Fall From Grace (13 page)

"Hey lady, thanks for comin'!"

"How can I say no to your mom's cooking? It would practically be blasphemy Gabs. My stomach has been on high alert all day," she says as she hangs her coat on the hook and we hustle up to my room, shutting my door behind us. I figure this conversation is doomed so I waste no time and launch into the subject at hand. A subject I know we both want to talk about, but only I want to squash like a bug.
 

"So. Did Mr. Wonderful say where he was taking you on Friday? The movies, a fancy dancy dinner, or maybe just to the back seat of his car? Is that more his style?" I say.

"Wow, could that be a more loaded question Gabby. Have you always been this bitchy? What did Ash do to you that you find SO offensive?"

"Ok, ok, sorry. You're right, my bad." My direct approach sucks, time for brown nosing and coddling.
 

"Hey are these new boots? They're awesome," she says as she sniffs my new brown leather knee-highs Aunt Selma sent me from Paris. They're pretty hot. Kudos Auntie S.

"Yup, fresh off the Paris runways and into my closet."

"Really? Wow."

"No, not really. C'mon Stella, they're probably from a flea market in the 8
th
arrondissements, get with it."

She's trying them on and modelling in front of the mirror. She looks amazing in them, I can't help but be a little jealous. I wonder what skin cream she's using? La mer? Oil of Olay, some witchy concoction? Ok, now you're starting to sounds eerily like your best friend.

"I don't care dude, they are super hot. Can I wear them on my date with Mr. Wonderful?" she sings in an attempt to use my sarcasm against me and score some great boots. Stella-1, Gabs-nada.

"Sure, sure, whatever. Listen, ok, I know you think I hate Ash..."

"And you do," she interrupts.

"No, I don't, c'mon here me out. Ok, I don't hate him, not a lot anyways. Well maybe a teeny bit, but only because I think he is mocking me all the time. He looks at me like I am a constant joke. I mean, what's up with that?"

"Well you are a riot Gabby, ever thought that maybe, just maybe he thinks you're funny too? GASP! Imagine that! Nope, could never happen," she argues, "Or perhaps you are a little jealous that he asked me out and not you?" She looks at me with a smile but I can tell it's laced with doubt.
 

"Har Har, very funny. Firstly, I am SO not jealous. Secondly, can't I be a good friend and look out for your best interests? I'm just not sure whether he's the right guy for you is all."

"And what guy would that be? I mean a few weeks ago you were practically trying to pimp me out to anyone with a pulse and here you're telling me that the hottest guy in school isn't right for me. Think about what your saying Gabby, is there something you aren't telling me?"

Bingo, she can read me like a book.

"Spill it sister, I can read you like a book," she adds. How does she do that?

"Alright, this is going to sound like a lame attempt to change your mind, and it's pretty strange too, but I swear I'm telling you the truth," I blurt in defeat.

She sits back down on my bed, staring at me, I've got her attention now, use it wisely Gabby.

"I saw him a few weeks ago, outside of The Grind, when no one was around and he was in an alley and acting really weird and his hair was flying around and it was dusty and when I came outside, there was no breeze, no wind, no nothing. It was bizarre Stella. Eerie. And it freaked me out."

"Oh my God Gabby, do you realize what you're saying? Ash was in a scummy alley. It was dusty. And windy. And, wait for it, DIRTY! OH MY GOD, I can't believe it!! How could that be?! Should I call Mulder in for this one?!" She starts giggling at my expense which really pisses me off.

"Stop it Stella, I'm serious, it was weird!" I punch her in the arm to get her to stop laughing, it wasn't even a funny joke.

"Ouch! Shit Gabs, you are a piece of work you know. That's the best story you could come up with? Ash is a creepy wind boy?"

It does sound ridiculous I know. Before I can back-peddle and start over Mom yells for us to get downstairs for dinner. Still rubbing her arm, Stella pops up off the bed and pulls off the boots.
 

"You know if you are trying to say something about Ash, just do it. I mean, I don't understand why you've put him on the hit list. I thought for a second my best friend would be happy for me," she adds, clearly really hurt by this. Without waiting for my reply, she stomps out my bedroom door. Damn it. I catch up to her at the top of the stairs.

Pulling her by the elbow to face me, I rake my hands through my hair and I sigh, "Look, ok, that sounded really dumb I know, it was just a really odd thing to see. You had to be there and it made me really nervous and I don't want you to get hurt. He gives me a bad feeling Stella, I can't explain it but I can't help it either. I have to look out for you, it's my thing."

We have a few moments of awkward but Stell is never one for grudges thankfully and hauls me in for a big hug and holds me tight for a minute before pulling back and grabbing my hands.

"Gabby, don't worry about me, really. I'm a big girl and I'll watch my back I promise. Ok?" she pleads.

"I hope so," I say with a sigh as I release one hand and haul her down the stairs, we can't keep Mom waiting, she'll be pissed.

"But I have to ask Stell. If you're going to watch your own back, then fine. But you really will have to tear your eyes away from his butt you know," I say as we enter the kitchen and become enveloped in the mouth watering aroma.

"Ohhh, who's butt?" Mom loves the gossip. She instantly perks up as she starts dishing out dinner.

"Stella has a date with Asher Grey on Friday night."
 

"Well, well little Stella, good on you! He is SO handsome and the talent he has shown at such a young age is just incredible. Good choice my darling! If I was your age..." I should have known Mom wouldn't help.

Dad puts down the newspaper, "Hold on now Marie, should I be worried about you having a crush on this young dude as well?" Ugh, why does Dad try to use teenage slang, it just sounds so very wrong.

"Oh Andres, not to worry, he doesn't hold a candle to you my darling," she says with a wink. "He's a little too confident if you ask me. I prefer my man to be sexy but in a sweet way. And he has to be excellent in the..."

"Ok ok! Enough with the sex stuff! Can we eat now before we all barf?" I shout. Sometimes they are way too lovey dovey. I mean I should be happy they still love each other and all, but c'mon get a room, ugh.
 

"Ya, we don't want another 'accident' like me," Jonas, my younger, and clearly unplanned brother, pipes in as he tucks away his Nintendo.

Everyone's giggling and Stella is just beaming. You can tell she's consumed with him already. I'm too late, she's a smitten kitten. Shit. I guess I'll have to be a big girl about this and let her make her own mistakes. I should stock up on the chocolate now though, this could be a doozy when it goes south.

My hands are shaking so bad, I can't even do up my shirt proper. Calm yourself Stella, he's just a guy. No biggie. You can't answer the door with your shirt off. Sweater it is. My nerves are on high alert and I can't seem to get it together. I have no idea what we're doing tonight, he just said he'd be here at 7. It's 6:45. Crap.

Throwing on skinny jeans and a navy and white striped sweater, I think this is the best it's going to get. Not what you'd call sexy, but I can put my hair up in a bit of a messy bun and I think it could look a little French, Parisians are sexy right?

I hear a car revving up the drive way, setting a blast of nervous heat rolling up my neck. Slipping on my silver ballet flats I stare into the mirror for a final pep talk. "You can do this Stella. You're a mature woman on a simple date with some random guy. No problem. He's not even that good looking. An 8 at best. Well maybe a 9. But he's probably really hairy. And his feet probably stink."

The door bell chimes.
 

"This is it," I exhale a deep breathe, turn from the mirror, and haul ass to the front door.
 

"Hey," I say after yanking the door open with a little too much gusto. It sends me a little off balance.
 

"Hey yourself," he says looking even better then normal. Is that possible? He's wearing simple jeans, brown boots and a grey long sleeve shirt, sorta that waffle weave material that looks soft and cozy and makes me want to reach out and touch it. I pull my hands into a fist to refrain. It's just slightly tight on him, but seems tailor made for his body. Harve prances by me and out to the porch, wagging his giant tail and brandishing one of his stuffed toys in his mouth. Ash leans down and gives him a big rub which sets Harve into full attention seeker motion. I catch him by the collar before he jumps up and knocks my date off the deck.

"Get back in here you beast." I haul him inside behind me.

"Did you want to come in or should we get started?" My cheeks flame up at the implication. I wonder if I could just shut my mouth the whole date?

"Hmm, started on what Stella?" he grins at me with a spark in his eyes. Do guys ever not think about sex? Dumb question.

I'm at a loss for words. How do I form a confident, witty retort? He laughs and keeps talking, "Let's get going, we have a bit of a full sched on the docket. What time did you say you had to be home?" he asks as I grab my purse off the console and give Harve a good-bye pat.

"I didn't, I mean, my Dad is out of town tonight so I don't really have to be home at a certain hour." As I lock the door, I can see a mischievous smile cross his face. "Don't get any ideas Mr. Grey, I'm a proper lady," I say grinning back.

"We'll see," he trails off as we head down the steps to the car.
 

He opens my door for me as I slide into the soft brown leather seat of his black something or other. I'm sure it's a fancy guy car that we girls know nothing about, but boys drool over. I scan the interior as he walks to the driver's side. It must be an old car, restored maybe? Some of the touches seem very 70's. He gets in and smiles at me as he turns the ignition waiting for the 'cool car' kudos.

"Nice car," I say. "It's different from what you take to school though right?"

"Thanks. Yeah I, um, my Father had some things shipped in from New York this week. She's a '67 vette."

Yup means nothing to me.

"I've had her for years but still an incredible car. They don't make em' they used to. I restored her myself, a real labor of love, but I like getting my hands dirty so it was great."
 

"Years ago? What were you? Like ten? Oh God, please don't tell me you're a 30 year old creep who can't pass high school?" Ash doesn't crack so much as a smile but focuses on carefully manoeuvring the driveway, even though I bet he can do it with his eyes closed. Geez take a joke much?

He clears his throat before answering, "What I meant was that my Dad bought her for me awhile ago and I fixed her up before I had my license so it feels like she's been in my life forever."
 

"I like how you call her a 'she'. I treat Murrie like he's a part of the family too. Superstitious that way I guess," I admit. "So, where are you whisking me away to? I see we're getting the hell out of dodge. Road trip?"
 

He laughs and drives a little faster, "Something like that." Then he looks over at me with a look that implies so much more. Ho boy.

We drive a bit of the way in silence, listening to some indie music station and enjoying the sunset in the valleys. It's an easy silence, like we shared that first night in the coffee shop although it seems like eons ago.
 

As we head into Burlington, he divulges we're grabbing a bite first as I silently pray it isn't some romantic chi chi place. I don't think I could handle the pressure of a tiny candlelit table and lovey dovey chit chat. I'm more of a nachos/pub kinda gal.

My thoughts are cut short as we pull up to our destination, Gerry's. The dive-iest hole in the wall you could find. No need to worry about romance, thank God. The dilapidated building is just off the main strip, all brick but painted pukey green like 100 years ago and badly needs a re-vamp. There's a faded old red and green striped awning over the front door and large picture window, which could really use a bucket of Windex and some major elbow grease. The name 'Gerry's' is hand painted in the front glass in what used to be, I think, red paint but now it's sorta blackened and chipped in so many places that it reads more like 'Curru's'. It's a greasy spoon in every sense of the word. I love it.

"I hope this is ok. It doesn't look like much but they make a philly cheese steak that will make you beg for mercy."
 

"It's perfect."
 

The inside of Gerry's is literally frozen in time; so authentic it could have it's own room in the Smithsonian. It's a throw back to when it was hip to spend your Friday nights donning poodle skirts, sipping root beer floats and giggling every time the quarterback walked by your table. Nothing seems to have changed from the melamine tables, red faux leather booths, and checkered linoleum. I can even picture waitresses in their brand new white uniforms and bouffant do's, which have since been replaced through the years with the Farrah Fawcet, short mod twiggys, 80's big hair glam and ending in a not so flattering mix of all four. Great idea for a theme party. An old juke box in the corner seems to be in working order, but I doubt the music selection has been updated in a few decades. An old tune is playing, something sad but soulful – maybe an old Patsy Cline?