by Daisy Allen
“Break a leg.”
“Break all the fucking legs,” Sebastian rasps.
The hubbub around us never stops, but for a moment, it’s just the four of us, 13 years old, practicing in Brad’s parents’ basement, wondering if anyone would ever hear a thing we played.
And now…
“The Grammy, for best song goes to Forest Lullaby by The Rock Chamber Boys.”
For a moment. It’s completely silent again. And then Marius screams in my ear and we all run onto the stage. The roar from the crowd embeds itself into my brain and I look out into the ocean of cheering faces, dizzy. Someone puts an award into my hand and everything moves as if in slow motion. I see Sebastian grab the microphone and he’s blubbering into it, listing off names.
And everything, for a single moment makes sense.
The quiet.
Before the deluge.
CHAPTER TWO
Noémie
“Come on, Noémie. I’ll pay yo-…” I cover my ears before my boss can finish the sentence. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.
“No. Abso-fucking-lutely not in a million years. Not even if there were an infinite number of universes. In none of them am I going to work a single extra second tonight.”
“Well, in an infinit-“
“No!” I hold up both hands in front of my face. “Stop. I don’t want to hear the science behind it. I don’t want to hear you beg. I especially don’t want to hear how much you’ll pay me to do it, because I don’t want to know. These hands, have shoveled enough lentils for the week. The only sound I want to hear in the next 15 seconds, is me, throwing my apron in the basket, and the little ding-a-ling of the bell as the door closes behind me.” I undo the strings of my apron and throw it into the laundry basket, liberate my hair from the hairnet, and throw my bag over my shoulder, practically running toward the door.
“But-“ is the last sound I hear before I walk out the door.
It’s cold out. Just the way I like it. I take a long, deep breath, trying to empty the grease steam clinging to the inside of my lungs.
I check my watch. One a.m. Seriously? It is literally a different day since I started work at eight this morning? One whole day has passed and I’m still no closer to becoming a billionaire with an entire house just for my shoes. I look down at the oil splattered shoes I do have and for just one tiny split second, consider going back to work for a few more hours, just so I can afford a new pair. My phone buzzes and distracts me from the fact that I am basically considering a self-lobotomy. Who the hell is calling me at this time?
I try to ignore it as I pull the hood tighter around my face and start the twelve block walk home, hoping my feet will just go numb from the pain soon.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzzz! The phone insists. It occurs to me it may actually be something important, and I sigh, pulling the phone from my bag’s outer pocket.
My roommate’s face complete with snap chat bunny ears flashes on the screen, smiling at me. I roll my eyes and press the accept button.
“What do you want, Paige?”
“WHERE ARE YOU?” she yells, and the background noise is so loud I wonder if she can even hear my reply.
“I’m going home, just finished work,” I tell her, already knowing what’s coming.
“NO! I’m just around the corner! At Gators, come join me! It’s crazy in here right now! Everyone is here.”
Yeah, every reason not to go. People. Lots and lots of people. I tell her so. But it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I tell her again. It seems to just egg her on.
“Come on! Just for ONE drink. My shout. It can even be one of those depressing, adult drinks you insist on having.”
“Nothing wrong with what I drink. And for the last time, no! I’m going home to stand in the shower until the smell of month-old grease and mushy beans washes off me and then sleep until the landlord comes in and discovers my body.”
“WHAT? YOU WANT TO SLEEP WITH THE LANDLORD? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” She yells into the phone so loud I have to hold the earpiece away from my face. “Please, Noémie! Just one drink and then I’ll drive you home.”
“In what? Isn’t your car in the shop?”
“Daddy got me a rental while my car is being repaired. I called him and told him if he didn’t, I’d walk home at night and then sent him a whole bunch of mugging news stories and the next thing a car appeared,” she giggles.
Of course, it did. I’m not complaining. I’m the appreciative beneficiary of Paige’s manipulation of her Dad and his credit card. Like now. Car. Means no walking twelve blocks.
“Just think about it, sitting back against the leather seat, taking your shoes off, butt getting warmed by the seat warmer. One drink and I’ll have you home in time to watch the end of Seth Myers.”
“Bitch.”
“You adore me,” she says, and for the first time, she’s not yelling.
“Why’s it so quiet all of a sudden?”
“Cos I’m outside, waiting for you.”
I sigh. Pretending this isn’t going to happen is just going to take more energy. “Fine. I’ll be there in five.”
I hang up the phone just in time to save my ear being abused by her high-pitched squeal.
***
It actually takes me ten minutes to walk there. Walk barely three blocks. The sidewalks are packed with people and the streets are jammed with cars, filling the night with sounds of honking horns.
I turn the corner and even Gators has a line curling around the block. It’s a good thing we’re regulars. Or not. I could use an excuse just to go home.
“Noémie! Over here!” I hear Paige call my name and she’s leaning against the wall of the entrance, dressed like she’s on her way to a gig as a go-go dancer. I wave to her and she runs over to me.
“Hey, girl! I’m so glad you came.”
“ONE drink. And then HOME. I mean it,” I warn her, and she just giggles and lays her head on my shoulder, squeezing my arm. I feel myself thaw a little, feeling bad for being such a grouch. We’ve been roommates for three years now and I probably wouldn’t still be living in L.A. if it wasn’t for her. I didn’t know when I answered the ad for a roommate that I’d be ending up living practically rent-free with a spoiled socialite who needed a friend. A spoiled socialite and her gigantic shoe closet. And trust fund.
“Fine, fine! Come on!” She pushes us through the entrance, giving Paul the doorman a wink and giggle as he waves us through.
“Why is it so busy tonight?” I ask her as we elbow our way to the bar.
“You’re serious?”
“Wha? Is the Queen in town or something?”
“No! The Grammys were on tonight.”
Oh god. I totally forgot. And good thing too; if I’d remembered there wouldn’t be a chance in hell I’d be out. Grammy night is stay off the streets of downtown L.A. night. Between the celebrities and the celebrity spotting tourists and the paps, it’s pretty much an introvert’s (read: me) nightmare. It’s nights like these I wonder what I’m even doing living here.
Paige waves at James the bartender for our drinks and he gives her a grin that tells me they’ve done more than just talk on the few nights he’s driven her home in the last few weeks. I don’t know how she does it, charming everyone who comes within reach of her 10,000-watt smile, but who am I to question it? It worked on me after all.
“Hey, Noémie,” James says, tilting his chin to me as a greeting, “The usual?”
I nod and give him a small wave before spinning around and leaning my back against the bar rail, looking out into the crowd. It’s pretty much bumper-to-bumper human traffic in here. Or as I like to tell Paige fake bum-to-bum traffic. The ratio of silicon to human flesh is higher than in your average city. Which is when Paige usually demands an apology, pointing to her own chest. I recognize almost no one, which is unusual, considering Paige drags me here at least once a week. I don’t mind, I have no interest in talking to anyone tonight. The louder it is and the more it disco
urages small talk, the faster I can fulfil my one drink quota, the faster I can go home.
As soon as I think about how peaceful it is, despite the thousands of writhing bodies and thumping music, I feel a hot, sweaty body press up against my arm.
“Noémie, babe. Nice to see you here tonight,” it shouts into my ear, and it’s hot and uncomfortably close. Or it could just be the owner is the reason the skin is crawling up my back and neck. I try to shrink away, but it just follows me.
“Hi. Chris,” is all I reply, turning my body completely away from him. He doesn’t seem to get the message and just keeps leaning forward, like he’s trying to permanently bind his chest with mine.
“You look goooooooooood today, babe. So sexy,” he drawls, his eyes like a centipede slinking over my body. I try to suppress a shudder, but then decide, why should I?
He mistakes my disgust for some other kind of sign and grins, flashing his too perfect teeth. Teeth that don’t look like they grew from natural substance.
“Did you see me on TV tonight? I was hosting for MeemoTV at the Grammys,” he says, naming one of the cable talk shows I’ve never spent more than two seconds watching while flicking through channels. “Well, some of the pre-red carpet stuff.”
“Nope. Didn’t see it. Working.”
“That’s too bad, I could’ve taken you as my date.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
I see Paige over his shoulder and she’s grinning and pointing to him then raising her thumb up. She’s got to be kidding, right? I wouldn’t set this guy up with my worst nightmare. I take another step back and bump into someone, who shoves me, making me fall toward the human centipede. He gives me a wink and slings an arm over my shoulder, his rum drenched breath washing over me.
“I don’t have a date for the rest of the night,” he says, and my legs clamp together so fast, I almost topple over again.
“Busy tonight. Sorry,” I say, pushing away from him to face the bar, where James is standing, looking like he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“Here,” he says sliding a double of Glenfiddich across the bar to me.
“Bout time,” I glare at him, picking up the glass and giving it a swirl, letting the deep, caramel scent waft up. It burns my nostrils, in that way where the heat creeps up on you. I cradle the glass in my hand for a moment, wanting to savor the moment with my glass of liquid gold. They’re few and far between these days. On my $11 an hour job, I can’t really afford to be indulging my premium liquor cravings. Thank God for Paige and her bank account I tell myself, before I take my first sip.
I close my eyes as the liqueur slides down my throat like amber lava, smooth but destroying everything in its path. I’m instantly taken away from the deafening din of the bar and the grabby, rambling creep next to me and suddenly I’m home, sitting at my grandfather’s feet as he describes to me the minutiae of scotch distillation, and I swill the glass, learning to discern the notes of honey and almond and orange peel. Bliss.
The bliss lasts as long as it takes for someone to ram their elbow into my side, trying to make room for himself at the bar. I hug the glass against my chest, protecting it as I open my eyes and snarl at the intruder on my moment.
“Asshole!” I yell, giving him some elbow of my own. I instantly regret it. His chest is hard and broad. And my jab causes me more hurt than him.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. I detect a European accent in the one word. Ugh, fucking tourists.
“Oi, careful of the lady,” Chris intervenes and I glare at him. I especially don’t need him to protect me.
Paige pushes past Chris and gives me a look before turning her perfect smile on the elbow owner. “Oh, it’s totally okay. It’s pretty crowded in here.”
“Not too damn busy for manners,” I say, refusing to let him off so easily, not that he’ll pay any attention to me, now that Paige has turned her charms on him.
He raises his eyebrows and looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “No, truly, I’m sorry. Let me pay for another round.”
“No, thanks.” I tell him. Even though my tongue twitches at the thought of getting another glass of Scotch to enjoy. “Just keep your elbows to yourself, next time.”
Paige gives me a kick and I turn back to glare at her. She just shakes her head and leans in, her mouth against my ear. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you? Don’t you know who that is?”
“Seriously? Star spotting? Haven’t you lived here long enough to not get star struck?”
“I’m not star struck, I’m just-…”
“No! Don’t know, don’t care.” I hold my hand up.
I turn back to face the bar, there are two hundred dollar bills under the tip glass and both he and the Centipede have gone. Good. It’s back to just me and my drink.
Thirty minutes later, my first glass of Scotch is empty and so is my second, my third and yes, my fourth (thank you handsome stranger with the offending elbows), and I’m infinitely more relaxed. In fact, so relaxed that my bladder reminds me I haven’t taken a bathroom break since 5 p.m., before the dinner rush. Suddenly, I need to pee, and I need to pee right now.
I motion to Paige but she’s too busy flirting with James to care. Elbows at the ready, I make my way through the crowd to the restrooms, the extra jostling making the trip all the more necessary. Squeezing my legs together, I suck my stomach in as I push myself through the gaps between dancing bodies to the back of the room. It takes longer than I had hoped and by the time I get there, I’m ready to burst.
There’s a line out the door. Fuck! I stand there, jumping from leg to leg wondering how likely it is that these ladies are going to let me push in.
I tap the shoulder in front of me, “Please, can I go ahead of you? I’m dying here.”’
“No way! I’ve been waiting for like ten minutes.”
Ten minutes? God no. My bladder twitches at the thought and I almost lose control. I spin around, my eyes crazed, wondering what to do. I see Elbow-Asshole emerge from the Men’s restroom.
“You!” I yell at him, before I can stop myself. Um… think of something, think of something… “Um, I’m looking for my boyfriend. Is he in there?”
He looks me over for a minute, and I try to calm the crazed need to pee look off my face and stop the pee dance. “Er, no. It’s empty. Sorry.” He shouts over the noise.
Sorry? It’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I eye him up and down. He doesn’t look like a serial molester. But I guess I should still ask.
“And – are you some kind of serial peeping tom?” His forehead scrunches up for a moment. “Dude. You have to think about it?!”
“Well, yes. I mean – I only tom peep on the third Thursday of every month that ends on a Monday in years that are a multiple of three, does that count as serial?”
I’m going to have to take a chance that he’s only joking.
I grab his arm and spin him around, so his back is to the bathroom door.
“Ok, you’re just going to have to do. I need to pee. And there’s a line for the ladies’, so I’m going in to the Men’s. You stand guard. You and your elbow owe me!”
He throws his head back and laughs, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s just going to walk off.
“Ok, fine. Go. I will stand here and protect you with my killer elbows.” I barely have time to see him stretch his arms out to his sides and wave them around before I run into the restroom and into the first cubicle I see.
Ah. Holy hell, sweet relief.
It’s almost a whole minute before I’m done and realize I’m in my worst nightmare. A dirty public restroom. I get up, using a square of toilet paper to pull open the cubicle door. Kicking my way through the scrunched up toilet paper on the ground, I make my way to the sink.
“It’s a good thing it’s dark in here,” I whisper to myself and thank the owners for dimming the lights and knowing better than to use a black light in here. I wash my hands, shaking the excess water off.
As I’m looking for so
me paper towels, my phone buzzes. What is with the late night calls and messages today? I pull it from my pocket. It’s from Paige.
Where are you?
I punch in my answer.
The toilets. Men’s
Her reply comes in fast.
??????
Don’t ask. I text back. Before she responds, I hear shouting from outside the bathroom door and it swings open. An average sized head dwarfed by a giant neck and torso comes barreling in, startling me. In my shock, I drop my phone. It bounces off the ground and into the urinal trough. I watch it unfold in slow motion, frozen to the spot.
The giant stops.
Looks at me.
And then at the phone.
“My bad,” it growls and turns and leaves the bathroom.
Leaving me staring at my phone, currently swirling in gunk I don’t even want to try to identify.
Fuck.
Fuck fuckity fuck!
The door swings open again, and Elbow Jerk steps in. “Hey, that guy-…” he stops in his tracks when he sees me standing there. And what I’m looking at.
“Oh. Um. Any chance that isn’t yours?” He asks.
“I dropped it when that meathead came in! You were supposed to be guarding the door.” I jab my finger against his chest, before I remember how iron hard it is. It just makes me madder so I keep jabbing.
“Lady, did you SEE the size of him? My elbows were useless against that much steroid enhanced muscle!” he tries to explain as he bats my finger away. I can’t even process what he’s saying, all I can do is try to figure out how I’m going to get my phone out of … that. “I think it’s a goner. It probably won’t work anyway after being drowned in that much, um, water.”
Right on cue, it buzzes to life.
I look up to glare at him.
“You.” I poke him again in the chest. “This is your fault. Your fault. That means it’s your job to retrieve it.” His face scrunches up so much, I can barely make out his features.
“No, please, I’ll buy you a new one.”
“No.” I shake my head.
