by Ruth Morse
“At least I’ll be able to spy on your cool new life on Facebook,” I said with a fake smile, avoiding her glance.
“I’m flattered. But listen, did you think about New York for yourself?”
“And what exactly would I do there?”
“And what would you do here?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Hey.” Mel gave me a meaningful glance and continued, choosing her words carefully, “What about this little talent of yours that you so badly intend to hide?”
“What are you talking about?”
Mel rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’mon! Your writing, Lana! We both know if there’s something on this Earth that can fire you up, it’s writing.”
“I can’t write and you know it.”
“Did you hand over your story for the contest?”
“Not yet.”
“But why?” Mel moaned, raising her hands up to the sky and shaking them dramatically as if she was acting in some cheap movie.
I sighed. “I can’t write about something that’s missing, Mel. I guess it’s hard to create anything when your own life’s empty. And I feel this emptiness, this tiredness I’m breathing in, and if I make any effort to write, I can’t help but be filled with it.”
Mel bent forward, bursting into helpless laughter. I glanced at her. “What?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” she cried. “Even describing how everything sucks, you still sound so poetic!”
I snorted. “Back off.” I pushed her slightly to the side.
Mel raised her hands, quickly surrendering. “Okay, okay. You’ve got to chill out,” she said.
She stood up and approached the dresser. It was almost invisible under the clothes that stuck out, garments hanging solemnly like flags of the fashion brands to which they belonged. I smiled, picturing the H&M flag: it would be black skinny jeans wrapped around a red cropped top that Mel loved so much. On the lowest shelf loomed a sleeve of the Chanel dress that Mel wore for her prom. That night she managed to ruin it with wine that she smuggled in in her bra, despite the relentless eyes of teachers. Great choice for the flag, though. Our clothes are so chic that even with wine stains, they will rule the party. Where is my phone? I need to call Chanel and tell them I’ve got a million-dollar idea for their campaign.
While I was thinking about that nonsense, Mel turned on the TV and took her phone from the nightstand.
“What’s on the menu for today?” I asked as she came back and lowered her head on my lap, stretching her body like a graceful cat.
“Something you really love,” Mel murmured, busily licking her lips.
Her fingers ran across the screen and the music started playing. It was my favorite rock song. I smiled and leaned against the pillows. My eyes blissfully closed.
The music was loud and beautiful. The images in my head changed each other, blending into a colorful chaos. I felt like a junkie that was finally given his dose. Junkie. My consciousness caught the sharp word and my imagination took me even further.
We were no longer in Mel’s place. We were in a club. We took some pills. Behind the door, music was tearing the space apart. People were going crazy, blinded by the bright spotlights and intoxicated by the stimulating beats. For us, all that seemed to be infinitely far away; we were sitting on a shabby sofa while couples scurried around us. They were searching for a darker place to hole up. Suspicious-looking men stood in the far corner, leaning against the wall, the hunger in their eyes explicit. I saw all of that in the movies and I created my own, filled with smoky air and stained, erratic shadows on the walls.
Mel got up from the bed and changed the song. Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? I snorted. She really knew something.
I jumped to my feet and took Mel by the hands. We spun around, losing our breath from laughing. I sang to the music, paying no attention to the words. I was happy. Although, it felt like something wouldn’t let me completely relax. I closed my eyes. I didn’t feel bad. On the contrary, I was thrilled and excited. I couldn’t figure out exactly what wasn’t right. The unknown feeling wasn’t strong enough to make me anxious and yet it was permanent and steady, so I had to accept its existence. I caught myself thinking about Max and the feeling only intensified.
I opened my eyes and froze. Mel’s mom stood in the doorway, trying to shout over the music. I hurried to switch it off. Mel stared at me, ready to protest, but changed her facial expression swiftly when she noticed Mrs. Swan.
“Good morning, Mom,” she cooed.
“Your music made it very challenging to find anything good this morning,” Mrs. Swan grumbled.
“I’m so sorry,” Mel murmured, giving her mom a soft, guilty smile. I tried to stifle the giggle; that smile was known as the number one guilty smile from her Smiles for Delicate Situations collection.
Mrs. Swan noticeably slowed down. “Just make it quieter, please,” she said and glanced at me. “Lana honey, I didn’t hear you come in! How is life going?”
“Good, thank you, Mrs. Swan. How is your dissertation?”
Mel started to cough terribly, pronouncing something incomprehensible and opening her eyes wide, but my words were already out.
“Total disaster.” Mrs. Swan laughed in a high voice. “At least I know that psychology is just not my thing.”
“Mom, we already went through this. You told me yourself that you nearly finished it yesterday.” Mel approached her mom and hugged her by the shoulders.
“Yes, honey, but only if you could see what a mess I wrote! I’m seriously considering the possibility of changing my career.”
“Oh, another self-critical one. Where did all the normal people go?” Mel moaned.
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Swan glanced at her daughter over her thin brown glasses and quirked a brow.
“I mean, you’ll do great, Ma. Don’t even think about changing anything, all right?”
“If you say so.” Mrs. Swan sighed and ruffled Mel’s hair. “Do you want anything from the kitchen, girls?”
“No, thanks. Love you,” Mel said, pecking her mom on the cheek.
Mrs. Swan’s face brightened. “I love you too, honey,” she said. “Call me if you want anything, will you?”
She left the room, arranging the scattered pillows on her way. When the downstairs door shut, Mel turned to me and whispered angrily, “Why did you remind her about the stupid dissertation?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I whispered back.
“Mom thinks she’s not capable of doing something worthwhile. You see, while working on the dissertation, she experienced fits of anger. How can you teach anger management to anyone else if you can’t deal with it yourself?” she said with a grimace.
“Did you try to talk with her?”
Mel sighed. “I told her that anyone else working on that topic would wind up in mental hospital and the fact that she’s still with us only proves she’s a genius psychologist. But my words never reach her!”
“What’s the topic?”
“‘The effectiveness of behavioral parent training to modify antisocial behavior in children: A meta-analysis,’” Mel said, blinking her eyes. “I already memorized this crap!”
We went down to the kitchen and Mel poured ginger lemonade into our glasses, then joined me at the table. She stared at me, a smug smile playing on her lips.
“What?” I asked cautiously.
“How much time do we have left?”
“An hour or so. Why?”
Mel took a long, meaningful pause. Then she approached me, taking the glass from my hand. She licked her lips and flipped her hair from her shoulder in a seductive manner while her laughing eyes watched my reaction to it. She leaned on the table and took me by the hand. “I know what you need right now,” she whispered, looking at me with big, charming eyes and trying to stifle a giggle at the same time.
I narrowed my eyes. “Should I be worried?”
Mel snorted. “Only if you’re afr
aid of being beautiful, baby,” she said. “I invite you to proceed to the room of the fabulous transformations…”
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“Yes, Foxy! Prepare yourself for the best makeover ever!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Voila!”
Mel took a step back, looking me over. She assumed an air of innocence, so I couldn’t guess anything from her face. Finally, she took a little mirror from the nightstand and put it in front of me. The girl in the mirror raised her eyebrows and blinked in sync with me. Her blue eyes, shaded with a thin gray eyeliner, sparkled as if she never had nightmares. Her upper eyelids slightly covered her pupils, giving her bedroom eyes which were enigmatic yet sad.
“It’s beautiful, Mel. Thank you,” I whispered, still trying to get along with the stranger in the mirror.
Mel winked at me. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “I just emphasized some of your features. Come on, we’re already late.”
We ran out of house with only ten minutes before the movie started. Mel rummaged in her bag. Her mom’s car keys jingled in her hand.
“It’s gonna be a wild ride!” she said, plopping down onto the driver’s seat.
“What happened to your car?” I only now realized that Mel had picked me up from the greenhouse in this little brown Chevrolet or, as Mrs. Swan lovingly called it, Little Pipkin.
Mel sighed. “Some blind moron bumped my baby right in her sweet butt. She’s still in shock, though the mechanic is doing everything to bring her back to us safe and sound.”
“Poor baby,” I said.
Mel made sure her mom had left the yard, started the engine, and stepped on the gas sharply. The sound of the tires reverberated through the courtyard. I clung to my seat. It was at that moment I realized the reason for Mrs. Swan’s bleak look at her car before saying goodbye.
“Easy!”
“You want to miss the whole movie?” Mel asked.
“I want to be alive,” I muttered to the air since Mel wasn’t listening.
Only when we reached smooth road did she slow down a little. There was no logic in it since it was much easier to fly down the highway than the ruts and bumps of back roads. But I gave up any attempt to understand how Mel’s brain worked long ago, so I just sighed and let go of my seat, though not moving my hands too far away from it.
Fresh air poured in through the open windows. Between the cool night air and the blazing sunset, the sky was divided. The sun’s retreat showed a bronze sheen similar to that of the furry coat of a ripe peach. It differed dramatically from the opposite side of the sky, with its deep blue color and heavy clouds anticipating the approaching night.
Excitement mixed with impatience and created a strange tingling in my stomach. There were only a few minutes left before we met up with Max, and I wanted to greedily drink up every last drop. I had no idea what was going to happen, but right in that moment, engulfed by expectation and hope, I felt downright happy.
***
The movie theatre was packed. We fought our way to the entrance through giggling couples holding hands and older people complaining about ticket prices. Mel shouted “Excuse us!” as we headed to the front.
We finally made it inside and looked around. Mel looked for a place to sit while I looked for Max. The theatre was bursting at the seams, just like Mel’s suitcase that she once took to spend the holidays in Seattle with her parents—she’d tried to squeeze almost her entire wardrobe into it. I looked at Mel. She was already used to that chaos and stood calmly with her arms crossed over her chest. Guys gave her sidelong glances.
“Everybody’s staring at you,” I said, smiling.
Mel laughed. “Wake up, Foxy. They don’t even notice me. They’re looking at you.”
I nodded, though didn’t take her seriously.
Mel raised one eyebrow. “You don’t believe me? Take a look at the couple next to the window.”
I shifted my glance to a lanky guy holding his girlfriend from behind. She couldn’t see her boyfriend’s face. It was better that way, because if she saw him staring at me the way he was, she’d slap him.
“Gross,” I whispered and looked away.
Someone took me by the hand. I jumped like a scalded cat and turned around. It was Max. “Come with me,” he said, smiling at me.
Mel took me by the other hand and we walked through the crowd together. Max cleared the way. All we had to do was to hurry to the spots of empty space behind him.
We quickly reached the right theater. Max passed us our tickets.
“Didn’t want to say this, but I’m glad you drove like a crazy person. We made it just in time,” I whispered to Mel.
She giggled. “Now I get it why you went with him to the lake that morning. He’s so handsome! A little skinny, though, but he’s just your type,” she said.
“Shh!” I shushed her and turned around. Right after Mel said that, Max approached us.
“Three, four, five,” he said, counting out rows.
“Right in the center!” Mel exclaimed, plopping down into the chair first.
The lights went out and an advertisement occupied the screen. It’s a shame we didn’t have a chance to talk. Max glanced at me with his soft half smile. It had already become so familiar I could see it with my eyes closed. He laid his hand on the armrest a few inches away from mine. I stared at the screen, trying to concentrate all my attention on the movie and not his close proximity.
There was a trailer for an upcoming movie. The main character just escaped a chase and blew up a building behind him. It crumbled like a house of cards. Flashes of white light momentarily lit up Max’s face. He sat in his chair in a relaxed pose and seemed to be absorbed in what was happening on the screen. His calmness passed over to me, spreading the feeling that everything was just right. I took a deep breath so I could steal some time to sort through my feelings. I nearly succeeded, but the burning sensation in my hand reminded me of how badly I wanted to touch Max.
The previews ended and the screen went black for a moment. I decided to take that moment to touch him. The second I moved my hand closer to his side, he turned his head and looked at me. Our eyes met. I halted for a moment and then smiled, barely controlling my suddenly numb lips. Max smiled back and turned away. The movie started. I laid my hands down on the armrests, trying my best not to look at Max. My eyes were glued to the screen as if there was nothing left in the whole world except this damn movie.
***
“Awesome! And when she said, ‘Hope dies first, mon chéri’ and pointed her gun at him, I nearly had a heart attack! What a surreal scene!” Mel exclaimed, gesticulating with both her hands.
Max shrugged. “It was good.”
I shook my head. “The French actress was the only good thing about this movie. And the director knew it. That’s why all the attention was on her character. But even the most beautiful characters have to have lines, that’s where all the problems started.”
Mel snorted. “Once she started to speak all I could hear was her sexy accent.” She pushed open the door and we got out to the street. “Hey, Max, thanks for the tickets.”
“You’re very welcome, mon chéri,” he replied, mimicking the French actress.
We laughed. The second I opened my mouth to thank him too, Max’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. His face changed. He hurried to step away. “I’ll be right back.” His shoulders dropped, and his voice took on a serious and tense tone.
We hadn’t been waiting for more than a minute when he came back with the same bleak look on his face. Before we could say anything, his lips formed a weak smile. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
I shivered from the sudden gust of wind. Max quickly placed his jacket over my shoulders.
“Mel, are you cold?” I asked.
She giggled. “No one will undress so chivalrously for me. That’s why I put on my warm sweater,” she said with strong notes of sarcasm in her voice.
&nbs
p; “Well, you wouldn’t need one if we went somewhere and drank something hot,” Max said.
“Or strong,” I added.
“Foxy, you’re reading my mind!” Mel grinned and winked at me. “Leave those hot drinks to poor French starlets. We’re going for something much better.”
“And what’s that?” I asked with a smile.
“We’re going to be rock stars!” she happily cried.
***
We drove to the opposite side of the town. I’d never been there before and had no idea where we were going. Mel pulled off near a building that looked more like an old garage than a bar.
“Out of all Lakewood’s drinking holes, you picked this one?” I said, looking at the dirty gray walls of the garage. There were no windows or signs.
“It’s a hell of a place,” Mel retorted. “All who are not satisfied are kindly invited to go home on foot.”
“Not sure about this place but that’s definitely a hell of an argument.” Max laughed.
The garage happened to have a name. Bonfire was written on the shabby sign propped up against the entrance. Written wasn’t the right word, more like someone scraped the letters into sheet metal and screwed it to the blackboard.
The moment the door closed behind us, the smoky air and the heat of human bodies struck me hard. I blinked, getting used to the dim lighting. The place was divided into three parts: the lounge for those who preferred to sit on sofas and chat, the dance floor, and in the center of everything was the bar.
A bunch of people were gathered around the bar. Something was going on, lots of shouting and people waving their arms. Two guys had their right shirtsleeves rolled up and their arms resting on the bar. Some girls cleared empty glasses and bottles away, then sat on the bar, letting random guys lean against their bare legs. By the red faces of these two guys, I could tell it wasn’t their first round of arm wrestling.