Caroline was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, examining the last of ten outfits she had tried on. Mimi, sprawled on her stomach on Caroline’s bed, was idly flipping through a magazine, hair piled in its usual floppy bun, a look of incredulous disdain on her face.
She peered at Caroline over the top of her Buddy Holly glasses. “I don’t know why you buy this crap,” she said, flicking the pages of the magazine.
Caroline turned with a flourish, struck her best I’m-too-sexy-for-Milan pose and said, “So that I know how to do this.”
She was wearing a perfectly tailored bustier-top mid-calf dress. The fabric was black satin, sprinkled with electric yellow, blue and red butterflies and flowers – vintage Dolce and Gabbana, a gift from Maxine. Her pedicured feet were perched on high wedges and a bamboo-handled linen bag hung from her elbow. Simple gold jewelry and a creamy cashmere cardigan on her shoulders tilted the look decidedly away from tramp towards lady.
Mimi gave a low wolf whistle. “Sex-y! But I would still go with the, what was it, fourth outfit? The halter and jeans combo? It’s more casual, but still hot.”
Caroline shook her head, astonished at her roommate’s naivety. “Mimi,” she said as if talking to a particularly thick student, “This guy is Leb-an-ese. If I wore that, I probably wouldn’t get a second date. They are all about glamor, bling. This,” she indicated to the outfit she was wearing, “is seriously understated for Lebanese women.”
Mimi arched her brow and said, “But if he asked you on a date, maybe he’s not interested in Lebanese women. Maybe he’s interested in Canadian women. Who wear jeans.”
Caroline turned back to the mirror and fussed with her hair. “Weeelll, he didn’t exactly ask me for a date. I asked him.” She peered sheepishly over her shoulder at Mimi.”
“Woo-hoo! You go, girl,” cheered Mimi. “So, how did you meet him, again?”
“I told you! At Max’s office. Before the Noodle Factory fiasco.”
“Right. The cat-fight,” Mimi nodded. “So are you going to apologize?”
“Yeeess,” Caroline answered, carefully applying another coat of mascara. “Tomorrow, for sure.”
“Hmpf. In my opinion, she should be apologizing to you.” Mimi and Maxine had met each other a few times over the years, but they hadn’t exactly hit it off. “Where does she get off criticizing you?”
“I know, right?” Caroline said, but her heart wasn’t in it. She had always blamed her exes, but her fight with Maxine had awoken a niggling suspicion that she was not entirely without fault for her string of failed relationships.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Mimi closed the magazine with a snap, suddenly alert, “Did you say you met this guy at Max’s office?”
“Mm hm,” Caroline answered, slicking on a coat of lip gloss.
“So, he’s a model?” Mimi smiled wickedly.
Caroline tucked the lipstick into her purse along with a vintage compact, her phone and her wallet. “Yep. He’s a model. So?”
Mimi’s smile got wider. “He must be, oh, 22? 23? 25 at the oldest, right? And how old are you, again?” she asked, knowing the answer, full well.
“Don’t you dare call me the ‘c’ word! I hate that word!” Caroline glared at her impish friend.
“What ‘c’ word?” Mimi said innocently, “Cougar? Cougar, cou-gar, Carrie is a cougar,” she sang, and fell back on the bed in hysterical laughter as Caroline hurled clothes from the heap of discards at her.
“Hey. Careful.” Mimi sat up, holding a skirt that Caroline had flung at her. “Don’t you know how much this thing cost?” She flipped through Caroline’s copy of Gracias, until she found a picture of the skirt. “1000 dirhams. 300 bucks. Holy shit, Care. That’s a lot of money for one little skirt.” Mimi looked at her, eyes narrowing. Caroline imagined she was mentally calculating Caroline’s maximum possible salary and finding it insufficient for wardrobe full of three-hundred dollar skirts. She was right.
“I suppose the hours of workmanship that went into this, the quality of the fabric, the genius of the design are too much for your juvenile brain to appreciate,” Caroline said, loftily.
“Uh, Care, it’s a black skirt,” Mimi responded, unconvinced. “Besides, doesn’t the tag say ‘Made in China’?” She smiled up at her friend, batting her eyelashes in a mockery of innocence. Caroline raised her purse as if to hit Mimi with it.
“Okay, okay!” Mimi held her hands above her head, protectively, “Craftmanship, design, I get it. I’m an artist, remember?” She held her hand to her mouth, looking thoughtful. “Hm…I wonder how much your wardrobe would get me on Ebay? It would keep me in oils and canvas for a while, I’m sure.”
“Mimi!” Caroline screeched, but she was smiling.
“Hey, you know I’m just joking, right?” Mimi was suddenly serious. “I mean about the cougar stuff. Why not? Men do it all the time and it’s no big deal. Why shouldn’t we?”
“Exactly!” Caroline sat down on the bed beside Mimi, relieved that Mimi’s wardrobe dissection was over. “What’s 5 years, anyway?”
“Five?” smirked Mimi.
“Okay, ten,” Caroline playfully punched her friend’s arm.
“So where is this young man taking you?” Mimi asked, sternly.
“Well, he’s staying at the Governor’s House,” Caroline said, referring to one of Dubai’s hippest hotels.
“Nice.” Mimi nodded her approval. The boutique hotel was in the old part of Dubai and was surrounded by a bevy of galleries that had sprung up in the past five years as the city started to attract a younger, hipper crowd.
“Sooo,” Caroline smiled, toying with the handles of her purse, “he suggested we meet at the bar for a drink and then take it from there.”
“Ah-ha,” Mimi said with a knowing smile. She reached over and opened the lid of the lacquered wooden box on Caroline’s bedside table. “So, you’re going to need some of these,” she said, holding up a purple Durex Extra Sensitive.
“Do ya think?” Caroline looked at Mimi coyly.
“Come on! Meeting at his hotel for a drink? 100 dirhams says you don’t leave the hotel until tomorrow morning.” She was examining the condom packet. “Except these expired last March.”
“Oh, whatever.” Caroline grabbed the packet and put it in her purse. “Those dates don’t mean anything. It’s not milk.”
“Okay,” Mimi shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
Caroline looked at her friend, feeling nervous and excited, hopeful and scared. “Come on. Wish me luck,” she said, beseechingly.
“Hah! Like you need it.” Mimi stood up and stretched. She hooked her arm through Caroline’s as they walked out of the room. “Gorgeous, you are definitely going to get lucky.”
Caroline smiled, remembering the feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw Louay that told her that he was The One. “You know what?” she said. “I think you’re right.”
Welcome to Dubai, Baby 