“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there, Rose! Has no one ever taught you how to make a proper cup of tea?” he asked with the most baffled and appalled look on his face.
I put the pot down immediately and held my hands up innocently. “Huh? Yes, I pour the tea into my cup, add cream, and stir it. Simple,” I shrugged.
“No, no, no, my little lamb,” he scoffed, while grabbing the cream. “Let me teach you how to make a proper cup of tea. First, you add the cream,” he lectured. “You must always, always add the cream to your cup before pouring the tea.”
He gestured with his hand for me to follow his instructions. I poured the thick white cream into my tea cup, and looked back at him, waiting for the next steps.
“Next, you must slowly pour the brewed tea into the cup. Now, the trick here is that you must stir constantly whilst pouring. Nobody really knows why, but it will, without fail, make the best cup of tea.”
I grabbed the full tea pot and my spoon. “Okay, I am ready for this!” I poured in the hot liquid while quickly swirling the mixture until the cup was full.
“Now, the best part of all. You must sit here and wait until the temperature is just right. If you drink it right away, you will burn your tongue and taste buds, and the whole cup of tea will be ruined. You just have to sit here, in sheer excitement and anticipation of your cuppa.”
“This is actually pretty exciting.” I replied. “It does look creamier this way. Thank you for sharing your British secrets.”
“Ah, it isn’t much of a secret. It’s the way…” he started to slow down and stumble on his words. “It’s the way… my mum taught me.” He smiled weakly and looked down at the table.
I averted my eyes and looked at my cup of tea, still slightly swirling from my stirring. Of course. He lost his mom at a very young age. Very tragically. She was a strong woman who was known for her high profile charity work around the world, and she was the absolute center of the world for Rex and his father. I looked back at Rex. His smile had disappeared and his eyes were glossy. I completely understood now. He was still grieving the loss of his mom. He looked a bit like a wounded child at that moment. Didn’t we all have a wounded, suffering child inside of us?
Just as I was about to look back at him and speak, his hand was suddenly in front of my face, and he dabbed whip cream on my nose.
“And whip cream for dessert!” he exclaimed.
“Rex!!!” I yelled, wiping it off my nose. How quickly he could turn from happy to sad and sad to happy.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories and laughing. I actually enjoyed myself. Rex was surprisingly easy, and almost fascinating, to talk to. He had a spark; that was for sure. A little light inside that lit him up, and it was infectious. Soon, I was lit up too. That day marked the beginning of a new friendship and forever changed the way I made a cup of tea.
TEN
Later that night, I returned to my condominium. It was a modern, one bedroom apartment that I tried to make as peaceful and relaxing as possible. The walls were the color of warm toasted pastries, and my furniture was frosted white. I had candles, flowers, and photos of me and my mom dispersed throughout my place. I lived minimally, as I tried to keep my apartment and my mind free of clutter.
I went into my kitchen and made myself dinner. Or rather, I heated up a frozen meal suspiciously named “Spinach Muffins” that I purchased from Natural Grocers, the closest grocery store with relatively healthy food. Not that I could complain much compared to the southern cooking I was used to. Denver, I was told, was the healthiest city in the country. I definitely got that vibe from walking around the city and seeing the fit men and women walking around. Even the fashion here was different; it was very athletic-inspired, with hiking boots and wind-breakers around every corner. Even for the businessmen and women downtown. It was as though they could run into the wilderness, paddle across a river, and climb a mountain at a moment’s notice.
I never really adopted the athletic-chic style, and anyone could tell that I wasn’t a home-grown Denverite when I walked around town. More than a handful of people noticed this and made comments about me being a girly girl and mocked how I don’t know how to ski or snowboard. I would much prefer to wear dresses or a chunky sweater with jeans and boots. I didn’t spend a lot of money on buying designer clothing, but I would buy timeless, classy pieces like a pearl necklace, a classic trench coat, or a silver watch. I also liked to mix and match styles and blur the line of formal and informal wear; I would wear pearls with my jeans and t-shirts or wear sturdy cowgirl boots with the most feminine lacy dress. I liked to bend the fashion rules.
I gazed over at my boot collection near my door adoringly, as I started in on my green muffins. The muffins had an interesting texture. Nina jumped up on the table, took one sniff of the green dough on my plate, and turned her nose up in disgust.
“Well, this isn’t food for a kitty, little Nina,” I said in my high-pitched kitten voice. “This is going to make your mama strong and healthy. Even if it does taste like unidentifiable goo.”
As I sat there nibbling away at my dinner, I thought back to my conversation with Rex earlier that afternoon. I thought about how everybody has a past that makes them act the way they do now. It seemed like he used a false bravado to disguise the hurt from his past. I didn’t blame him. I thought the world had misunderstood him. Not that I even knew that much about him. I paused on that thought. I, then, like any other modern girl would, promptly retrieved my laptop, opened up Google in my internet browser, and typed in “Rex Byron”.
I saw a montage of Rex pictures – from when he was just a little boy with coveralls and rosy cheeks to the man he was today, with designer suits and rosy cheeks. There were some images from his visits to Africa. There were some images of young Rex and his mom, Lady Byron.
I tried to remember where I was when I heard the news of Lady Byron’s death. I would have been nine or ten years old, and we were driving in my mom’s old Toyota car near the end of summer. The song on the radio changed to a man with a deep, saddened voice. I do not recall the exact words, but I do remember my mom gasping and moving her hand to cover her mouth.
“What happened, Mom?” I asked from the passenger seat.
“Lady Byron… is gone. She was so young…” she trailed off, still in shock. She was still driving, but I could tell her mind was in another place.
I did not know who Lady Byron was, but it did make me sad. Sad because a woman was gone forever, and sad because it made my mom and the radio announcer sad. I could tell that she was someone special. I knew that the world loved her.
I clicked on the Google image of young Rex and his mom. It took me to an article that discussed his recent visit to Argentina in his late twenties where he met two young girls who lost their mother. It said that Rex was so overwhelmed that he started to cry, as he remembered his own mother’s death. Lady Byron had been attending a charity event in Rio de Janeiro, and there were swarms of paparazzi surrounding her. During all of the commotion, she walked out on to the street and was struck by a car. I read that Rex was only twelve years old when she died, and that he was told the next morning by his father. And at that young age, he joined his father, uncle, and grandfather in walking behind her funeral carriage. It was no shock to find out that he burst into tears during the ceremony, and that for many years after, his laughter could turn into sobbing in an instant.
The more I read about him and his family, the more I understood him. The more I wanted to understand him.
ELEVEN
The next afternoon, I found myself back at the Caribou Coffee. I was unwittingly becoming a regular. This time, I was with Derek on the patio, and we were talking business. Derek also came from a home with a single mother, and he knew how to work hard. He was born and bred in Denver, and he had an incredible talent for writing powerful rock songs as well as beautiful ballads. He had a large following in Denver and across the nation, and he always knew how to use his entrepreneurial mind to inc
rease his market share. We were both in the same boat in Denver. We were transitioning from open mic nights to performing our own sold-out shows. I was hoping that I could get some lyrical input from him, since he was the king of writing love songs, but he was determined to talk marketing.
“You need to determine who your target audience is and write music for them,” Derek recommended, as he drew some sort of marketing diagram on a sheet of paper to help me understand.
“I don’t think I could categorize my fans into one box,” I replied. “When I look out into the audience, there are young people, old people, hipsters… every category of human you could imagine. I don’t know if I want to choose just one.”
“Your target audience may be completely unexpected,” he continued and added more arrows to the diagram. “Middle-aged women are the target audiences for many rappers. Who knew, huh?”
I laughed and looked up to see that Babs had arrived at our table. She asked for our orders, and we both ordered our usual drinks, but I noticed that even when I was talking, she still only looked and nodded at Derek, as if I didn’t even exist.
When she left, I said to Derek, “What was up with that? I gestured towards Babs and raised my eyebrow. “She’s totally into you.” And even though I hated to admit it, I continued to say, “And she is pretty cute.”
“Do you think so?” He looked over at her working on our drinks inside the cafe and pursed his lips while evaluating her.
“For sure, like a cute little bunny,” I said, trying to sound encouraging. I couldn’t help but always be a bit jealous of the perfectly petite girls. The type that you just wanted to squeeze and put in your pocket. Although petite girls were probably always jealous of us tall, long-legged girls. It was one of the many peculiar mysteries of women.
Derek continued to look at Babs while he thought about it. “I’m not sure that I want to date a cute little bunny,” he said. “I am more into the tall, lady-like gazelles of the world.”
“Okay, before this animal analogy gets out of hand, you should think about it. She is definitely interested, and I don’t think she’s just after your fame and money,” I said playfully.
“She’d better not be trying to steal my spotlight,” he joked, and then gave me a look to say ‘change the subject’ as Babs started walking towards us with our drinks.
“So, umm,” I started to say. I was trying to think of a conversation topic, but my mind went blank.
“Yea, umm, that thing I was telling you about. It’s great,” he said and nodded his head at me for authenticity.
Babs came and put the drinks in front of us at the table and said, “Here you guys go. Enjoy your drink, Sergio.”
He thanked her and she started to walk away. Then he surprisingly said, “My real name is Derek, not Sergio.”
She turned back around and her smile was beaming across her face. “I already knew that. I love your music,” she managed to say as her face became flushed and she turned to walk away quickly back into the café.
It sounded like he was warming up to her. “You scared her off, Derek. She couldn’t walk away fast enough!” I joked.
“I didn’t scare her,” he disagreed and took a sip of his coffee. “She was just so flustered by my manly charms that she had to rush away.”
I laughed out loud. “Oh yes, that was so smooth, Derek,” I replied and rolled my eyes. “More likely, she probably realized that we were both staring at her and watching her wiggle as she walked away.”
“Her wiggle?” he asked.
“Yes, there is nothing worse than knowing that your crush is watching your booty walk away. You either need to commit to the slow, sexy wiggle or just speed up, walk like you mean business, and get out of there. She chose the latter.”
“Girls are absolutely crazy. I would love to spend a day inside of your mind to figure it all out.”
“I can’t give away all of my secrets…” I replied coyly and sipped my latte. “Then some poor boy might actually understand me and I’d have to, God forbid, marry him or something.”
Derek threw his head back and laughed. “Oh Rose, you are the quirkiest person I know. Speaking of boys, do you think Rex Byron plans on ruining your album release gig as well?”
“Oh, him? I don’t think he meant to ruin it, really…” I started to say.
Derek raised an eyebrow. “Someone has changed her tune. Didn’t you call him a pompous man-boy who tried to steal your spotlight?” He actually sounded upset with me.
“Well, yes. He was…” I stumbled on my words.
Derek pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. You are falling for his British charm and wit, aren’t you?”
“No, no, no. We are just friends,” I reassured him.
“Just friends. I have heard that before.” He looked away in frustration.
“We are honestly just friends, Derek. Not as good of a friend as you are, though,” I smiled, trying to win him over. “Please don’t tell anybody that I am hanging out with him. I think he is trying to avoid attention.”
“If he was trying to avoid attention, he wouldn’t have made such a grand entrance. Be careful, Rose. This guy is trouble.”
I nodded obediently. “There is nothing to worry about, Derek. Just friends.” I repeated, unsure if I was trying to convince Derek or myself this time.
TWELVE
The next day, Rex called me, and I agreed to meet up with him to show him around Denver. He requested that we do very typical “American” things. I was not generally one for doing touristy activities, but it was a sunny afternoon, and Rex was surprisingly good company to have around.
I waited for him outside of my condominium building on the corner of Sixteenth and Larimer Street. I still felt a twinge of guilt after being so dismissive to him earlier in the week, and I was strangely excited to see him again.
I felt a vibration in my purse, and I pulled out my phone to see a text message from Derek: “Hey Rose, want to come by the studio? I want to show you something.” I quickly texted back: “Hey Derek, sorry! I am busy today. I’ll be at your gig tomorrow. Your #1 fan!”
I put my phone away and looked up to see Rex rounding the corner, walking next to his two bodyguards. The bodyguards looked and acted like regular men. It just appeared as though Rex was walking with his uncles or slightly older friends. One of the bodyguards was slightly bigger and balder than the other. Rex had told me that his name was Clive, and the smaller man with more hair was called Johnny. Clive was originally from Scotland, but he moved to London to train with the London Police Service. He had been married for fifteen years and had three children, who all lived in London. Johnny was a single man, who was originally from London and had devoted his life to being in the London Police Service. He was a ‘bloke’s bloke’, who enjoyed drinking a pint and watching football, or soccer, to Americans. Rex got to choose the two bodyguards to take him to Denver, and he said that these two men were his favorites.
All three men were wearing light denim jeans and t-shirts. Once again, Rex wore a baseball cap to cover his notoriously messy quiff.
He smiled as he walked towards me, and when we met, he gave me a peck on each cheek to say hello, which caught me off guard. He must have been able to tell, as he quickly explained “Oh, it’s a London thing.”
“It’s okay,” I blushed furiously and tried to change the subject. “Look at you, all dressed up like an American again. Are you trying to become one of us?”
“I think I’d make a rather exquisite American, don’t you?” he asked, and then put on the most brass southern drawl I have ever heard. “Howdy, darling! Let’s go get a hotdog and go to the shootin’ range, huh?”
“Never, under any circumstances, do that again in public,” I laughed. “I do kind of like this sporty look you are going for though,” I said, eyeing up his ensemble.
“Well, sometimes I want to be seen, and sometimes I don’t want to be seen. Besides, the media only really follow me at night. They know I behav
e myself during the day,” he grinned. “Today, I want to blend in. I want to be a normal person walking about Denver.”
“I’m not so sure how normal we will look with your bodyguards walking with us,” I said. I had never been on a double date quite like this before. I didn’t know if I should include them in our conversations or act like they didn’t exist.
“Oh, them? They’ll just walk behind us. You won’t even notice them, my little dumpling” he assured me. “Right, lads?” he shouted back towards the men.
“You what?” Clive shouted back.
“I said, we won’t even notice you. Right, lads?”
“Course not. You two carry on. We will trail behind, keeping shtum, mate,” Clive replied as he touched his nose and winked.
“Is the word ‘shtum’ another London thing?” I asked. “I’m not sure I like the sounds of ‘shtum’…”
“Yes, doll, it is the British way of saying they will keep quiet,” Rex replied.
“Oh, good.” I said. “Well, let’s get started on our adventure, then shall we?”
“We shall! I might just wee myself with excitement,” Rex exclaimed, and we started to walk down Sixteenth Street.
The streets were quite busy for a mid-week afternoon in October. Surprisingly, nobody recognized Rex. It seemed like more people were staring at me than they were at him. Did I have food on my face? I looked down to make sure there wasn’t any toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my boots.
Sixteenth Street was vulgar and glamorous at the same time, with panhandlers begging and pigeons pecking, and potted flowers blooming and posh professionals strolling. The street was full of people sipping cool drinks on patios, sign holders swinging their boards in the middle of the street, and buskers singing at the top of their lungs. I pointed out the free mall-ride bus that went down Sixteenth Street.
“So that is what that incessant ringing sound is!” Rex said, after watching the bus drivers ring their bell twice at every street corner.
A Kiss and a Cuddle Page 4