jet set

The first thing you need to know is that I've never actually met him.

He lives here in LA, but I was busy last weekend, and now he's in New York on business for the week. We've taken to email in the interim. I tell him about the crises of the last few days; he writes about restaurants, and thronging tourists that remind him of the swallows back home.

Then, at the end of his most recent email, this: "Was just about to click send but had an idea. How do you fancy escaping to New York? I’m supposed to be here until Thursday but could stay for the weekend. You would, of course, have your own hotel room and an open return ticket to LA should you find me entirely repugnant! I have to work during the days but could be finished by 5pm and the hotel has, by all accounts, a brilliant spa. Even if we don’t click it’d be an adventure."

I look around my room, to make sure I haven't accidentally time-warped onto the set of Pretty Woman.

Is it ridiculous that I'm tempted to accept?  I don’t have many plans for this weekend yet.  There are people I'd love to visit in New York.  More than anything, I'd like to do something crazy.  I'm not the type of girl to whom these offers are usually made -- I don't play in these leagues. I like the thought of trying on that persona, just for a few days.

But I say no, my mother’s voice echoing in my ear. And then spend the afternoon half-regretting it.