Bad Idea- The Complete Collection

by Nicole French

  But first I need a car.

  “This one has low mileage,” I say as I look over a maroon Toyota Camry. “It’s not flashy, but I don’t want to spend my entire paycheck on fuckin’ gas money.”

  Gabe looks the car over with a frown that practically falls off his face. “You’re gonna look like a soccer mom too. You planning to make some babies out there? Should we go stroller shopping?” He nudges me in the ribs. “Jessie know about your plans, man?”

  I rub the back of my neck. Jessie isn’t someone I want to think about right now. After I told K.C. that I was coming out to LA for sure, he started talking. Which also means everyone else in LA knows I’m coming too. Which means Jessie knows.

  Two days after that, I got the new hire paperwork in the mail from the club where I’ll be working. A week ago, I signed the year-long contract and sent it back to LA. Everything I own is either boxed up or shoved into duffel bags. This is really happening.

  “Come on,” Gabe says as he elbows me. “You telling me that a car like this is going to impress a fuckin’ model?”

  He makes it sound like Jessie is some big deal, but the truth is, she’s only done a little catalog work and mostly just waits tables and does promotional appearances for a living. We met last year when I was visiting K.C. She was one of the go-go dancers at a club where he was spinning. But to a kid like Gabe, the only woman hotter than Jessie is J. Lo. She’s blonde, tan, has legs for days. And yeah, okay, we hooked up while I was out there for a few weeks. And again when I went back in December.

  But I still haven’t taken her calls in months—not since Valentine’s Day, to be exact. I can’t even remember what she looks like anymore. It’s hard to get excited about this move when I’m walking away from a pair of bright blue eyes that can see into my soul. A body that was made for my touch. A heart that feels like it’s my other half.

  I shake my head. No, I can’t be thinking like this again. Layla told me to go. This is what she wants to do. A part of me has known from the beginning that this wasn’t ever going to work out. As much as I care about her, we come from two different worlds. She knows it too. I can see it in the way she hedges about me when her dad calls and asks about the guy in the hospital. The way she checks out the crumbled bricks of my building and the stains on the lobby floor. I don’t know what she’d do if I ever brought her back to the apartment where I grew up. Brazilian last name or not, my mother and my sisters have already labeled her la blanquita, and that won’t change anytime soon.

  “Did you ever think of just asking her to go with you?”

  I look up from the Camry. “Who?”

  Gabe rolls his eyes. It’s one of the things we both do exactly the same. “Who do you think, man? Maggie? Ma?”

  I mirror his expression, and then cross my arms. I don’t want to admit how many times I’ve thought about it. How many times the words almost fell out of my mouth. “I...yeah. No.” I shake my head and rub my face. I need to shave. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, if I had a supermodel waiting for me to make a real woman out of her on the beach...” Gabe mimics like he’s giving it to a girl doggy-style.

  “Coño, stop! You look like an idiot.”

  I smack him in the shoulder, more because he looks stupid than because I’m embarrassed. Gabe brags a lot about girls, but I’m pretty sure my little brother is still a virgin. First of all, his hands are in completely the wrong place when he does that.

  Gabe laughs. “All I’m saying is, I’d be a little more excited to meet her on the beach, Nico.”

  Then he looks at me sadly, with a face that says more than he wants to admit. I know why he’s here. He won’t say anything, but Gabe wants me to stay too. Now he’s going to be the only man in the family, the youngest, surrounded by the crazy women in our family. And I feel guilty too for leaving him. To tell the truth, I’m not sure how he’s going to handle college and living with Maggie and Allie. I have a feeling I’m going to be making a lot of phone calls to get him to do his homework.

  “Yeah, well...” I say, suddenly really interested in the trunk of the Camry. “Jessie’s fine, but she’s not—”

  “NYU?” Gabe says it right after I cut myself off.

  I sigh and shut the trunk. “Yeah. Well.”

  Gabe leans on the top of the car and stares me down. We may not look a lot alike, but we both have our mom’s eyes, the ones that can stare a hole through you.

  “Fuck, man, stop!” I finally say. “I’m not going to ask her to do that, all right?”

  “Why the fuck not? You obviously want to. I saw you two. She’s crazy about you, and you’re obviously into her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Gabe, she moved to New York because she wanted to be here,” I say flatly. “Layla’s smart. What am I going to do, ask her to trade NYU for community college while I try out a different life? Let her sit at home while I’m gone every weekend at K.C.’s gigs?” I shake my head. “I don’t even know what’s going to happen to me out there. She’s too good for that life. She’s too good for me.”

  There they are. The words I haven’t ever said out loud, the words I’ve always known. But they’re true. Her parents may not give her much to spend, but Layla comes from money. She comes from a nice house, a nice family, a safe neighborhood, not a shitty one-bedroom apartment full of kids with different daddies on a block where gunshots were just part of the background noise.

  Until now, these differences didn’t seem so bad. Layla still thinks they don’t mean anything. But I see where she’s going. In two more years, she’ll be done with school, moving on to law school or a career that will surround her with more people just like her. People with means. People with direction.

  Gabe just looks at me with big, sad eyes, like he sees the thoughts going through my head. And because he can’t dispute them—he knows what we are just as well as I do—he says nothing. Not for the first time, I think I might be doing the wrong thing. Gabe has a chance to break this shitty cycle, better than the rest of us. I’ve been riding his ass for years to get the grades he has. I hope he’ll be able to do as well without me around.

  “Do you want to test drive anything?”

  A salesman has approached us in the lot. I tip the bill of my hat up and rub my forehead. Gabe scowls at the Camry. I swallow. This move feels shitty enough without doing it in a soccer mom’s car. I look around the lot, and nothing seems inspiring. Until I see the exact car I want, sitting in a corner with the exact amount I have in my budget.

  “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “That one. I’ll test drive the Wrangler.”

  Gabe looks to where I’m pointing at the soft-top Jeep, and with a whoop, follows me and the salesman to the car. It’s a terrible car for New York. But for LA, with the constant sunshine, with music blasting out the open roof, this car is perfect. And if I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right.

  Three hours later, I’ve just dropped Gabe off at my apartment—well, his apartment now—and I’m driving back downtown to pick up Layla. I’ve never driven a car in New York, only the FedEx truck. The weather is nice today, so I took off the canopy. With wind blowing and my stereo blasting while I cruise down the Westside highway, I’m feeling good.

  The station changes, and the piano riffs shift over to the newest single from Alicia Keys. At first I go to change the station—it’s not really the kind of music I usually like. But I leave it on, because there’s some nostalgic value in it today. Alicia and I didn’t run in the same circles—she’s a few years younger than me—but I remember seeing her around the neighborhood when we were growing up. My younger sister, Selena, knew her a little back when she was still Alicia Cook.

  The music is a reminder that things can change. Already Hell’s Kitchen is becoming a place where investment bankers move instead of new immigrants. Alicia’s music proves that some people from this place can become something different than just another kid from the block.

  Suddenly, the world feels a little li
ghter. The wind blowing around me is warm. The trees lining the highway are full of bright green leaves.

  Maybe anything is possible after all.

  Layla

  The loud scratch of packing tape fills the room as Quinn closes the last box of her things. Mine are stacked in a corner, ready to be taken to the storage facility we’re all sharing. Jamie and Shama already left for New Jersey yesterday morning, and Quinn and I have been eating out of takeout containers while we wait for her train this afternoon. I’ll see our boxes are picked up by the storage center before I’m the last to go on a red-eye flight tonight. Nico wanted to take me to the airport, but he was offered double to do security for a big event at AJ’s—his last before he leaves for LA tomorrow anyway.

  I told him not to worry about it. I know he could use the money for his trip across the country. And that’s true, but the real reason is that I’m not sure I can take a teary goodbye at the airport. I’m not sure I can even handle it on a crowded sidewalk this afternoon.

  “Well, that’s it.” Quinn comes to sit next to me on my mattress. The cheap vinyl squeaks under our weight. She wraps a thin arm around me and pulls my head onto her shoulder. “You okay?”

  I know what she’s talking about. I’m going to miss her this summer—I’ll miss all of my roommates. But I’ll see them again in a few months when we move into a new dorm on Union Square. We’ll pick up right where we left off, just like this year. So this isn’t really goodbye. Not for us, anyway.

  I sit up and wipe the mascara under my eyes. They’ve been watering all day. “I’ll be fine.”

  Quinn looks like she doesn’t believe me. “It’s okay to be sad, Lay.”

  I shrug. I’ve spent so much of the past three weeks vacillating between moping around and trying to pretend like everything will be fine. The effort is giving me whiplash.

  “What does Romeo have planned for today?”

  I blink. “We’re going up to the Cloisters again. He said he wanted to e-end where we s-started.” The tears start to well up before I can stop them, and I swipe angrily while Quinn looks on. “God, this is ridiculous! We barely know each other!”

  Quinn pulls my hand away and squeezes it for a second before letting go. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous. And it’s been long enough.”

  I give her a look. “Come on. You’ve been against this relationship from the start.”

  “I had my reservations, sure,” Quinn admits. “But he won me over. Even if...”

  I look up curiously. “Even if what?”

  She twists her lips around. “Well...even if it was never going to work out. Come on, Layla, just listen,” she says when I open my mouth to speak. “He’s nice. And overall, he’s been really good to you. I know you love him—you don’t have to say it; it just shows. He probably loves you too. But you guys come from two completely different worlds. And eventually, those worlds are going to grow further and further apart.”

  “That’s ridiculous—” I start to protest, but Quinn just shakes her head.

  “It’s reality, babe,” she breaks in. “Think about where you’ll be in ten years, and where he’ll be. You’ll be, what, a lawyer? Doing real, important things with your life? And where is he going to be? Still working doors at nightclubs? Delivering packages? He has no future, Lay.”

  The words sound harsh, but Quinn’s voice is actually kind. Her expression is full of pity, like she’s sorry to have to break the news to me. I close my eyes. This isn’t what I want to hear. Because when I see Nico, I don’t see any of the things other people see. I don’t see the bad neighborhood, the dead-end jobs, the messy home life, and so on. I just see Nico, someone with whom I feel more right, more myself than with any person I’ve ever known.

  How could that be wrong?

  But it doesn’t matter now. He’s leaving. This is over. Done.

  I stand up and run my fingers under my eyes. Quinn stands up with me and checks her watch.

  “It’s that time,” she says. “My train leaves at 2:30. I need to get going to the station.”

  On my now-empty desk, my phone buzzes with a message.

  “I’ll walk you down,” I say. “He’s here.”

  Quinn and I exit onto the sidewalk. I look to the lamppost where Nico usually waits for me, but he’s not there. Quinn nudges me in the shoulder.

  “Over there,” she says, and points across the street.

  He’s standing against the door of a shiny black Jeep, waiting like the entire city belongs to him. It’s a warm spring day, and he’s wearing his dark jeans and a worn t-shirt that hugs the contours of his shoulders. The dark lines of his tattoo snake out of one sleeve around his right bicep. I can see the tip of the compass tattoo on his chest peeking out of the collar, and a thin silver chain glints around his neck. With his Yankees hat pulled low over his face, he looks like the definition of the bad boy everyone thinks he is.

  But I know better.

  He spots me and raises a big paw.

  “Have fun,” Quinn says. “Love you.”

  I give her a tight hug. “Love you too. Call me when you’re in Boston.”

  “Call me when you’re in Seattle.” She releases me, then checks me over. “Take care of yourself, Lay. Have fun today. And have some fun at home. Try not to spend your whole summer arguing with your dad, okay?”

  I nod. “Love you.”

  “Love you too. See ya, babe,” Quinn says, and with a terse wave at Nico, walks to Canal Street to catch a cab for Grand Central.

  I turn back to the man waiting for me and quickly cross the street.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he says as he takes my hands and pulls me to him for a quick kiss.

  I ignore the throbbing in my chest. Shit. Everything is going to hurt today, isn’t it?

  Nico looks me up and down with a sly smile. “Beautiful as ever. Goddamn, I’m going to miss you.”

  I swallow and look away, blinking back the tears that are already threatening to fall. Shit, I’m really going to be a mess by the end of this day. I gulp them back and finally manage to look back.

  “Let’s not...let’s not do that until the very end, okay?” I suggest.

  Nico looks at me for a second, then nods. “Deal. You wanna check out my new ride? Not bad for a delivery boy, huh? Gabe talked me into it.”

  I look over the Jeep. It’s not exactly my dad’s BMW, but it’s definitely sexy. I’m sure Nico’s going to look really good driving the thing in LA. Around all the pretty blonde girls in bikinis. I cringe.

  “It’s nice,” I say.

  Nico tips his head back and laughs loudly. “You sound thrilled. I know, I know, it’s kind of a piece of junk. But it’ll be good for sunny days like this.” He pulls open the passenger side door for me and ushers me in. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

  Nico

  She’s incredibly quiet as I steer the Jeep back uptown, swerving around cars to the top of the island. It’s hard to enjoy the drive when Layla is so miserable.

  She’s as beautiful as ever in a light blue sundress that matches her eyes. I keep staring at her like an idiot. I don’t want to make things weird, but this day was never going to be light and fun. It’s the end. So, my brain is already watching her hard, taking mental pictures so I won’t forget. Her sky-blue eyes turn to me. Those eyes that have been watering since I saw her.

  Click. Committed to memory.

  “Hey,” I say, just to break the awkward silence. “I got something for you.”

  I reach to the backseat and grab a package that I wrapped in newsprint. Layla takes it like it’s made of gold. This is one of the things I’m going to miss about her the most. She’ll never be the type to look at the way something’s wrapped on the outside and judge. Layla is the kind of person who cares about what’s inside.

  “For me?”

  I nod. “Open it.”

  She unwraps the newspaper, then pulls out the picture within a frame. It’s a charcoal sketch I did of her one night while she was sleeping. She�
��s on her back, arms folded over her head, the sheet just barely covering her naked body. I remember the night I drew it. I had just come back in from the bathroom in the middle of the night and saw her asleep, her hair spread on the pillow under her while the moonlight shone through my bedroom window, lighting up her skin in the night. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Fuck. She still is.

  “Oh my God,” she murmurs as she floats her hand over the drawing, careful not to touch the paper, which isn’t covered by glass. “Oh my God, Nico. This is amazing.”

  I could tell her she won’t ruin it––it’s been treated with my sister’s hairspray to make sure the charcoal won’t fade. That shit is basically shellac. But I like the awe in the way Layla hovers her fingers. There aren’t a lot of people who look at anything I do like that.

  Click.

  But then she turns, and she looks like she’s about to cry again. It’s not doing good things to the cracks already running through my chest. And for the first time, I’m actually sad I’m not on the subway or in the back of a cab, because if I’m driving, it means I can’t pull her close and hug her until she stops crying.

  “Oh, baby...hey...fuck...” I trail off. I can’t cuss her tears away. My hand falls off the gearshift, and I grapple for hers. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d like it.”

  She sniffs and wipes at her eyes. “I—I do like it. I love it. So much.”

  I glance at the picture in her lap, with its carved wood frame I found at a flea market in Chelsea. It’s not much, but I thought it would look good with the rough charcoal. I’m no real artist, but it seems to have hit its mark. In the last three weeks, things have been good between us, but she’s pulled back a bit. I get it. I probably have too. Sometimes she’d look at me, and I’d see a glimmer of that heat, that emotion that I suspect is always going to be between us. She’d look like she wanted to say something. Those three words, the three words I’ve been keeping back since...well, since I met her, I guess.