by Ariana Gael
“Absolutely not! You can’t race off to meet someone who has hurt you! Let me lock up, and we’ll go together.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s, like, twenty blocks from here,” Michelle protested.
“Nonsense, the walk will be good for both of us, and you don’t need to go face that person alone if he should find his way there.”
Marjorie took the tray and headed off to the small kitchen in the back before retrieving her coat. She set the display case alarms and secured the front entrance to the shop before gesturing to Michelle to join her at the back door so she could set those alarms as well.
At The Painted Phan, Michelle realized she had gotten Daniel’s text too late. A huge hole faced the street where their window had been, bits of the beautifully painted glass shimmering from the sidewalk, most of it knocked into the restaurant’s darkened interior by whatever object he must have thrown. Two squad cars were already in place out front, pulled all the way up onto the sidewalk and angled towards the restaurant’s once ornate Asian door. Now, splintered wood stood in the doorframe, the one large remaining panel of the door hanging crooked in its hinges. Mr. and Mrs. Phan spoke rapidly to each other in loud, angry gibberish that Michelle knew to be Vietnamese, gesturing wildly with their hands at the poor uniformed officer who was trying to take their statement. Loud crashes inside followed by barked orders drifted from the broken window.
“That girl!” Mr. Phan shouted at last, pointing at Michelle as she and Marjorie hurried up the sidewalk. “She know him! He yell her name in my restaurant!” Mrs. Phan broke free from the cluster of kitchen workers and cops and rushed over to her, grabbing her in a hug and dragging her by the wrist to talk to the policeman.
“You tell him. You tell him this man crazy,” Mrs. Phan insisted.
“She’s right, sir,” Michelle began.
“Who are you, and how are you wrapped up in all of this?” he asked, flipping to a new page in his notebook while the small, black speaker clipped to the shoulder of his uniform squawked loudly.
Michelle explained, even going so far as to show him the text message on her phone warning her that Daniel was looking for her. “I just got this about half an hour ago, and I came straight here to let them know.”
“This is all true, young man,” Marjorie said in a voice that didn’t sound anything like the business-savvy owner of an international antique dealership, but rather like a sweet but doddering old busybody.
“And who are YOU?” the officer asked, obviously getting frustrated with the growing cast of characters in what had to be the world’s dumbest street play.
“I’m her new employer. I hired her after she lost her job here, thanks to that no-good street thug who is currently destroying these lovely people’s business.” Marjorie drew herself up to her full height and looked down her nose at the officer, less than thrilled with the tone he had used with her.
The policeman took down more information while the loud crashes and occasional yells continued to sound from within the restaurant. The Phans looked on nervously, probably mentally tabulating the cost of the damage that had to be taking place inside. Michelle offered up a silent prayer for the beautiful embroidered silk screen that the owners rolled in place to section off the main dining room from the private banquet room, but she was already imagining it with a chair-shaped hole in it.
“What are you doing in this part of the woods?” a male voice behind Michelle asked in her ear. She jumped, then turned to see Lars standing behind her, his blue eyes creased and concern on his face as he looked around the area.
“Oh, hi!” she said as happily as she could under the circumstances. “I’m afraid I’m just causing problems again.”
“Really? Then how come the cops are all in there if you’re the problem?” he teased, still watching the shadowed activity inside the darkened restaurant.
“I meant, my ex-boyfriend Daniel is in there trashing the place because he’s mad at me. He came looking for me and I wasn’t here.” Michelle stood on tiptoe trying to see into the restaurant.
“Oh. Okay, I got this. Here, hold my phone, it’s new and I don’t want anything to happen to it.” Lars sprinted away from her and through the door of the restaurant, ignoring the shouts from the officer keeping the crowd of onlookers under control telling Lars to stay back. He disappeared inside, leaving Michelle and Marjorie to exchange worried looks of surprise.
“Was that the young man from your recent date?” Marjorie asked, impressed.
“Yes, that’s him. Or, I guess, it would have been him, but now he’s going to get himself killed.” Michelle jumped as a loud, animal-like roar sounded inside the restaurant, followed by total silence. A few minutes later, the police exited, towing a mostly unconscious, handcuffed man between them. Lars followed, laughing with two of the policemen behind him. White flecks of plaster inexplicably dotted his curly black hair.
“What happened?” Michelle demanded as Lars sidled up to her, shaking the plaster from his hair and off the sleeves of his mechanic’s coveralls.
Lars couldn’t stop laughing long enough to explain. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “I just walked in and told your boy there that I was dating you and that I’d seen you naked last night—sorry about that part—and he screamed like a little girl before rushing at me. At the last second, I moved to the side and let him knock himself stupid on the brick wall of the restaurant.” One of the officers slapped Lars on the shoulder as he walked past to go speak to the Phans. Michelle’s face burned from embarrassment as she looked around to see who else had heard Lars’ story. Marjorie politely turned away and pretended to be looking for something in her purse.
“You didn’t see me naked! We were both fully dressed the entire time we were together! You told all of them that?” Michelle demanded, horrified and covering her face with her hands.
“Yeah,” Lars answered, cringing. “Sorry. That wasn’t actually my plan when I went in there. But once I stepped inside, I saw that the cops already had their weapons out. They were about a minute and a half away from shooting him. I didn’t think you’d want that on your conscious, and I just kind of distracted him so they could grab him. So, on a scale of ladybug to pit bull, how mad at me are you right now?”
Michelle sighed, gathering her wits and forcing herself to speak calmly. “I don’t like it, but I understand that you did the safest, bravest thing you could think of. In the future, please remember that the only time it’s appropriate to mention that I had any of my clothes off is if there’s a loaded gun present.”
Lars kissed her suddenly, a move that succeeded in getting another roar from a newly-revived Daniel, this time muffled by the glass of the squad car where he sat immobilized. They jumped slightly before moving away from the police car.
“Look, I hate to run but I do have to get back to work before Dante takes a hit out on me. Can I come get you after I get off work?” Lars asked hopefully.
“Oh, I’m sorry, no one’s allowed inside the store,” Michelle explained. “Marjorie’s rules…”
“…rules which no longer apply to handsome young gentlemen who run into the fire and save the day,” Marjorie interrupted. “Michelle will be off work at four, giving her plenty of time to get home and refreshed for an evening out. Come along, dear,” she said, walking back towards the shop and leaving Michelle to shrug her shoulders at Lars and follow.
“The rules no longer apply?” Michelle asked sarcastically once they were out of earshot.
“No, not for him they don’t!” Marjorie said, a twinkle of amusement in her eye.
“Oh, so you’re able to explain to me what it is you see in him that elevates him above mere mortal status?” she joked back.
“I would have to say everything that I just witnessed, right down to his own embarrassment and apology at having shared an intimate secret of yours. Not many men would have seen why you were displeased about it. Plus, he’s the most handsome man I’ve seen in quite some time. Hold
onto that one, Michelle, I have a very good feeling about him.”
Michelle was quiet as they walked, until finally she said, “I think I have a good feeling about him, too.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brooke threw clothes around the room like a rabies-infected madwoman, helping Michelle hunt for the perfect outfit. Michelle sat on her bed, leaning back against the pillows, watching with a somewhat terrified look on her face as Brooke scrambled. Angela sat at the foot of the bed near Michelle, offering commentary on different wardrobe choices, but making snide remarks under her breath for Michelle’s benefit.
“Be careful, Brooke,” Angela chimed, “you don’t want anything with complicated zippers. These two might tear them trying to get each other’s clothes off!” Michelle hit Angela with a small pillow.
“Stop it, already! Nobody had their clothes off! Why does everyone keep saying that?” she shrieked.
“I don’t know who was dressed or undressed,” Brooke drawled slowly, turning to face them while holding up a blouse in each hand for their votes, “but all I know is I definitely heard some pretty strange noises coming from the living room. I almost went out to investigate, but I am sure glad I decided to stay put.”
“There were no noises, either! Sheesh! Why is everyone determined to paint me as some wanton harlot?” Michelle flounced back against the pillows and crossed her arms, refusing to participate in Brooke’s fashion show anymore. That only made Brooke and Angela laugh even harder.
“Nobody thinks you’re a wonton, silly,” Angela laughed. “I just know that if I had the chance to get my hands on Lars, there wouldn’t be a zipper built strong enough to keep me from ripping his clothes off!” She made a leering face at Michelle, who finally couldn’t help but laugh along.
“This charade isn’t necessary, Brooke. It’s not our first date. We’re just going to dinner or something. It’s no big deal.”
“Michelle! This could be your future husband! We have to be prepared,” Brooke argued, mixing and matching potential outfits on her bed.
“Don’t mind her, Michelle,” Angela warned. “Just let her do her thing. Southern girls are bred to look for potential husbands. It’s the whole reason they date.” Michelle laughed, but Brooke just stuck her tongue out at both of them and went back to her very serious work.
“You’ll thank me for this. In fact, you can thank me by making me maid of honor instead of Angela. You were going to have to pick one over the other anyway, so just remember who helped you plan the perfect outfit when the time comes.” She went back to attacking the massive pile of laundry on her bed until she finally squealed in a high-pitched voice, making both Angela and Michelle nearly come out of their skins. “THIS is it! It’s perfect! Go put it on!”
Michelle reluctantly did as she was told, already knowing from Brooke’s tastes that the pants would be too tight and the neckline way too low. She spent a lot of her wardrobe effort trying to cover up her “assets,” and Brooke’s taste leaned a little more to the breezy side of clothing. She squeezed herself into Brooke’s skinny jeans and low-cut sequined top, cursing the tiny bathroom every time her elbow connected with the towel rod as she pulled herself into the clothes. With everything mostly in place, she stepped out of the bathroom and was met with total silence from her roommates.
“I knew it. It’s that bad, isn’t it?” she asked sourly.
Neither Brooke nor Angela spoke for a long time, both of them staring open-mouthed. Brooke broke their silence first.
“No, you look…”
“…hot!” Angela finished.
“Oh my god, you’ve been hiding THAT body under layers of old lady clothes? Do you know how many people would club a baby seal to get that body?”
“You’re a total poet, Brooke,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes. “But there’s no way I can wear this. I’ll die of pneumonia just from the amount of skin I’ve got exposed. Besides, an outfit like this sends a message.”
“Oh really? What message is that?” Brooke said, her irritation showing since both of those items of clothes were hers.
“Oh, nothing,” Michelle said too quickly, recovering before she could hurt her best friend’s feelings. “It’s just not me.”
A knock sounded on the apartment door.
“Well, it had better become you. Your date’s here and you don’t have time to put something else together,” Angela stated. “I’ll go let him in, you stay here and get used to being sexy!” She left the room and the two friends could hear sounds from the living room.
“Are you positive that I look okay?” Michelle asked, terrified of the answer.
“You look more than okay. You look gorgeous!” Brooke came over and smoothed Michelle’s hair a little. “I have a feeling this guy isn’t that superficial, though. He’d be waiting in the living room even if you wore a garbage bag and didn’t own eyeliner. He’s a keeper, Michelle.” Brooke hugged her friend closely for a minute, and then sent her on her way. “Go have fun. Call us if you need anything.”
Michelle stepped out into the small living room and felt her heart race at the look on Lars’ face. It took him a few seconds to recover from the shock of seeing Michelle without her usual oversized sweater and long skirt.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.
“Oh good. Because I feel like a little kid playing dress up.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing ‘little kid’ about that outfit,” he answered, still in awe. “But the real question is, do you like it?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, worried that he didn’t approve.
“I mean, I think you look amazing. But it’s really different from what you usually wear. Do you like it?” he explained.
“Actually, I think I do. I feel like an actual grown-up for once, instead of a future crazy cat hoarder.”
Angela came up behind her and coughed the words “pussy joke” into her hand. Michelle turned around and glared at her, wide eyed and in shock. But Angela and Brooke were too busy trying to hold it together and not laugh to notice.
“Let’s go, Lars, before the immaturity in the atmosphere affects us in some way.”
He waved good-bye to the roommates, who were still snickering behind their hands and wiping at tears from trying to hold in their laughter, and followed Michelle out the door. Once outside on the street, she was excited to see a thick blanket of clouds sitting above them, threatening snow.
“I guess I should have asked where we were going before I let Brooke go nuts playing dress up. So where are we going?”
“I thought we’d get a bite to eat, then go up to Central Park and listen to the musicians. What type of food are you in the mood for?” he asked, leaving their plans up to her.
“I’m fine with anything, really,” she replied.
“No, you’re not. You have to have a favorite food, and I’m pretty sure you probably have a least favorite food, too. So which is which?” he joked, taking her hand as they walked.
“Really, I’m fine with anything,” she answered in an offhand, non-committal way.
“Okay, you asked for it,” Lars replied in an almost threatening voice. “Raw squid meat it is, with a little grilled dog appetizer.”
“What?!”
“Well, you said you were fine with anything,” he said, gesturing with his hands that the door had been thrown wide open for their dinner plans.
“I meant, fine with anything that is actually food.” Michelle looked at him to see if he was kidding or not, but Lars kept a completely deadpan straight face.
“Hey, don’t be too quick to judge. Dog is food to some cultures. See? I’m enlightening you. A little grilled Fido, some sautéed tabby cat, and we’ll be swimming in culture.”
“I’d be swimming in my own vomit,” she shot back with a laugh. “Okay, I see what you’re doing here. I get it. How about we turn around and eat at the restaurant below my apartment? I seem to recall we had a little friendly wager going.”
“Oh, you mean
the bar?”
“It’s a restaurant,” she corrected.
“It clearly says ‘bar’ on the outside of the sign. It’s even part of the name.”
“Well, sure, but it’s still a restaurant.”
“Hey, whatever stubborn delusion helps you sleep at night is fine with me,” he said dryly, nudging her with his shoulder. They reached the restaurant and headed down the few steps to the main door, stepping inside the darkened interior. The smell of warm food and a roaring fireplace pulled them inside. The waitress behind the bar waved a greeting and nodded her head when Lars pointed to a table near the fire, then brought over some menus and took their drink orders.
“So, what’s so amazing to eat here?” Lars asked, looking over the Xeroxed menu with interest.
“Everything, but I’m having the shepherd’s pie and a Guinness,” Michelle answered without even needing to look at her menu.
“Guinness? Seriously?” His eyebrows went up at her choice of drink. “You strike me as the kind of girl who couldn’t handle more than one fruity drink! Where’d you learn to drink dark beer?”
“I dunno, it’s just my favorite beer, I guess. It’s what my dad drinks whenever he lets himself unwind. What about you? Where’d you learn to be so skeptical, quick to judge, and easy to surprise?”
The two of them went on laughing at one wisecrack after another right up until their food arrived on pewter plates, a pint glass of dark beer in front of each of them. Steaming plates of shepherd’s pie, piled with extra potatoes, cooled while they kept talking about where they’d gone to school or odd jobs they’d had.
Michelle’s phone buzzed in her purse, and she laughed out loud when she read the message. Lars looked up from his dinner—that he had already begrudgingly agreed was incredible—and she gave him an overly suggestive look, licking her lips for effect. “Brooke wants to know if I’m having trouble with my zipper.”