Chapter I #2
“Sher, c’mon. I can feel you caving in,” she said, astutely predicting the trajectory of my runaway thoughts.
“Sometimes, that’s just how it goes when someone’s hot—there’s a little healthy competition.
You know, it’s like you automatically assume someone else will be chosen over you .
. .” She trailed off as a dark, murky silence filled the car.
“I know.” I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m working on it.”
Lexi was integral to my survival that terrible year. She was a good friend, and I didn’t want her to fear stepping on one of my trip wires . . .
My own eyes in the mirror bring me back to the present moment—to my studio apartment and the slight February chill creeping in despite the valiant efforts of my ancient wall heater.
That and the sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor outside, stopping just before my apartment.
No knock or hello. In typical Lexi fashion, the door swings open, and she steps inside.
“Oh my god—Sher. Did you kill someone? It smells overwhelmingly of bleach in here.”
She pulls off her bright-orange peacoat and throws it on a waiting armchair before walking past me to my designated “bedroom corner.” After unzipping her too-tight, sky-high-waisted vintage Wranglers, she falls back onto the bed with a tired huff.
“Okay, so tell me what he said again exactly.”
“I don’t . . . even . . . remember . . .” I reply, my words punctuated by concentrated strokes as I draw on the signature eyeliner. I turn to look at Lexi.
“Whatever it was, it was just kind of . . . vague.”
The initial doubt crept in sometime around noon as I sat on the couch with my too-strong cup of espresso, obsessively going over the night before—when I entered the kitchen of a house party in Echo Park to find Michael rooting around in the fridge . . .
We said hello and made small talk for a while, comparing and contrasting our mental Rolodexes of mutual friends in attendance and revealing how we knew them.
I watched his face as I spoke—his eyes flickering down to my mouth and back to meet my own, again and again.
In four months of run-ins around town, he always remained interminably seductive, never missing an opportunity to grab my hand to examine some piece of jewelry or wink at me from across the room—but nothing had evolved beyond that.
Maybe it was the two glasses of earthy, pungent orange wine I had over the evening, or maybe I felt emboldened by the fact that he was on my side of town for a change, but suddenly, I found myself taking action.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I blurted.
Michael considered for a moment, squinting up as if his social calendar was written on the ceiling. “Not sure—why?”
“Do you want to grab a drink at Bar Sperl in Silver Lake around nine?”
Michael’s affirmative, albeit slightly ambiguous, response had become warped and blurry in my anxious recollection. Something in the ballpark of “I’ll probably be in the area—yeah. Maybe I’ll swing by.”
I replayed the scene in my head all afternoon, trying to draw clear confirmation from the simple interaction like water from a stone.
What began as a banal reassessment spiraled into all-out mental warfare as I played and replayed cinematic visions of myself sitting at the bar alone, glancing eagerly toward the door with every new entry before realizing I was entirely mistaken.
I spent the rest of the day attempting to quell my nerves as I always did: with meditative housework. What began with some basic tidying devolved into a frenzied obsession as I tried to bleach my dingy bathtub back to its former glory until the fumes made my head spin . . .
“God, that’s so fucking typical.” Lexi rolls onto her side to face me. “Men are so commitment-phobic, they can’t even commit to plans on a Saturday night.”
I chuckle despite the acid reflux that’s been burning like bubbling magma in my chest for hours. Lexi raises her eyebrows slightly, assuming the look she always does when she’s about to bully me into a sense of confidence.
“Don’t worry. Warren and I will be there the whole time as backup. We’ll have some drinks, some laughs, and if Canyon Babe doesn’t show up, it’ll be his loss. His. Fucking. Loss!” She pounds her fist against the duvet to emphasize each of these last words.
The plan Lexi concocted a few hours prior: She and our friend Warren would accompany me to Bar Sperl like any other night.
If Michael showed up, they would make themselves scarce, and I’d enjoy my date.
If he didn’t, they would each buy me a shot, and we would go to some celebutante’s party in the Hollywood Hills.
“Bottom line, regardless of what happens, I feel like this is an important step,” Lexi continues. “You’re announcing to the universe that you’re ready for something new . . .” She slows, measuring her next words carefully. “That your heart is still open.”
“Thanks, Lex.” I smile tightly. I’m lucky to have her near-constant cheerleading, but today, it feels like tonguing a canker sore. Returning to the same wounded point again and again, unable to move in the right direction without some reminder of the wrong from whence I came.
I decide I’m content with my makeup, ending with a swipe of my favorite drugstore lipstick—a rosy-brown color that Lexi first shoplifted for me when we were fifteen. At long last, I stand.
“Do I look okay?”
She eyes my outfit. I chose a form-fitting, slightly sheer black turtleneck that’s long enough to cover my midriff but short enough to leave a ribbon of flesh visible above my loose black slacks.
Hints of silver break up the darkness, gleaming from the buckle of a thick leather belt, the assortment of large sterling rings Lexi found for me over the years, and, of course, my lucky hand necklace.
I finish it off with my prized possession—an elegant wool Prada blazer I thrifted by chance years ago in the Valley.
Lexi hates that I almost exclusively wear black—as the owner of an online vintage shop, she’s pushed the crème de la crème of stunning, colorful clothing on me for years to absolutely no avail.
Still, I see a flicker of pride in her eyes every time I wear the rings she hand-selected.
“Ah, a change of pace! If I’m not mistaken, you’ve gone for more of an onyx black here instead of your typical pitch black, yes?”
I glare at Lexi until she concedes. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes as her face spreads into a small smile. “You look gorg—great jewelry.”
She struggles momentarily to rise from the bed, constricted by the tightness of her jeans, but after some effort, she stands, zipping them with a sharp intake of breath as she turns to face me.
“Okay, so, remember . . .” She points a finger, her eyes locked intently on mine. “No matter what happens, tonight is a new beginning.” I give a shallow nod, but her index is joined by her raised thumb to form a finger gun as she barks, “Say it! I want to hear it.”
My face cracks into a smile as I repeat, “Tonight is a new beginning.”
“Good.” Lexi’s furrowed brow softens as she lowers her weapon with a broad grin. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
I watch my friend, a flicker of something foreign igniting within me.
A feeling I rarely allow myself to have for fear that if it flies me to the highest heights, it can just as easily send me plummeting back to earth.
It’s hope—the thing with feathers. For just a moment, I feel cleansed of the past year—an empty page, ready to be blackened with the ink of a different story.
Assured by a knowledge from somewhere deep within that tonight will indeed be the start of something new.