Under The Covers

by Baker, Max Q.

  Robby held up both hands. “Pass.”

  "Why do you hate me so much?" she asked, with painful sincerity.

  "I don't hate you. You just scare the crap out of me. You kinda freak me out, no offense."

  But that remark had finally crossed the line. Amane tried to fight it, but she was tired, and this conversation - in the end - had validated her worst feelings of worthlessness. She fought back tears. “Asshole.”

  Instead of being sympathetic, Robby got up and said, "I'm outta here. I don't need this shit." And he left. He was getting tired of the drama. With Amane. And me and Mags. And Bo and Ryan. And our overlapping love triangles.

  [ A Piece Of Work ]

  I put my arms around Amane and tried to comfort her. "Amane, he's a prick. And you are pretty. And you're very cool. You're way better than him. Don't let him get to you."

  “Do you hate the way I dress?”

  “It’s you,” I answered. “It seems to work.”

  “But it doesn’t excite you.” She asked me point blank, "What about you? Would you go out with me?" Her almost-tears were drying. She just wanted to know.

  "I'm with someone. You know that."

  "I mean if you weren't with Mags."

  This was getting awkward. At any given moment, I had no idea if Mags might get tired of whatever the hell it was she was doing with me. And I couldn't say yes, because Bo was still on the top of my mind. How did I answer this without giving up my secret about Bo, and yet without adding to her hurt?

  But I did.

  "It's not about Mags. I haven't told this to anyone, but I kinda love ... someone else."

  She wasn't surprised. Quiet, matter-of-factly, she blurted out, "You love Bo. You always have."

  "Yeah." I felt like a naive jerk. She had known my biggest secret from the very beginning. "Does everyone know?"

  "Probably. They see what they want." After a short pause, she added, "But none of us ever talk about it out loud, if that's what you mean."

  It felt good saying it finally, but I didn't want it getting spread around. It made me feel like a dick. It made me feel like Robby. "Well, please don't tell anyone; out loud."

  "I won't." She paused. And I sat there in silence with my arms around her. Then she said, "We're all a piece of work, aren't we?"

  "We are," I agreed. Another moment of silence went by, and I had a bit of inspiration. I asked her, "What about Chris? He seems to like you. You ever ask him if he's interested in the next level? Maybe you could talk him into shaving that beard." There I was again. Back at that damned beard.

  She scoffed. "Chris?"

  "Yeah," I said, surprised by her reaction.

  "He's so gay." She laughed. "And that beard. Oh - my - God."

  I could feel a strangely puzzled expression deform my face. It was true. We were a piece of work.

  "Well," I said, after another long pause. "If you had come to me before Mags, then yeah. I would have gone out with you." It was true. And I thought it was nice. But she still saw it for what it was.

  She said the unspoken. "But I still would have been the one you 'settled' for."

  Nothing I said was good enough for her. I was exasperated. "Well, fuck," I said.

  She smiled and messed up my hair with her hand, which made me laugh. I had never seen her do anything like that before. I guess my answer hadn't been all bad, after all.

  She laughed too. Somehow the entire horrible falling-out with Robby had loosened her up.

  [ Amane's Makeover ]

  The next day, Amane called me directly, asking me to help her move something at the condo she rented with her roommate.

  I asked "What do you have to move?" I wondered if I would be enough to help her.

  She fumbled. "My bed." She must have thought that sounded too much like a come on, because she quickly changed her story. "My bureau." Then tried to explain. "I have to move my bed, so I can move my bureau, to try to give me some more room."

  I was about to suggest bringing Robby, but then I remembered the whole mess at the donut shop, and decided against it. I scrunched up my mouth, wondering if this were a ploy, but I said, 'Sure.'

  I would deal with it later, if it was a ploy.

  When I got to her apartment, her thin roommate let me in. The DJ from our parties. She was a pale-white vampire of a girl with jarring red hair and Goth eye shadow. She seemed about as enthusiastic and emotional as Amane.

  I tried to be polite. "How's it goin'?"

  "If you discount the carcinogenic pollution strangling our environment, and deforming entire generations worth of DNA, stranding generations, and annihilating sea creatures by the species, it's good."

  I tried to smile politely, but had no immediate response. I wondered if this explained why Amane was so dark, or if their gloomy worlds had naturally fallen into orbit together.

  "Yep," I said. I fell back to that when I had nothing else to say.

  Amane called out from behind her bedroom door, saying she would be out in a minute. Her roommate stared at me, unblinking, expressionless, and repeated it for her, as if I needed a translation. "She'll be out in a minute."

  "I got that, thanks," I replied, trying not to sound sarcastic.

  Black cats wandered the apartment, taking turns wrapping themselves around my legs, sizing me up, then walking away to watch from adjacent windowsills and under chairs with mock indifference.

  I felt like I had walked into a lair of the undead.

  An iPod in a speaker dock pounded out dark Industrial beats. Blaqk Audio - Stiff Kittens.

  The condo’s heavy curtains were closed, not letting in the light. The apartment was immaculate. I had never imagined Amane being messy, but she and her roommate took it to an extreme. Nothing was out of place. The tables and countertops were bare. Even the litter boxes managed not to smell like cat shit. The apartment was so unlived and sterile that someone might have finished building and decorating the condo that morning; the showcase model unit.

  I was especially impressed with the refrigerator. There were no magnets, postcards, photos, or anything else pasted on the door. It was bare. Uninviting. The whole place was dead, except for the dark, edgy vibe. Which made it even more eerie.

  I heard the bedroom door crack open as the iPod shuffled. New song. Fiona Apple. Criminal.

  When Amane stepped out, I didn't even recognize her. I thought it was another roommate. I watched her walk toward me without comprehending for a moment, as she strutted into the living room.

  Her roommate had let her borrow some clothes, and helped her with her makeup, and makeover. I wasn't sure if she was wearing a very short black-and-white striped dress, or if it were a thigh-length shirt; a boyfriend-shirt tied at the waste with a thin black leather belt adorned with golden rings. It showed a lot of leg, from the tops of the pointed, ankle-high black leather boots (ho'-shoe #12), right up to just above mid-thigh. She had good legs. She must have gone to the gym or done aerobics. She had bangles for bracelets, glittery and spiked. Her dress shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a sheer black Cami underneath. The outfit hadn't given her more of a chest, but managed to highlight what she had. Just right. It wasn't the size that mattered. It was the way you wore it. Her lips were dark and red. The lipstick and liner around them made them fuller; like her eyelashes and brows. Full. Dramatic. Striking with presence. A blush on her cheeks made it look as if she had just finished making out with someone. Blushing and breathless. The shadow and liner on her eyes drew me in. Riveting. Even her hair had a dab of mousse in it, giving it more body and style, layers, with strands that hung devilishly over her forehead.

  If Robby had been here, he would have blown his load.

  So I was glad he wasn't here to see her. He didn't deserve it.

  "Wow. I said, speechless. "Amane?" I was having difficulty processing.

  "Like it?"

  "You didn't tell me you landed a gig as a supermodel." She was either fixing to hit the catwalk, or strike out and suck the blood of unsu
specting mortals in the dark and dirty back-alleys of downtown Atlanta.

  Her roommate confirmed, "I helped her with the new look. Said she wanted something different."

  I scanned Amane from head-to-toe and felt embarrassed for wanting to stop and ogle her like a piece of meat, except I knew that that was the whole point behind the transformation, so I allowed myself some guilty pause.

  Amane shyly explained, her voice still the same monotone weak whisper, "I don't think I could go outside like this. I feel totally naked. I'm afraid I would draw too much attention and get arrested for indecent exposure."

  "Have you seen Mags?" I asked, teasing. "If she's not in jail, you have nothing to worry about."

  I wasn't sure if she was trying to seduce me, or if I was adequately friend-zoned so that she wanted a guy's honest opinion; a guy she was sure liked girls.

  The iPod clicked back to Industrial.

  "But what do you think?" she asked again.

  I cleared my throat. I was a little embarrassed. She had some quality about her that made her hotter than I expected possible. "Can I take a couple of pictures?" That sounded bad, so I hastily explained, "To show the others?"

  Her lips cracked into that smile I had seen for the first time at the donut shop, after the fight with Robby. It had been reserved for the few people who managed to cross that circle she had drawn around herself.

  She was flattered by my suggestion. "If my parents ever saw this, they would die."

  "Then let's upload it to FaceBucket," I suggested enthusiastically.

  She frowned. "I like my parents."

  "Sorry." That's right. This wasn't Robby. Not that she looked like Robby. Ever. I grabbed my dumb-as-fuck, but then remembered I didn't have a camera like normal people did. My phone was so jealous. "Can I borrow your phone? Mine doesn't do pictures." I shook my head, exasperated, feeling like a loser.

  Her roommate, Rayne, said, "I'll take them." She opened a drawer in a black and chrome end table and removed her phone. Even the phone was kept out of sight, in a drawer, like a coffin for electronics. She began circling Amane, snapping picture after picture, telling her to pose.

  Amane felt foolish posing, and most of her attempts were awkward and unflattering. But every now and then, she fell into the groove, and managed to hold her arms just a certain way, while she bent and pointed her legs, and pouted her lips, tilting her head up and away, while looking back.

  I was sold. I would buy the outfit. And the girl.

  I assumed she had seen herself in a mirror, but then I looked around, realizing I hadn't even seen a mirror. For a moment, it sent a creepy chill down my spine, wondering if the roommate really was a vampire. Not that I believed ln vampires. I didn't. But I had met her twice now, and neither time had been outside in the daylight.

  But - getting back to Amane - if these pictures came out as good as I suspected, she would be pleased. If nothing else, they would go in a scrapbook, like that year she had done the crazy Halloween costume she would never wear again. Princess Jasmine. I had seen those pictures. It looked good, though maybe not the right choice for her physique. Anyway, it was a one-shot deal. And she had had a good time.

  "Email me a copy of those," I told Rayne. She nodded, snapping some more.

  The phone clicked like a shutter. The flashes filled the room. Rayne's eyes were pitch black in the flash. How did she do that? I wondered. Her pupils were large and completely black. They must have been costume contacts she had ordered, but I was still a little creeped out, with the window curtains drawn, the black cats, and not seeing any mirrors. Some people took their image fantasy too far.

  Amane commented, "I feel like you can see my panties if I bend over."

  "Oh, trust me," I smirked, confirming her theory. “You totally can.”

  "Guys are pigs," she muttered, crossing her arms.

  "Yep." I knew I was a pig, and was glad she understood. That liberated me to keep staring. "You did an incredible job."

  Rayne answered. "Thanks." She did deserve the credit. After all, it was her clothes and makeup, and she had engineered the transformation.

  I asked Amane, "You're gonna keep your glasses on?"

  She frowned; too obvious an answer. "I want to be able to see. Don't they look ok?"

  "They're perfect. They make you look like: 'hot librarian chick gone wild.'"

  She smiled again. "See? That's why you're here right now, and not Chris or Ryan. They wouldn't say something like that to me."

  "If I slap your ass, don't tell Mags, ok?"

  "Yeah," she said, her eyes twinkling with a newly found amusement. "You might need that hand later."

  "Whoa!" Her roommate and I said it at the same time. These clothes had given her a totally new identity. At least while she wore them. She was like Clark Kent, taking off glasses to become Superman.

  A few small changes in the cover we present to the world are not merely cosmetic; they can be life altering. That is the power of perception. And marketing.

  "Actually," I said, suddenly inspired. "Why don't we go take a walk around the mall, maybe get some lunch? We can call Bo and Ryan and ask them if they want to meet us. That gives you the chance to be gawked at. And Bo and Ryan get to see you in person. Though I do happen to be looking forward to receiving those emails with the pictures.”

  Rayne raised an eyebrow. "I bet you do."

  Amane seemed nervous but enthused by my suggestion, surprising me with her new resolve. "Yes."

  I turned to Rayne. It was her handiwork. "Wanna join us?"

  Rayne shook her head. "Thanks for the offer. But I have some things to do."

  "Not a fan of the sunlight?" I asked. Shit! It slipped out. But luckily she wasn't offended.

  "No," she confirmed very matter-of-fact. If anything, my comment was probably a compliment. It validated her image.

  I made a mental note to ask Amane about her later on, to find out if Rayne kept a supply of fresh babies in the freezer for snacks or something. Just to know.

  Now, there was a reason I only had suggested we meet up with Bo and Ryan. Robby wasn’t up for consideration after his unforgivable meltdown. Mags would have competed and turned the whole thing into the ‘Mags Show;’ probably putting Amane down and making her feel anything less than awesome. Chris - I really don't know why I didn't want to invite Chris - maybe he just wasn't my favorite part of the group - or maybe I thought his nerdiness and beard might somehow suck her allure away into some geeky vortex of negative energy – that place where all the single socks go when they disappear from the dryer.

  Amane and I talked about this later, and she had come to the same basic conclusion.

  I pulled car keys out of my pocket. It was my way of saying, "Let's do it."

  Amane looked nervous, but she shyly nodded.

  I called Bo on my phone. "Hey. Amane and I are going to the mall to hangout. You and Ryan want to meet us there for lunch? We have something we want to show you. I'm not calling Chris or Mags for this one." I wanted to make that clear so that she didn't slip up and invite them by accident. After a few more dribbles of conversation, filling in the obligatory details of where and when, I hung up and confirmed, "They're in." I opened the door, and held out my hand. "Ladies first."

  Amane stopped under the doorframe, as if she were afraid to step into the hall.

  She turned her head over her shoulder, and shyly announced, "I feel like I'm not wearing any pants."

  "You're not," I reminded her. "But this is Georgia. You really don't need them."

  Rayne sensed Amane's doubt, and was afraid she might back down, so she preemptively suggested, "You could put on some leggings, if you're too uncomfortable. Maybe some thigh-high white-topped sheer nylons might be nice."

  I swallowed hard, imagining the thigh-high whites. I didn't think I could handle it. And I had to give props to the vampire-chick. She had an eye for style.

  "Leggings," Amane confirmed. "Full length."

  I was secretly relieved. Her cur
rent sex-appeal was in a totally different genre than Mags, but it was right up there in the quality of the image.

  She retained some subtlety and left something to the imagination. There was a lot to be said for forcing guys to imagine what they might get. It left something for them to work toward.

  And after that one final detour, Amane was wearing red-and-black zebra leggings. It completed her look, made her feel less exposed, and we were off.

  As we walked down the hall, I thought it was funny how sometimes you didn't really notice someone --- until they had turned you on.

  In his own rude way, Robby had been right. Up until now, Amane had been her own brand of sexless wallpaper that faded into the noisy static of an unremarkable background. But I also knew that this new image wasn't who she really was either, not even outside her core. But that didn't matter. By tomorrow, or tonight, she would be back to her old look. I was sure of it.

  And I was also sure that - through our unexpected mutual experiences - I had become one of her true friends. When she eventually started dating, I would be the guy she confided in; that the other guys thought she used to fuck. Or maybe still did. But I wasn't. And - despite the inevitable return to her original look - I would never see her the same again.

  III.

  We were never more than a house of cards.

  And I was the Joker that made us fall.

  [ The First Card Falls ]

  So there we were. Ryan, Bo, and I were parading Amane around the mall.

  Amane was getting all the attention she wanted, and was even asked on several dates. She laughed them off with random replies: "I don’t even know you." "Sorry. I don't date people I meet at the mall." “Aren’t you in High School?” and "Unavailable," she lied.

  In between admirers, I asked, "Having fun?"