Lovesick Little

by Leslie Phelan

  “Arabella, what a lovely surprise!” he said as he gallantly flung open the door. “I knew our Gabe would come . . . WHO ARE YOU?” he shrieked as he jumped back, shocked to find a brunette where he was expecting a blonde superstar. “Oh, excuse me, madam,” he said, confused and somewhat annoyed. “Might Gabriel be around?”

  Erica giggled at the stiff, try-hard mannerisms of the guy. “Certainly, good sir,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m sure you’ll find he hasn’t ventured far.” She gestured elegantly with her hands. “And who, pray tell, is Arabella?”

  Rourke stuck his hands in his dirty, ripped pockets and swaggered into the room slowly. “Oh, she’s just this huge starlet we know, no biggie,” he began. “She’s sold like a gazillion albums, is pretty much the most bangin’ smokeshow on the planet and she’s so aesthetically relevant, she has a staff member assigned to each and every aspect of her image.”

  “Which aspects specifically?” asked Erica, feigning star-struck wonderment.

  “For example,” he began, catching on to her subtle mockery and wanting to shut her down, “there is April, who makes sure all her clothes smell like cotton candy; Joanie, who follows her around with hair glossing mist and a teasing comb; and Pam, who makes sure there are no mutants or overly-blemished people in the crowd when Arabella gets photographed with fans.”

  Erica’s eyes widened. “You must be speaking about Arabella Behrensen, chanteuse extraordinaire!” she said as if bowled right over. “But why on earth would she be here?”

  Rourke grinned a weasly grin. He wanted to oust the girl more than Arielle did, determined to reclaim his crash spot. “She is kind of Gabriel’s long-time love and girlfriend,” he said casually. Just then, Gabriel walked in wearing nothing but a white towel that came up to about three inches below his board-short tan line. Erica silently swooned; she couldn’t believe she wasn’t bored of his perfection yet.

  “Buddy you look like hell! Where have you been?” Gabriel asked, laughing at the sorry state his friend was in.

  “Thanks buddy!” replied Rourke sarcastically. “I’ve been in hell, actually! I was hoping to get some rest on my trusty old couch here but it appears you already have a squatter,” he said, looking Erica up and down.

  “Erica, this is my old buddy Rourke,” said Gabriel, almost apologetically.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Rourke before Erica had the chance to say anything. He turned to Gabriel and looked at him gravely. “May I have a word with you in private?”

  “Umm, sure,” said Gabriel as he tucked his towel tighter and stepped out onto the balcony, and Rourke shut the door behind them, leaving Erica to finish making the bed. “Okay so are you going to tell me what happened to you?” asked Gabriel.

  “I WAS KIDNAPPED!” barked Rourke angrily. “This crazy cougar slipped something into my drink and the next thing I knew, I was in her dark basement zip-tied to a crushed velvet bed spread! She violated me, then left me in there, man; what day is it?”

  “Wednesday,” said Gabriel, cool and unsurprised. “What exactly did she do to you?”

  “A more appropriate question would be, ‘what didn’t she do to me!’ I was gagged and blindfolded . . . it was weird, man!”

  Gabriel laughed. “Violated? You? Last time I checked, you were into that freaky stuff AND dying for, and I quote, ‘the taste of the coug’.”

  “I was kind of into it!” Rourke said, his voice cracking. “. . .Until she started putting swimming caps on me, gluing doll hair to it, making me use pacifiers and pinching my nipples with barbeque tongs!” Rourke, paranoid and broken, lifted his shirt to show Gabriel the nicks and bruises the tongs left behind. “My nipples ache. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up,” he said dramatically.

  “But she didn’t rape you?” Gabriel asked him, confused.

  “SHE RAPED MY WILL TO LIVE!” yelled Rourke, shuddering. “The last thing I remembered was cheetah print and dimpled cleavage . . . and then I woke up in that windowless dungeon! I begged for water but all she’d bring me was Tang, and I think there was Nyquil in it ‘cause I was drowsy the whole time. She wouldn’t stop tickling my feet . . . I HATE it when people touch my feet!” Rourke stopped to catch his breath. “But I escaped,” he continued. “I ground the zip ties off on the bedpost and escaped through the window well. I came straight here; you must have been worried sick about me!”

  Gabriel thought about his response for a moment. He wanted to tell Rourke he’d been worried, but he knew he was a terrible liar and it had honestly not occurred to him that Rourke could’ve been missing, since Rourke had never been in the habit of announcing his comings and goings anyway. He went on to describe more details of his stint in cougar captivity, but in the end, the fact remained that Gabriel’s room was full up as long as Erica was staying.

  “WHY is she even here?!” Rourke demanded angrily. Gabriel suddenly realized how grateful he was to be trading Rourke’s company for Erica’s. “She’s an old friend of the family here visiting, and she’s great; I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with her!” Rourke made a disgusted face, and suddenly they heard rustling up on the roof.

  “What was that?” whispered Rourke with fear in his eyes, stepping closer to Gabriel like a frightened child.

  “Probably just raccoons,” Gabriel answered, stepping away from his wet, dirty friend. But it wasn’t raccoons up there, it was Arielle on the roof. She had climbed up the trellis from her bedroom window moments earlier and was perched up there, eavesdropping on their conversation. But the Pacific coast humidity had left some slick shingles and she slipped on one, sliding down to the eaves trough on her belly. But she held on for dear life, and, as quiet as could be, she pulled herself back up, perched herself low and continued to listen.

  “Anyway,” continued Gabriel thoughtfully, “I think I love her.”

  “I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!” barked Rourke. “WHY?”

  Gabriel laughed. There were so many reasons why. “First of all, she’s sweeter, more interesting and more beautiful than any girl I’ve ever met.” Arielle heard that, and for her it felt like taking a knife to the heart. “And on top of all that, she’s cool,” he continued. “It’s like I’m hot for her in every single way I could be. I’ve waited for this. I’m going to make her my wife!”

  Arielle’s vision went black and she fainted, tumbling sideways down the roof. On her way down, she smashed her shin hard against the patio railing, breaking her tibia. Rourke jumped at the sound of the tumble. “Seriously what the tits was that?”

  “Fat raccoons,” insisted Gabriel. “Anyway, bud, I’m gonna get dressed, then I’ll drive you to the ferry, okay?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” replied Rourke, sneering.

  “Me? Why?” asked Gabriel, eyeing Rourke. “Because, between the two of us, it’s you that looks like a strung-out, preppy, nuclear holocaust survivor.”

  Rourke grumbled. “You’re ridiculous for letting your life’s biggest opportunity slip away so you can propose to some nameless broad you’ve only known a week.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “She isn’t nameless; as I mentioned when I introduced you, her name is Erica and she’s an angel.” They both looked inside at Erica while she sashayed around the room in a white cotton dress, tidying and making room for her things. The sight of her made Gabriel genuinely happy. The sight of Gabriel in love made Rourke feel jealous, frustrated, annoyed, and a little bit gassy. He belched. Gabriel pretended it didn’t happen. “I haven’t only known her a week,” he said, “I’ve known her my whole life, actually. But I haven’t seen her in years until she arrived about a week ago. Except for the morning after my birthday when she found me washed ashore . . . in any case, if you haven’t been picking up what I’ve been putting down, I’ll tell you again: I don’t want Arabella! I think she’s kind of crazy – at least, too crazy for me. Some rock star or actor will love her ‘cause they’ll understand her type more, but if you think she’s so amazing, YOU
yourself should take a swing at ‘er!”

  Rourke was so angry, he ripped out a few strands of his own hair. “It’s Arabella, you tit!” he shouted. “I can’t just go for her, no one can . . . except YOU!” The fact that Gabriel had repeatedly turned her down was the stuff of legend in their circles. “For some asinine reason, the gods have smiled on you, giving you Arabella as an option! So do her- please just do her- so that the rest of us may live vicariously! Take one for the team, man, we’re dying out here!” Gabriel tried to change the subject but Rourke wouldn’t speak of anything else. “Tell me- how does one say ‘no, thank you’ to the body that launched a hundred million shower skeets?”

  Gabriel pondered that for a moment. “A hundred million? Really?” he asked dryly.

  “Her ‘Hot n’ Steamy’ video saw over a hundred million YouTube hits, so YES, a hundred million,” said Rourke not only matter-of-factly, but as if Gabriel was weird for not knowing. “And that’s not even counting skeets made from MEMORY of her ‘Hot n’ Steamy’ video, that would therefore not count as hits.”

  Gabriel sighed while he tightened his towel tuck. He realized he had no idea why he still bothered explaining anything to Rourke. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “I’m off the market! Maybe forever.”

  Rourke put his fingers to his temples, as if Gabriel’s insolence was giving him a migraine. “Arabella is richer, more famous, sexier, thinner, but with bigger breasts, blonder—“

  Gabriel interrupted him. “Those are only pluses according to personal preference,” he said.

  “No way!” shouted Rourke in the passionate way he liked to assert his opinion when he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “Those are universal preferences! Everyone prefers blondes; gentlemen prefer blondes! Blondes break necks in ways brunettes can’t touch.”

  “First of all,” replied Gabriel, “you’re not a gentleman - not even close. Secondly, necks only break because they’re straining to see if the face matches the Barbie-doll hair. But often, it’s just a lot of eye makeup and skin like orange peels. Or, trannies in wigs.”

  Rourke stood there dumbfounded, with nothing to rebut. Gabriel burst out laughing and told him he was only kidding, but that he was, regrettably, not kidding about the lack of space to accommodate another guest in his room. So he sent him out to the boathouse loft for some sardine aroma therapy. The stink was ripe in there, even with all the windows open to air it out and after only twenty minutes of bearing it, Rourke asked Gabriel to just take him to the bus station.

  Erica came outside with a bag of grapes, a towel around her shoulders and a book under her arm. Headed for the beach with intentions of zoning out under the sun, she was shocked to find Arielle laying limp and lifeless on a bush beneath the deck.

  “Arielle! Are you okay?” she shrieked. In a panic, she shook the girl’s little white shoulders to wake her. She dropped what she was carrying and was winding up to try the old slap approach when Arielle’s eyes flew open and she sat up. Arielle looked up at the roof and down at her broken leg, and realized that she must’ve fallen. She remembered the last thing she heard Gabriel say. She looked her enemy dead in the eyes.

  Erica reached out and took her hands to lift her but when Arielle rose to standing, her shinbone made a loud SNAP! and she collapsed to the ground. Erica screamed, shuddered with her entire body and ran into the house for help, leaving Arielle on the ground with her bones jutting out of her skin.

  Still groggy, Arielle reached her healing hands out and smoothed out the broken bone. She gently set it back in its place and massaged it until it was all better, leaving zero evidence behind that it was ever broken at all. Moments later, Erica came running out with Cliff and Lucia in tow. Expecting to find her in a mangled, broken heap, they were surprised and relieved to find Arielle sitting comfortably, looking perfectly fine.

  “Did you hurt your leg, sweetie?” asked Lucia. Arielle smiled and shrugged, then her eyes turned to Erica.

  “I definitely heard a snap!” Erica assured them. “Someone ought to check her legs– I would, but broken bones give me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Cliffy, check her legs,” urged Lucia. So he sat her up straight and picked up her left foot. She didn’t even wince, nor did she when he picked up the other. Her feet carried only their usual sharp pain, (which she was pretty well used to by then) and her legs were smooth, unmarred and healthy as ever. He applied pressure all the way from her ankles past her knees but she was apparently injuryfree so he pulled her up to her feet once again, this time to stand well as ever. The whole time, she didn’t take her eyes off her adversary. Lucia asked her if she wanted anything like a glass of juice or something, but Arielle just barely shook her head in response, fixated. Her staring was starting to creep Erica out.

  Since everyone appeared to be okay, Erica picked up her book and grapes and towel and continued out to the beach. She would’ve sworn she had just heard Arielle’s leg break in a loud, bonebreaking crack, but she had just seen the leg with her own two eyes and it was certainly not broken . . . anymore. She wondered if she’d imagined it all or, if she wasn’t crazy or hallucinating, that perhaps Arielle simply had special powers and could heal herself like Wolverine. She wondered what she would’ve seen if she didn’t run off to get help . . .

  Scouting out a nice, sheltered sun trap, she shook and laid her towel out and as soon as she did, Arielle flew past her to plant herself upon it. “Oh, hey Blondie,” she said, surprised. Arielle said nothing like always, but sat there on Erica’s towel continuing her one-sided stare-down. “Do I have a booger or something?” she asked, “. . . because you’re creeping me hard and I’m startin’ to think you’re just a little lesbo!” Erica laughed and said that of course she was kidding. She pulled her dress off to reveal a mismatched bikini in orange and brown, made up of her last two pieces of swimwear that didn’t smell like sardines.

  Arielle’s eyes swept across Erica’s body, from her tanned toes with their bubble gum pink nails to her rounded hips, up to her full bosom. She envied the way Erica’s breasts, mountains next to her own modest pair, filled out their bikini cups, overflowing amply yet still understatedly. In size, she was so much more than Arielle. In warmth and in voice and in meat on her bones, she had more and therefore was more. She was soft and natural, and Arielle could see why Gabriel wanted her. Her body looked cosy and strong. She looked her nemesis up and down, taking inventory of rival assets. On her face she wore a look of heightened concentration. She hated Erica, or at least would if she wasn’t so kind and lovely.

  Erica averted her eyes. She decided that openly staring must have been a commonplace and acceptable thing wherever Arielle was from, and thought nothing more of it. To her, Arielle was odd but harmless.

  Arielle looked down at her wispy body and suddenly she felt small and insignificant. Wrapped in a nightie and hidden away, her humble frame left her much to be desired. Sighing mournfully, she laid herself down next to Erica. She felt sorry for herself, and despised the feeling.

  When Gabriel returned home, he parked the Jeep and wasted no time running around the house and out to the beach where he knew he would find his woman. He acknowledged Arielle with a pat on the head, then sat down in the sand to face Erica. Wasting no time at all, he asked her if she’d like to have dinner with him the next night.

  The question made her laugh. “I’ve eaten every single meal with you since I got here!” she replied. Arielle stared at her with jealous eyes.

  “That’s true,” he said. “But I mean dinner, just you and me. Someplace other than home. Interested?”

  She was so very interested, but played it cool just for fun. After all, she had been wishing for this moment for a while. “Would this be like a date?” she asked cheekily. She had to savour the moment. “I believe it would be, yes,” he replied, smiling because he already knew the answer. Her keenness was written all over her face.

  “That sounds swell,” she said with a nod, popping a grape into her mouth. She
feigned aloofness but deep down, she was very excited since she had a dress that she’d been looking for an excuse to wear.

  “Perfect. I already made reservations,” said Gabriel, pulling a pear out of his pocket and biting into it with his big white teeth. She called him a cocky bitch and tossed a grape at his head. He wrapped his arms around hers and with the weight of his body, pushed her down to her towel. Arielle looked away; it was too much to bear.

  Then he leaned into her, like her face was a shiny new prize that had his eyes twinkling. He pressed his warm cheeks to hers, first one side, then the other. “Can you be ready by eight?” he asked, even though that very night they would definitely eat together, as well as breakfast and lunch the next day leading up to their date. She nodded, and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

  That afternoon, Gabriel stayed back with his dad to wash and wax the family’s fleet of cars while Lucia and the girls went into town to hit the salon. Arielle didn’t really want to go but when they finally found her hiding up on the roof, they insisted she join them if for nothing more than to experience the girly rite of passage that would take care of her brittle cuticles.

  When they arrived, Lucia sat down for her usual gloss treatment and blow-dry while Ava got a fill for her eyelash extensions. Demetra had her toes painted the same turquoise as her headphones, while Erica picked a hot fuchsia for hers. Arielle perused the polish rack and was deciding on a colour when she found herself in front of the airbrush design wall, marveling at all the colourful detail.

  “You wan’ to wear long?” asked the little Asian manicurist who had crept up to her, wearing long purple talons and tattooed-on eyebrows that were black with a faint hint of blue. She took Arielle’s hand and inspected her nail beds. “Long look better,” she said in her endearingly broken English while running her nails over Arielle’s short, rough tips. All of the designs on the wall were colorful, vibrant and required at least three inches of acrylic on each finger just so the designs would fit. She pored over every nail glued to the board until at last, she found the perfect one! It had flames of magnificent orange, red and yellow, sitting upon a base of shimmering gold. It even had three black rhinestones across it! She had never seen anything so pretty adorn someone’s digits. It was magical and badass, all at the same time. She pointed to it, nodded seriously, and prepared herself for a hot transformation.