Drummer Girl (5 page)

7 |
reverse quadruplet

The bike ride and some drumming had scrubbed Sid's thoughts clean. She was back on track with her plan. And Devin's cheerful voice was the perfect end to a good practise session. “Hey, little sis. Things looking up?”

“Yeah.” Before he could ask anything else, Sid said, “Did I tell you that Taylor and his dad finally got his motorbike running?”

“No kidding? Didn't think that would ever happen.”

“And what's totally weird is that he isn't clumsy when he's driving it.”

Devin snorted. “Maybe he just needed to get off his feet.”

Sid chuckled. “Yeah. You could be right. Do you think Dad would let me get –”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because he never let me get one. Don't you think I asked?” Someone said something to Devin in the background. He said, “Sounds like my roommate is trashing the apartment, looking for his calculator or something. Gotta run. I'll be home for the wedding if we don't talk sooner.”

“So stay in touch, text or Facebook me. Use the technology.”

“I'll try. I'm really busy. Spring session is crammed. ‘Bye.”

The connection went dead. Sid hit the “end” button. She hated not having Devin around. All the other college students she knew were back home working for the summer, but he wanted to do four years of study in three, so wouldn't be home until the end of June.

Her cousin's wedding was in ten days. She didn't much like fancy parties, and it would be fancy if Aunt Kathy was planning it, but at least she'd see Devin. But now she had to phone Aunt Kathy's and talk to her dear, sweet cousin, Heather.
Gag,
Sid thought, as she dialed the number. If Heather didn't agree to help her, the next part of the plan was going to be tricky.

Aunt Kathy answered and it took a minute for Heather to pick up the phone. The surprise in her voice was evident. And she didn't mince words. “Sidney, you never call me. What's up?”

“I... Well, Heath, I have –”

“Heather. Not Heath.”

“Right. Heather. I have a problem. What you might call a...fashion emergency.”

Silence. Five seconds. Ten. Then, “You aren't a fashion emergency, Sidney. You're a fashion disaster and have been for years.”

Ouch. Sid bit back a snide retort and said, “Yeah. That's why I need your help.”

“Why?”

Sid heard the suspicion and couldn't blame Heather for it. “Because you know about fashion and I want, I mean,
need
to learn.”

More silence. Sid was expecting Heather to hang up when she said, “We might be able to help each other. If you're serious.”

“Yeah. Totally serious. But what do you need help with?”

“I'll come over and tell you then.” She hung up.

Sid couldn't believe how nervous she was when Heather rang the doorbell fifteen minutes later. From his office, James yelled, “Who's at the door, Sid?”

“It's Heather,” she replied.

“Hi, Uncle James,” Heather chimed.

James appeared in his office doorway. “Heather? Ah, nice to see you. What brings you over?”

She smiled sweetly. She was good at sweet. “Fashion consultation.”

James's mouth opened but no words came out. Sid said, “No sweat, Dad. I'll fill you in later. Downstairs or my room, Heather?”

“Your room, of course. We have to see what's in your closet.”

They walked past James. He was still gaping. Sid could feel his gaze until she closed her door. Heather dropped her purse on Sid's black comforter, sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the room with her nose wrinkled. “Rock band posters. What a surprise. Do I even want to look in your closet?”

Sid bounced onto the bed, earning an irritated glance. Heather patted her hair. It was perfect, obviously styled with care, and dyed a shade blonder than it would normally be, Sid suspected. Makeup and jewelry and layered tops over jeans that looked pressed. Who ironed jeans? And her flat polka-dot shoes matched the bottom shirt or camisole or whatever it was. All this just to visit your cousin who didn't care about fashion?

Who was Sid kidding? She was way out of her depth here. She cleared her throat. “Why are you so eager to help if you know what a disaster I am?”

“It's a challenge.” At Sid's skeptical look, Heather tapped her teeth with a polished nail. “And I had to get out of that house. I mean, I like fashion. I like decorating. But the closer the wedding gets, the crazier Mom and Mandi get. Everything's perfect, but they agonize over every detail. Mandi is like, like a mother bear with
pms
who's suffering caffeine withdrawal.”

Sid laughed. She stopped when she saw that Heather was serious. Her eyes were even shining with tears. “So they're stressing you out. How will trying to help me help you?”

“I really don't have anything I can help them with now that the table favours are done and the silk flower arrangements are made. I have to help out on the weekend of the wedding, of course, but until then, the more I'm out of that house, the better. Really. That circus could turn a girl off getting married altogether. Dad has been muttering about the benefits of elopement for weeks and I'm starting to think he has a point.”

Sid had forgotten how long-winded Heather's answers could be. They were the same age, but except for family gatherings they didn't see each other at all. Different schools, different interests, different everything.

Heather went to Sid's closet and flung open the doors with dramatic flair. She stood in silence for a moment, then closed the doors and leaned against them. “This is going to be worse than I thought. There are only band
t
-shirts hanging in there. You don't have a single dress. Not one top that could be considered at all feminine. I suppose your dresser drawers are full of jeans, a few pair of shorts, and a hideous bathing suit.”

“You forgot to mention the underwear and socks and
pj
bottoms.”

“You sleep topless?”

“I sleep with old
t
-shirts.”

“Oh. Of course.” Heather straightened and brushed off her hands. She retrieved her purse and pulled out a green roll.

“What's that?”

“A tape measure. First we have to figure out your size. So. Shirt and jeans off.”

Sid blinked. “You expect me to strip?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Can't we just measure with my clothes on?”

Heather stuck out her hip and planted her fist on it. “We do it my way, Sidney, or we don't do it.” She didn't move. Her aquamarine eyes were like lasers outlined by mascara.

Sid sighed. She'd wanted this. “And all these years I thought you were a wimp.”

“Why? Because I can't break eardrums and build bookcases? Believe me, if you want to survive in the shadow of a prima donna older sister, you have to get tough.”

“In a pretty and feminine kind of way.”

Heather smiled. Sweetly. “Of course. Clothes off, cousin.”

Sid muttered under her breath as she peeled off her jeans and top. She felt stupid. She crossed her arms and glared at Heather, who gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Arms out, Sidney, so I can measure. What is with the cotton panties and the sports bra?”

“They're comfortable.”

“Maybe, but if you want me to teach you about fashion, you'll have to trust me.”

“I don't like the sound of that. What does it have to do with my underwear?”

“Think lace, Sidney. Lace and bras that enhance instead of hide. We are going to have to dress you from the skin out.” Heather stepped behind Sid and positioned the measuring tape.

“That's stupid.” The tape was cold where it touched skin. Sid glanced down at the green strip that stretched across
her breasts.

“Hm. Better than I expected,” Heather said. “Those
t
-shirts are hiding actual curves.”

“I'm not throwing them out.”

“Wear them when you practise your drums. But if you want my help, you have to follow my instructions, and that means no band shirts and cargoes outside this house.”

“You're harsh.”

“You're desperate, or you wouldn't have called me.”

While Heather measured Sid's hips and thighs, Sid stared at the Rush poster at the head of her bed and tried not to be embarrassed. Neil stared back, not offering any advice. Heather was right. She was desperate – enough that she was willing to try to reinvent herself. Heather was a lot smarter than she remembered.

Heather rolled up her tape measure. “Well, are we going to do it my way?”

Sid clenched her jaw for a few seconds, then closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Good. We'll go on our first shopping trip tomorrow right after school.”

“First?” squeaked Sid.

Heather smiled and waltzed across the room. “See you tomorrow.” She closed the door behind her and Sid flopped onto the bed. Down the hall Heather practically sang, “Good night, Uncle James.”

Sid groaned and laid her arm across her eyes.

“What's going on, Sid? Oh, geez –” James closed the door way louder than he'd opened it.

Torn between laughter and embarrassment, Sid scrambled for her
t
-shirt. “I'll be right out, Dad. We need to talk. I think I might need to borrow some money.”

8 |
sixteenth note variations

Taylor leaned against his bike. “What do you mean, you can't hang out tonight? I thought we'd cruise around, get a pizza, see a movie.”

That sounded worlds better than what her night was going to be like. Sid scuffed her toe against the concrete. “Can't. That's all. I have this family thing...”

“What family thing?”

“Um. Heather's...helping me shop for stuff. For the wedding.”
Among other things,
Sid added silently.

“Heather? Your Barbie-doll cousin? That Heather?”

Sid nodded.

“You can't stand Heather.”

“I know that. You think I don't know that? You think this is going to be fun? I know nothing about girl's clothes, Tay. I need help.” She tugged at the hem of her
t
-shirt.

“You look fine.”

“Yeah. That carries as much weight as Devin saying it. We're friends. You don't look at me like a girl any more than I look at you like a guy.”

Taylor narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you care what you look like? This has something to do with that band audition, doesn't it?”

“I need to get home. Heather'll be there any minute.”

“Sid, don't hold out on me. What's up?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Sid opened her mouth and snapped it shut, spun away and headed home. When Taylor called for her to come back, she swatted her hand in his direction as if he were a fly, but didn't look back. The last thing she needed right now was to get grilled by her best friend. Why couldn't he simply trust her? She knew what she was doing. She had a plan.

She had just dropped her backpack by the front closet when she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. She jogged into James's office and snatched up the envelope with her name on it. He had promised to get some cash and to drop it off during his lunch break.

When she thought about it, he had been incredibly cheerful about giving her shopping money. She opened the envelope and counted the cash. It was double what she had asked for. She blinked rapidly, wondering what that was supposed to mean. Was she way underestimating the cost of clothes or was he that eager for her to get some different stuff? Did he want her to look like Heather? Was he embarrassed by her?

Sid rolled the money into a wad and stuffed it in the front pocket of her cargoes, hating that a vibrating cymbal had taken up residence in her stomach. She rushed out of the house and dove into the back seat of Aunt Kathy's bronze-coloured
suv
.

Her aunt gave her a quick up-and-down glance. “Hi, honey. I haven't seen you in ages. It's so sweet that you and Heather are going shopping together.”

Sid's smile was plastic. She nodded vaguely and looked out the window.

“Where's your purse, honey? Did you forget it?”

Sid returned her attention to the front seat where the middle-aged Barbie and the teen Barbie both stared at her with round eyes and earnest expressions. Sid frowned. “Don't own one. Can we go?”

Heather settled back in her seat. “Didn't I tell you, Mom? Fashion emergency.”

Aunt Kathy tsked. “Don't be rude, Heather.”

Sid pressed her forehead against the cool window.
But it's true,
she thought. As the
suv
backed into the street, Sid desperately wished there was some other way to remake herself.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Yeah. Already did that.

All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again.
But Heather can. And she's so good at putting on makeup, no one will even see my scars.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Hall of Torture, otherwise known as West Towne Mall. As they headed to the main entrance Aunt Kathy called that she would pick them up at nine o'clock.

“Five hours?” Sid asked. “What are we going to do for five hours?”

“Shop, silly.”

Sid groaned. A smirk flitted across Heather's lips. Sid said, “You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?”

“In so very many ways, cousin dear.”

“If I weren't –”

“Desperate? But you are, remember?” Heather tossed her head in a smug way that made Sid want to trip her. How did she manage to toss her head and not look like a horse? It was annoying. But then everything about her cousin was annoying, especially her confidence.

By the end of two hours, Sid was pleading for a rest. They already had more bags than Sid thought they'd have by the end of the night. Who knew that bra and panty shopping could be so intense? Or that lingerie shops were so...shimmery? Or that “the basics” needed different accessories for each combination? Or that shoes could look so nice and be so uncomfortable? (Though she'd always suspected as much.)

Heather agreed to a supper break and they each bought a sandwich in the food court. Sid moaned happily as she took her first bite of her broiled Philly cheese steak special. She wiped a dribble of sauce from the corner of her mouth and said, “Why didn't you get a full-sized sub, Heather? Aren't you starving after all that walking?”

Heather picked up her turkey and veggie (hold the cheese) sandwich. “I like fitting into my jeans, thanks.”

Sid took another huge bite and a swallow of cola. “I didn't ask you for diet advice. You aren't going to make me start eating like a sick sparrow.”

Issuing one of her dramatic sighs, Heather said, “Of course not. I'll work with what I've been given. That will be a big enough miracle for now.”

Sid slammed down her cup. “I'm going to get very sick of you.”

“Oh, you'll put up with me. Because a tiny part of you wants to look like I do.”

“Don't flatter yourself. I'm doing this to survive. I was fine with how I looked.”

A skeptical look landed on Heather's face. “What happened to change your mind?”

“Not your business.” She was on the verge of telling Heather to stuff her shopping trip when she spotted a friend. “I'll be right back.” She wended between the tables toward a familiar white afro and tapped a tweed shoulder. “Hi, Rake.”

The man who looked up, dark brown skin weathered like old leather, could have been anywhere between 45 and 65. Sid had never been able to get him to tell, though she figured he was probably closer to the 65 end of things. He smiled broadly. “Sid! I haven't seen you in a good while. Where you been keeping yourself?”

“School, home practising my drums, not much else.”

Rake tapped her
t
-shirt at her waist. “Look at this vile piece of clothing. You're still drumming that evil rock ‘n roll, aren't you?” His eyes sparked and Sid couldn't help grinning.

“You know me.”

“I do. I surely do. When are you gonna drop by the club again? We still jam every Sunday. We'd like you to stop by. Ten Pin's arthritis is acting up again. Getting harder for him to keep the beat.”

“Soon, Rake. I promise. I've been practising.”

“Jazz will win your soul, yet.”

Sid laughed and picked up the fedora on the seat beside Rake. “Haven't I told you to keep this on your head? One of these days, I'm going to swipe this beauty from you.”

He winked. “Thieving works better if you don't tell folks what you're planning.”

Sid set the fedora on Rake's head and squeezed his shoulder. “I'll drop by the club soon.”

“You're always welcome, hon.”

Sid was smiling when she rejoined her cousin.

“Who was that old guy?” Heather asked.

“One of the coolest jazz musicians in the city. He owns a club just off Fifth.”

“Jazz?” Heather wrinkled her nose. “How did you meet someone like that?”

“In the music store about two blocks from his club. I jam with him and his band sometimes.”

Heather frowned at this but said nothing. Which was good, because Sid tended to be protective of Rake. She'd even gotten into an argument once in the music store when a punk insulted Rake as he was tinkering on a piano. Sam, the owner, had stepped in before it went farther than shoving and kicked the guy out.

The hum of voices and the odd bubble of laughter bounced off them as they ate, reminding Sid how little she had in common with her cousin. She glanced back toward Rake, sitting alone, seen by most of these Friday night shoppers as nothing but an old black man in an out-of-date suit jacket. They'd never seen his face glowing because it couldn't contain the joy of losing himself in music. Blissing out, Ten Pin had called it once. Sitting across from Rake, talking rhythms and riffs and the finer points of improv jazz – that was where Sid wanted to be right now.

The half-formed intention of telling Heather the shopping was over drove Sid to her feet. Before she could say anything movement in the corner of her eye pulled her attention sideways. Wes Remichuk strolled toward her, his arm around a petite brunette with huge brown eyes and boobs so big she looked in danger of toppling forward. Maybe Wes was helping her stay upright. Sid regretted the thought. Her first instinct was usually to feel sorry for girls with such big bust lines – most guys couldn't see past the boobs to the person behind them. How did they put up with the constant ogling and stream of lewd comments without resorting to carrying a baseball bat?

Sid hoped they would pass by, but she should have known better with the way her luck was running this week. Wes and the brunette stopped an arm's length away. Was he afraid she'd belt him again? He gave Heather a long perusal, his gaze so obviously pausing on her chest that her cheeks started turning pink. Sid couldn't recall ever seeing Heather get embarrassed before.

She cleared her throat. “If you're lost, the information booth is that way.” She pointed over Wes's shoulder.

“Not lost. Checking out Joanne's competition, Romeo. Or is it Juliet? Do you say Juliet and Juliet?”

“I say, ‘Get lost, dickhead.' This is my cousin.” Sid's heart started thudding. She fisted her hands, wanting to give him a matching bruise on his jaw. He lifted his chin, as if daring her. She could hardly think over the urge to strike coarsing through her veins. Her fists clenched harder.

“Kissing cousins. How sweet.”

Sid pressed her hands against her hips to keep them from rising. “Yeah. Make sure you tell that to her boyfriend. But only when I'm around so I can watch him grind you into sawdust.”

Wes glanced at Heather again who wasn't even trying to hide her anger. His eyebrows rose in what looked to Sid to be false bravado. She knew she'd won this round without resorting to violence. Her fists relaxed. Wouldn't Brock be proud of her?

“Wessie,” the brunette said, a worried note in her voice, “we're going to be late for the movie.”

Sid smiled tightly. “Yeah,
Wessie.
You don't want to be late.”

To get by Sid and the nearest table, Wes had to let his girlfriend go first. As he stepped past, he shifted and raised his elbow so it brushed Sid's breast. She inhaled sharply. Wes glanced over his shoulder and curled his lip.

Sid started forward. Heather grabbed her arm. “Let him go.”

“Did you see...?”

“Yes. He's not worth getting in trouble over.”

Sid exhaled slowly. She already knew that.

“So...” Heather said and tilted her head. “Is he the reason you've got the sudden urge to discover your feminine side?”

Sid hesitated. “Actually, no.”

“Whatever.” Said like Heather didn't believe her. She gathered up their purchases that had been piled by their feet and handed Sid a lingerie bag. “I think I deserve an explanation.”

Sid knew she was right. “Look, this really isn't about Wes thinking I'm gay. I need to make a good impression on some guys in a band. They're cool. I'm on the fringes at best. Their leader told me it might help if I look...” Sid waved her hand up and down. “...like you.”

“So you think changing how you look will change how people look at you?”

Sid shrugged. She didn't know what she thought. She only knew she had to get into that band. “What do you think?”

Heather suddenly smiled. “Advertising is king. Image is everything. And that means we have more shopping to do.”

Sid groaned. “You said no cargoes, but at least tell me I get to still wear jeans.”

“Of course, just not baggy ones like I've seen you wear. Come on. We'll get some right now.”

“You know, there's a half decent music store in the east wing...”

“No. We're doing this my way, Sid.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your way or not at all. Stop tempting me.”

“You're going to love the new you.”