It's A Marshmallow World: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  From inside the living room, a woman on the TV asks, “What am I getting myself into?”

  I yell to her, “I’m asking myself the same question.”

  Someone raps on the front door, and my eyes dart back to the mirror in panic.

  This is lame! Being worked up over a guy who can be an ass one minute, and then be sweet as punch the next, is stupid beyond words.

  I don’t let myself think of anything more than turning off the TV, grabbing my purse, and answering the door.

  I catch Chris scratching at his neck and undoing the top button of his pressed, grey, short-sleeved, button-down shirt. He’s got on his signature, black leather jacket again, but this time his jeans are tear-free. He is also standing like a normal person—that is to say, he looks comfortable with himself—even though the situation seems to have him a tad on edge. I breathe relief in knowing I am not the only one.

  Just like last night, not a speck of arrogance is in sight. However, what I do see now are two motorcycle helmets.

  His smile has just the right touch of shyness. It’s so comforting that it nearly causes the rufie-approved panties to fall. He hands me a helmet, only to then retract it. “Sorry, I didn’t ask if you are okay with bikes. I mean, it seemed like you were the other day, but if you would rather drive—”

  I laugh. “Wow. Do you really think I have never been on a bike before?”

  His lips part, and he lets out a sigh that implies more relief than seems necessary. “I try to never take anything with a lady for granted. I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing that bike I mentioned.”

  Now I’m a little unsure about all this again. “You mean the one you think Rox would like?” I still can’t see why he thinks my mod, Go-Go dress-wearing friend would dig a motorcycle. That is, until I walk outside and chuckle at his Vespa. A decked out, vintage, freaking Vespa in cherry condition! How many mirrors are on this thing?

  He’s right. Rox would love it. To her, the only thing that could surpass this as a white horse would be a classic muscle car that looks like it just rolled off the line. “Well, you did say bike and not motorcycle. This thing is awesome!”

  “Really? You’re not embarrassed? We could go get the Harley, but this seemed like it would amuse you more.”

  “Does it ever! My uncle taught me how to ride on a Harley. I’ve ridden so many that they mean zip to me, but I have never been on one of these.”

  “Wait, you know how to operate—”

  “Are you kidding?” I stick my hand out. The bewildered man actually gives me the keys, and off we go.

  “Ouch! Crap!” I say.

  Chris laughs—again. My face reddens. I should have asked where we were going, but no. I let him direct me, turn after turn, until we were here—an outdoor ice rink whose perimeter is surrounded in fake snow and plastic pine trees that have been flocked with white goo. He can’t believe that I haven’t been ice-skating other than once when I was six, but I’m Los Angeles born and raised. In the winter, we would wear parkas as soon as the thermometer dropped below sixty, if they were not so unfashionable. No one here would know how to survive in actual snow, so all this synthetic stuff is fitting.

  Chris kneels down and helps me up. He then tucks his arm around mine. I have to admit that it’s pretty nice—safe-feeling even—which is still confusing. “You want to take a break?” he asks.

  And leave this coziness? No way. “I’m fine, thanks. I refuse to surrender to the enemy.”

  “You see frozen water as an enemy?”

  “Ice belongs in a cocktail shaker. By the way my feet are wobbling, they would be great at shaking Martinis.”

  “Note to self, Darla likes her drinks shaken, not stirred.” He then turns to me. “If you are really James Bond in disguise, what does that say about me?”

  “You own a vintage Vespa. Some would already say that you are comfortable with exploring your feminine side.” My eyes are locked on the ice in fear of my next glide, yet the flow of banter shows my mind could not be more relaxed.

  He shrugs. “At least you look more like a Bond girl than you do Sean Connery.”

  Hey, I’ve made it a few feet this time. Maybe I can manage this after all. I stop, straighten my back, and steady myself. I get one, two glides in and …

  Bam! My butt becomes one with the ice.

  Chris laughs. I try not to glare at him. “Sorry,” he says while offering me a hand. “I have to admit though, I’m grateful for the um, icebreaker.”

  “Oh, cute, Chris. Real cute!”

  Now he is really chuckling. So am I. “Sorry,” he says.

  I wait for it.

  He laughs again.

  Yeah, I thought so.

  “No,” he says while helping me to my feet, “I’m not sorry about that remark at all.” All he gets out of me is an eye roll like I am annoyed, which he sees right through and laughs at. Then he turns serious. “You know how your feet are capable of getting you places, but inside those skates they need to find a new way to function? That’s what is going on with me. I have had a heck of a time trying to figure out how to talk to you about it. It goes along with the explanation you are owed.”

  I must be looking like I think he is crazy. That comment is so much like my puppy dog remark about him that it is uncanny. He nudges his head toward some benches, wraps my arm in his, and glides me out of the rink. The seat is a welcome sanctuary.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” he says. “Actually, scratch that. I’ve no idea what you think, but whatever it is, I probably need to change it.”

  “You mean you are not some James Dean wannabe who is trying to convince people he is all that but knows he isn’t?”

  He blinks and his eyes go wide. “Wow. You are one amazing judge of character.”

  “Next you are going to tell me you are still a virgin.”

  He sucks in his lips.

  No way!

  Those big, blue eyes dart back to me and a smile cracks. “Okay, no, but truth be told, there has only been one woman. I wanted to marry her, but she kept putting it off. When I caught her in bed with some guy, I found out why. While my number of conquests remained at one, hers was nearing the triple digits.”

  Is he serious? Now I am beginning to wonder what is real again. From his expression and hint of a snicker, I’m pretty sure he is reading my mind about that right now.

  “Do you believe in God?” he asks.

  Yikes! The last time I was asked that was when a group of guys wearing pressed, white shirts and skinny black ties came to my door. Being asked that question before he even knows my last name makes me want to bail out of here.

  Thing is, that little thing about Chris that keeps me interested isn’t so little right now. I actually feel like I can talk to this guy, so I risk judgment and state what my heart tells me is right. “You know, the jury was out on that one for a long time. But events over the years have shown me that thinking we are superior beings who get their lights snuffed out upon death is arrogant on a huge number of levels.”

  “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

  I shrug. “If we are so great, then how can we possibly be destroyed so easily? But if a part of us lives on, there is something more outside of life. Thus, we are not that great after all.”

  “Huh.” Chris looks to the stars. There is depth to his voice that goes beyond physical tone. “That might be the only view on religion that hasn’t scared the crap out of me.”

  “That’s a relief. When you hit me with the God question, I thought I might be in for a sermon.”

  “Quite the opposite,” he says, insistently. “Do you have any tattoos?”

  What a weird non sequitur. To say this man has my curiosity up is an understatement. Where is this going? “Just one cluster of daisies.”

  “That’s quite the coincidence. Can I ask why you got it?”

  After all these years, the mention of GranGran still makes my heart sag. Still, I would not trade a second of the time we
shared for anything. I have to wonder when, if ever, I will tell anyone the full meaning behind my affection for daisies and the woman who tells me to follow them. “They are a symbol of the most influential person that I will ever have in my life. I miss her, and the tattoo on my ankle is my way of showing her I am still listening, even though she is long gone.”

  “So, in a way, you can say that tattoo marks a testament to the beauty God brought into your life.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chris pushes out a long sigh. Maybe it has more to do with thinking about GranGran than anything else, but I feel like I am about to get whammied. “My devout, Southern Baptist family sees any markings or piercings as a sin that is certain to doom you to an eternity of fire and brimstone. Heaven forbid you pierce your ears and wear cross earrings. The thought of defiling your body and then showing any respect for the Lord makes you a Satanist in their eyes. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ve led a sheltered life that I have been trying to rebel against for years. Not only is my family unforgiving and judgmental, they are hypocritical. If Mom really felt defiling her body was a sin, she wouldn’t weight three hundred pounds and pull dinner out of the deep fryer every night. I may be a firm believer, but my family’s hypocrisy makes it hard for me to define what those beliefs are.”

  “Wow,” is all that I can think to say. Chris’s mystery may be unraveling, yet it gets more fascinating by the second. There are so many pieces to this puzzle—pieces that maybe even he hasn’t been able to find.

  Chris pulls out his iPhone and shows me a picture of a guy with a strong family resemblance. The guy could be his twin, except his hair is combed tight to his head. Also, the glasses and suit he is wearing make him look kinda dorky. Surrounding him are women in skirts and sensible shoes, along with men whose bland appearance make them look like they have been forged from the same mold. “Thanksgiving dinner with my family,” he tells me. “That guy with the glasses is the me they know.”

  He can’t be serious. He seems so different yet …

  Yet so did he on our last date.

  And now it all makes sense. No wonder why GranGran made a point of contacting me. Chris needs her kind of understanding. His only way to find it may be through someone who gets what it is like to be different. Someone who had guidance and encouragement when it was needed. Someone like me.

  Suddenly I have so many questions. Each of them is more personal than I should ask someone I hardly know. Still, he is opening up to me, so I narrow it down to one question that covers the depths of my curiosity. “Chris, who are you really?”

  He doesn’t look offended by my nosiness. In fact, his features soften like I have become a long-needed friend. “I’m still figuring that out. I can tell you that I am a guy who loves noisy music that my parents call the work of the Devil. I love bikes—all kinds of them. And old cars that drive like boats. Piercings and tattoos are cool, yet I can’t bring myself to get one for the fear of God that was put in me. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly struck down when I lost my virginity before marriage, but I was serious about my intentions of being with only one woman.”

  Chris stares off. He seems to be talking to whatever lies within, searching for answers. “She wanted what she had been told was taboo. I just wanted to be me. The night I screwed up my date with you, I finally saw those are two different things.”

  It’s hard to even begin to know what to say, but he is starting to make a lot more sense now. “I guess this explains why the man who wields a tattoo gun for a living doesn’t have any himself.” He turns to me with knotted brows of confusion. “Your friend said you created his tattoo.”

  He seems to search his brain until it hones in on something. His head drops, and he chuckles. “I’m not a tattoo artist; I am a graphic artist. I only designed that for him.” He puts his hand out in a stopping motion. “I know I’ve said and implied a lot of things that make me sound like someone other than I am. In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you now. Carole and I met in jail because an animal rights demonstration went awry.”

  The mysteries of Chris just keep springing up. I’m so glad he asked me for another chance to get to know him. “Carole? The walking refrigerator’s name is Carole?”

  “Yes, Carole Kelly, and if you make fun of his name, humanitarian or not, he will shred and barbecue you. Anyway, a lot of people who should not have gotten arrested did. We were two of those unlucky ones. But I’d like to think that someone was watching over me when we wound up in the same cell. As different as we are, we are exactly the same.” Chris snickers. “The one thing I stood up to my family about at Thanksgiving was not touching the turkey. You should have seen the look on Mom’s face when I told her I went vegetarian. She actually called me a hippie!”

  I’ve always known how lucky I am, but now it is driven home so hard that I feel it in the recesses of my gut. What would it have been like to grow up without support for my quirks? Would I have still become the person I am now, or would I be like Chris? A grown man who is struggling to find himself as if he were a teenager. He’s not a bad boy, or a jerk, or a wannabe rebel. He’s just a puppy learning to use his paws.

  The last time I saw GranGran she asked me a question that now rings in my head. “What rebellion would you have gone through to find yourself?” I don’t have an answer to that, because I never needed to rebel.

  “What’s your family like?” he asks.

  It’s sort of a trick question, because I am fortunate in that pretty much everyone in my life is like family. “My family are my friends, and my friends are family. Each and every one of them is everything that people like us need those in our lives to be.”

  Chris’s eyes get misty, and he doesn’t try to hide it. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

  The question strikes a chord that lays in the pit of my soul. I’ve always known I was blessed, but now I see my blessings through a new set of eyes. “I do now.”

  I have so many questions, but he is putting the past away, and he doesn’t have all the answers yet about his future. During my age of discovery, the last thing I needed was people asking me the same questions I was asking myself. What I needed was for them to let me fall. Chris has more than earned that respect. He didn’t have to level with me about so much, but I am grateful that he did. We are kindred spirits, and in seeing that, I feel my heart slip out of my chest and land on my sleeve—not because I am losing my defenses, but because I am growing stronger.

  Suddenly my world seems magical. Now I notice music tinkling in the air. The snow-covered trees enrobe me in the scent of pine, and the mounds of snow that surround us remind me of marshmallows. My world has always been a wonderland. Now I appreciate it as such.

  Chris leads me onto the ice. Naturally it is not long until I fall, but the challenge is a reminder that there is much in the world to discover. Besides, maybe in his seeing me fall, I can help Chris stand.

  Super Sunny Christmas

  This year, the day before Christmas Eve holds nearly as much excitement as the big day itself. I’m so psyched that I squeal when I grab my suitcase.

  A squeal? Who am I? Rox? She squeals. I—I—

  Well, I guess now I squeal too.

  It seems silly that I have packed for a few days away when I am only headed across town to stay with my parents. Bailey comes home today, and we want to keep embracing the holidays with as many of the old traditions as we can. That includes falling asleep under the tree together on Christmas Eve while waiting for Santa to bring us our haul.

  I lock my apartment door and start to head down the stairs, only to be blinded when I step out of the shade. The sun is so bright that I shy my head and then fumble through my purse in search of my sunglasses.

  A pair of boots race up to meet me. My heart begins to sprint in hope, but my mind tells it to relax. The sun is too blinding for me to see who it is, but there is no way it could possibly be him.

  I slip on my sunglasses and regain my vision enough to see C
hris grab my bag. My words follow my gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off to see your family?”

  The sweetness of his kiss on my cheek isn’t enough, so I tug him to race me down the stairs where we turn it into something much more romantic. I don’t care why he is here, I am just glad that he is. I know he needs to get to the airport, so this will have to be brief. Damn, why haven’t I mastered halting time? Or better yet, being in two places at once. Then we could stay in this state of bliss forever while still going on about our daily lives.

  When we come up for air, he sounds as breathless as I feel. “I am so glad I caught you before you left.”

  Dear Lord, me too. I go in for another kiss.

  Wait, he is talking about before I leave? The words were normal, but something about the implication sounded weird. “Is everything okay? Doesn’t your flight leave any minute now?”

  “Yes, and I am sure it will be happy to leave without me.”

  Without him? “Hey, I know you are not crazy about your family, but they are going to be heartbroken when you bail on Christmas.”

  “As soon as they get done screaming about how I have sold my soul to Satan, my family will be fine. Also, I’m not bailing on Christmas,” he says, taking my hands. “I love Christmas, and that is exactly the reason why I will spend it talking to the one person we are all supposed to talk to on that day but rarely do. I’m headed up north to stare at snow-covered trees and find that part of me that has all the answers about who he is and what he wants to be. But first, I came to give you this.”

  Chris hands me a little box that is wrapped in gold paper and dabbed with a red bow. This is so sweet, but also so unfair. “Hey, you made a big deal out of saying no gifts.”

  “No, I made a big deal out of saying no Christmas gifts. Think of this as a thank you present.”