He said nothing in response, but I heard the growl of his car’s engine as it started up. I continued down the street at a brisk pace; running was out of the question as my body was way too spent. The threat appeared to be gone anyways.
The Mercedes purred as it pulled up slowly next to me, the window lowered so he could speak.
“Be sure to keep a firm grip on those keys, Ruby.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Sean,” I said, forcing a smile.
He smiled back, turning up the stereo as he pulled away. While his speakers pumped The Fray’s “I’ll Look After You”, the words hauntingly echoed through the street. And my mind.
I guess he believed in theme songs too.
7
And so my “relationship” with Sean grew. I found myself not-so-randomly running into him here and there. He found himself popping up gallantly when I needed something, and annoyingly when I wanted desperately to be alone. He was irritating in a charming way, making me want to both strangle him repeatedly and gaze into his amazing green eyes, losing myself in them. I couldn’t have been more awkward around him; he was completely unnerving.
I eventually stopped putting much thought into the deeper questions that surrounded him and moved in a different direction. If interrogation wasn’t going to be effective, I would try a different tactic altogether. I would try to be his friend. It was a stretch for me, taking me way outside my beautifully crafted comfort zone, but necessary to accomplish what I wanted.
Over the weeks of coincidental run-ins, we learned more about each other. For all the oddities plaguing our situation, I found that he really filled a void that I hadn’t known was there. Being around him felt right and I wanted to leave it at that, but it wasn’t that simple. Through a stroke of genius I realized that my best strategy would be to exploit our friendship. I would slowly lull him into complacency so I could subtly start to extract answers from him without him being any the wiser. Indulging a curiosity over coffee, an innocent question over lunch, these were things that friends shared. And share he would.
8
When I was in need of the perfect vintage get-up in Portsmouth, there was really only one place I went to. Better With Age was a trendy boutique not far from my own shop. It carried not only the hottest vintage finds ever, but also mixed in new stuff from local and undiscovered designers, as well as top shelf jeans. I could tell a lot about a store by the jeans they sold.
The owner, Veronica Marks, aka Ronnie, was a petite, good-looking, forty-something single mom who may have spent a little too much time in her younger years partaking in the overindulgence of the eighties, and all that that implied. She was quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and a Pitbull when it came to her teenage daughter Peyta. She was a walking contradiction with her Greenpeace ideals and Kabbalah excerpts plastered all over the shop, and a front counter that housed her Glock 9mm. I idolized her. She was the closest thing I had to a friend before Sean.
I pushed through the entrance to her store and smiled at the expected sound of tinkling bells. A flash of brown hair popped up from behind the counter to greet me. Ronnie appeared to have another one of her “I just wanted to try something different” episodes; her formerly shoulder-length, red hair was shorn to a pixie-cut and dyed chocolate brown. The new hairstyle was stunning with her bone structure, but it took me a minute to fully absorb the change as it completely altered her looks.
“Ruby Tuesday, what can I do for you today?” she asked, smiling as she made her way towards me. ”I just got some amazing new shirts in. They’re still in the back. You want me to grab them for you?”
“Sure. I’m game.”
A widespread smile overtook her face as she turned and went through the beaded curtains leading to the stockroom. I rummaged through the racks until she came out with both arms full of fabulousness. She laid it all down on the counter and started organizing it by size, speaking aloud as she did so.
“Nope…that won’t fit. Bad color. Too short…oooooh, but this one is perfect,” she said as she pulled a cream blouse out and held it up to admire the sheer fabric. “Now, you need some different pants to try this on with,” she mumbled while looking down at my yoga capris. She had a valid point. “I’m going to pull some jeans for you. And I’ve got those knee-high riding boots you’ve been eyeing for weeks still in your size. I’ll get them for you.”
I took the blouse over to a mirror and held it up against me to see if the color would wash me out more, or play into the creaminess of my skin.
“What’s the occasion, anyways? Something special I should know about?” she called out, her voice echoing from the back room.
“No. Not really,” I replied casually.
“Baloney! Something is up with you. This is the sixth time you’ve been in here this month alone. What’s with the sudden interest in your appearance? You’ve got impeccable style, girl, but let’s be honest, you don’t exactly rock it out 24/7,” she said as she gave me the once over. Again.
“Hey, sometimes a girl just wants to be comfy!” I retorted.
“That’s my point. You seem to be more interested in not being comfy. Present outfit excluded. So who is he?” she asked.
“He who?”
“Whoever it is that’s making comfy less of a priority.”
“Nobody, Ronnie, really. I just felt like beefing up the wardrobe,” I said.
“If that’s the story you’re sticking to…” she said, trailing off.
“It is. Give me those jeans so I can go try this thing on. Weren’t you getting boots for me?” I asked with my most demanding tone.
She smiled.
“Peyta must have moved them. I’ll have to go back and rummage around. Worst case scenario I’ll text her to find where she’s stuffed them. Damn teenagers. I really should fire her,” she said with a wicked smile.
“Let me know how that goes for you. Seventeen-year-old daughters are notoriously unforgiving,” I tossed at her as I walked over to the curtained changing area. I heard her laugh heartily as she disappeared into the back again, in search of the Frye riding boots.
As I changed into the handpicked outfit, The Dave Matthew’s Band’s “Crash” came over the speakers in the shop. It was clearly a sign. I’d always had this theory that it couldn’t be a bad day when that song came on the radio. I smiled to myself in the mirror as I pulled the blouse on and arranged it so it sat perfectly on my frame. A pair of cognac-colored boots were thrust into the dressing room just in time.
“Thanks,” I told the disembodied arm.
“You’re welcome. I forgot that Peyta wears the same size as you. I think she was hiding them for herself. You’ll never believe where I found them,” Ronnie replied, chuckling to herself.
As I unzipped the boots to put them on, the jingling bells signaled another customer entering. “Can I help you?” Ronnie asked, sounding a little sweeter than usual.
Hot guy for sure.
“Got any vintage rock shirts? Preferably something from the seventies?”
Oh. My. God.
“Sure. Over there in the corner. I have some in the back too. I’ll go pull them for you,” she said, sounding all too happy to oblige.
As soon as the coast was clear, I stuck my head out to see Sean standing where Ronnie had directed him, rifling through the tees.
“Do you work on your stalker qualities, or are you just stalker-tastic by nature?” I asked him while his back was facing me.
“Ruby,” he said without turning around right away. When he finally did, the remnants of a smile were barely visible on his face. “Nice outfit,” he said, giving me elevator-eyes.
“Evasion and flattery will get you nowhere. Do I need a restraining order or what?” I asked, trying desperately to stifle the grin that was tugging on my lips, threatening to expose my true sentiment.
“Maybe,” was his only response.
“I found these four in the back. They look like they should fit you,” Ronnie said as she shot through the strings
of beads.
“It’s not for me, but thanks. The size should be fine.”
“Is it your boyfriend’s birthday?” I asked, mockingly.
“Don’t worry, Ruby, he’s just a friend. You know it’s you I really want,” he kidded. I turned eighty shades of red.
Ronnie cocked her head to the side as she watched us, clearly amused with something as the right corner of her mouth twitched and turned up. I rolled my eyes at her and bit the proverbial bullet.
“Ronnie, this is Sean. Sean, Ronnie.”
They exchanged pleasantries before Ronnie focused her attention back on me.
“Just beefing up the wardrobe my ass” she said with the piercing eyes that only a mother possesses. I said nothing in response.
“I’ll take this one,” Sean said, breaking the brief silence which I had no intention of filling.
Ronnie turned to him and took the shirt before heading over to the counter to ring up the purchase.
I scoffed to myself and muttered something under my breath.
“What was that?” Sean asked.
I sighed heavily in an attempt to convey my displeasure with repeating myself.
“I said ‘so much for that theory’.”
“And what theory would that be?” he asked casually.
I sighed again.
“My theory that it can’t ever be a bad day when Dave Matthews sings ‘Crash’ on the radio.”
He smiled boyishly.
“You like that song?” he asked.
“It’s one of my faves. Why?”
“You do know what it’s about, don’t you?” he asked, choking on a laugh.
“Apparently you do, so why don’t you enlighten me?” I asked, getting frazzled by his persistence.
“It’s about masturbation. He’s a Peeping Tom, Ruby,” he said, just before he roared with laughter.
“You’re disgusting. It is not…it’s about love.”
The more I tried to defend my tune, the harder he laughed. Ronnie finally cleared her voice from behind the counter.
“It’s forty-five dollars, please,” she said to Sean.
He wiped the tears that were welling in his eyes from the strain of laughing.
“Sorry,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the necessary cash. “Here you go”.
He took the bag that Ronnie extended to him before turning back to me.
“I guess your theory was wrong. You really do look like you’re having a bad day.”
“You’re an ass” was all I could muster in response.
“Never claimed to be anything else,” he said as he strode past me flashing his impossibly green eyes down to mine. “You should buy it. Especially the boots. I have the perfect place for you to wear them,” he said plainly. “I’ll see you soon, Ruby.”
I stared blankly at the door from which he’d just exited, completely speechless. I heard Ronnie come up beside me.
“I’d do more than beef up my wardrobe for that one,” she said, her comment laced with innuendo.
“It’s not like that, Ronnie,” I defended.
“It should be. It really, really should be,” she said, staring me down. “Now go take that off so I can ring you up. You heard the man, he’s got plans.”
I begrudgingly dragged myself back to the dressing room. I emerged wearing my comfy clothes, bringing the others up to the counter.
“I don’t really know him that well, Ronnie. I’m getting to know him, but sometimes we have the strangest interactions, and he pops up so randomly. The whole thing is just a bit weird.”
“Nothing in this world is random, Ruby. Remember that,” she said, grabbing my hand as she handed me my bag. “Nothing.”
I had never seen her so serious, and was completely baffled as to what I missed that caused such a change in her demeanor. I smiled, trying to soften the mood.
“Thanks for the help. Guess I’ll see you soon.”
“I guess you will,” she replied with the same curling of her mouth’s corner.
“Tell Peyta I’m sorry about the boots. I’ll give them a good home,” I said as I pushed the door open.
“I’d rather tell her about what you did in them.”
I pretended not to hear that one.
9
“So I was thinking,” Sean said with a mouth half-full of some greasy concoction he purchased at Dunkin Donuts, or “the Dunk” as he liked to refer to it. “You said that you’ve never been into the city. I think we should go down this weekend and I can show you around…do whatever you want to do.”
“I believe what I said was that I’ve never seen the city before. My parents took me once to Boston. So what exactly do you have in mind?” I asked with a tone of caution and incredulity. “I should warn you that my idea of a good time doesn’t involve a trip to the Green Monster or Hooters.”
I was quite certain that if a person could pierce your body with a stare and subsequently cause internal organs to combust, my pancreas would have been ablaze given the glowing eyes pinned on me.
“Ruby, are you implying that beer, boobs and baseball are what I consider to be a good time?”
If the shoe fits…
“Is there a polite way to answer ‘yes’ to such a question?” I asked as I giggled nervously. I thought I was hilarious, but Sean didn’t seem to subscribe to that brand of humor; a lesson I’d learned over the previous few months.
Something else to work on.
He scowled at me, but chose not to continue the conversation in its current direction.
“I was thinking more along the lines of trolling around the city, going to the park, museums, galleries, dinner, dancing, whatever you want to do.”
“So let me get this straight. You are going to drive me into the city, do whatever I want to do, go wherever I want to go, eat whatever I want to eat, and dance? I thought you didn’t dance? And who, exactly, is going to pay for this excursion?” I asked in my attempt to clarify both itinerary and intent.
“I will drive you into the city to do whatever, go wherever, and eat whatever you want. I don’t dance and this weekend will be no exception to the rule. And I thought it was customary for a man to pay for a lady?” he said as though this should have all been very obvious.
“So it’s a date?” I asked. I didn’t do dates. I had never had luck dating in the past and did not want to revive that part of my life just because I gained visual input. Being able to see made the whole situation even more confusing than it was before. There were fewer options to weigh then.
He started to chuckle. That chuckle slowly became laughter, which then escalated quickly into a deep rumbling hysteria. Apparently, I once again didn’t see the comedic value in what he’d said. In fact, I became more incensed as his shenanigans continued, as if my observation about it being a date was so off-base. He couldn’t have been trying to take me out?
Asshole.
“If you’re quite done assaulting my self-esteem now, it would be awesome if you’d just give me a definite verbal answer. Apparently, in your pristine upbringing you weren’t taught that laughing at someone could be construed as extremely rude, and quite frankly, a dickhead move,” I shot at him. I felt tears threatening to well up in my eyes. I was used to having the occasional insult thrown my way while growing up, but this was different. It was never by someone I liked.
He seemed to pick up on my distress, as if that took a massive IQ.
“No, Ruby. It is most certainly not a date,” he said.
Good to know.
“I think you could have made that point clear without the theatrics. Next time it would be really super if you could refrain from undoing years of therapy in the process,” I choked out, turning quickly away from him for fear that my eyes would betray me.
When I was certain I had myself composed, I turned back to see that his face went from amused, to serious, then to grim. His forehead actually furrowed and his eyebrows were in danger of swallowing up his eyes.
; “I did not intend to hurt your feelings. It just struck me as funny. It’s sort of an inside joke with my friends. You wouldn’t get it. It’s not really you that makes it funny,” he said.
“Well, since I don’t see your friends here, there isn’t really an inside joke to be had,” I stated. “Don’t ever do that again.”
With that, I turned and stormed out of the shop to the back room and slammed the door. I banged some things around like a five-year-old having a moderate tantrum until I felt better. I grabbed a necklace I’d been working on and started tinkering on it without real purpose. In my mindless futzing I realized that I never actually agreed to go, so I pondered for a few moments whether or not I still wanted to. That really was a dickhead thing to do to me. However, after some thought, I decided to give him a second chance. We were making progress on the normalcy front, and I did need to learn not to let my sensitivity about my past get in the way of a potentially fun weekend in my immediate future.
I went back into the shop to tell him, but when I peeked through around the door, I saw that he had already gone. I walked over to the register and saw that he’d left me a note pinned to the desk with one of my various pointy tools.
Ruby,
I’m very sorry that I caused you pain. Sometimes I forget that you haven’t had an easy past, and that some of the things I say could be more hurtful to you than they would someone else. It was never my intention.
I’m enjoying our friendship(?) very much and I do really want to share the day in Boston with you. If you do not wish to go, I’ll understand completely. If you never wish to speak to me again…well, I won’t really understand that, but I’ll just have to go with it until you see the error of your judgment (and yes, I’m being a smartass. I know).
If you do decide you want to go, I’ll be at your place at eight a.m. on Saturday morning. Be waiting for me outside.
If you’re not there, then I’ll know where things stand (for now).
Caged Page 4