He stopped talking and stood there on the stage, looking directly at Diana. His eyes grew large and he stuttered, “A...and now, please welcome A River So Clear, Denver's greatest Creedence Clearwater Revival tribute band."
As Andrew walked off stage amidst the cries of several women, he took another long glance at Diana and smiled. She didn't reciprocate this in any way, but it definitely did something to her. It certainly wasn't love at first sight. She was much too wary for that. No, it was more of a keen interest than anything else.
Finishing her bagel, she saw Andrew try to make his way off the stage and over to her with little success. A fan club consisting of women ages twenty through fifty gave no leeway at all.
Diane decided to leave rather than introduce herself. She didn't feel right talking to him then, but knew eventually the time would come.
It was a Tuesday at a small corner coffee shop, Full Steam Ahead, and even though the shop was full of people bustling in and out, the three owners were steadfast at their usual table in the corner.
Brian was preparing a cash deposit that consisted of his drug sales mixed with Full Steam Ahead's revenue. It was money laundering at its finest. Nick had his laptop out and was deep in concentration. The one without anything in front of him except a cup of coffee was Cale. He had a big smile on his face, but felt more lost than ever. God had let him down.
He had been on a continuous weed binge since the results came back negative. He didn't want to accept that he was wrong about fate. He didn't want to think about losing Diana.
The night of the negative result, Cale had pulled out his weed filled, glass cigarette within five seconds of leaving Diana's condo, and proceeded to leave everything behind.
Before the weed fully took effect though, he grabbed the ring out of its holder and stared at it. They say engagement rings represent an everlasting commitment, but that's all a matter of perspective. To Cale, that ring symbolized every loss he had ever endured.
And so he gripped it tightly in his palm and chucked it as far as he could down Diana's street. He never wanted to see that expensive symbolic bullshit ever again.
Back in Full Steam Ahead, he didn't feel high anymore, just sluggish. He had overdone it with the weed, and now was in a constant state of slowness. Usually the beginning of every toke would bring five to ten minutes of awe and wonder, but after that were several hours in a vegetative state. Cale didn't mind however, he was too sluggish to care.
The front door of the shop chimed open and in walked a man in his mid-twenties wearing horn-rimmed glasses, a scarf, and jeans too tight for even the slimmest woman. It was the King of the Hipsters, and Cale groaned because this man was there for him.
“Mr. Dawkins,” The man said with punctuality. It was beyond proper and uppity, it was snooty. “Let me just say, it is truly an honor just to be in the same room as you. Thank you once again for granting Moxie Bellagard Magazine an interview. I know how rare it is for you to grant an interview.”
The man began to introduce himself but Cale had already tuned him out. He wanted to tell the man the truth. That the reason he hadn't given an interview in so many years was because he had no projects to talk about. That he had dried up professionally. That the only reason why he agreed to this and a ton of other interviews as well as more worthless municipal and private commissions was to pay for Diana's ring. That he was an idiot for throwing the ring as far as he could. There was probably a return policy he could've used.
But all Cale could do was put on a happy face and tell the Hipster King, “It's my pleasure.”
The man pulled up a chair and pulled out his interviewing supplies. While this was going on, he asked, “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you own this coffee shop, don't you?”
Brian interjected, “We all own it. Well, Nick and I are the majority owners.” Like Cale, he also smoked weed before coming to the coffee shop, but Brian didn't suffer from the sluggishness. He was a pro.
Picking up where Brian left off, Cale said, “I'll spare you his entire biography, but Brian here was accepted into MIT when he was fourteen and pretty much runs the shop.”
“I never finished.”8 Brian added and went back to work on the deposit.
Cale continued, “And this is Brian's roommate, Nick. If you've lived in the city for awhile, you might have heard about that drunk point guard for the Nuggets that ran over that college kid in the late 90's? That was Nick, hence the limp and cane.” Cale picked up Nick's cane to show it off. “After they settled out of court, Nick had enough money to retire at nineteen.”
By now all of the interview equipment was on the table -- a voice recorder plugged into an iPhone and an iPad.
“So Cale, to start off, I have to ask the question the whole world wants to know. Are you working on anything currently?”
The whole world wanted to know that? Cale ignored such ridiculousness and said, “I have a few things here and there but nothing's set in stone.”
The Hipster King thrust his head back in laughter and said, “Set in stone! Hah! I love the pun!”
“Yeah,” Cale said and looked over at Brian and Nick. Both were back in their own worlds. “I have a commission piece coming up for...uh...I think the mall on 16th Street.”
“Actually, these commission pieces you've been doing these past couple of years brings me to my next question. When you first came on the scene, you were immediately regarded as one of the great modern day sculptors of the realism movement. I remember this one time a group of us took a road trip to Washington DC to see your exhibit at the National Gallery of Art. I must have looked at your piece, The Other Side for over an hour. The despair and panic in the man's face as he is leaning over that block with his hand thrust down is something I will never forget. I always assumed it symbolized art trying to save us. And you created that when you were only twenty. Simply amazing!”
“Thanks,” Cale tried to say as meaningfully as he could before moving onto the rehearsed speech he gave every time someone acted incredulous about the young age he created his most famous pieces. “But the praise is unwarranted. I feel that we use age as a crutch to ease the blow of failure or to justify being unable to accomplish a feat. We say it all the time, 'It's alright if I haven't gotten published, I'm only this age.', or 'I'm so and so years old, it's alright if I am not marri...married yet.'”
The man nodded in approval and wrote something down in his memo pad. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Dawkins. I just realized I never asked you the question I was setting up for. So you've always had such hyper-realism in your works, but lately everything you make has been about as abstract as you can get. And you stopped using stone in favor of a diverse set of materials. I remember reading in a magazine once that you stressed you would never do abstract. You had that great quote, 'Ambiguity is nothing but a way to baffle with bullshit.' What caused you to change your mind?”
After all of the commissions he'd coasted through by slapping a few materials together and giving it a made-up meaning, Cale didn't have an answer for the hipster king. He still wanted to defend his quote though because he still felt it. He felt it every time he heard an artist boast about their genius in painting the abstract. Or a musician with vague lyrics. Or an author thinking they are funny by overusing similes. Authors who overuse similes are like... uncreative.
But the sluggishness prevented him from coming up with an answer, so Cale admitted, “I guess I'm nothing but a hypocrite.”
Looking down at his list of questions, he asked, “Here's a question everyone likes to answer. If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?”
Cale didn't want to tell him his actual wish, so he went with his number two. “I wish The Dismemberment Plan would get back together.”
“Really? That's your wish?”
“Yeah, back when I lived in DC, my closest friends and I would go see them almost every weekend. Some of the happiest times of my life were at their shows. We would go see them at a small bar or even the 9:30 C
lub, then come back to my studio where I would sculpt all night while my friends hung out. In fact, I did The Other Side during a weekend when The Dismemberment Plan had shows on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. After they broke up, my friends and I pretty much parted ways, and here I am now...”
Cale looked toward the window and rubbed his tired eyes. The interview had no end in sight.
A bell rang signaling the end of Diana’s third bad date of the night. Normally, three bad dates at a speed dating event might not be too bad, but three dates was all Diana had so far. She had no idea why she accepted Jenny’s speed dating invitation, but was certainly regretting it. Thanks to the egotistical men, unbearable hostess, and overenthusiastic women, the entire event had been an exercise in tolerance.
As she proceeded to the table where her next date sat, she knew before he even said a word that it would soon be bad date number four. She deduced this from the man's initials embroidered on the cuffs of his shirt, his combed back, obviously dyed black hair, and the gold jewelry that was present everywhere. Fighting back the desire to flee, she stuck out her arm to shake the man’s hand, which he lifted and kissed, followed by him telling her, “Why hello there, Jessica Rabbit. Aren’t you a sight? My name is Gerald.”
Without realizing it, she clenched her fist while Gerald held it next to his lips, providing a still frame picture of what she would've loved to do. But like any excellent lawyer, she could tell he was a magnet for lawsuits, and decided to appease him for the time being. Rich jackasses made lucrative clients.
While he talked, Diana thought about several men and women she knew who settled with whomever was most convenient. After being single for so long, their standards had taken a nosedive from finding 'the right person' to 'anyone will do'.
Diana vowed never to settle like them. If she did, she might end up with someone like the man sitting across the table, and this pissed her off. So she was getting older without a man, this meant her standards had to lower?
With a blink, Diana snapped back to the conversation to hear, “And I haven't been water skiing since my shoulder surgery. But what can you do? I'm the type of guy who plays hard.”
Like imagining a tropical paradise while stranded in the Arctic, Diana began to think about Andrew Finnegan. She kept picturing the stare he gave her as he walked off the stage at the race. There was something so right about it that she couldn't get it out of her mind.
He had called several days before and set up a consultation through Jenny, but Diana still hadn't spoke to him. She would officially meet him the following Monday.
“So there I was, Joanie was on my left, Tiffany on my...” Diana looked over at Jenny laughing with a man Diana had earlier written off. Every date of Jenny's seemed to go well, and Diana wondered how she was able to be so open and inviting to even the most wretched of men.
While she stared at Jenny, Diana's guard was dropped and Gerald, opportunistic bastard he was, reached over and interlocked his fingers in hers, which brought all of her undivided attention back to her date. Along with her attention came the rage of one of Denver's best lawyers in addition to four dates worth of frustration.
“This is over.” Diana said and stood up to leave.
“Come on, Jessica Rabbit, you should feel lucky. I can give you the life you've always wanted.”
It was one of those comments that can turn a normal woman into the most die-hard feminist. “I don't need your help getting the life I've always wanted, I have it already. And seriously, Jessica Rabbit!? There wasn't anything in this decade you could have used? Way to be original there, dick. Can't say I've ever heard that one before.”
Diana's voice had raised enough that every date in the room had stopped. There were no more couples, just eighteen observers.
“Go ahead and leave then. I would have been dating down with you...” Gerald said.
“I'm going to stop you right there to clarify something. There is nothing special about you at all. There's no talent, no intelligence, decency, ability, or kindness. You're old, privileged money, and that makes you worthless. It's a shame you aren't a female because you might have been able to attain some miniscule form of fame in exchange for a sex tape. You were born into wealth, attended the best prep schools, got a cushy job, and are still less talented than most of the world. You have no idea what it's like to work hard, or fend for yourself, or even hear the word 'no'. Well, until now that is. You old money types disgust me.”
“No wonder you are single. Fucking bitch.”
Diana reached back and gave a slap that resulted in a loud thud rather than a skin-on-skin clap. She used the side of her palm like a karate chop because she wanted him to feel it. Cale taught her the move one night after she slapped him, and it created a loud sound but no damage outside of a hand print on his cheek. After teaching her the fine art of slapping, Cale offered to let her slap him again, but she refused.
Gerald was knocked back, covering his face in order to hide the tears. Standing over the cowering man, Diana said defiantly, “Screw this, I'm outta here.”
It was a bar as typical as they come - stained glass, felt, oak, alcohol, and crowds. Cale, Brian, and Nick were there drinking without regard for the next morning.
“Look at that.” Cale pointed out to a red eyed Brian. There was a brunette girl in the corner involved in a shouting match with a man who was doing the majority of the shouts. “I'm going over there and stepping in.”
Brian asked, “Don't you ever get tired of playing the hero, Cale? What if she deserves to be yelled at?”
Cale knew it was the crazy blond all over again. Almost all of the girls he tried to save didn't need a hero, but rather a therapist.
Still though, he was a man of chivalry.
“Brian, grab me another gin. I'll be back.”
It was a single office lit up on a Saturday night. Stained glass, felt, oak, books, and Diana. With the speed dating event long behind her, she was working with furious motivation to prove to Gerald and all of the other old moneyers that she was better than them.
To Ms. Diana Young, Esq.
We feel our buy out of Mrs. Bertrand's interest in the partnership accurately reflects the current fair market value of her ownership percentage. Please respond with your decision.
-Greg Levine, Esq.
“Like hell you are giving her that pathetic amount, you bastards.” Diana said to herself and went over to bookshelf to find one of her books on partnership laws. “I can save her.”
Cale was inches from the man's face. The only thing preventing him from getting any closer was the flat bill of the man's hat. “If you ever put your hands on her again, I will beat you to a bloody pulp and piss on whatever remains.”
“Dude... cool.” Flat Bill was scared. Cale's gray shirt made his well-defined arms from years of stone work stand out, but besides that, Cale reached that level of drunk that crosses into the territory of an unstoppable force. Whenever you hear reports of people still charging despite being tazed, they are in this state.
The girl Cale was there to defend had already left, so the mission was accomplished, but you can't act like a hard ass, make threats to someone's face, and then walk away like a coward. Action must be taken! And Cale knew this.
He grabbed the front and back of the man's head, pulled him in close, and planted a long kiss on his cheek.
Then he walked away.
Gregory Levine, Esq.
Mr. Levine, after reviewing your buyout offer for Mrs. Bertrand, I feel this does not accurately reflect the proper amount of her basis in the partnership. Using section 754 basis adjustment, the partnership's assets should have been adjusted to fair market value the day she inherited her interest in the partnership. We will conduct an appraisal of the assets and contact you with a proper buyout amount.
Sincerely,
Ms. Diana Young
Diana grabbed the letter from the printer, read it over twice, and knew she nailed it. The appraisal will bring in more income to her fir
m, and as far as Gregory Levine goes, he would regret trying to screw her.
The letter was stuffed into an envelope, but the stick of glue was lost among the papers strewn across her desk. “Screw it,” Diana said to herself and licked the envelope to seal it.
She dropped it in the outgoing mail bin and went back to her office to tackle the next project.
Cale awoke the next morning in a bed he didn't recognize and with a girl he didn't remember. She was blond and had a tattoo of a raven on her left shoulder blade. That much he could tell as he looked to his left.
Although it hurt to make the slightest move, the feeling of something coming back up gave him the motivation to run to the bathroom. Opening the toilet lid, he spilled his guts into an inanimate object that didn't object, nor ease his pain.
The toilet flushed. He puked once more. The toilet flushed again, and again he tried to puke, but nothing came out. He was empty inside.
He curled up on the bathroom floor and tried to find any sort of comfort. He missed Diana. Despite all their problems together, she kept mornings like this at bay.
With Diana, everything was better.
The sound of Sunday morning traffic of downtown Denver woke up Diana from the sleep she didn't remember entering. It wasn't the first time she fell asleep at her desk, and by now her body knew all the little tricks like arm placement, head position, and posture to provide a good night's sleep.
She sat up and felt a lurch in her stomach. It was somewhat like nausea, only different. Barefoot, she got up and ran to the bathroom in the same black dress from the speed dating event. Opening the first stall, she neatly vomited into the toilet, doing her best not to make a mess. As she bent over and let it all come out, she knew what was going on. The pregnancy test was wrong, it was morning sickness.
A Pact For Life Page 5