Pretty Little Lies

Chapter Three

“Fashion tip: You can run but you can’t hide! Wearing oversized clothes in an attempt to conceal one’s true size is ineffective. They actually only make you look larger. No matter your size, wear clothes that properly fit your body. Wear oversized clothes when sleeping or driving in a car for two days!”

I carefully try to navigate my car down East Ontario Street, wondering how the hell people do this all the time. Nothing like stop and go driving, avoiding opening doors and hitting the rear ends of the cars making sudden stops. I forgot what driving in the big city of Chicago was like! The streets are so busy – were there always so many restaurants located along this road? And, of course, Pyper’s condo is in Streeterville, a very popular and ritzy high rise building on the extreme lake front. Her condo attracts so many well-known, affluent individuals. It wouldn’t surprise me if I ran into Oprah in the lobby. Driving thru the ornate gate, and meticulously maintained Cyprus tree-lined entrance, the doorman comes out to greet me. Giving a slight bow, he kindly navigates me to the underground parking garage and advises me to park in the northwest space near the freight elevator to make unloading my car easy. I see his name tag says ‘Henry’ and I thank him. God bless Pyper for having planned ahead. I barely pull in to what I now understand to have been a parking spot reserved just for me, and suddenly several people swarm my car, ready to help me unload and transport everything into Pyper’s condo. I have no idea who these people are or where they came from, I’m just elated and thankful for the help.

The last five hours of my drive seemed to drag on forever. I’m a physical and emotional contradiction. On one hand, I’m physically spent, weary and wiped out, with notable shoulder and back stiffness and soreness, and relieved that the drive is over. Yet, a pleasurable tingling-like sensation from each nerve ending permeates me with an anticipatory excitement and exhilaration. I’m happy to be here; to be home.

Before I can even completely step out of my car, or greet what I quickly decide to interpret as my own personal welcoming committee, I hear feet slapping against the pavement in a fast run and a high-pitched squealing sound. I barely have time for my mind to make sense of the screech and the flash of red before I’m tackled by a very excited and barely coherent red-head, her pounce so fierce that it nearly knocks me down. I think she might be a little happy to see me. I jump up and down in her arms, squealing unintelligibly in response. Our mutual happiness and excitement is unleashed.

“YOU MADE IT! Oh my gosh, I’m so thrilled you are here Olivia. Let me get a good look at you.” She holds me at arm’s length like my Grandmother would do, then slowly and intently looks me up and down taking an inventory. “You look so good honey, just a bit tired and you have shadows around your eyes, nothing cool cucumbers, a good shower, some pampering at the spa, a great concealer, and hanging out with your best friend while drinking a few cocktails can’t cure!”

Pyper’s good mood is infectious, and I laugh at her and squeeze her again, in spite of her assessment and the lengthy list of remedies she has just prescribed. “That all sounds amazing Pyper! What do you say we make sure all my boxes get taken inside? I would really like to take that shower before heading out or doing anything else. I do feel kind of tired and a little gross from being in my car so long.”

“Of course, follow me.”

I grab my overnight bag out of the back seat and head toward the elevator, trusting that the unpacking crew - aka welcome committee - will do their job without incident.

I’ve visited Pyper’s condo a few times. She was over the moon when her Father surprised her with this gift. He may spoil her, and she may lack for nothing, but the thing I love about Pyper is that while her Daddy definitely takes care of her and ensures she has the best of everything, she isn’t snotty or uppity about it. She’s laid-back, kind, easy going, and definitely knows how to have fun. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have the same stresses and worries that some of us do regarding money, I don’t know, but she’s great and not at all how you would expect the daughter of Mr. Lexington, the owner of one of the top grossing mobile phone companies in the country, to be. She also works hard, has a great head on her shoulders, and doesn’t seem to take it all for granted. She’s amazing and I’m so happy she’s my best friend.