by Daisy Allen
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound as cool as I can. “I’ve had a pretty crazy night. Do you mind keeping me company out here for a few minutes? My friend will be back soon with some water. You should have a drink, it will help refresh you.”
She thinks about it for moment, and relaxes back against the wall. “I guess I can sit for a few minutes. I could use the air.”
I slide down to sit next to her, stretching my legs out in front of me, running my damp hands over my jeans. Why are they so sweaty? What the hell’s wrong with me? It can’t be because of this woman. I haven’t felt nervous talking to a woman since… fuck. Since never is the right answer. So, that can’t be it. But something tells me, I’m lying to myself.
The wall is vibrating from the music inside the building, humming against my back. And we sit there listening to the night’s mélange of thumping beats and car horns for a minute. The band and I don’t spend that much time in L.A., being mostly based in London. And just like the spoken language, each city has its own dialect of city sounds. I could be blindfolded in London and know exactly where I was. Here in L.A., the rhythm of the city is only now becoming slightly familiar.
Out of nowhere, she says, “It’s my birthday today.”
“Oh, happy birthday,” I say, facing her.
“Thanks.” It’s one word. And flat. Not how one is meant to react to birthdays.
“Are you here celebrating tonight?”
“No,” she snorts a little, then covers her mouth with her cupped hand, seemingly embarrassed. I’d be lying if I don’t admit I’m finding it utterly adorable. And strangely sexy. “Do I look like I’m dressed to be out celebrating?” She holds her arms up, as if showing off her outfit.
Given the permission, I take my time looking her over. For the first time, I really notice her clothes. She’s dressed in a short black skirt, black tights, a white shirt under her unzipped red hoodie. I can just make out a logo on the sweater. A clumsy pony tail hangs loose mid-way up her head and a smudged brown ring lines her tired eyes. But it doesn’t hide how beautiful she is. Her cheeks are high and pronounced, drawing your eyes to hers. Her large, round, hazel eyes. Wisps of her ash blonde hair frame her face, like a tousled halo, catching the light, luminescent.
“You look like you could be doing anything you want to,” I say, and I cringe at the clumsy line. Smooth, J.
“Pfft, no, I was working,” she sighs.
“Here?”
“No, at the falafel place a few blocks from here,” she gestures to the right of us.
“Let me guess, free falafels for life.”
“Dear lord, have mercy. I hope I never see another falafel for the rest of my life,” she groans, her palm slapping against her forehead.
“I’m going to change your name to Falafel Girl. That’s better than Toilet Girl, right?”
“Sure, Urinal Fingers Guy,” she snaps back.
“Never mind,” I concede.
“That’s what I thought.” She gigglesnorts[R2] again, and I find myself trying to embed the sound into my brain. I don’t know if I’ll remember her voice later, but there’s such honesty in that laugh of hers, something that’s hard to find in my world, that I find myself clinging to it. To what it says about her.
There’s a tempo change to the music inside the bar, and the bass thumps slow, four beats to the measure. Steady. Driving. Hypnotic in its monotony. I listen as the other sounds weave in and out around the beat, composing a soundtrack to this weird night.
“Hey. Tell me something about you,” she suddenly says, now facing me. “Something no one else knows.”
I’m a little taken aback. The request is a little out of nowhere. “Oh. Weird. Why?”
“Because I’ve spent the last sixteen hours having 30-second conversations with people about whether they want garlic sauce on their falafels or not. I need the start of my 25th year to not be about that. I need some real interaction.”
“And I’m real?” I ask, because suddenly it feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve been more than just a pretty face on a magazine cover.
“Well,” she looks at my face for a moment and shrugs, “you’re a little too good looking to be completely real, but I guess you’ll have to do.”
“Lady, I waded around in sludge for you. Surely that buys me some real points!”
“Damn. You’re gonna keep playing that toilet card, aren’t you?”
“Hell yeah. Until it’s faded and crumpled and you can’t see the word ‘you owe me’ on it anymore,” I wink at her, playfully.
“Fine. But spill a secret, already. Consider it my birthday gift.”
“You’re tough. You sure you don’t want those five brand new iPhones I offered before?” The look on her face tells me to just hurry the hell up. “Well, I don’t know if there is anything about me that no one else knows.”
“Nobody tells everybody everything. You don’t have any secrets?”
Of course, I do. But who divulges them to a stranger? No matter how cute and sexy they are. “I don’t think so…”
“You’ve never murdered anyone?”
“I’m not saying that I haven’t, just that it’s not a secret.” She looks at me with that unwavering glare again. How does she make her eyes do that? Look right through my bullshit?
“Okay, let me think.” I rifle through my brain and try to think of something I can tell a complete stranger. One who I don’t want to hate me. “Okay, I have one.”
“I’m ready.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweater and settles back, her eyes still on me.
“One time, my sister made a beautiful cake for my grandmother’s birthday. Like stunning, she worked on it for months, practicing and testing out recipes. It had tiers and perfect little sugar figurines and real berries she’d picked herself. Anyway, I was coming to visit from London after a pretty long night… let’s say, celebrating. And when I came home, I went into the fridge for a teeny, tiny bite to eat and…”
“Oh my god, please don’t say it.”
“Hey, you wanted to hear it. Yes, I ate the cake. Like… more cake than a human should ever, EVER consume in one sitting. And not like, just the top tier and left the bottom intact for a grand reveal at the party later. No, I went full face first diving in cake mode.”
She covers her ears and shakes her head, like she’s trying to forget she heard it. “This is worse than murder. So, what happened?”
“I did what any self-respecting older brother and loving grandson would do.”
“Confess and then go out and replace the cake?”
“Hell no, this is something no one else knows, remember? No, I propped the fridge door open, let the dog in and went to bed.”
“Oh no.”
“Yup, I’m pretty sure it was my sister’s scream that woke me up the next day,” I try to bite back the grin, remembering my sister Anca’s screech and me just pulling the pillow over my head and falling back to sleep.
“Did they suspect you?”
“I’m sure my sister did. She gave me daggers all day. My grandma was just happy to see me and my too good-looking face. The dog was literally in the doghouse for a while though.”
“You’re Satan,” she tells me, jaw dropped.
“I don’t deny it,” I shrug, and then unsuccessfully swallow another chuckle.
“You’re not supposed to laugh at that!”
“I’m sorry! My sister was soooo mad. It was torture trying to pretend I didn’t know what they were talking about.” I wait until I can keep a straight face again before I say, “Okay, now your turn.”
“What?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. ““That wasn’t the deal. Nuh uh!” Her face is so expressive, I can’t stop looking at it. I suddenly have the urge to take her through the gamut of emotions and just watch them play out on her face. Happiness, surprise, sadness, shock… arousal, desire, lust… especially those last three. I imagine she wouldn’t hold back on showing just how she was feeling if someone evoked
those feelings in her.
I clear my throat, and try to clear my brain of the images popping up in my head uninvited. “Um, it is the deal now. Tell me a secret.”
“I don’t have anything, I’m boring. No secrets.” She stares straight ahead, her mouth clamped shut.
“You just told me that nobody tells everybody everything. Your exact words.”
“Shit. Stupid me.” She taps her temple and then tilts her chin, leaning her head on one hand, thinking. “Okay, it’s not very interesting though.”
I have the urge to tell her that she could recite the terms and conditions for signing up for a phone contract and I’d find it fascinating. But I have the good sense not to. So I just wave my hand, encouraging her to share.
“I wish I lived in Australia for one very silly reason,” she blurts out.
“Koalas? Kangaroo? The desire to marry Crocodile Dundee junior?” I throw out the wild guesses.
“No, but now I have two reasons. No, it’s because I love that they call fall ‘autumn.’”
“Um. Okaaayyyyy, but you can do that here, I’ve heard it.”
“But not ALL the time. I mean, I would take every opportunity I had to say ‘autumn.’” She sighs. And repeats the word under her breath. “’Autumn.’ I mean it sounds so atmospheric and romantic and of cool afternoon drives through the mountains and spicy pumpkin soup with melting buttered toast on the couch at night. You say ‘autumn’ and you hear French music in the background, which is where the word ‘autumn’ comes from ‘automne.‘ You smell the scent of cinnamon in an apple pie baking knowing there’s freshly whipped cream in the fridge, like real whipped cream, not that stuff out of a spray can and a hot fire crackling and a bodice ripping romance novel waiting when you come in from a long walk around a still lake, crunching red and orange and yellow maple leaves under your feet.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of pressure for a little word,” I tease her, but I’m fast falling for the undeniable charm of this woman. Such passion over something as simple as a word. I feel the same way about a music scale; the perfect note, the right tempo or expression for a song.
She pulls her knees in and lays her chin on them, looking out into the night. “That’s the way I like it. Word shouldn’t just be used willy-nilly. Why use ‘fall’ when you can convey all those other things with ‘autumn.’ I mean, it’s built into the word, ‘awe-tum,’ like awesome.” She grins as if she’s just thought of that. “I hear ‘fall’ and I want to check my body for scrapes. Where’s the allure in ‘fall?’” She frowns as if angry at the word for even existing, for not carrying its weight.
She stops and wraps her arms around her legs, laying her cheek against her knee and looks over at me. “Sorry, was I rambling?”
“If I say no, will you keep talking?”
“I think I’m out of autumn things,” she shrugs, and I can tell a thousand more are flooding her brain right now. I want to hear each and every one.
“How ‘bout I trade you for another one of mine,” I offer her. Any excuse to get her to open up more to me.
“Is it juicy?” Her eyes sparkle at the prospect.
“Like a lemonade stand on the first day of summer.”
“Ooooh! Spill!” She clasps her hands together, gleefully, and spreads her legs straight out in front of her again. I can’t help noticing how long and curvy they are, even jailed in those tights. I wonder how she would react if I offered to help her out of them right now.
Geez, focus, you bloody hound dog. I can’t help it, it’s like I’m suddenly in heat and I’ve caught a sniff of her scent and I won’t give up until I have a taste.
“Hey! Don’t leave me hanging!” Her voice infiltrates my dirty thoughts of her and I have to look away before I speak. I don’t even know why I’m sharing what I’m about to tell her. But now isn’t the time to be contemplating her sorcery. It’s the time to just trust and fall.
“Okay, okay. So, I’ve never admitted this to anyone before but… I’ve never, ever been in love. Not even close.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops a little. “Wow. Really?”
“Really.” I nod my head. “Have you?”
“Of course I have!” She exclaims like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It makes me feel a little embarrassed of my confession. “Of course I’ve loved. It sucked!” She laughs. “No, it’s great. It just sucks when it’s over. Falling out of love is one of the worst things ever. You know, you expend so much time and energy, falling for some one. Then it happens and you’re so happy and you build this world and future together, and then one day, you wake up, and you’re looking at this face and… you just realize. I don’t love this person anymore. And you don’t know how to extract yourself from that life.”
“Wow. You just made love suck.”
She guffaws and there’s the tiniest snort at the end of it. She burns red and covers her face.
I bite my tongue trying not to tear her hands away. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself running my fingers over her flushed cheeks in the process.
“Your turn,” I remind her, once we’ve been quiet for a few seconds.
“You can’t handle my real secrets.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, I stole a handful of cheese from the falafel place and put it in my bag and when I go home, I’m going to have the best grilled cheese you’ve ever dreamt of.”
“Wow. Hardcore.”
“Told ya. Wanna hear another one?”
“Hit me with it.”
“I don’t know how to ride a stick.”
“Um, you’re going to have to be a little more specific…” Because I’m coming up with my own version of what she means. Stop thinking about her riding… anything, Jez. Just stop it.
“A manual! A car with gears you have to change yourself and stuff.”
“Oh! DRIVE a stick.”
“That’s what I said,” she glares at me.
“Toilet Girl, I can guarantee you, if you had said DRIVE a stick and not RIDE a stick, I would not be having issues with my own… er, stick right now.”
Her eyebrows raise and I know she’s doing everything in her power not to look at my crotch. Which is probably better for us both.
“I gave you two. It’s definitely your turn now.”
“Fine. Um, ok, how about this. I think I’m a fraud.” I let out a breath. One I’ve been holding all day.
She frowns. I guess she didn’t want to hear that. “In what way.”
“In my work way, I guess. Like tonight? Something huge happened, a big achievement. But I think I didn’t deserve it. I mean, at the time I was stoked, but now, I can’t stop thinking… I didn’t deserve it.” I rub the back of my head, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling.
“Why do you think that? Did you lie or cheat?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I worked hard.”
“Then why do you feel like a fraud?”
“I don’t know. Why do you think?”
“Well, keeping in mind I know nothing about you…” she turns to face me again, and her eyes bore into my skull, rifling around in there, reading my deepest thoughts. “Is this a big dream of yours?”
“The biggest. I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve achieved it… but let’s just say, it’s a new level.”
“Okay. So. Maybe here’s the reason. Maybe you don’t want to have achieved it. Maybe finally attaining the one thing you’ve been chasing your whole life, is now making you feel empty. Like, where do I go from here? But instead of just feeling that, your brain is screwed up and telling you, you didn’t deserve it. That way, you still get to keep trying. Feeling like you’ve got something to live for.”
I think she’s right. Of course she’s right. Who is this woman?
“Or, it could just be, you actually do suck and your brain is trying to tell you that. That you just got lucky.” She shrugs, matter of factly.
“My brain is a fucking bitch!” I declare.
This time her
snort is loud and clear. And she doesn’t care. She just keeps laughing and I laugh along with her. Openly, freely. Until there’s no more air left in our lungs to laugh. My whole body aches by the end of it, my stomach muscles trembling from contracting, but it’s the best sort of ache.
“That’s probably the best laugh I’ve had in a decade,” she says, when she’s caught her breath.
“That’s too bad. You have a great laugh.” I tell her, and she rewards me with a smile so sweet, I almost feel bad for the feeling of desire rising up in me.
I look away and run my fingers over my stomach, massaging it, and I look up and she’s watching. Her scrutiny makes the skin on the back of my neck stand up, and I realize in the course of our conversation I’ve inched closer and closer to her, our legs touching at the thigh and all the way down to the knee. I can’t tell if she’s noticed or not, but now I can’t focus on anything else.
I clear my throat and try to move my leg away, but hers just follows, comfortable against mine.
There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat and I look up and see Mike standing in the shadow of the doorway, holding two bottles of water. I reach out and he hands them to me.
“Thanks, Mike,” I say and he nods and disappears back inside.
I open the top and hand one to her. She takes a long, slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She plays with the lid of the bottle for a moment, and then lays her head back against the way, sighing softly.
“I’m 25 today.”
I nod. “So I heard.”
“This is not where I thought I’d be.”
“Here in an alley with royalty?”
“I mean, sure, that’s a real dream come true. Sitting here with someone who’s just been elbow deep in the waste of half of L.A. and all…”
“You’re welcome,” I cut in.
“But I thought. I thought I’d be… more.”
“More than?”