure. Well, it will be good to see you there,” Carlos said. “It’s next month, so you might want to sign up now because there’s only two spots left.”
“No problem. I’ll just pay now,” Alexis said. “How much is it?”
“Fifty bucks,” Carlos said.
Alexis swallowed. She only had a hundred dollars left in her bank account. She was due checks from advertisers on Skinny Chick, but so far they were behind on payment. Since the recession, checks were arriving in the mail slower and slower. She made a note on her iPhone to call around to her various advertisers when she got home, and signed up for the course. Since it was related to her blog, she could probably write it off come tax season.
“Can you take a check?” she asked Carlos, who was greeting people as they hustled in, carrying gym bags and flashing IDs at him.
“For you, doll? Anything.”
Alexis reached into her Chanel bag she had on loan for five more days from the Web site Beg, Borrow, Steal . She carefully wrote out the check, dating it for a week from now, when she’d hopefully have more dough, hoping Carlos wouldn’t notice. He didn’t.
“See you in class,” he sang after her, as she pushed through the revolving front door of the gym.
“Namaste,” she called back jokingly, her head spinning with Sarah’s news and the fact that she’d just signed up for her first cooking class ever, and one she really couldn’t afford. But really, all she could think about was Noah’s deep, warm brown eyes. She suddenly had to meet him. She was filled with excitement about a total stranger. What did that say about her?
The day was definitely not going as scheduled.
Fat and Fabulous
PEDICURE BEFORE FOOD
Okay, so I know my job is to talk about food, and how important it is to eat it. And believe me, I eat frickin’ plenty. But if someone threatened me with an imminent Indian burn on my arm unless I chose between pedicures and food, I’d starve. May we discuss? Oh, how do I describe the warm flow of
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