I took my time heading over to Dante’s apartment. Alicia was right about the fine winter day. It wasn’t too cold and it definitely wasn’t warm, but it was enough for me to take a short walk once my driver dropped me off. Oh listen to me, I have a driver. In my teens, I never thought the day would come when I’d be living in New York City and having a driver on call to take me to and from work, and practically anywhere I please. Some days I find myself thinking that I’m just too over-the-top. That all the Louboutins I buy, the chauffeurs that drive me around, the expensive night parties and days in the Hamptons are out of a novel where the rich power through like robotic, empty vessels. No skin; no bones; no souls. Just a hollow vessel of glamour.
Ever since my last encounter with Dante I’ve been wondering if I’ve completely turned into those people I only ever seem to read about. I wonder if this is the person I truly am. The excitement of the city can only last for so long; the people, 90% of them acquaintances, can only be there for so long; and my career, well, I can only climb so high. And even though the view from the top may be beautiful, I’m afraid of heights and will almost definitely cower far into the corner. What’s the point?
But what’s the point of mulling over the fact that I don’t have a man, also? It’s not the man that makes the woman, it’s me. Matter fact, I don’t need a man to make me complete. To make my life fulfilled. No, I don’t need a man. But Dante…Dante is something more than just a man to me.