Authors: Kelly Hogan
The lights suddenly dim, cuing the start of his set. We share a 'this is going to be awesome' look and turn our attention on dred guy. I expect to burst into laughter but Gabs and I stare back at him in complete silence; our mouths wide open in shock. Well eff me, he was good, REALLY good. Bravo bongo boy.
Gabs was the first to speak in a whisper without averting her eyes, "Do you think bongo boy is a single boy?"
"Go for it Gabby, I am now a converted bongo groupie."
Guy was blowing it out of the park with some sort of Cuban rendition of the Stones' Sympathy for the Devil.
As he continued on, I spoke first, needing to keep the momentum of our first easy conversation in weeks alive, "So onto a more intellectual note, what do you think of Miss Fanny's outfit? About a 9 on the slutty scale?"
"I'm thinking an 8. Her shirt should be showing tummy skin to rank higher. Belly buttons rule the scale and frankly she's disappointing me. I really thought she had it in her to be a top scorer tonight. I give one thumb down, redeeming herself only for the ability to read the size tag of her bra through the nearly see through tee; 32 C I might add." Gabs pulls her thumb down and shakes her head in sadness, but still keeps her eyes trained on dred guy.
"Can we be so quick to judge? Perhaps we need to take this to the next level and consider other criteria?"
"Like what Miss Stella?"
"Well Miss G, I'm glad you asked. Clearly some extra sluttiness is occurring for her to have snagged the new guy. Perhaps clothes alone isn't the most telling of factors? I wonder how long it took Mr. Cool Hair to get a glimpse inside those tight pants? Maybe we need to raise the score to accommodate this development?"
"Yes, please why don't you? I would
hate
to ruin my score when I can easily gain points for jumping someones bones," says an ice cold voice from over my shoulder. I leapt out of my skin as Fran appeared out of nowhere placing our drinks on the tables with a thunk. Crap.
I stalled waiting for Gabby to handle it, grabbing my hot chocolate and taking a huge swig burning my tongue nearly off. I guess that is why it's called HOT chocolate dummy. Francine is bolted to the floor, one hand on her hip, tray in the other, staring at me, and only me, with daggers in her eyes. Suddenly my chill has returned.
Gabs isn't phased at all, but it isn't like she can launch an attack on her anyways. Fran works here, but sadly I'm fair game.
"We were uh, just commenting on the drummers 'cool' hair and how he must get all the chicks. What do you think?" I say, holding the cup under my nose between my two hands; averting her evil eyes and praying for a reprieve. I think she almost bought it - for a nanosecond. She looks over to the musician and deals a dual blow.
"Definitely hot, too bad he's gayer then the wind. But what do I know? I'm just a bimbo who'll let anyone into my 32 C cup, right?" she scowls and turns on her 3 inch heels to disappear into the crowd.
Double crap. Gabs is horrified on the gay comment, and doesn't even register my imminent public death.
"Gay?! No way? Really?" Gabs is completely oblivious and remains trapped in her own drama, yet again. "How can anyone that good with their hands be gay?" she continues with a horrified stare trained on drummer boy. "I mean, he's super hot, and talented - and like, hot!"
I've got to find Fran and apologize or I'm facing social suicide tomorrow. It isn't like we don't like her, she's nice enough to your face, but the pecking order rule is to be polite, do what she says, and stay out of her way. Making fun of people is just what we do; it isn't like we intend for them to hear it. That would be just plain ol' mean. We clearly need a new hobby.
I get up, scan the crowd, and spot her behind the counter. Cool, I'll catch her when she's making lattes and can't escape. Although she
could
hurl a hot coffee pot at my head. I'll take my chances. I suppose it would be a little unprofessional.
Shock has registered on Gabby's face as she tries to figure out a way to seduce bongo boy straight. She barely notices me leave. I shimmy out of the booth and weed through the crowds towards Fran. Someone is now chatting her up and blocking my apologetic performance. "Geez just tip her and move it along buddy," I mutter. He turns slightly as recognition hits me like a ton of bricks. Asher Grey.
I suck in a breath and slowly turn around, please don't let them see me.
"Stella, is there something you need from me?" Fran hollers over the din of the music. I halt my lame attempt at escape and turn back to face them both. She dons a big plastic smile that doesn't reach her eyes which are scanning me to determine how she will rip me apart. Pay back is a bitch. I plaster a smile on my face and start grovelling immediately.
"Hey. I uh, just wanted to tell you that the hot chocolates were awesome," I say brandishing my two thumbs up gesture. Really Stella? Regardless, always start with a compliment – Sucking Up 101.
"And uh, what you overheard us talk about back there was just a stupid joke. We really didn't mean it, we were just trying to be funny and it wasn't at all, I'm really sorry you overheard that. I, uh, I love your shoes... " My voice trails off as I realize I'm worse at apologies then avoiding sarcasm.
"Funny? Well ha ha. Say, Ash. Have you met Stella yet? You see, she was just over there with her little friend basically calling me a slut. Do you think I should let her off the hook or make her pay for it?" she states as she crosses her arms in a stronghold stance.
Is there a hole I can crawl into and die? Francine is fuming, but I can tell she's enjoying my public humiliation. Perhaps this will be enough penance for me. I glance over at Ash who's smiling and equally loving this. Perhaps he thinks a good old-fashioned cat-fight will erupt. What is it with guys watching chicks pull each other's hair while we flail around on the ground? Scratch that, I know exactly why they love it.
"Well, let's see. She does seem pretty genuine about it. Stella is it? Maybe you could forgive and forget? Or maybe you could convince her that the only way to make it up to you would be to join the musician for an impromptu duet? You can sing right?" He folds his arms to match her and leans back on the counter with a huge cocky grin.
Asshole. They are perfect for each other. I'm too tired for this.
"Look Fran, I really am sorry. You don't have to forgive me, but I just wanted to tell you that," I say, wheeling around in a huff and running smack dab into Gabs' mom.
"Oh sorry Mrs. Castillo. I didn't see you there."
"Stella dear! I see you have made the acquaintance of my newest discovery!" She turns me back around to face the crap heads.
I look back at her clearly confused. Don't know, don't care; I'm desperate for an exit strategy but you don't mess with Mrs. C when she has her iron grasp on you. I learned that lesson the hard way when last summer, Gabs and I decided to 'borrow' the family vehicle to make a midnight run to Burger King. We never bothered to pause and realize that her parents would most certainly hear the garage door opening as their bedroom is directly above it. When we returned, Mrs. C was standing in the garage waiting for us. I don't think terrifying fully explained her facial expression.
Technically Gabby only had a learners permit, but she was a really good driver and she was taking the test in like two days so it was pretty much legal. Her mom didn't quite get our logic. She told me to wait in the kitchen while she had a talk with Gabby. Instead I wandered into the TV room to watch a Jersey Shore re-run - big mistake. Let me just say that I love Mrs. Castillo, but that night she put the fear of God in me and I remain terrified of pissing her off again. I stay firmly planted beside her.
"Mr. Grey here has graciously offered to let me display some of his beautiful photography pieces this month. He's an amazing young photographer, just landed here from New York City." She is grinning like a school girl.
I turn to my left to scan the walls, which I normally do each time I come in, but tonight I was distracted. The one wall she's referring to had seven framed black and white prints lined up in a straight row. She ushered us over for a better look and they literally took my breath away.
The first I see is of a homeless woman huddled under a mountain of coats pushing a fully loaded shopping cart. There isn't anything unusual about this shot on first glance but when I look a little closer I can see that it's the smallest of details that make the piece so intriguing. Her gnarled fingers gripping the cart. Her sad eyes that tell a story of pain, suffering and eventual madness. Her swollen feet, blistered and twisted with the pressure of constant movement, a lifetime spent patrolling the street. My God, the things she's had to endure in those shoes. I can't tear my eyes away.
"The detail is breathtaking," I say, transfixed by the print.
"I knew you would love this exhibit sweetie," she whispers in my ear, briefly hugging my shoulders and turns back to engage Ash. "Stella is an artist herself, studying graphics this fall. Our little girl is moving to the big city (sigh), they grow up so fast. Perhaps you have some great survival tips for our little beauty. Watch it though Stells, this one is quite the charmer." She leans back to me with a conspiratorial wink. She's so animated when she talks about my creative side. We share a strong bond, sort of like a mother and daughter might. Well at least I assume that's what it's like; I certainly don't have any reference points.
"Would love to Mrs. Castillo. Glad you like my work Stella."
I turn back to face Ash. He's staring at me with a crooked grin; his green eyes put me under a spell I swear, he can't be of this world. My hands are vibrating again with nervous jitters. I know he's trying to be confident and cocky but I can see something flicker in his gaze and understand immediately that perhaps he's just stepped out of his comfort zone with displaying his work in public. Putting yourself out there is a scary and palm sweaty thing. You constantly await approval, props that you are actually talented. You sometimes get it, but more often then not you get the shaft. It isn't for the faint of heart.
I found a poem once, which both inspires and terrifies me.
Creativity is essentially a lonely art. An even lonelier struggle. To some a blessing. To others a curse. It is in reality the ability to reach inside yourself and drag forth from your very soul an idea.
Mrs. Castillo makes a hasty exit to deal with a panini disaster leaving us alone to 'further the critical analysis' of his prints. Her words, not mine. I can see Francine stuck behind the counter stabbing me with her eyes. I'm so dead.
I glance back to Ash who's waiting and gauging my reaction of the prints. I should make him suffer for the Francine comments but when I catch his stare it feels like his gaze is boring into my soul. I can't remember my own name let alone a witty comeback. Being left alone with him has switched my anxiety into high gear. Panic starts to raise the hairs on the back of my neck as a heat travels up into my cheeks making it very clear I am so out of my element. Really Stella, you can handle this, he's just some random guy right? He's even off the market, much easier to remain blasé around.
I turn back and stare at the prints, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure. Maybe if I remain mute long enough he'll just leave. I really can't see anything in front of me anyways, fear has made me temporarily blind.
No dice, he moves to stand beside me with his hands in his back jeans pockets. God he's hot, we're such suckers for the tortured artist. I guess knowing we all have insecurities, even drop dead gorgeous ones like Ash, make us want to jump their bones even more. I blink a few times, take a number of deep breaths and try to relax. The sooner you look at the damn photos Stella, the sooner you can get the hell out of there.
Finally able to see again, I move along the wall on shaky feet and look at the rest of his prints. They seem to be all shot in New York. Gritty but beautiful New York. I can't WAIT to live there. His shots really are amazing, Mrs. C was right. Just as most right brain folks would agree, sometimes you can get totally engrossed in something visually incredible and I have to say that his work really drew me in. So much so that I actually started to relax. I almost forgot he was standing less then a foot away from me. Almost.
"So, Parsons or NYU?" his voice snaps me back into the noisy, bustling cafe.
"Um, Parsons. Graphic design will be my major," I say sneaking a peek back at him.
He nods and smiles, still staring ahead, "Great choice."
Focusing back on the next shot, I sense an odd vibe coming from him, like he knows me from somewhere. Maybe we knew each other in another lifetime, God Stella don't say THAT out loud. I sneak another glance over at him, looking really home sick.
"Do you miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"New York. Do you miss living there?"
"Yeah. Yeah I do," he says with a sigh. "The city is just so alive, with people and sounds, and a vibe that just permeates your soul. I feel a strong connection to it even now, while I'm stuck here." He lifts his hands emphasizing the crappiness of 'here'.
I nod slightly. We lapse back into silence and move onto the next one. A young mother and what must be her daughter, walking down Bleeker street according to the street sign. The girl is holding her Moms' hand and you can just feel the excitement in her eyes as she relays some fantastic story. The mother is smiling and guiding her child safely down the street. I've never met my mother, never seen a picture, but I know that this is not the way she would have looked at me. She was selfish and didn't want me. I feel an immediate sense of despair looking at this print, even though I think it was meant to be a happy piece. Ash picks up on my change in demeanour.