Catch Me

by Claire Contreras

  “Why would you buy clothes knowing that I’m coming, Brooklyn?” she asks me, her voice calm but lethal.

  I slump my shoulders. “Because I knew you were going to be so busy and you have so many clients, and well … we just figured it would be much easier.”

  Aunt Mireya narrows her eyes and tilts her head to study me. “Okay,” she says, letting out a breath. “Who designed them? Let’s go have a look.”

  Nina and I smile at each other quickly as we get up and head to our room. My aunt designs beautiful gowns, I absolutely love them, but every time I’ve ever worn one, my mom gets fully involved in the alterations and that’s where it becomes a problem for me. Then I have to hear about how small my boobs are and how I should get them enhanced or how big my butt is and how it makes me “appear fatter than I am.” I can’t deal with that, not anymore, so I buy my own clothes somewhere else even if I would kill to wear one of Aunt Mireya’s couture gowns. Nina has no excuse not to wear her mother’s clothing, with the exception that Nina’s an asshole.

  I ask the hairdresser to style my hair half up, half down. That way it’s out of my face, but still natural. My mother argues with me for fifteen minutes (I counted) that my hair has to be up because of how the dress I’m wearing is designed. After the umpteenth eye roll I direct at her, she finally shuts up and lets the hairdresser do what I told him to do. My makeup is also natural with barely anything on my lips and light gold eye shadow over my eyes, the only thing that pops is my black liquid eyeliner and dark mascara that makes my long lashes look fake. My mom reminds me a handful of times not to wash my face after they’d just applied makeup, as if I would. Sometimes I think she just likes to hear herself talk.

  When the butler knocks on my door to tell me that my date is downstairs waiting for me, I start getting butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know why, but I do. Smiling at my reflection in the mirror, I pick up my gold clutch and head out, telling Nina I’ll see her later since she’s still sitting in bed texting. I pick up the silk turquoise skirt of my dress and carefully walk down the stairs, smiling when I see Jay standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for me. He’s wearing a black tuxedo, which is what all the men will be wearing tonight, unless they want an earful from my mother, and he looks good. He’s so not my type, though, and it almost makes me laugh the way he looks at me like maybe there’s a chance. I don’t know why anybody would ever want to mix business with pleasure anyway, especially before business is even sealed.

  “You look … wow …” Jay says, his dark eyebrows rising and lowering.

  “Thanks. You look good too,” I respond with a smile.

  I place my hand on his bicep when he holds it out for me to hold, and we begin to follow the sign that signals to the front of the house. I’m assuming there will be some sort of carpet laid out there, as usual.

  “They’re going to take pictures of us and ask you questions,” I explain to Jay, assuming he’s never been to an event like this.

  My dad really knows how to sell everything to people. He invites them to stay over at his house, lets them borrow his cars, yachts, and jet. He sees it as an incentive to show these people that they too can live this way. It’s complete bullshit, of course. They don’t live like this, even if they say they do, and that’s part of the problem. We’re selling them all of these tangible things: the money, the cars, the clothes, the hoes, but we’re not letting the consequences of it all sink in. As a matter of fact, I would bet money that even if I sat here and went through the cons of what this lifestyle holds, only one out of ten would turn it down. People want to own what they can grasp in their hands, what they can take photos of and show off. They don’t stop and think about the loneliness that comes with it all, the backstabbing, and the lies. And they wouldn’t care, even if they did.

  “So, what should I say?” he asks, tilting his head at me.

  I shrug. “Say you’re my date. Say you’re a rapper. Say you’re the best. You can even rap out there, for all I care. I’m just warning you so it won’t take you by surprise,” I respond with a smile.

  Jay laughs in amusement. “Got it,” he says with a wink.

  “All right. Let’s do it,” I say, walking out and welcoming the instant flashes that hit my face with a warm smile.

  “Brooklyn! Brooklyn!” one of the photographers says. “We haven’t seen you in a while! You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” I say, squeezing Jay’s arm so that he can fall into step beside me.

  “What’s your name?” the photographer asks as another yells, “Hey, aren’t you the YouTube guy?”

  “Yeah, Rapture,” Jay says. “Actually, that’s my YouTube name. I think I’ll just stick to Jay from now on. Makes life easier.”

  My smile widens at his words. I am so freaking glad he dropped that name. I’ll have to ask him about that later.

  “So you’re with Harmon now?” a reporter asks, the video guy coming up closely behind her. Photos don’t make me nervous. I’ve been around them for so long that all they do is annoy me at best. Videos on the other hand, scare me. Those are there forever and they can show your actions, your words and the way you say them. Photos may lie; videos rarely do. I hold my breath waiting for Jay to respond.

  “I’m with Brooklyn. I think she can make things happen for me,” Jay says, and I blink my eyes, turning my face away from the camera and focusing on the green grass behind them so I won’t cry. They may be just words to him, but Jay just paid me the biggest compliment anybody has ever given me in my entire life. Twelve words. Those twelve words make me feel so whole, that I want to take a snapshot and put it on my bathroom mirror so I won’t miss them every morning when I wake up.

  “Who are you wearing, Brooklyn?” another reporter asks.

  “Naeem Khan,” I reply, smiling brightly as we walk by, pose for one last photo and continue walking to the tent in the backyard.

  “Holy shit,” Jay breathes. “That was intense.”

  I laugh. “Get used to it!”

  He nods with a smile, his eyebrows high. “I was trying to remember that moment, you know, enjoy it and remember it forever so that even if it doesn’t happen again, at least I can look back on it and say: I walked a red carpet once with the prettiest woman on my arm.”

  I chew on my bottom lip to keep my emotions in check, but not because I feel sadness. “You’ll walk more red carpets and you’ll have more beautiful women on your arm,” I tell him, squeezing his forearm.

  “Maybe, but you’ll always be my first and I’ll always remember this one,” he replies with a bashful smile.

  I’m afraid to say anything to him because I don’t want him to take any of my compliments the wrong way, so I just smile back. “I appreciate what you said back there.”

  “About you making things happen for me?” he asks, his face confused.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I believe in your belief in me.”

  “Geez, you’re making it hard for me not to cry tonight,” I mutter, fanning my eyes with my hands.

  “Aw shit. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Jay says, chuckling a little.

  “I’m not crying,” I insist.

  “Sure. Want a drink?” he asks as one of the servers makes his way to us.

  “Vodka. Anything with vodka.”

  He smiles. “Coming right up.”

  Thankfully, this is a business where anything goes and drinking is completely acceptable and as my mom says, encouraged.

  Jay and I make our rounds as I introduce him to some people, we talk about his family and where he’s from. He seems like an all-around good guy.

  “I know why you asked me the thing about my friends,” Jay says suddenly when we take a break and sit down on one of the white loveseats near the empty dance floor. “You think they’re going to either use me or turn their backs on me.”

  I nod, agreeing, and let him continue.

  “They’re not. Not these people. I’ve been through way too many bad things with t
hem for them to only want me when things are going up,” he explains.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I say with a smile, even though I’m skeptical of his statement.

  “You’re still being sued by your friend over those microphones?” he asks.

  My heart stops beating for a second before it readjusts itself. I hate that everybody and their mother knows about Allie’s lawsuit. I hate that everything my family does is scrutinized under a microscope.

  “Yeah,” I respond with a shrug.

  “Sucks. I’m sorry,” Jay says compassionately.

  I shrug again, not wanting him to know how much the lawsuit really bothers me, and more than anything, wanting to relay the message I was trying to get through to him about his friends.

  “Business is business. Shit happens.”

  The music starts on stage, startling us out of our conversation, and I instantly smile. This is my favorite thing about my dad’s parties. Most of the singers attend the event and are encouraged to sing, but the catch is that they can’t sing their own song. They have to sing songs from another artist, preferably one at the party. It’s my dad’s way of making sure everybody feels accepted in a business that so often turns into who’s better than who, or who makes more than who. Art is art, and that’s what my dad tries to establish in the company. It doesn’t matter who you think is better because it’s all up for debate. Shea may sing better than Jay, but Jay could have better lyrics. And still, listeners feel their music differently.

  A singer/songwriter I’ve heard before walks on stage and adjusts the microphone to his level as he sits on the chair. I stand, muttering that I’ll be back, when I notice the microphone he’s touching is one of mine. It’s as if I’m walking on air on the way over there, extending my hands to touch it. It’s one in my Rat Pack collection, round and wide with a black thin band around the middle. That particular collection is vintage and very dear to me since it’s the one my dad saw and loved. Still, I never thought he would actually buy one. I trace the tiny bee with the crown over its head that sits over the black band and smile.

  “One of yours, right?” Brent, the singer asks as he holsters his guitar around himself.

  “Yes,” I say proudly.

  “I want to get a few. Do you do custom?”

  I nod. “I do. Do you have ideas?”

  He nods back and strums on his guitar. “A couple. Do you have a card or do I just call you at Harmon?”

  “You can call me there,” I say because I don’t have a card with me at the moment.

  “Cool,” he replies with a smile.

  “Break a leg,” I say as I walk away.

  “I’m not an actor,” he says back, making me laugh.

  My laughter cuts short when I see Shea walking into the party with Gia’s hand in his. I can feel my body burning from the inside, starting from the tips of my toes to the top of my head as I look around to see if I spot Nick. When I don’t, I close my eyes to hide my disappointment, but realize it feels more potent when I do this, so I open them again. Smiling, I walk over to Shea and greet him and Gia. I quickly introduce them to Jay and explain a little bit about him. Shea begins to tell him how much he loves his stuff and I feel relieved for Jay, whom I know must be a fan.

  As they continue talking, Jay moves his hand around my waist. Shea notices this and makes a face at me but says nothing of it. I can tell he wants to say something, probably on his friend Shadow’s behalf. I almost roll my eyes, until I see Nick appear on the other side of the tent with a glass in his hand. I try to take a breath, but my lungs feel like they’re being clogged by my heart and possibly my kidneys, like there’s no room for air right now: system overloaded.

  Nick doesn’t even look around; he doesn’t look like he’s looking for anybody. His aqua eyes spot me in less than a second and they stay on mine, unblinking. The way he looks in a tuxedo is too good for me to wrap my head around and his hair, normally brushed forward with a bit of a spike, is brushed completely back today. I really wish I could look away from him and pretend I’m not checking him out, pretend I don’t want my hands over the lapels of his jacket taking it off behind the nearest bush, but I can’t. I can’t because he owns me, and he knows it. And I hate it.

  As Nick walks forward, his eyes trail slowly down my body, stopping at my waist where Jay’s hand is sitting. I know this from the way Nick’s jaw tenses. He throws back the drink with one large gulp and puts it down when he nears a table, picking up the pace to get to me. A moment of fantasy plays in my mind where I shrug Jay off and Gia and Shea part so that I can run in slow motion between them as Nick does the same to me and I jump into his waiting arms. That moment passes in one second when Jay pulls me to him, laughing at some joke Shea makes and Nick practically runs full speed at us.

  “Brooklyn,” Nick says, grabbing the hand I have on my side, and pulling me to him. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  What am I supposed to say? No? I let the current that is my body take me to him, the way it always does, because there’s no denying the pull he has on me.

  “Hmm,” I reply, looking into the pools of every blue-green color in the crayon box that paint his intense stare.

  “I’m Jay,” Jayson says as an introduction to Nick. “I’m a huge, huge fan of yours, Shadow,” he states.

  Nick’s lips tilt into somewhat of a smile, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. He nods. “Thanks, I’ve seen you on YouTube, good stuff,” he says cordially.

  I hear Jay’s intake of breath behind me, as if he can’t believe Shadow has heard of him. I would laugh if it weren’t for the fact that my heart has now started beating at a ridiculously fast pace, and I think I may throw up the vodka tonic I drank. Nick pulls me away from them, telling them we’ll be back and takes me to the dance floor, where there are now several people dancing to Brent’s music. He’s singing Bob Marley, which isn’t technically breaking the rule since it’s not his music, but I know my mom is going to send somebody to complain soon enough because the artist is not living nor in the room.

  Without asking, Nick pulls me into his chest and begins to move, circling an arm behind my back and holding me so that all I can breathe is him. Closing my eyes, I lay my head on his chest and sway along with him.

  “You look beautiful, baby,” he whispers into my hair. “Most gorgeous woman here tonight.”

  My heart skips a beat, because it sucks and it doesn’t understand that when it’s broken it can’t skip beats.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Brooklyn,” he continues as the song changes.

  I recognize this one as “Trouble” by Ray LaMontagne, and I’m glad that I saw him in the crowd earlier, so I know it won’t be interrupted.

  I move my head further into his chest, making myself comfortable there as we continue to dance slowly.

  “You said some really messed up things to me,” I whisper, knowing he can hear me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says instantly.

  I’ve never had somebody apologize so quickly for their fuck ups, usually it’s like pulling teeth to get a half-assed apology from somebody, so I stop dancing and look up at him to see if he’s serious. He smiles at me, that slow grin that makes the butterflies in my core act like it’s a cracked-out field day.

  “I’ve been saaaved by a woman,” Nick sings, still smiling. He repeats the words along with Brent, and then lowers his mouth to my ear. “She won’t let me go. She won’t let me go, no,” he croons, his raspy voice making the last bit of breath I had leave my body.

  “You can’t sing to me,” I scold softly, not meaning it.

  Nick laughs and brings his face close to mine, and I can almost taste his lips on me. Almost. His breath smells like whiskey and I don’t normally drink that, but I want to get drunk in his kiss so bad, that I don’t mind it. He sighs, backing away from me and turning me as the song comes to an end, but bringing me back to him when the new one starts. Brent plays his guitar a little faster now and his band mate joins him. For a moment I don
’t think I’ve heard the song, until Brent begins to sing the beginning and I know it’s by Del Amitri. I really, really hope Nick doesn’t sing this to me because I’m not sure I can hold back my tears if he does.

  He holds me even closer than before, placing his mouth right below my ear. He kisses me there, and it’s a whisper of a kiss, barely there, but enough to make my insides flame with want for him.

  “Tell her not to cry, I just got scared, that’s all. Tell her I’ll be by her side, all she has to do is call,” he says, singing below my ear, his breath tickling my neck, making me shiver as tears form in my eyes. He continues to sing the song to me in his raspy, sexy voice and when he reaches the last part, I completely forget anybody else exists but us. “Tell her nothing if not this, all I want to do is kiss her,” he sings and kisses my neck again, more obvious this time.

  When the song is over and people are clapping for Brent, I wipe carefully under my eyes, hoping I didn’t smudge any makeup.

  “Can we talk?” Nick asks, his eyes intense and hopeful.

  My thoughts wrestle with my feelings over this, even though I know I can’t deny him when he’s standing in front of me. Finally, I nod, but hear my name being called just as I agree.

  “Brooklyn, I need you for five minutes,” Hendrix says, his voice as apologetic as his eyes when he glances from me to Nick.

  “I’m not going anywhere … without you,” Nick says, and I smile.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

  I don’t think I’ve ever noticed just how much people talk at these parties, but as I stand here pretending that I’m paying attention to the man Hendrix introduced me to, I keep wondering when he’ll shut up. Jay is beside me, with his hand on my waist again, and I swear I think he does it more out of nervousness than actually wanting to hold me there. His eyes are wide and attentive when people speak to him and he responds as soon as they ask him anything, which is how I know this. My mind, however, keeps drifting to Nick and what he wants to say to me. I’ve decided it doesn’t matter anymore, none of it does. The moment I saw him step in the room today, I just knew, and I’m not going to keep punishing myself by keeping him out of my life if he’s who I want to be with. It’s stupid, really. Yes, I’m scared, but love is scary. There is nothing about realizing that you want to hand over your heart to somebody that’s not scary.