Generations 2.7 kindle (14 page)

Chapter Ten ……

B
en was at the Flea Market. On a Saturday morning. With Katrina. How did this happen? This was wrong on so many levels. Flea Market? Disgusting. No other word could describe the air Ben was about to step into. Saturday morning? This was a sleep-in, no-one-bug-me-until-noon day for Ben. Normally. Not today. And with Katrina? Not that he didn’t want to be with her—he totally did—but. He’d had a good conversation with Paul yesterday before Katrina arrived at the party. They’d agreed that Ben would let the Katrina thing settle for a few weeks: ya’ know, see if he still liked her after having her out of his mind for a while. Ben saw the wisdom in this. Slow and rational. He used this philosophy in every other avenue of his life except for romance (oh yeah, and driving) so why shouldn’t he adapt it in efforts to save himself some heartache? Falling head-over-heels the last few times had left him needing Band-Aids more than anything. He hadn’t landed all that gracefully.

So, despite his conviction to try and forget about Katrina for a few weeks, here he was out on a morning date with her. But she had asked him. How could he say no?

Well really, he could have. It’s not like he didn’t know how to take hold of situations like these. Quite the opposite, actually. Unsolicited advances from females were usually given the kibosh, and rather quickly too. If Ben didn’t do it himself, there was always one of his people more than willing to put these girls in their places. Sometimes it had to be done delicately: when it was a princess or a countess or some other rich girl with a title. Didn’t want to cause any international incidences. After all, Ben was America’s Son. He couldn’t be snobbish towards other royalty.

He wished that Katrina would have asked him out over the phone. It would have been much easier then. Instead, he had to see her looking a bit nervous, as well as overly-eager. And she’d tried to cover it all up with a façade of coolness. It was rather adorable, actually. So here he was, pulling up to the open air market in Redondo Beach. In an area he didn’t know at all. In a place someone like him probably shouldn’t be.

Not that he was worried. His guys were in two cars, right behind him. And they’d be with him the entire time. Nothing bad would happen. Still, it just felt … uncomfortable. Until he saw Katrina.

She was waiting right by the free parking sign, just like she said she would. She had on this cottony dress and boots. Her necklace matched her sunglasses: hot pink. It made her outfit look kinda fun and quirky—so Katrina. Her hair was back to normal again: not straight, wavy, or frizzy like it had been during the last few days of filming. It was back to spiral curls, and kept catching in the wind. The last few days—awesome days—he had spent quite a lot of time holding Katrina. Kissing Katrina. But he hadn’t gotten to touch her hair yet. And he didn’t want to wait two weeks to get to do that.

He didn’t quite know how to greet her. They’d been more than friendly that past few days, but that was all in character, right? He suddenly felt a little awkward. Should he give her a little peck on the cheek? But she might misinterpret that for more … and turn her lips into his and full on kiss him. And once he started kissing her—without the restraints of the script—he didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

So he buried his hands in his pockets and greeted her with a smile and a friendly hello. Then she took him into the market. He was glad he had decided to stick his hands in his pockets, because then he didn’t have to touch any of this … junk. A lot of it was just awful, old, hideous junk. And Katrina didn’t seem to hesitate to touch any of it. In fact, she ran her hands down pretty much everything. Major turn off. She’d better have some hand sanitizer in that big shoulder bag of hers—it was big enough to have an entire shower, actually.

But, while it was gross that Katrina touched everything, it was kinda fascinating to watch her too. She was genuinely interested in stuff. And in people. She struck up conversations with more than a handful of the vendors. A few of them told her their life stories, seemingly. But she always listened. Even to the crazy ones. She seemed to really know her stuff. She bartered. She told people—in a nice way, of course—when their garbage was more expensive than it should be. And she explained items to Ben time and time again. “This is a Shirley Temple doll, from the fifties. Wow—her hair is still in the net. That’s rare. That’s why they are asking 300 for her.”

 
She didn’t buy much. She said that she typically didn’t. It was more fun for her to see what everyone had. She said that she had weeks where she would buy nothing and weeks where she would come home with a trunk full. When Ben asked her what she does with the stuff she buys, she kinda shrugged and said, “Usually give it away. To my grandma.” Then Katrina explained that her Grandma Gigi had a bad hip and didn’t get out much. They used to go to these markets together, when Katrina was younger. “I guess I’m kinda carrying on the torch or something,” she shrugged again.

Hmm. Family traditions involving flea markets. Peculiar. But kinda sweet too.

After a while, Ben began to see the attraction of the flea market. It was like a treasure hunt. One had to have a keen eye to spot the gems amongst the rubbish. And he was one who had always liked a challenge.

The T-shirt guy had the best booth of all. Ben ended up buying four shirts at the same price he’d paid for the last
one
online. And these ones all smelled good. He knew, because Katrina had sniff checked them. One of the white ones had a small stain on it, but Katrina insisted that it would come out with a bleach pen. Whatever that was. He imagined Marie, his housekeeper, would know. And if the stain didn’t come out, oh well. It was just a mediocre band anyhow. He wasn’t as excited about that one as he was the Oingo Boingo one. It was a jersey-T with red sleeves. From a concert in 1982. Beyond cool, and way worth the trip to the flea market.

Ben asked the booth’s owner if he ever got any Clash T-shirts, like the one Katrina had. “I haven’t seen one of those in a couple of years,” the man replied. The man also said that those shirts were rare, and extremely expensive. Ben said that he would pay any price to get one, and then the man began to look at Ben with greater interest. He pulled out a pad of paper and asked Ben to write down contact information, in case such a shirt was ever found. He also offered to find other shirts of interest. Ben declined, of course. He didn’t need some crackpot calling every time he found another T-shirt. Ben said he’d check back periodically, which he actually intended to do.

“Hey,” the man said, almost covertly, “I have a shirt I’m holding for another customer … but if you’re interested, it’s yours.” The man held up a white shirt. Ben knew this one. It had Dan’s face on it.

“Ah, no.” Ben said quickly. He averted his eyes from the shirt as fast as possible. “I’m not much of a Dan Wilder fan.”

 
Katrina looked at him like he was joking. He wasn’t. Obviously he couldn’t have said, “Hey that’s my dad.” But he could have said something else. Like “I already have one of those.” But he didn’t. He ignored Katrina’s smile, not wanting to give her any kind of a knowing look. He just wanted to get out of there. Because that was practically his face on that shirt. No hiding that Wilder jaw line.

They left the booth behind, neither one mentioning what had just happened. It was quietly awkward until they stopped at a booth several yards away. This one sold costume jewelry, and the owner greeted Katrina with a hug.

After listening to this lady talk with Katrina, it became evident that they went way back. This woman was a friend of Katrina’s grandma. While eavesdropping, Ben learned that Katrina’s grandma used to be a seamstress for MGM. And this woman, the costume jewelry booth owner, had once been a wardrobe mistress, which was how she’d met Grandma Gigi. This was back in the fifties. And the lady talked about every decade of her life since. They were at the booth a long time. A very long time. Ben had time to browse through the entire display of jewelry while Kat and this lady chatted. Decent stuff, for the most part. But none of it was real, so he had no need for any of it.

The woman had a surprise for Katrina. It was in a box by the cash register. “When I found this, I knew it was yours. I’ve been saving it for you for a month.”

Inside this cigar-sized box was a necklace the size of a Nissan Cube. The thing was huge. It probably weighed more than Katrina. And it was ugly. Way ugly.

Katrina’s eyes went big. “Oh, wow,” she said.

Ben looked at Katrina rather than the necklace. She didn’t really like it, did she? The thing looked like it was made out of colored pasta. Wait a sec, was it? Was that petrified pasta? Ben asked, “What are those beads, exactly?”

 
“Ceramic,” the woman responded. “Handmade in Mexico in the 1930’s. It’s unique.”

“Boy, is it ever,” Ben said.

Katrina glanced at him. She smirked, then quickly straightened her lips. Good. She didn’t like that thing. He had begun to worry about her taste.

The woman urged Katrina to hold it, and when she lifted it out of the box, Katrina saw matching earrings in the bottom of the box. They were clip-ons. “Oh, dang,” she said, her voice overwrought with disappointment. “I can’t wear clip-ons. They kill my ears.”

“I know a gal who can convert them. It will only cost you thirty bucks,” the booth owner said.

“Hmm,” Katrina still held the necklace, contemplating its beauty. She pulled on the little white tag that was wrapped around the clasp. One hundred and fifty bucks.

“You have to be kidding,” Ben muttered under his breath. That thing was probably made by some kid in second grade.

“What do you think, doll? Isn’t it perfect?” the lady said. “It has so many colors—it’ll go with virtually anything.”

“Yeah,” Katrina replied. She fingered every bead, probably looking for a broken one. Some kind of flaw she could blame for her lack of interest.

“She’s right,” Ben urged. “It’s colorful.” He knew that this is what Jackson would do if he were here. But he wasn’t. So it was up to Ben to tease her. “It would even look awesome with that one shirt you wore the other day. It wouldn’t Clash at all.”

She pursed her lips. She was trying not to laugh.

“It’s shiny too,” Ben added. They’d used some high-gloss enamel on that baby.

“That’s what made me think of Kat,” the woman added. “She loves her shiny jewelry.”

“Mmhhm,” Katrina muttered. “Can’t get enough of it,” she said. She was being sarcastic now. “Thanks for saving it for me Darla, but … it’s sorta spendy. I like
cheap
shiny jewelry.”

The woman brought out all her guns. She really wanted to sell this necklace. To Katrina. Was Katrina really that big of a sucker? Ben wondered how much money Katrina had spent at this lady’s booth—just to be polite.

After the lady gave her sales pitch, Katrina appeared to be seriously considering buying the necklace.
Don’t do it
. He hoped she would receive the message telepathically. No respectable girl should ever own a necklace like that—even temporarily.

“Tell you what Darla,” Katrina said. She seemed to stand up taller. She was confident as she spoke, “How ‘bout you put it out on your table today and see what kind of interest you get. If someone wants to buy it—someone who has a job and can afford it—go ahead and sell it. If it doesn’t sell, I’ll come back next week and buy it.”

Darla didn’t look offended, but she did look a little disappointed. “But I will buy this hair pin today,” Katrina added. She quickly swooped her arm to her right and snatched up this little barrette. It looked sixties-era. It had these red glass flowers on it. It looked kinda grandma-ish, but kinda cool as well. It would look great in Katrina’s curly hair. And it was only fifteen bucks.

After Darla took Katrina’s money, she looked at Ben for seemingly the first time, like she’d been so immersed in conversation that she hadn’t even realized Kat brought a friend. Someone could have stolen a thousand dollars worth of jewelry and the lady would have never noticed. No wonder she was gouging Katrina—Darla must have a lot of lost revenue to make up.

“Oh,” she said with a little gasp. “Hello handsome! Aren’t you going to tell me who your friend is Katrina?” This seventy-year-old lady was flirting with him. She even batted her eyes. Ick. That’s not cougar. What would you call that … sea turtle? Ben subconsciously took a step backwards.
 

“This is Wyatt,” Katrina said, lacing her arm through Bens, like she was claiming him. Like she needed to worry.