Beware of Love in Technicolor (15 page)

             
“It’s like tennis,” I said.

             
“Tennis?”

             
“Yeah, it looks easy. I mean, maybe you’ve seen other people do it on TV or something, and even read a few magazines for some help with your form. You’ve run your practice drills, and keep yourself in decent shape. And then you get out there, and suddenly there are balls flying at your face, and you’re all over the court, just trying to make something happen.”

             
She rolled off the sofa and onto the floor with a thud. She let out a “whoop!” of laughter, and knocked over the beer bottles. They crashed and rolled all around her, which made her laugh even harder.

             
“Is it worth it?” she asked, suddenly serious.

             
“Most definitely,” I answered.

***

              With the air between Penny and me cleared, she managed to wrangle me a temp job at the Crabtree & Evelyn at the mall for the days leading up to Christmas. Her mother was a good friend of the manager, Sharon.

             
The store was miniscule; only about 300 feet square. There was hardly enough room for the customers, once we girls were on the sales floor. That didn’t seem to be too much of a problem, in reality, though. I think the thick odor of roses and lavender kept most people out. While pleasant in small doses, the size of our store was not enough for the nasal assault. I found myself with lots of time to observe the madness of the holidays right at ground zero.

             
I had a pleasant manner with the customers, so Sharon liked to place me as a greeter at the entrance of the store. I could look out to the stairs leading down to the food court below. It was the heart of the mall.

             
“Happy Holidays!” I was supposed to say. “Welcome to Crabtree & Evelyn. All English Rose Garden products are buy one get one free today.”

             
I was working a full day. John was away in Connecticut, visiting family. I hadn’t even been able to tell him about my new job, yet. We had plans to meet for lunch on Christmas Eve, the following day. I couldn’t wait to give him his gift. I had spent more than we had agreed on, and had a gorgeous new leather jacket wrapped and waiting for him in my closet at home.

             
Despite the mass of harried shoppers rushing about, I had time to gaze at the yuletide spectacle before me. Downstairs, at the mouth of the food court, sat a small, cheesy accessories store; the kind of store that sells cheap jewelry, hair accessories, and nail polishes in tiny bottles.

             
I found myself watching the girl behind the counter. She was strangely intriguing, with obviously dyed black hair hanging down to her waist. Though it was winter, and she was at work, she wore mind-bogglingly tight black jeans, zippered at the ankle, and a black leather bustier. Her skin was the color of the moon. Even from where I stood, I could see her blood red lips. I watched her ring up sale after sale for thirteen-year old girls in thick coats and ankle boots. I did not see her smile once.

             
After a momentary distraction where I actually made a sale, I found myself back at the front of the store. I looked back down at the macabre cashier, and noticed she was smiling and speaking with a customer. I shifted my gaze to the figure responsible for her uplifted spirit. Beat up leather jacket, black jeans, Doc Marten boots. About six foot three.

             
That bastard.

             
Twenty minutes later, Sharon granted me a lunch break. John was still talking with the Goth Girl, oblivious to the fact that I had been staring a hole in his back for almost half an hour. My heart was thumping; my eyes were burning. I descended the stairs, and made a beeline through the crowd for the counter of the jewelry store.

             
“Can I help you?” she asked, as limply as a fish, while John turned his gaze downward to the plastic watches under the glass below. He had no idea.

             
“Yeah,” I began, icily friendly. “I need a silver ankh on a black satin cord. I’m going to strangle my boyfriend with his, and I’d like to replace it with something nice for his funeral.”

             
Before she could answer, he turned and looked at me. The look on his face was something between panic and amusement. I wanted to smack it right off his smug face, but instead I met his gaze, and smiled.

             
“Not coming home til tomorrow, huh?” I asked.

             
“We came home a day early.”

             
Goth Girl finished ringing a sale, and turned back to us.

             
“You going to introduce us, John?” she asked in a voice quieter than I was expecting. She looked ridiculous among the festive decor of the season, like a cockroach scrambling across the Christmas ham.

             
John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then bit the bullet. He looked me straight in the eyes, and smiled.

             
“Abby,” he said, eyes still locked with mine. “I’d like you to meet Greer.”

***

              I don’t know how long, exactly, it took for me to regain my composure. A couple seconds, I guess, I looked from him to her, and back to him again.

             
“You here shopping?” he asked me as if we were just shooting the breeze.

             
“No.”

             
“I called your house. You weren’t home.”

             
“I’m working.”

             
Abby seemed to be taking pleasure in the scene unfolding between John and me. For the first time since I had been watching her, she actually looked like she was enjoying herself.

             
“You still want that ankh?” she asked me with a warped smile on her crimson lips. She tapped her black fingernails on the counter, waiting for me to retreat.

             
“You know, Abby,” I started, my voice dripping with poisoned honey. “I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t see a single thing in this store that doesn’t look, well,” I paused for effect and looked her over: pasty white skin, over-processed black hair, a tiny excuse for cleavage being pushed out of her bustier in the middle of the afternoon.

             
“...cheap,” I finished.

             
I did not wait for their reaction. I turned on my heel and strode away, my stomach jumping and lurching, my jaw locked. I only made it about twenty feet before John caught up with me.

             
“Hey,” he said, taking hold of my elbow to slow me down. We were weaving our way through the mass of shoppers; they seemed to be in slow motion compared to the spinning and whirling inside my head.

             
“Greer,” he said sharply. “Would you stop and look at me for a minute?”

             
I stopped. I looked up at him. I am sure my stare sent a chill through hell.

             
“What’s the excuse this time?” I shot at him.

             
“No excuse,” he said. I started walking again. His grip on my elbow stopped me. “It’s not what you think.”

             
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” We locked eyes, neither of us blinked.

             
“I’m here shopping for you,” he said, thrusting a handful of bags in front of my face. I hadn’t noticed the bags until that moment. “I had no idea she worked here. I had no idea
you
worked here!” he exclaimed.

             
“Penny just got me the job the other day. At Crabtree. I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet.” He relaxed his grip on my arm and we sat down on an empty bench outside Filene’s.

             
“You’ve been there talking to her for at least a half hour,” I said, the hurt obvious in my shaky voice.

             
“You were watching?”

             
“I had no choice. My store is right upstairs. I assumed she was just some girl. Not Abby.” When I said her name, it felt slippery and oily coming out of my mouth. I didn’t like what this girl turned me into. Weak, trembling, angry. I didn’t like her, the very idea of her, at all.

             
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” he told me, placing his hand on my right knee.

             
“Hm, something about this conversation feels so familiar,” I started.

             
“I mean it this time. I don’t want her. I want you.”

             
“And yet she has this way of seeping into my life,” I continued. I sighed heavily and looked at John. I didn’t want to think about Abby. I pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.”

             
He laughed.

             
“I love you,” he said. He looked as surprised to hear it spill out of his mouth as I.

             
I wanted to say it back to him, but I froze. If I put that out there, it would be more ammunition to hurt me with, and I wasn’t sure I could handle any more of that for a while. I had to think fast, though, because his words were left hanging there in front of us, waiting for a response.

             
“That’s unfortunate,” I said with a smile. “For you, I mean. I’ll let you know how I feel as soon as I know what’s in all those bags.”

             
He seemed relieved to return to the more familiar turf of flippant bantering. Though he often accused me of hiding from my feelings, he was just as guilty of turning tail whenever things got too messy.

             
I looked at my watch, and realized my break was just about over.

             
“I have to get back,” I said, starting to stand. He pulled me back down on the bench, and kissed me. I forgot all about the potpourri and scented soaps, and melted into his kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and I had been missing them for a week.

***

              Later that afternoon, Penny and I stood at the entrance to Crabtree & Evelyn, looking down at the spectacle that was Abby.

             
“That’s his ex?” she asked in disbelief.

             
“Yup,” I said, smiling as customers entered the store.

             
“She’s heinous. What on earth did he see in that?”

             
“Maybe she has inner beauty?” I offered, with a sarcastic smile on my lips.

             
“Let’s hope so,” Penny finished.

***

              Normally, I would not tread so hard on another girl’s lack of physical pleasantness. I know I’ve said I’m cute, but I certainly understand my own limitations. I am no candidate for Supermodel of the Year, either. But there was something about Abby’s appearance that ate at my sanity. I could quickly chalk it up to simple jealousy, and that would make sense, given our shared interest in a certain boy. It was a bit more twisted and neurotic than that.

             
Obviously, John was attracted to me. He liked to tell me how beautiful I was, how sexy my body was, or how incredible my eyes were. The basic stuff, as I have since learned. But he was my first. He was the first one I let say those things to me. He was the first to touch me, to hold me, to tell me he loved me. He was the basis on which I judged all future relationships. He was the basis on which I judged myself.

             
I assumed, if he said those things to me, he had probably, at one point, said those things to her. And she was not beautiful. She was not sexy. But he had been attracted to her, just a he was now attracted to me. So there was a very good chance, my twisted little mind told me, that I was every bit as ugly as her.

             
If I wasn’t already before, I became obsessed with how I looked. I had my good days and my dark days, and it was almost always based on what the mirror told me.

***

              The following day was Christmas Eve. John drove the forty-five minutes to my house, met my family, and took me out for lunch. We exchanged gifts in the privacy of the car. It seemed like the only place we could be alone. So different from school.

             
I had one large, brightly wrapped box for him. The new leather jacket set me back a bit, but it was worth knowing there were no old memories attached to it. It fit him perfectly, and he thanked me with a sweet kiss on my lips. He lingered there, kissing me. It  seemed like forever that we had been this close. The windows of his mother’s Toyota fogged up and it wasn’t until his hands were done finding their way up my skirt that his gifts for me were remembered.