Like You (Perfectly Flawed #1)

by Dunning, Rachel

  Don't panic. It's cool if you don't feel the same. This letter is not about you. It's about me. I just have to say it. Because I think things should be said in life, when you have the chance. Like you told me once.

  If you tell me I'm suddenly a little too clingy, I won't care.

  I just want you to know that you've become a lot more than a friend to me. And I'm happy for that. And you should know it.

  Like you. A lot.

  Gen with a G

  -3-

  At nine A.M, one hour before I arrive in Berlin, my phone rings.

  It's Axle.

  My hand is trembling so much I can hardly hold the phone to my ear.

  "Axle?"

  His voice is rough. "A lot more than a friend is a big step."

  "You're OK!"

  "I was just taking a nap in this hospital here. I needed it. Was hard work yesterday. I asked them to give me some more drugs but they said I don't need them. Damn 'regulations.'"

  I sigh out in relief. Another tear pricks my eye. "Well, you sure sound fine."

  "Your letter made me horny."

  "You're full of shit."

  "Gen, I wanna tell you something but it's gonna make me feel like this is an episode of some teen romance series or something. So I'll text it to you when you put the phone down."

  "I'm so glad you're OK."

  "You already said that."

  "OK, well, I wanna know what you have to say to me so I'm gonna go. Like you!"

  "Like you, Gen with a G." He clicks the phone off.

  The message arrives instantly.

  Axle: FYI. I feel the same about you. And I'm also scared as a mofo. Now let's not talk about it again, OK?

  CHAPTER 34

  -1-

  G.

  Nov. 17, 2013 — Sunday, A little after ten A.M.

  I don't recognize Brooke when I see her. Although her pixie hair is still raven black, the rest of her looks entirely different. The only reason I can tell it's her is because the girl in elbow-length gloves and a wide-brim hat, staring at me with oversized shades and a purse dangling from her arm, is waving excitedly and calling out my name.

  "Gen! Gen! It's me!"

  I'm still trying to recognize my friend, the one who was once no more acquainted with a wardrobe than I was. In college, we both used to wear jeans or jeans or...jeans every day.

  I now at least occasionally put on a dress.

  She has on a white skirt. On her left ear she wears a silver earring cuff that looks like metallic lace and which extends from the top of her ear to the lobe. On her right is a smaller one in the shape of a heart that only cuffs around the middle. She has an eyebrow ring and a stud through the left of her upper lip. Her black boots reach high up above her knees.

  Before I know it, she almost knocks me over with a hug.

  I'm still wondering if it's her. "B—Brooke?"

  "Gen, my God! How are you?"

  "B—Brooke?"

  She steps back and holds me at arm's length. "Who d'you think it is?"

  I start smiling. "Girl, you've really cleaned up!"

  "And you need to change if you're gonna impress The Hunter!" She eyes me up and down.

  She turns serious for a second. "How are you, hon?"

  The question cuts deep because it's asked with all the sincerity she can muster. "I'm—I'm good."

  She waits a second. I know she can see I'm not that good. This morning was a shock. The nightmare about the house on the lake that I had last night left me frazzled, then waking up to face another nightmare in real life...

  It was all too familiar.

  "Well," she says lightheartedly, "that's good that you're good! Now let's go get you into some knock-'em-dead clothes!"

  She loops her arm in mine and starts dragging me away.

  -2-

  The Berlin train station looks like something out of a science fiction movie as we walk out of it. It has glass everywhere and there are escalators upon escalators upon escalators.

  Outside there's another river and I wonder if every major German city has one flowing through it. Probably yes.

  Brooke sticks me in a red and black MINI Cooper that says "Rent me Free for a Day" on the outside, in German.

  "You rented it for free?" I ask as I get into its luxurious interior.

  "Not really. I mean, you can, but technically only if you don't get insurance. The Hunter always takes insurance. She, however, didn't get the 'I'm driving in a free car because I'm so cheap' model. She rented a Jag."

  Brooke's statement only serves to make me even more nervous.

  "I really underdressed, didn't I?"

  "Hell, honey. You should've seen what I looked like when I arrived at the gallery the first time. The way you're dressed, you could be up on a catwalk compared to how I looked. Speaking of cats, has that cat come by for milk yet?"

  "Facebook?"

  "Huh?"

  "Yeah, he's come by. I called him Facebook."

  "I'm not gonna ask! Anyway, I sort of looked like him a little when she first met me—hungry, desperate."

  "And she still hired you?"

  "You've seen where I live, haven't you? I practically had to handcuff the woman down and threaten her with a lead pipe to hire me."

  I crack up laughing. Then Brooke makes a sharp, screeching left turn and I stop laughing.

  I grip the door handle as she speeds up along the tiny streets. Then through some not so tiny ones. I think back to all the movies I've seen of people driving like maniacs on English roads or French roads or some other European road and realize they weren't exaggerating about the tiny roads!

  I look over at the speedometer but see it's all in kilometers and I have no idea how fast eighty kilometers is but something tells me that it's way too fast for the "barely fits one car, never mind two" back road we're currently on.

  I make small-talk to distract myself. "So, how is it that someone who sleeps on a mattress can afford such a luxurious wardrobe?"

  "Oh, honey, this entire outfit hardly cost a thing. It's all a mixture of stuff from either the C&A or the H&M. Thank God there are stores like those that offer fashionable clothes for sorry asses like you and me who can't afford any better. And as for the mattress, I told you that's only temporary. But..." She stops.

  "But what?"

  "Well, The Hunter also gave me a raise this week, hon!" She looks over at me. For a second I freak out because she's not looking at the road at all. "A big raise!"

  "Oh, so if I go in there with ugly-as-hell photos then you'll get fired?"

  "No, she's not like that. She's tough, but she's fair. She gave me a raise because I've been working my ass off. No, if you go in there with ugly-as-hell photos she just won't hire you."

  She notices the stress on my face.

  "Relax!" She rubs my leg. "I know your work. I'm sure she'll snap you up immediately."

  "Could I show them to you first?"

  "No, don't. Don't doubt yourself, babe. It's your art. Not mine. If I don't like it, it doesn't mean shit. And I don't want you to go in there with preconceived ideas about your own work because of me."

  "You always used to say that."

  "I know."

  We arrive at the hotel. I don't recognize the name. But I recognize the style: A gazillion stars.

  "Holy shit, Brooke."

  "All expenses paid, babe. I suffered like a slave for a year and now I'm living it up. Paris was freaking unbelievable. And the men... Oh, God." She puts her palm to her chest and looks up, sighs. "The men were..." She sighs again, dreaming. "...magnifique."

  I laugh.

  She takes me up to her room and we dump my bag.

  "I asked them for a double bed so we could snuggle up but all they had was this stupid twin room. I figure we can get rid of the side table in the middle and push the beds together. Then let the staff fix it up later."

  "What are five star hotels for?"

  "I mean, unless you think it's weird, you know, seeing as we
're in our twenties now—"

  I hug her. Tight! "It's not weird. I've missed you."

  She holds me away from her by the shoulders. "I'm gonna say it once, and I'm not gonna say it again because I know it's a rough subject. Don't ever let a man come between us again, OK? Ever!"

  I nod. "I never knew he—"

  "I know. I know. But we can see the signs. We've learned from this now. Together. I also didn't spot it. You and I will never grow apart again. So if we're growing apart, someone's coming between us. Because this"—she flicks her index back and forth between the two of us, then she fights a tear back—"this is real love. OK?"

  She gets all emotional and I hug her again.

  "I love you, Gen. And I'm so glad you're OK and that it's all over now."

  ...it's all over now...

  I don't comment.

  "Now, enough of the emo stuff. Let's go get you some clothes. Tomorrow you can look like a sorry ass. Today, you need to impress." She looks at her watch. "Meeting's in a little under two hours from now."

  I hunt in my travel bag for my purse and throw a bunch of things on the bed. Then we leave.

  Brooke grabs a wurst on a roll on the way, loads it up with mustard and eats while we walk. She offers me a bite and my stomach twists. I decline. Too nervous.

  We make it to a main shopping road. It looks not unlike Frankfurt's one with all the big fashion stores in a row on either side and a huge walking path in the center with trees in the middle that probably look stunning in spring but which are just dead pieces of wood right now. There are benches interspersed in between the trees.

  It's so cold that I feel it down in my underwear. If we weren't walking so fast I'd probably be developing hypothermia right about now.

  I rub my hands.

  "We're here," says Brooke.

  I look up at the colossal window façade and see the sign, C&A. Mannequins line the inside of the brightly lit display, wearing scarves and jackets and coats and shoes that look like they'd each cost more than all the money Brooke lent me. When I look at the price tag, I see that they don't.

  No wonder she dresses so well.

  "You coming?" Brooke is already at the door.

  "Yeah... Yeah. I was just...thinking."

  "Oh, look, it's snowing!"

  I turn and see the tiny specks of white snow floating down like pieces of torn paper.

  I stop for a second and admire it.

  For a moment it makes me forget that I'm soon about to go into what is probably be the most important meeting of my entire life.

  The moment of blissful forgetfulness is brief.

  -3-

  Brooke tells me it's the little things that make a difference. Not the big ones.

  I think back to that mushroom, starkly contrasted against the smooth and feminine breast of Karolin. I think of the billowing coffee steam and the ethereal touch it gave to a man in a suit with everything to lose. I think of Thomas's face as he stretched his arm out of that cage. There had been a look in his eye that showed a momentary terror, and that made the shot.

  She's right. It is the little things.

  Thinking of Thomas and what he did to Karolin makes me a little upset. That was real slimy of him to have done that. And me in the middle of it! Because they're both my friends. He helped me so much. And Karolin also helped me so much. Hell, I feel like I'm caught in the Happy Endings pilot where everyone tries to figure out if they like Alex after she cheated on Dave. Her saving grace was that she didn't cheat on him as it turned out.

  But Thomas did. And Karolin walked in on it.

  Aw, hell.

  There are so many thoughts flying through my mind that before I know it Brooke has me dressed up in front of a mirror looking like I just splurged all the money I have in the world on clothes. Oh, wait, I have no money. The money I do have left is Brooke's. "What does all this cost?" I say.

  When she tells me, I say, "Damn, buy two of everything!"

  Brooke is an expert of the little things. She's put an ear cuff of a snowflake riding midway on my left ear. She's chosen booties with a little side-zip. She's put a delicate chain with a leaf pendant around my neck.

  "You're a freaking genius, Brooke."

  "That's why I'm living it up in a five-star hotel, baby."

  She races me back to the hotel room and ruffles up my hair...with style. She makes me wear a hat because there's no ways I'm going to keep the hairdo with all the snow and wind. "Embrace the wind," she says. "Don't fight it."

  "That's real deep, you know that?"

  "I know."

  "Where are we meeting her?"

  "We are not meeting her. I am introducing you to her and then I'm leaving."

  "It feels like Jaws 3."

  "Where's your portfolio?"

  I get that nervous feeling that maybe I forgot it. I race to my travel bag and open it. I don't see it. I panic. I start throwing things away—!

  "Gen, relax. It's right here. Under some clothes." She points to the bed. "You must have taken it out earlier when you were rummaging in your bag. You eaten anything?"

  "No."

  "Have you eaten anything since you arrived in Germany? You look gaunt."

  "Yeah, I've eaten plenty. How much time do we have?"

  "Twenty-five minutes, babe. You should eat something."

  "I can't. If I eat I'll hurl from the nerves."

  "Good point."

  I start tapping my leg.

  "OK, so, time to chill you out. Wanna chit-chat?"

  "Chit-chat's good." I chew on a nail.

  "Um, what did you do besides take photos?"

  I'm so nervous that I don't even think about the answer. "I met a guy. He fingered—"

  Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops.

  "Shit. Forget it."

  I'm expecting a lecture about me not being ready, how I should be careful, how it's too soon, is he decent...

  But I don't get a lecture.

  Brooke closes her mouth, sits back. Crosses her leg. "Well, good for you, hon. Good for you."

  And that's why Brooke Courtland is my best friend.

  -4-

  "So, it will run very simply," Brooke says. "She'll come and meet you and look at the portfolio. If you get her to sit down, you're past hurdle one. If she sits, that's my cue to leave."

  "Wait, she might not even sit down?"

  "No. She either likes your work, or she doesn't. She'll tell you straight to your face. Constructive criticism, yes. Shot down like a kamikaze? That, too."

  "Oh, great." My hand starts trembling as I wipe my brow.

  "If she sits, she'll look at the shots more carefully. If she stays longer than two minutes, you're doing good. But, Gen, don't look at a clock. Give her your full attention when you're with her."

  "Full attention. Got it."

  CHAPTER 35

  -1-

  G.

  Nov. 17, 2013 — Sunday, Noon.

  I sit at the lobby of another hotel in which The Hunter is having someone else for lunch or having lunch with someone else or hunting some lunch. Not sure.

  It's another gazillion star lobby. Very expensive. Very intimidating with its brown leather couches and staff in waistcoats and ties and a bunch of men in suits walking around. The woman all have on expensive jewelry. Jewelry they definitely didn't buy on a budget like I just did.

  I made sure to sit facing away from the clock on the wall. I don't want my eyes wandering there, wondering how things are going, as if this were some boxing match and I'm waiting for the bell.

  A bead of sweat breaks from my armpit and trickles down the side of my body to my waist. I feel cold and hot at the same time. I'm clutching the book-style portfolio in my hands like it's a lifeline to a boat that's sinking faster than the Titanic. I notice I've dirtied the white cover a little with some fingerprints.

  I don't even bother cleaning it. That'll just make it worse by smudging it.

  I'll just hand it to her open.

  From wh
ere I'm sitting I see the restaurant where she's dining. Very expensive. I hear the sounds of chinging glasses and cutlery clanging and people laughing.

  I chew my nail some more. I tap my foot some more. I feel some more sweat drip down my side.

  Then I see her.

  With Brooke.

  And I now know why Brooke calls her The Hunter.

  -2-

  She doesn't walk. She strides. She's in slacks. Her hair is dark black with red highlights. Her chin is up. She's easily sixty years old, but elegant and professional. Her face is made up with just the right amount of eyeshadow and blush to look competent and not desperate.

  Is she pissed?

  Brooke trails behind her.

  Before I know it The Hunter is next to me.

  She lowers her glasses and looks down at me.

  I realize I'm still sitting and quickly stand up but I trip briefly and drop the portfolio! It falls on the ground. I bend down and pick it up. When I face her again she fixes her silk scarf. Says nothing.

  We stand there silently. Brooke indicates vehemently from behind The Hunter that I should shake her hand and get the ball rolling.

  "Fr—Frau Jaeger, hi— Hi. I'm Gen—Genevieve." I stick my hand out.

  She grabs it delicately.

  The woman is so tall she could be an Amazonian warrior.

  "Is this the portfolio?" She nods to the booklet in my hand. There isn't an ounce of expression in her face. In fact, I'd say she even looks a little irate.

  Her accent is thickly German.

  "Y—yes."

  She grabs it from me. Well, so much for the smudge. She didn't even look at its cover. She flicks through the shots quickly. Too quickly. One shot, then another. Another. Not longer than a second spent on each one.

  She says, "M-hm."

  My heart thuds and thumps and my legs start going weak. I begin trembling and swallow hard. My throat goes dry.

  She goes back to the beginning, looks at it again.

  She turns her head to Brooke behind her and nods almost indiscernibly.

  Brooke's lips twitch into the barest of smiles which she tries to hide. She almost damn near curtsies! And then she turns and walks away!