by Allie Hayden
“We’re going to Koreatown first to shop and then get some lunch; you cool with that?” Ash called over the noise of the traffic, the wind, and my own fast-beating heart.
“Yeah,” I squeaked out, but I couldn’t even hear my voice. It didn’t matter though; Ash was clearly set on the destination and needed no confirmation from me.
At last, I opened my eyes. At first, I could see only Ash’s leather jacket, the scent of which surrounded me as I pressed my face to his back. Then I looked around, taking in the passing of the city, the rising buildings, both old and new, relics and modern additions.
I found myself quite enjoying the ride, and mostly enjoying this proximity. I was beginning to understand why Ash would make the choices he did. It was a way to see the world completely anew, to experience everything as a fresh rush of emotions and adrenaline. And maybe I didn’t exactly agree with everything he stood for, but I could begin to empathize, and that was a start.
Ash parked and locked up his motorcycle in a parking structure—and I followed along snapping some photos here and there; maybe they would be good for the magazine spread, I thought. And then we headed out into Koreatown.
The neighborhood was populated by a number of Korean businesses and restaurants, and I had heard it being called the Korean Times Square, but I’d never explored the area before. Being new to the city while focusing on my job made it so I had no time to sight-see at all.
The overload of lights, storefront advertisements, and crowds of people—tourists and natives alike—was a bit overwhelming for me.
“This is one of my favorite places to go out,” Ash said, looking back at me over his shoulder. “You can always find something new, it seems. Not to mention that the food here is delicious. Have you ever had Korean tacos?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t even know those existed.”
“Well, they’re absolutely delicious; they don’t mess around with the sauces or flavoring. We’ll get some for lunch after we walk around for a bit.”
I followed behind him as he took me on a tour of the area, snapping candid photos of him and letting him do silly poses, making strange faces every so often. We stopped, to my surprise, in a skincare store, and Ash picked up a few sheet masks and an emulsion, winking at me and saying, “These rugged good looks don’t maintain themselves.”
I stifled a laugh and took a few more photos, some of Ash checking out, joking with the shopkeeper, exiting the store with a clean little white bag and a couple of samples.
“So, you come to this area for more than just food,” I prompted as we left.
“Of course, this place is good for all sorts of things. For example, there’s a lot of stores that have really good accessories and statement pieces that work well for shows and whatnot.” He pointed to a clothing store that was selling what looked like trendy clothing, in a way that was minimal, laid back and clean. “Want me to show you?”
“We’re here to do whatever it is you usually do,” I said, lifting my camera.
“Haha, of course, how could I forget? The public wants to see Ash Bennett as he is off-stage. Let’s go in then, shall we?”
It was a perfect opportunity to snap more photos. Ash performed a little fashion show, trying on hats, consulting my opinion on some earrings. I was beginning to understand this other side of him: the one that wasn’t a mask for the stage, the one that joked and teased and had fun while doing it.
“Shall we go get something to eat then?” he asked as he made his purchases, adding another bag to the one from the skincare store.
“That would be great. I’m famished.”
“Follow me, Your Highness.” Ash bowed mockingly, gesturing in a direction and then starting off. I kept my pace behind him, and we arrived at a lovely little restaurant advertising delicious Korean tacos and other food.
I was overwhelmed by the choices. I’d never eaten in such a place before. Noticing this, Ash came up from behind me and whispered in my ear, “Having trouble deciding?”
I nodded, trying not to think about close he was, his hand was hovering just above my hip.
“Everything sounds pretty good,” I said.
“Is that so? Would you like me to order for you?”
For some reason, his tone was oddly intimate and suggestive. I swallowed my reply.
“Or—better yet,” he added, “do you trust me to just order for you?”
“Just nothing too spicy,” I replied.
“Or course not, princess, not on the first date; what do you take me for.”
I almost choked, and I couldn’t contain it anymore. I burst out in laughter, “Okay, that was a terrible joke.”
“Who said it was a joke? Ah, you have wounded me,” Ash said, feigning pain as he clutched his chest.
I wiped my eyes, continuing to laugh. “I’m sorry, but that did not suit your image at all.”
“I thought it was perfectly on-brand: the right around of sexual tension and innuendo while still remaining inconspicuous and downright baaad. Just how you like it.”
“Oh, it was bad, alright,” I giggled. “Who said anything about me liking it?”
“Oh, you know you do.” Ash did a little shimmy and then sauntered up to the counter to order a couple of plates of tacos. “And make one extra spicy,” he added, looking over his shoulder to wink at me. I was brought down in another fit laughter.
We sat by the window together, and then someone brought us two plates, with two tacos each and several choices of sauce on the side, though I noted that it was also in the tacos.
“Up for playing taco roulette?” Ash asked, winking.
“No, thank you. I really can’t deal with too much spice.”
I grabbed the plate of tacos closest to me, then realized there was nothing to differentiate between the two plates and I had no idea which taco might be the spicy one of the four.
“Is something wrong?” Ash asked, almost in a sadistic manner.
I struggled with whether or not to swallow my pride. “Uhhh, do you know which one is the spicy one?”
“No idea; that’s what makes it dangerous.”
I gave him a little half-laugh and picked up one of my tacos, fingers trembling. I took a bite and was relieved to find that it was delicious. The sauces, the flavors, the texture, everything worked perfectly together.
“I’m guessing it’s not that one, from the expression on your face,” Ash said, gesturing towards the taco I had.
“It’s delicious,” I said after I finished chewing.
“Of course. I am the one who ordered it, after all.”
I sighed and had to roll my eyes a bit and continued eating. I didn’t care enough to formulate a snaky response. Besides, Ash got a taste of his own medicine a few minutes later when he bit into his other taco and found it was the extremely spicy one. As he struggled to contain his obvious pain, I took the opportunity to take a few more photos, which he immediately demanded that I delete.
“They’ll ruin my image!”
“I’ll send in whatever I think shows the true you,” I said, feeling unusually coy. “Besides! Serves you right.”
“Okay, maybe I had that one coming,” he laughed, “But I can promise you those aren’t the best images you’ll get of me.”
“Hmmm, I don’t know; all your protesting is making me especially fond of them.”
“Have mercy on my poor soul.”
“And why should I?” I was enjoying this, this banter, feeling like I was on top and in power for once.
“Because I rely on my bad-boy image for the fans.”
“I don’t think not being able to handle your spice will decrease any of your fans’ love for you.” I giggled.
“Does it decrease your love for me?”
I rolled my eyes. But I couldn’t help but giggle. “Keep dreaming, Ash.”
“I will if it means you’ll meet me there.”
“Well then, shall we get going to the next place?” I said, interrupting his lame pick
up line. I wanted to change the subject and wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up.
“Of course. To our find steed we go.”
Ash led the way back to his motorcycle, and this time, when I got on behind him and he started off, I hugged him tighter—but I did not close my eyes. I took in Manhattan as it passed by. Ash made his towards the expensive neighborhood around Central Park.
After we parked, Ash led me down one of the streets towards the park, looking over his shoulder to explain things to me as we walked by. “I come here whenever I’m feeling uninspired,” he said. “There’s something about all this nature in the middle of the big city. The paths, the people, the little treasures of old buildings and walks beneath the trees. I grew up in the countryside of Virginia, so this hits somewhat close to home. No matter what mood I’m in, or how I’m feeling, I’m always able to write good lyrics when I come here. I guess you could say it’s my secret ingredient.”
“That’s lovely.” His expression when he talked about the park, about his process, was more than lovely. It was human, whole and real, and utterly raw. I could tell that the park meant something to him; that his music meant more to him; that his past was important to both.
“What songs have you written while here?” I asked, wanting more of that raw Ash.
“Some of my best ones,” he said with a little smile, beginning to hum the opening melody to a song I heard him play at the concert.
“Ohhhh, you’re gonna regret it; time to let it in; time to face the sins.
Ohhhh, you’re gonna regret; ever letting me in; but you’re my favorite sin; and I can’t get you off my mind.”
His voice was soft as he sang, almost nostalgic, and it was clear that he was in a faraway place.
I wasn’t quite sure if I should interrupt him or if it was right to ask what the song was about, what kind of a place he had been in when he wrote it. It was obvious that the feelings ran deep.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking himself out of his trance. “There are some things I shouldn’t think about, especially on a day like today. Shall we explore the park? I can show you some of my favorite haunts.” In an instant, his mood, his disposition, his tone of voice completely changed. It was like someone had snapped their fingers or flipped a switch.
But it was obvious to me that whatever it was he was concealing, today would not be the right day to pry into it.
“Of course. A perfect opportunity to get some more photos,” I said.
“Let’s be on our way then; we have to make the best use of natural light. Did I say that right, princess?”
“Haha, you phrased it perfectly.”
6. (Lillian)
When I uploaded the photos from my camera onto my laptop that night, I was reminded of that small moment Ash and I shared. That glimpse of something else in the enigma that was Ash Bennett. I smiled to myself over the photos of him joking around and then paused when I came to a very striking picture.
It was one of Ash standing at one of the entrances to Central Park, framed by the foliage and the gate, his hair falling softly in the sunlight, a nostalgic expression ran across his face, his lips parted as he sang the lyrics of his song to himself, lost in a completely different world.
He especially didn’t seem human in this photo: dark hair, translucent skin, fine bones, eyes too green to be crafted by anything other than a god. I knew for certain that this had to be one of the photos in the issue.
“Lillian, fantastic work.”
My editor slammed the most recent issue of the magazine down on my desk just as she did with the previous edition.
“Once again, your story was a huge success. I am blown away by your talent.”
She started flipping through the magazine and opened it to the photospread—and I saw them. Pictures of Ash ordering tacos at the Korean taco place, walking through the lit streets, pursuing the selection of skincare products, laughing at some joke I must’ve told him while he was backlit by the city around him. Then there was the photo of him at the entrance to the park, looking like he had just stepped through the portal from the fae realm. I could feel the blood rushing to my face as I remembered that day but did my best to remain calm.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it. And so does our audience!”
“Oh, that’s great,” I said as my heart was a speeding highway. I couldn’t anticipate what was coming next.
“We want this to be a series. We got Ash to agree to another two stories, and you’re going to photograph them!”
“That’s—th-thank you—that’s lovely.” Although thinking it was a bit much, I wasn’t sure how else to respond. I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted to see Ash again. After that day, spending all that time with him, seeing him smile and laugh and tease me, I couldn’t help it. But I also knew that the more time I spent with him, the more difficult it was going to be.
Because there was no doubt about it: he would break my heart.
That’s just the kind of person he was. And though he might enjoy our time together, and he might want to pursue a more intimate connection, I knew it would never be the same for him as it was for me. Because he was used to this life: the groupies, the alcohol, the drugs, and the sex. That just wasn’t my lifestyle.
I tried putting the thought behind me while I was on the job, but those smoldering expressions were hard to let go of. Then, my phone buzzed.
As I took a break from editing photos and searching for potential stories, I flipped over my phone, my eyes were scanning the text that appeared on the lit-up screen.
To my surprise, it was from Sebastian. I had almost forgotten about him.
Are you down for dinner tonight? We can catch up over a good meal and a glass of wine, the text read.
I didn’t even bother unlocking my phone. I flipped it over, shoving it into my bag, and I got back to work.
Nope, no time for distractions. Not even for a minute. I had too much work to do. Or at least, this was what I kept trying to tell myself, and I ignored the thought of both men dancing through my mind. I didn’t sign up for this when I moved to New York.
But eventually…I knew I had to respond. He was, after all, my childhood friend, my teen romance, and my roommate’s stepbrother. A small part of me wanted what had happened between us to happen again. I contemplated the work I had to finish, but I deliberated that I could fit in a quick get-together, so I replied: Sure, what were you thinking?
After a few minutes, he replied back.
There’s this restaurant that overlooks Central Park—lovely food, beautiful view.
Sounds expensive.
Don’t worry; I’ll pay for it. Shall I pick you up after work?
Sure, I get off at five.
I considered the situation for a moment, examining the clothes I was wearing.
It sounds fancy, though; should I get changed?
Your work attire will be fine. See you at five.
The rest of the day made me feel like I was drifting through a dream again. The hours passed by without me noticing, and Ana made comments several times on whether or not I was okay, teasing me, saying I must be thinking of Ash.
But I ignored her. The day went by in a haze.
Finally, the long-awaited hour arrived. I wasn’t sure if I was dreading it or if I was excited. All I knew was that it was time to log out of my computer, packing my things in my sky-blue tote bag, and put on my coat. Because Sebastian would be at the door at any minute.
My boots clicked against the tiled floor as I made my way down to the entrance of the building and then down the concrete stairs to the sidewalk. I didn’t look up until I reached the street, and then only out of necessity to locate where Sebastian might be. It took me a moment to spot him, scanning over the pedestrians and the mix of vintage cars and smaller sedans that my coworkers drove.
And then…there he was. Seated behind the wheel of a Mercedes, a sleek black thing that radiated power and success.
His hair was slicked back again, and he was wearing another one of those expensive suits, this one in cream and burgundy. With his strong cheekbones and warm skin, he looked otherworldly. And in my loose polyester dress pants and chiffon shirt, I felt unattractive and drab in comparison.
My cheeks warmed as I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.
“You look good tonight,” he said, his smile kind and inviting.
I hid my face. “Thanks, you too.”
“Nervous?”
He started the car, and it hummed to life from beneath my feet, a gentle, steady sound that made me think of a tiger asleep in the jungle. It fit him—this car.
I nodded my head. “A little.”
He laughed. “No need to be. Lillian, don’t worry; we’re still friends. And I don’t bite…unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want me to,” he said with a wink. God, I walked right into that one.
“Uhhh, not right now, thank you.”
“Does that mean you may want it sometime in the future?” His voice was low, suggestive, almost a purr to match the engine of his car.
He put his hand on my knee, and I couldn’t help but squeak in protest.
“Haha, I’m just joking; no worries.” He squeezed, then let go, returning his hand to the steering wheel. “Any particular requests for music?”
“You pick,” I said, my thoughts still aflutter. It would take me a moment to collect them.
“Alright then. Hope you enjoy pop-punk and rock,” Sebastian said, turning on the stereo, the songs already queued up.
I got lost in the rolling beat of lyrics of the first few songs, looking out the window at New York passing me by. The fast-walking businessmen and women were all eager to get home; international tourists were wandering around in big groups; there were street performers, and of course, the abundance of taxis. I was still not quite used to his place, but now I called it home.