I laugh at her Psycho reference. Maybe we have the same taste in old movies. “OK, see ya soon.”
“See ya!” Quinn says and hangs up.
I can’t help but smile as I tuck my phone back into my backpack. The bus pulls up on perfect cue.
***
As I rush off the bus and run up the stairs to my apartment, I evaluate my need to clean. A few dirty dishes sit in the sink, but other than that, my apartment doesn’t need much attention.
I rush through my shower and get dressed quickly as I was very trusting with my offering to let Quinn into my house. I should have been more careful with my words to a total stranger.
Nearly an hour passes as I sit and wait for Quinn to arrive. Maybe it is all just a cruel joke. I thought she’d be here by now. I start analyzing my apartment in case my new friend does actually arrive. I’m slightly embarrassed by how little I’ve done with the place. I have the basics as far as furniture goes, and it’s all secondhand. I bought my couch off the guy who lived here last. He was moving out as I was moving in. We literally crossed paths on the stairs. I don’t even think the landlord planned to clean, even though he was very clear about the massive fines I would incur if I didn’t leave everything better than I inherited it. The previous tenant couldn’t fit the couch in his moving truck, so he asked if he could leave it behind. I was happy to accept because it saved me a trip to the store and a lot of money. My parents couldn’t make the trip out here with the little notice I gave them when I switched colleges at the last minute. They found me this apartment online and signed the lease for me. I ensured them I would be OK and could handle everything on my own. The rest of my stuff came from a thrift store down the street. I don’t have a single thing hanging on the kitchen or living-room walls. My bedroom is a little nicer. I have a few family photos hung up in there. I keep the ones with Jenny tucked away in my nightstand. I like to think I’m keeping her safe.
My heavy head bobs down and startles me, and I realize I’ve been dozing off. I check my phone and another forty-five minutes have passed. I’ve been duped. I’m just a joke. Why would a girl like that want to be friends with me?
I get up to call it a night when a little rap on my door restores my faith.
I’m not a joke. She actually came. “Hello, Charlie,” Quinn says outside my door.
“Come in—it’s open,” I say a little too excitedly.
Pull it back, Charlie. Control your excitement. Attempt to act cool.
Quinn opens the door and struts inside my apartment and slams a six-pack of beer onto my secondhand kitchen table.
I can’t help but notice Quinn’s appearance. She looks like she’s ready to go out instead of a night in of pizza and beer. I’m not even sure if she has room in those clothes for pizza and beer.
Quinn’s tight jeans and even tighter cream-colored sweater fit her body like a glove. Her breasts sit perkily under her top. Her blonde locks are styled as perfect as the day I met her. Nothing is out of place. Not one hair, not one smudge of makeup. I can’t find anything wrong with this beautiful girl. What will she gain from being friends with me?
I gaze down at my own appearance and I suddenly feel sick. I didn’t try at all. My yoga pants, fuzzy slippers, and a pullover sweatshirt hardly scream “be my friend.” I’ve never cared about my appearance before and I’m a little disturbed that I find myself caring now. My mom and Jenny spent years trying to get me to care, but I ignored all their attempts.
“I’ve got beer!” Quinn says in a high-pitch voice. Almost singing the words, snapping me out of my evaluation of her, she pulls a bottle from the pack and twists the top off and hands it to me. She continues her effortless strut throughout my kitchen, looking and checking out every corner.
“Are you twenty-one?” I ask.
My question brings Quinn back to the table. She chuckles and responds, “I got some guy outside the Quick-N-Go Mart to buy it for me.”
I’ve never been friends with someone so bold before.
She seems pretty proud of her accomplishment. Although I assume it wasn’t really an accomplishment for Quinn at all; I figure this is normal for her, and given her appearance and her effortless charm, any guy or girl for that matter would be inclined to do so.
“Impressed?” she asks
“Um, yah. So, you just asked a stranger to buy you beer and he did?” I question.
“Yep, it’s easy. Haven’t you ever tried that before? How did you and your friends get your beer in high school?”
“I didn’t really drink in high school, and I’ve only been to one party since I got here. This is my first real beer,” I awkwardly admit to Quinn.
Now I know she is going to leave. I’m such a dork compared to her. She is so cool and I desperately want to keep her here.
I’m relieved when she says, “Well, welcome to college, Charlie. Cheers, my friend.” Quinn holds up her beer for me to toast with her. I do as I’m asked and take a swig. A sour taste washes over my tongue, making my taste buds perk up. I choke it down.
OK, maybe she’s cool with me.
“We need to break you into the college life, girl,” Quinn says, pleased with me, like I’m her new project.
“Quaint place you got here, Charlie. Could use a little decor, though, don’t you think?” Quinn is a little judgy, but I let it slide. I need a friend, even if she’s a little condescending. I shake it off as a personality trait. Maybe she doesn’t realize how she is coming across. I don’t really care though; I want to be her friend.
“I haven’t really gotten around to that yet. I’ve been busy,” I reply.
“Well, good thing you’ve got me now. I can help you decorate, and we can get this pad looking like the college apartment it should be,” Quinn says, inserting herself effortlessly into my life.
She gives herself a tour of the rest of my apartment. I hear her opening doors, but I don’t follow her. I’m not sure how to act. I don’t want to follow her around, but it is my apartment. I’m already exhausted from playing host and I haven’t really done a thing. All the self-doubt and questioning is so tiring, plus the couple of sips of beer have made me feel groggy and dizzy. A feeling that is completely new to me. Quinn seems pretty self-sufficient, so I let her do as she pleases.
“So, you have an empty bedroom, huh?” Quinn shouts down the hallway.
I don’t respond and let her continue to check out my bathroom and my bedroom.
She makes her way back to the kitchen, grabs her beer from the table, and plops herself down onto the couch.
Boy, she sure knows how to make herself comfortable.
“So, your phone number . . . Oregon?” Quinn questions.
“Yep, Bend, born and raised. You said you’re from Portland?”
“Born and raised too. Too funny that out of all the people here, I sit next to someone from my own damn state. We’ll cheer to Oregon and new friendships,” Quinn says as she raises her beer to toast me.
She reaches over for the remote on my end table, turns the TV on, and surfs the channels until she finds a movie that satisfies her.
“Oh, I love this movie—10 Things I Hate About You. Charlie, have you ever seen it?” Quinn asks.
“Me and my aunt . . .” I trail off. I’m not ready to share that with Quinn just yet.
“Huh, what, Charlie?” Quinn asks.
“Um, Yes. Good movie. Should I order pizza? Pizza Palace OK with you?” I ask Quinn.
“Only if we get Taco Pizza,” she responds.
“It’s the only thing I ever order from there,” I say, satisfied with my recommendation and excited by how many things we already have in common.
“Charlie, I think we are going to get along wonderfully,” Quinn says.
***
I wake to a dull throb in my temples, and my mouth is dry and parched. I stretch my arms out and I frown as I shake my head in confusion. My body shifts uncomfortably, and I realize I’m not in my bed, but I’m on the couch. I don’t recall much after
the pizza arrived and I don’t remember Quinn leaving.
I hear students outside yelling, “Go Hawks!” I check the time: 8 a.m. Oh crap, game day. Sounds like the tailgating and partying are off to a crazy start already. There will be no peace and quiet for me today. This town turns into one big party on game days. Wafts of what I can only imagine to be sizzling beef on a grill flow into my slightly ajar window. I want to vomit. I’ve never felt so horrible. I scratch my head to gain clarity but fail miserably.
I search the room for clues and find the culprit immediately. Six empty beer bottles line my TV stand. I wonder how many of those I drank. I honestly can’t recall.
I drag myself to the bathroom, passing a half-eaten open box of pizza lying in the middle of the floor. The stink of old pizza mixes with the beef from outside and I barely make it to the toilet. Everything from yesterday comes up.
With my head buried in the toilet I hear, “Lightweight,” from down the hall.
Is Quinn still in my apartment?
I clean myself up and slowly make my way into my bedroom.
Quinn is sprawled across my bed.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Quinn says.
“Morning. I didn’t realize you were still here,” I respond.
“I was too buzzed to walk home alone, so you said I could take your bed, don’t you remember?” Quinn says convincingly.
“I must have had too much to drink. I don’t remember much from last night,” I admit.
Quinn wraps my blanket tighter around her. “You’re fun when you let loose, Charlie. You’re a little uptight when you’re sober. Drunk Charlie is way more fun. Hey, want to rally and join the tailgate outside?”
“Nah, I think last night was enough. Not doing that great today.” I rub my aching head.
“Suit yourself. Mind if I use your bathroom to freshen up. I’m going to join the party outside,” Quinn says as she leaps from my bed, as if she didn’t have a single beer last night.
“OK, I will join you,” I say, fearing that I won’t see her again if I don’t play along.
“Great, just what I was hoping you’d say,” Quinn says, pleased.
CHAPTER 11
Charlie
August 2012
Quinn texts me the address just as I pull my overnight bag from my car. She was right; it looks like it’s only about a block away. I’m thankful the homeless crowd from earlier has moved on. I wanted to tell Quinn to come with me for safety and sanity, but I knew that would mean explaining my unexplainable fear to her. She would say I’m overreacting, which I’m sure I am.
Another text from Quinn comes through as I make my way out to the street toward the hotel.
I checked us in. Just come up to the room. 802. I splurged! Top-floor suite.
A suite? What is she thinking?
Typical Quinn. She can never wait for me. I hope she doesn’t think I’m planning on chipping in. I would be OK with a motel, but not Quinn; she has to have the best. I can’t help but think, here we go again. I know I let her walk all over me and she can be overbearing sometimes, but the truth is I have missed her and feel like part of me has been absent over the last three months.
I locate the address Quinn texted. The old brick building is weathered on the outside, but a fancy awning classes the building up. It’s not your typical hotel, but rather a fancy boutique establishment that screams “downtown Portland” and “different.”
“Good afternoon,” a man with a blue blazer greets me and holds the door open.
“Hello.” I politely nod as I walk through the door.
Inside the lobby, a beautiful silver chandelier hangs in the entryway and shines above the modern, posh furniture, creating an upscale atmosphere—a drastic contrast from the exterior. I wonder how many old buildings I’ve walked by, not knowing what gems lay inside.
I bypass the reservations desk and head straight for the elevator. A sign points toward the hotel bar, which is just a straight shot down the hall from the elevators.
I make a mental note. For later, perhaps?
It’s barely the afternoon and laughter, chatter, and music erupt from the direction of the bar. The idea of a little bit of fun sounds great about now.
Just one little drink. Quinn can wait.
No. Charlie. Keep on track. Don’t piss Quinn off.
Instead, I call the elevator and wait for the doors to open.
My phone vibrates, and it’s Quinn again.
Hurry up, slowpoke. Get up here—I’m waiting.
Wow. She can be so dang impatient.
The top floor has only a few rooms. I imagine they are all larger suites. I walk down to the end of the hallway and knock on Room 802. I stare at the ugly pale-blue carpet, thinking it doesn’t fit the rest of the hotel decor.
Quinn answers the door and greets me with an impatient grin. “Charlie, I’ve aged days waiting for you.”
“How did you get here so fast? I swear I came straight here. Elevator took a bit, but that’s it,” I respond.
“Eh, whatever, I’m over it. Come look at this view,” Quinn says as she leads me into our suite.
We walk through two large rooms. The first one has two king-size beds, a TV, and two dressers. The second room has a little office-cum-living area with a chair, couch, and an even bigger TV. Along the wall, a minibar and tiny fridge with a pricing sheet sit on top a black counter next to a microwave. Art deco paintings hang on every wall.
“Look at our cute little balcony,” Quinn says, and she leads me outside. “Isn’t this amazing, Charlie?”
It wasn’t the tallest building downtown by any means, but it did have a nice view of the city.
“Quinn, it’s great, but we don’t need a room this nice. Isn’t this a little too lavish? A shower and a bed is all we really need.”
“Oh boo, Charlie. I knew you would say that and that’s why I had you just meet me here. It’s just easier if it’s already said and done with. Nothing you can do about it now,” Quinn says in her usual I’m-right-you’re-wrong manner. She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with lavish and enjoying yourself a little. You should try to relax. What do you say we unpack our things and head out for a late lunch? I’m starving.”
I only brought a few things, so I sit back on one of the king-sized beds and watch her unpack. Quinn tosses me a little spaghetti strap purple tank top and a pair of jeans from her suitcase. “Wear that,” Quinn demands.
I obey her and excuse myself to the bathroom. I should’ve known better and prepared. I’ve had too much on my mind since I last saw Quinn that I’ve almost forgotten how overbearing she can be. Since the first time I hung out with her, I knew she liked things a certain way. She never goes out without looking perfect and that also goes for the people around her. I’m no exception. She always expects a certain level of preparedness and is easily irritated when things don’t go her way. And yet, I was sucked into Quinn’s world. I was mesmerized by her and the way she carried herself, so confident, so put together. Her controlling and demanding side is something I overlook to be friends with someone like her. I get to be a different person when I’m with Quinn. I needed a friend badly when I met Quinn and I fell for her; not in a romantic way, but in an intriguing, needy way.
Quinn bangs on the bathroom door, barely giving me a chance to slip my clothes off. “Charlie, are you done changing yet? I still have to fix your makeup and I’m getting hungrier by the second.”
I quickly dress and open the door. Quinn storms in with her makeup bag in one hand and a flat iron in the other. “OK, let’s take a look at what I’m working with here. Looks like all my hard work went down the drain. Maintenance, Charlie, it’s called maintenance. It’s like a car—you have to keep up on things or it’s all going to go to shit.”
Quinn abruptly walks out of the room and comes back, rolling a chair from the office setup. “Sit—this might take a while.”
I listen to her and take a seat. It’s not worth the argument.
Quin
n doesn’t skip a beat and immediately dives into everything wrong with me. I’m used to it, so I just let her talk.
“Charlie, these eyebrows, have you not plucked since May?”
“I don’t remember, Quinn. I haven’t had much going on lately. No need to, I guess. I’ve just been lounging around in my room, surfing the internet for jobs. Hardly a reason to put in an effort.” Sometimes I do put on a little mascara, but I don’t even bother to tell her that. No point. It won’t be good enough.
“So, you haven’t found a job yet? I know this sounds crazy, but if you apply for jobs all dressed up and ready to succeed, you will. If you apply for jobs in your pj’s, you won’t. I know it’s all online but trust me it will make a difference. You will feel more confident, and it will show.”
I know Quinn is probably right, but my resumé and education should speak for itself. But I know we live in a superficial world, and I am more convinced that is the case the longer I have remained friends with Quinn. She gets so much more out of life, and I know a lot has to do with her looks. Jenny would easily get things too. I want to try, I really do. The intention is there, but then I just don’t follow through. I can’t explain it.
Quinn gives me an appalled look and grabs my hands. “Oh my gosh, Charlie, your nails. Did you get hungry and couldn’t wait for lunch? Your nails aren’t food, missy.” Quinn hands me a nail file. “Here, file these while I fix the mess that you’ve made of your hair. Mind if I trim you up? The lob style only works if you keep up with it. Remember, maintenance, Charlie. I will drill that into your pretty little head by the end of the day.”
“Sure, go ahead,” I say.
Once I’m done filing my nails and Quinn gives my unruly locks a trim. She tosses me a bottle of pale-pink nail polish. “Paint your nails, please. I can’t look at those little nubs all night without any color on them.”
Quinn only uses OPI. The cost of one of those small bottles is higher than an hour’s pay, but Quinn insists it’s worth it. I secretly love reading the creative names they come up with for their nail polish.
The Pretty Ones Page 5
