Free Scot on the Rocks by Brenda Janowitz

I’m not sure exactly what.”
    “Not helping,” I said under my breath. I fingered the cocktail napkin that was under my drink.
    “I saw this whole special on her on
Entertainment Tonight
when she was nominated for that Oscar last year,” Jack explained.
    “Still not helping,” I said a little louder. I ripped my cocktail napkin in two pieces. And then in four.
    “Oh, my God, I totally saw that, too!” Vanessa exclaimed.
    “Yeah, she’s part of the royal family of some obscure Asian country,” Jack continued. Jiaolong, to be exact. A tiny island-nation nestled between China and Taiwan, population just under fifty thousand; native language: Mandarin Chinese; main export: fish. Not like I Googled her or her country or anything. Who doesn’t know Jiaolong?
    “Can we get back to me, please!” I said, my napkin now in eight pieces. “What am I going to do about this wedding? I RSVP’d yes and it’s in two weekends. It is, like, totally rude to cancel now. They probably already have their count in.” I took a big swig of my martini for effect.
    “Well,” Vanessa said, sipping hers, “it’s not like Trip isn’t rich enough to pay for one extra person who doesn’t come.”
    I guess she was right. I could just go to the wedding by myself. I mean, who needs to have a man on your arm when you are a woman of the new millennium? In many ways, having the right pair of shoes is much more important for an ex-boyfriend’s wedding than having a man on your arm. I mean, can having a man on your arm make your feet look so cute you could die? I don’t think so. Can having a man on your arm make you look three and a half inches taller, thus making you look like a svelte five-foot-eight supermodel as opposed to the five - foot - four - and - a - half little shrimp you truly are? No. Can having a man on your arm make your butt and thighs look ten pounds thinner? I think not! So, I ask you: Who needs to have a man on her arm?
    Okay, I didn’t even convince myself on that one.
    “Two,” I pointed out, placing the sixteen pieces of my cocktail napkin back on the table. A slip-dress-clad waitress skimmed by our table, knocking my napkin bits to the floor like pieces of confetti. I grabbed for them, but they slipped through my fingers.
    “Two extra people,” Vanessa continued, without missing a beat. “He’s only, like, one of the biggest agents in Hollywood.”
    “Exactly,” Jack agreed, “and it’s not like his fiancée Ava, the empress or countess or whatever she is, is hurting for cash.”
    “Still not helping!” I said, lifting Jack’s beer to make a play for his cocktail napkin. “I get it. My ex is fabulously successful and wealthy and is marrying a woman who is fabulously successful and wealthy.”
    “And hot,” Jack said. Hot? I suppose she was okay-looking if you consider that whole petite - dancer’s - body - with - flawless - alabaster - skin - long - flowing - black - hair - and - face - of - an - angel thing attractive.
    “And has a title,” Vanessa said.
    “Not! Helping!”
    “And here you are with no boyfriend, no ring, and no Oscar nomination,” Vanessa said, patting my head as if I were a child who had just lost her school’s spelling bee.
    “That pretty much sums it up,” I agreed. “Can we get some more cocktail napkins here?” I asked the scantily clad waitress who was now delivering round two.
    “Come on!” Jack said. “You are a brilliant attorney at one of the largest and most prestigious firms in New York City. You have a wonderful family, and, if I do say so myself, wonderful friends. In your spare time you volunteer at a nursing home.
That’s
our Brooke.
That
pretty much sums it up.”
    Jack was right. I was a big-time lawyer at a big-time law firm. I had a wonderful family and friends. And I volunteered at a nursing home, to boot! Sometimes I forgot how wonderful I truly was. Although, I hadn’t really had time to volunteer much, what with my caseload and all. And