Fall From Grace (3 page)

"Hellloooooo. Earth to Stella! You're zoning out on me again, aren't you?" She pokes my ribs with her elbow snapping me out of my inner monologue.

"Sure I am Gabs, you definitely have a chance to get Miguel to take you to prom - no question," I say, closing my eyes as I turn up my face towards the sky and let the warm spring sunshine tingle my eyelids.

"That
wasn't
what I said. Get with it Stell. Ok so what I SAID was that Tonya Martin is having her end of winter theme party tonight and this year is 80's ski patrol! Awesome right?!"

So that's what the cryptic message was about.
 

"Gabs, why didn't you tell me this sooner?" I whine, "I mean that isn't a lot of time to garner an outfit for this thing! I mean, I need time, planning sessions and multiple google searches you know." I start to nibble my nails (filthy habit) as I mentally break down an acceptable outfit.

Gabs rolls her eyes and flicks her hair back over her shoulder, "C'mon lady, don't tell me you don't have a slew of things in your tickle trunk? I know you better then that Bella."

She's right, I LOVE dressing up. Halloween, theme parties, random Saturday nights when it is just me, my dog Harve and a bowl of popcorn. Opps did I just admit that? My Dad even built a special spot in my closet for all my outfits to be stored. Hmmm 80's big hair, neon ski pants, sadly I have it covered easily.
 

"OK, OK, you're right. Did you want to come over and raid my closet with me?" I say as we pass under the big archway that opens up to the square.
 

"No need, I got a great outfit this afternoon just by digging through my mom's closet. Best part of this was that she wore it just a few years ago! I like to think my Mom has some style, but now I'm not so sure," Gabs let out a little giggle, "I'll come get you though and be the DD, I have to work tomorrow at the studio so I have to behave tonight." Gabs is a salsa instructor at Ginger's (the local dance studio) – I know, could she BE any more cliche?

"Cool, sounds good. Now can you step it up in those cheap heels, Kim knows it only takes 14 minutes to get to The Grind and back and I'm already at 12 - we gotta hustle."
 

"Ok, ok. But for the record, these are NOT cheap. I'll have you know that my Mom bought these for me on her last trip to New York. I'm sure the street vender was very honest when he told her they were authentic Manolos." Yup, that's my Gabs. I'd hate her myself if I didn't love her so much.

Entering The Grind, the smell of fresh, rich coffees and the roar of the latte thingamajig pull me forward. Plush purple velvet booths and funky little bistro tables create a luxe lounge atmosphere. It's a place that feels like home the moment you enter, down to lit candles on the tables and a roaring fireplace in the winter, which is really the whipped cream on the mochachino so to speak. They have great fare ranging from a plethora of flavoured lattes to soothing red teas and a simple, yet very European (of corse), mixed menu of cheesy Panini's and yummy salads.
 

The best part for me though is Mrs. Castillos' passion for the arts. She goes full throttle to support the local scene and hosts regular open mic nights for the aspiring, and not always terrible, regional talent. One whole wall is fully dedicated to beautiful art installations that change monthly. It could be anything from abstract oils to gritty photography. She isn't afraid to take a chance and sometimes the pieces can be quite controversial according to the tight-assed Alessa Herald. That is why I love her though – she doesn't care what anyone thinks and continues to showcase talented & sometimes pretentious artists.
 

If I had a Mom I would want her to be just like Mrs. Castillo. She's warm and welcoming and so beautiful in that classic way, sorta like
Juliete Binoche
in
Chocolat
. Always pulled together. So unlike me. Makes me wonder what a terrible train wreck my Mom was.
 

We don't have time to sit and chill today so we grab our drinks and I high tail it back to work just in time to see Rob flexing his biceps for Marla. I feel so fortunate to have caught that.

This is why I LOVE dressing up. I get to look goofy on purpose and really the funnier the better; you never want to be the lame ass at a party who doesn't bring their 'A' game. I uncovered my pink shiny leggings that are thick enough to double as ski pants. I think I wore these as
Jane Fonda
last year. Leg warmers are a must and I do sheepishly admit they were in my regular closet of clothes. I also found a white puffy vest with a faux fur collar, when did I wear THAT?
 

I continue on with my bang tease, this sucker has got to be frozen stiff in the middle of a tornado. I picked up some ear muffs in the shape of bunnies at the local dollar store on my way home but I've got to get the bangs and gigantic pony to work seamlessly with the muffs or it'll bug me all night long.
 

I googled some make up shots when I got home from work, apparently a neon yellow stripe across the cheek was the height of fashion back in the day. I look like I was run over by a road-line painting truck. A huge cloud of
Final Net
envelops me as I hack up a lung, feeling the ozone opening right back up. A final survey of myself in my mirror makes me do a double take. Wow, our decade is just dullsville compared to the 80's. Don't get me wrong, I look ridiculous, but I give them props for their adventurous spirit and bold use of colour.

I hear the doorbell and do a final hustle to get downstairs. I grab my fanny pack (were they really serious about this?), and swing the door shut behind me. As I fly down the stairs, I burst into hysterics as soon as I hit the stone foyer. I guess I was expecting a short tight slutty number, but ho no she has a way of always keeping me guessing. A pink puffy nightmare stops me in my tracks; think Michelin man meets Pricilla Queen of the Desert. I can't believe Mrs. Castillo actually wore that, she always seems so pulled together. Maybe the French are good at everything but choosing cool ski wear. She is so going to sweat bullets in that thing.
 

She pirouettes and prances up and down the living room like she's on a catwalk, busting with attitude and pouting her hot fuchsia lips, ending in a top model pose that would make
Tyra Banks
Holla. Flipping up her bright yellow ski goggles to see me better, she tightens her side pony which is teased almost as much as my bangs.
 

"Well hell, I wish I would have done a racing stripe too," she whines, "well done Miss Grace, as always," she admits with a smile, eyeing me up and down. "I suppose I'm just going to have to wow them with my stunning portrayal of pink cool whip." Flipping her pony over her shoulder she pulls out her gloss and does a quick touch up in the last chance mirror by the door.

 
"Back in the day I would have killed for a chance to meet a girl looking like you two." Dad appears in the archway leading to the kitchen leaning against the door frame with folded arms, very much enjoying our stupidity. "Well, sort of. When did I get so old that the 80's became a genre? I don't think I have to worry about you guys finding boyfriends tonight now do I?" he chuckles.

"Har Har Dad." But he's right; we look like Easter eggs on crack.

After a plethora of pictures that I will never post on Facebook, Dad lets us leave with a stern warning not to do anything dumb and adolescent. He expects better of us young ladies, Blah, Blah, Blah as I shove Gabby out the door.

Once settled into the car I can't help but look at her and smile. She looks like she is drowning in pink meringue, and yet still pulls off sexy. European blood lines suck.

"Ok so here are the rules for the night," Gabs lurches into reverse, awkwardly straining her neck against the fluff of down in order to back out of the long driveway. "No barfing, so that means NO peach schnapps for you." We both shudder a little and do a few fake gags.

"Not a problem," I say. "What else?"

"No leaving me alone with Tonya. I mean she's nice for having this annual party and all, but way too high octane for me and I can't handle her when I'm sober."

"Check." I can't handle her either, sober or not.
 

"Finally, if you start saying how much you love me, then that means we are going home immediately because you're loaded and about to break rule #1. Plus I can't handle the gushies. They irritate me."
 

"Done and done."

Gabs tries to be the hard ass, but when she has a few drinks, she is the first to start telling me that she would marry me if she liked chicks.

As we head north up Mercer St., there is no mistaking a large party in progress. The sea of cars snaking up the road begins four blocks before the party. Oddly the street lamps haven't come on yet, making the glow from the old century homes' windows even more pronounced.
 

"Better park here and walk the rest of the way, in case the cops break it up early," Gabs chimes in and pulls into a free spot. Always have a good exit strategy - House Parties 101.

Once inside, there is no mistaking the visual impact this decade had. The colours are so loud and vibrant, vivid splashes of bold prints, mesh and faux fur are everywhere. Although if we were staying true to the decade, the furs would probably be real. Did I also mention the hair? Amazing, big, buxom hair. I can smell the hairspray permeating the air; I taste it as I breathe in. Cough. I pity the fool who lights a match.

The stereo is blaring a funky 80's tune whose name I can't place, but am sure played a big role in a John Hughes movie. OMD maybe? There are people everywhere; I think half our senior class made it out. I can't help but feel a little nostalgic as I know this is the final 'end of winter' party I'll get to attend at Tonya's. Funny how you spend your life wanting to escape the tedious life sentence of high school and when you're nearing the end, sentimentality creeps up on you like a cheap thong.

"Hey Shhellta, wanna bong a beer?" I turn to see a very drunk Todd Winters swaying on my left. He's jiggling a make shift bong built from various Home Depot items in one hand while still clutching his ratty ski poles in the other. You can tell he did an impressive Flock of Seagulls hair sweep before the party, but right now he looks pretty Shit-canned with a bad cowlick.

"Ah, you know me, I prefer to keep my bonging to a minimum. Killer 'do though. Well done," I say. Looking shot down, I give him a smile and a weak shoulder punch, steering him over towards a group of lacrosse guys dressed in matching silver ski jackets and neon blue headbands; I think they would be more suited to drinking buddies then a lightweight like me. We make our way past the dance floor/coffee table, to the back kitchen. I need to garner a beverage. Grabbing a cooler for me and soda for Gabs, we situate ourselves on the corner counter to effectively scan the crowd and make fun of the slutty and really loaded; our party ritual.
 

A few drinks later, I'm turning into one of those poor suckers nearly taking out Gabs in the process of demonstrating my sweet robot moves. She grabs my arm to steady me and pokes my ribs gesturing to a semi cute guy playing beer pong on the dining room table.
 

"Looks like you got an admirer Stells, although I can't see how that is even possible after that sad display of white girl dancing. He's totally checking you out though dude, wanna go over there and chat him up? Cheer for his team? What are they called 'The Breakfast Chubb'?"

"Now Gabby, why would I do that when I'm having a great time right here with you, my love?" I giggle (cause everything seems funnier three drinks in) and poke her back nearly pushing her off the counter. She gives me the stink eye.

"Watch it Stells. I mean it, don't forget the rules, and slow down on those vodka swills before you yak up your dinner," she scowls as she peels off her coat to reveal a super tight yellow turtleneck. I knew sexy was buried under the coat somewhere. "Don't you think he's cute in a younger Hugh Jackman sort of way?"

I take a second look mopping some drink dribble that's running down my chin with my fur collar. Tallish. Thin build. Short, reddish blond hair and a nice butt. He's wearing shades, a plain white dress shirt, underwear and socks a la Tom Cruise in
Risky Business,
so right off the bat he gets points for outfit creativity even though he isn't dressed for the slopes. Thinking outside the box, always a good thing. Not my type, but I'm starting to think that 'he' doesn't exist in this universe. Or perhaps he does, but I wouldn't stand a chance with him.
     

"Handsome yes, but could I really date someone who's losing at beer pong? Would our kids ever stand a chance? I have to think about the greater good of the world Gabby," I say, fluttering my eyelashes in her face. Gabs elbows me in the ribs with more force than I expected. Ouuuffff, she's been working out.

"I'm serious Stella, stop goofing. You always do this. I suggest a guy who looks interested and you make some lame joke and ignore him. I have known you for two years and the most I've seen is a few movie dates and some minuscule make out sessions after a some jello shots. I am your best friend, Lady, and you are starting to bore me. I need something juicy from you!"

"Well, I
did
just see Luke Peterson get a boner when Kitty Meyers shimmed up next to him on the dance floor. Gross, yes. But sort of juicy, no?"