The three of us pulled out crumpled wads of cash to pay the entry fee. We entered the building, huddling close together, in a protective pack.
Red couches and black coffee tables surrounded by white cushiony chairs scattered around the room, encircling the dance floor. Waitresses in black top hats, red corsets, and high heels meandered around the young crowd, selling chewing gun, cans of soda pop, and water bottles from black lacquer trays held by neck straps, reminiscent of cigarette girls from the 1930’s.
A large crowd moved about on the dance floor, grinding to the beat. Flickering from high above, strobe lights sped up and slowed down, casting dark, rapid moving shadows, eerie silhouettes that bounced around the dark room. These dark shadows entertained the white walls, like marionettes jiggling their arms and legs. Free from strings, these mad puppets danced, celebrating their liberty.
Squealing and clapping with excitement, Poppy let out a hoot. “Let’s dance!”
“Nah, I want to feel this place out first. Find my comfort zone. Scope out a good place to sit.” My voice still quivered from shaken nerves. I needed to psych myself up in order to approach Him!
“All righty, then. I’ll be on the dance floor,” Poppy flew off to perform her Poppynastics at the edge of the crowd.
Performing her weird one-woman show, she danced solo, preferring to go it alone, totally oblivious to anyone else around her. She moved to the wobbles and beats. Her arms flailed, her legs bent back and forth as her hips gyrated, hula hooping in circles without the plastic ring for accompaniment. She smiled, swaying, as she rose and fell in the ocean in her mind, having fun being herself.
I was fine leaving Poppy on the dance floor. Kit and I could get a good seat and chill while I worked up some courage. We wove around the pockets of people, settled on a fluffy couch, and plopped down on the bouncy cushions.
Rows of speakers placed throughout the room blasted music. The bass shook the walls. Glass windows rattled at the entrance, flapping off their hinges, on the verge of breaking into a million shards if the decibels went one notch higher. An eclectic mix of pop and electronica mashed up with hints of dub step, and techno beats. The music kept the crowd moving. A growing number of dancers crammed the floor. A large group of head bobbers spread around the perimeter of the stage, nodding in appreciation.
On the stage platform, stood Dexx, spinning musical magic. He commanded the audience, captivating them, captivating me. Chunky headphones fit snug around his neck. Dark hair flopped over one side of his face. His head bobbed. He busily worked the turntables and soundboard, while controlling the music on a laptop.
I jumped up from my seat, in a trance, and moved closer to him. Dexx looked up from his equipment, and scanned the crowd. He looked my way, and smiled.
I gasped. “Huh?” I jumped, and looked away.
Miraculously, he did it again. He looked my way. But, this time, I swear, our gazes met.
Did we just lock eyes? Did he and I make eye contact?
“Kit! Kit!” I turned to my friend who had followed along behind me. “I think he just looked at me. Did you see that? I think Dexx literally just smiled . . . at me!”
“Hi, guys.” Poppy twirled over to us, out of breath.
She drank heavily from a water bottle. Water dripped off her lips. Her face perspired from dancing in the sweaty crowd, giving it a dewy glow. “Phew,” she sighed, wiping her brow. “It’s hot out there. Want some water?” She offered us a sip.
“No, thanks,” I answered.
“Wanna dance?”
“Maybe later,” I said absently.
“Aw, come on. The set is almost over,” she pleaded.
“Okay, sure,” I agreed, still hesitant and a bit scared.
“Yay!” she squealed, and pulled both of us to the dance floor.
As Poppy swayed around like a helium balloon in high wind, I kept my eye on the stage, sneaking clandestine smiles Dexx’s way. Finally, our eyes met again, momentarily, but this time, they locked, sending shock waves down my spine. Dexx grinned. He immediately looked away. I did the same, blushing.
“There,” I cried, poking Kit and the aloof Poppy on the chest. “He did it again. Did you see it this time? He smiled. Dexx smiled right at me. Just like in my sketch.”
“Uh, huh,” said Kit.
“No. Nope. I didn’t see it,” smiled Poppy.
“I swear, he looked right at me. I’m going to need one of you to go up there and ask him about me. Okay? Now, someone go ask him if he likes me.”
“No way, not me. I’m too bashful,” piped up Poppy.
“Bashful?” I questioned.
“Yeah. Shy.” She nodded, taking several steps back away from the stage.
“I know what bashful means,” I scoffed. “Okay. Fine. Kit, you go.”
“No way, man. No can do. Talking to Dexx? Supes intimidating. I’m bashful as well. Shy.”
“Oh, come on,” I cried in frustration. “Someone’s got to do it, and it can’t be me. I can’t approach him myself. Plus, we didn’t come all this way just to dance, and gaze upon him from afar. Please! Help me! One of you.”
“Fine,” Kit snapped. “I’ll do it. What do you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anything. Tell him . . . tell him you have a friend who likes him, and ask him if he likes her, er, me, back.” I winked.
“All right. Well, here goes nothing.”
Kit slid her feet across the floor. She slowly approached the stage.
“Good luck, Kitty,” Poppy called after her. Waving, Poppy bounced with excitement. She took me by the arm. Shaking it, she smiled widely.
We both concentrated on watching Kit who’d finally reached the stage. She waved her hand in Dexx’s face to catch his attention.
From the movement of her lips, she seemed to explain something to him. He looked up at us, and narrowed his eyes to get a better look at our faces. Kit pointed at us to confirm. Poppy and I each gave Dexx a weak wave. Dexx asked her something. Kit nodded. Dexx then pointed back our way. He appeared to whisper something into Kit’s ear, and shrugged. Kit mouthed an ‘okay’ to him, turned, and walked back our way.
“Well?” I asked. My teeth chattered. “What did he say? Did you ask him if he liked your friend?”
“Yes,” Kit shrugged.
“And . . . what did he say?” I asked in great anticipation.
“He said yes,” she replied.
“He did?” I jumped up and down.
“Yes, but he said he doesn’t like you. He likes Poppy!”
Chapter 3
The Chemistry Between Two People
In essence, baking is a lot like chemistry, the chemistry between two people. Every ingredient needs to be measured in exact amounts. The right combination of elements will make the batter rise to perfection, in lovely harmony. But, even a soupcon too much or too little of any one ingredient could result in ruin. Quite like the destruction of a relationship that started with all good intentions. The chemistry between two people requires the same amount of attention to detail. A pinch of anything unexpected might foil the entire recipe.
When I bake, it is not a contest for speed, for me, it is an endurance race. I like to take my time, slow and steady, to get all of the details perfect. The details are in the perfection of the chemistry. With perfection comes practice. I am prepared to practice. To re-do certain steps if necessary. Fixing my mistakes won’t scare me away from the process, and neither will hard work. I seek extreme perfection in this case, as if the relationship with my beautiful flower depends on it.
Dexx
Her magnetic movements, synchronous with my music, pulled in several amorous gawkers. There she was, a lone girl, crazy good-looking, way hot, different than the others, in synch with my music, while totally ignoring me.
She danced to my sick beats. Her arms extended, her fingers wiggled invitingly, summoning all of those awestruck guys clambering around her to follow. She sent her nearby admirers into a spastic frenzy.
Who was this girl? She looked so familiar. Her chemistry worked perfectly with my music. We could stun the world together, she and I. With her dancing and my spinning, we would be unstoppable. What a team! I had to meet this magnificent creature. This charismatic muse. Who was she?
Her peach ensemble hugged all of the right curves. Her top lifted as she danced, showing off some skin as she swiveled her hips. The lipstick that covered her mouth matched her top perfectly. She parted her lips, like a flower blooming in the spring, to take a swig from a water bottle. Condensation slid down her chin. It glistened under the hot lights. She wiped at her face, and smiled. Her slightly buckteeth poked out of her mouth, only adding to her charm. As she turned, her thin nose had sort of an aquiline curve to it, making her face appear delightfully regal, delicate, like a flower.
I had to meet her . . . tonight! Who was she? Did I know her?
She looked so familiar, like we’d run into each other before. I could barely concentrate.
My heart pumped furiously in my chest from the combination of the loud music, too many energy drinks, and the hottie on the dance floor.
Was she looking my way? Did we just make magical eye contact? Gulp! I had to find out!
Refocusing on my music, I kicked the beat up a notch. My mystery girl sashayed closer. Whipping her hair around in a circle, she hit several people dancing next to her with her long ponytail. She bent down and moved her hips, all insane and sassy.
When the song transitioned to the next, she giggled, backed away from the stage, and ran off, water bottle in hand. I lost sight of her in the swarming hive of people on the dance floor.
I looked back down at my soundboard. Several minutes passed. I concentrated on amazing my peeps. I got swept back into the zone, becoming one with the music. Out of nowhere, a mousy chick with bedazzled glitter slathered lips, limp chestnut hair, a sloppy, stretched-out, faded shirt and ripped jeans, imitating some Internet meme goddess-for-now, crept up on me.
“Hi,” she peeped.
I jumped. “Uh, hi? I guess.”
“Okay, like, do you see my friend over there? I wanna know if you like her. Like, ‘like her’ like her.” She pointed out into the crowd.
“Where?” I narrowed my eyes, focusing them to see into the darkness. I tried to catch a glimpse between the flashing lights that swirled around the dance floor.
“Right there.” She pointed at the crowd.
Then, from the madness of the mob, she emerged, my mystery girl, my peach, my ray of sunshine in a sea of black clad teens. She smiled wide, batted her thick lashes, and waved enthusiastically at me. Me!
I breathed deeply. My heart beat rapidly. My chest filled with happiness. So excited, I almost ran right over to my muse to greet her. Instead, I played it cool. Okay, I pretended to play it cool.
“Oh, yeah!” I blurt out, too quickly, too eager, forgetting too chill, forgetting to hide my feelings, like a loser. “Your friend, yes, I like her a lot!” What a moron I was!
“You do?” She asked, surprised.
The messy girl with the smeared lipstick nodded. I nodded. We both looked at each other, two grinning fools.
“Yes!” I blurt out. Inside my head, I anticipated our glorious introduction. I pictured it clearly, like a digital clip. We would exchange names. Our hands would touch. Fiery sparks would fly, like an explosion of colorful fireworks. With our fingers entwined, I would lead her back to my platform for chill tunes and cool conversation. We would be in synch with one another, a perfect match of music and dance.
“So . . . you like my friend, Lenn, in the black dress?” She questioned, still stuck in the land of disbelief.
“Lenn?” I asked, feeling a weak germ of disappointment sprout. No, the name, it didn’t feel right. Disappointment infected my heart. That wasn’t her. That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t who I was thinking of. Not Lenn. The noxious feeling spread, causing me to suddenly feel ill.
“Yeah, you know, Lenn. Lennon. The girl in the totally retro, hip dress. Kinda emo. Recognize her? We all go to school together! Remember?”
“School together? We all go to school together?” My voice shook. My head spun feverish with awkward visions of déjà vu.
“Yep, we do.”
“Oh . . . uh . . . then . . . no, not her, not Lenn. I thought you meant the other one, in the orangish top.” I pointed at my sherbet nymph. I leaned close to the mousy chick’s ear. “I like your other friend. I’d like to meet her, tonight.” My chest filled back up with confidence. Excited, hopeful confidence. Hopeful that the game was not yet over.
“Oh! You mean Poppy. Yeah. No can do. She does go to our school, but um, she’s taken. By an older man! And, he’s like totally a model. A real one. Sorry.” She laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard.
I shrugged, disappointed. My energy zapped right back out of my chest. My expression soured as my mouth puckered. My ego deflated. My gut torn, punctured, wounded. I guess she really wasn’t looking at me after all.
I looked back in her general direction. She bobbed around and waved at just about everybody in the room, smiling, giggling.
Why in the world would she be looking at me? Why would I have assumed she would have been interested in a guy like myself anyway? Because I was the DJ? Of course not.
Of course she had a boyfriend. An older boyfriend. An older, model boyfriend. An older, more sophisticated, good-looking, successful, model boyfriend. Just looking at her would have told me I didn’t stand a chance with a girl like that. Ever!
I decided to throw my chance to the wind, in case she changed her mind about her older, more sophisticated, good-looking, successful, absolutely perfect, unbeatable, model boyfriend. “Well, then, um, I guess that I like your other friend, Poppy.”
“Okay.” The mousy girl laughed. She zipped away from the platform, and headed back to her friends.
I turned back and faced the music. So, perhaps a guy like me couldn’t get a girl like that tonight. But, perhaps a guy like me could get a girl like that at school. Mousy said we all went to the same school together.
This was something I could work on, like a project. This wasn’t a sprint, no, this was an endurance race. A marathon. What if I chipped away at her story? Got to know her.
So, now I knew, we went to the same school. We were bound to meet again. Except, for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to remember this girl named Poppy. Her face didn’t look very familiar.
Poppy. How would I be able to convince her I was ‘the one’? Hmm.
Well . . . on one hand, if I ran into her at school, we would be on my home turf. That gave me the home court advantage. Her man would be nowhere in sight. On the other hand, a model for a boyfriend? Aarg! That was some crazy-extreme, tough competition. But, seriously, hey, I was up for the challenge in order to win a prize like her. Besides, idols topple, models move on. What’s her name, Poppy? Oh yeah, Poppy would need a strong, talented man by her side to pick up the pieces. And I knew, just knew, I was that man.
Hot on her heels, I tracked down that mousy girl from the club in the hallway on my way to first hour, determined to find out more about my Poppy, my flower. Why couldn’t I remember who she was? I would have thought a girl like that would have stood out in my mind.
“Hey, um . . .” I called after the washed out girl.
“Kit.” She stopped so suddenly, I almost knocked into her.
“Yeah, Kit. Hey . . . what’s up?” I smiled.
“Poppy’s not interested in you. She has a boyfriend,” Kit blurted out without provocation. Today her face was as plain as her clothes, no lipstick.
; “All right. I got it. I got it. I just wanted to...er . . . to get to know you, all, better.”
I took a breath, and paused to sort out my angle. A stratus filled sky smoked through my brain, storming ideas, thoughts, words. “Since, we, um, all go to school together, and everything, and stuff,” I rambled, “we seem to have so much in common.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Kit challenged me, incredulously.
“Clubbing?” I guessed.
Kit frowned.
I needed a better angle. Think fast! Think fast!
“Is your other friend still mad at me?” I asked in my softest, most annoyingly sweet voice.
I gave Kit my dewy, sad, puppy dog eyes. Lowering them, and then looking up with a slight grin. I quivered my lower lip, whined, and sniffed, all the while looking cute and cuddly for this mousy girl.
It worked. Kit smiled back.
“Is who mad? Do you mean Lenn? Yeah, she’s pretty upset, but . . . she’ll get over it.”
Clicking my tongue, I threw my hands up in the air. “I’m so sorry, Kit. This is totally, all my fault. I don’t want your friends to be upset with me. Plus. I don’t want you to hate me, cause, me and you, we’re friends! Truce?”
“We’re friends? Really?” she asked in a timid voice.
“Come on, Kit! Of course!” I acted flabbergasted that she would ever question our friendship. I stuck my hand out for Kit to shake. “Truce?”
“Truce,” she giggled and pumped my hand, eager to be my friend.
“So, this Poppy friend of yours . . .”
“Yes. Poppy Paris . . .”
“Wait. Poppy Paris? Did you say Poppy Paris? That’s who she is? Poppy Paris?”
Sparse memories began to form in the back of my mind. Memories from a long time ago. Memories of a one-time classmate.
“Yep. Poppy. She . . .”
Poppies for Christmas Page 3