It's A Marshmallow World: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  GranGran plops herself down on the floor and sits criss-cross. She then bounces a bit while looking satisfied to be agile again. Even though she lost her arthritis-filled body long ago, she has never failed to appreciate regaining her mobility. “All past lives aside—”

  I cut her off. “Wait, that reincarnation mumbo jumbo is real?”

  She rolls her eyes like I should know better. She then actually bends in and gets in my face. Her tone reeks of wisdom and serves as another reminder that she is no spring chicken. “I was a product of the Jazz Age and was ninety-two when I died, meaning I was born in nineteen oh eight. Do you know what was happening when I was twenty? Prohibition. Not long before that started we were smack in the middle of World War I. While growing up, it seemed the father or brother of nearly every one I knew had died. After the horrors of war we needed to let loose, but thanks to Prohibition we couldn’t have any fun. Then the Great Depression hit, and we couldn’t afford simple luxuries, such as sugar. It was either bow down to misery or seek a bit of freedom. Freedom meant rebellion. Rebellion, or lack there of, is what shapes a person.”

  My mind locks onto visions of lonely widows and children without shoes, all seeing no escape from a life covered in dust. At least I can afford to grab my friends and head out to Mulligan’s. Even if we had to forgo the cocktails, we still have shoes, and expensive ones at that. Knowing GranGran though, I can’t help but ask, “Please tell me you made bathtub gin.”

  She winks.

  I smack my hand on the floor. “Wow! Really?”

  “Your Great Grandfather was resourceful in many ways, which is exactly why I married him.” She snickers. “He says hi, by the way. Anyway, when I was in my twenties, I met a young woman who got sucked into what she thought was love, only to have him leave before she could tell him she was pregnant. Not only did her family reject her so badly that she had to move half-way across the country, but even strangers called her a tramp and treated her like dirt. She was a good person in a bad situation—so bad that she had to turn into the tramp everyone accused her of being just to survive. While everyone else was spitting on her, I took her in and gained a second family. That whole experience showed me that just because a person has challenges, it doesn’t mean her heart is different from that of anyone else. If we could each open our eyes and see that not understanding a person does not make him less human, this world would be a better place.”

  This makes so much sense. Our experiences are not just the things we live through, but also what we see others endure. We can grow from the misfortune of those around us. “So that is why you always encouraged my free spiritedness.”

  “It is also why you grew up knowing that everyone is beautiful and deserves a chance, whether you understand him or not.”

  Yeah, I knew this is where we were headed. “Even someone who tries to cover the fact that he is egotistical and controlling?”

  Now I get a finger pointed at me—another family trait. “Not at all. Normally I would tell you to go with your gut, and then if you tried to see him again, I would arrange for a lightning bolt to weld the lock on your apartment so you couldn’t leave. However, this time I am asking you to give him one more shot.”

  If this were anyone else, I would ask if she were joking. Still, I have to question if we are talking about the same guy. “Really? The guy on a power trip? The guy with the cocky sense of humor that is more rude than amusing? I can’t possibly understand why.”

  She reaches for my hands. What I wouldn’t give for her to actually be able to grab them again. Nonetheless, her love seeps into me. “Because you had me in your life and Chris didn’t. Think about what you would have been like if you were not supported. What rebellion would you have gone through to find yourself?”

  “So you are telling me that—”

  She raises a finger to stop me. “I am not telling you anything that you don’t already know deep down inside. And I am not trying to interfere with your love life, just to ease your mind.”

  “Love life? Who said I had him pegged for a love interest?”

  She tosses her head back with a laugh. “That fine piece of manhood with the streak of playful boyishness! Oh, please!”

  Yeah, we both know the man is so hot my skin nearly melts off every time I think of him.

  “Seriously though, that is for you to decide. I am only saying to relax a bit. Besides, I have never led you astray. Look at how I guided you to Mulligan’s. Trust me, there are many reasons why you frequent that place.”

  Is she real? Man, I hope there is a good reason that we choose to plant our butts in that crappy place week after week.

  GranGran kicks her seriousness up a notch. “Honey, I know a woman must always proceed with caution. I am also very proud of you for not letting yourself get wrapped up in someone that wants you to compromise who you are. However, there is a difference between being careful and restraining your spirit. You need to trust me that this case is not what it appears.” Her image and words trail off as she bails without giving me a chance to further grill her. “Allow yourself to see where this can lead. Kiss Bailey for me when she gets into town for Thanksgiving.”

  I hate how brief these visits are. Why can’t she stay a little longer and bake cookies with me or sit down for tea like we used to do? She is right though. Chris may put a dancing bed of flowers in my gut, but my attraction to him isn’t only brought on by lust. On the night we met, something about him spoke to my soul. I won’t let myself be afraid to hear what he has to say. However, he has to come to me, and I won’t tolerate the attitude I saw tonight. I may trust GranGran, but I also won’t put up with anybody’s bull.

  Someday At Christmas

  Mulligan’s may not be the hottest place around, but this Friday night it is practically a ghost town. Then again, I’m still so full from last night’s Thanksgiving dinner that it is a miracle the stool hasn’t collapsed under me.

  “Holy Mama Cass,” Jacqueline says. “I ate so much last night that I am still full.”

  Bailey nearly loses the sip she just took by laughing it out of her nose. Rox’s head snaps towards Jacqueline. Her narrow eyes say she wants to chew Jacqueline out over being mean to one of her idols, but her snicker shows that holding back a chuckle at the well-intended joke is hard. “Hey! Show some respect.”

  Jacqueline raises her glass. “To Ellen Naomi Cohen. Lord, I wish I had her talent. The best ones always die young.”

  In some ways that statement is true. The good ones never live long enough, no matter how old they get. I join Rox, Jacqueline, and Bailey in the toast to Mama Cass.

  Rox turns to Jacqueline. “I’m surprised you know her real name.”

  Jacqueline puts her arm around one of her two, true best friends for life. There is no doubt that if one of us slipped into the gateway to Hell, the other two would dash in after her. “You have got to be the biggest rock and roll fangirl on the planet,” Jacqueline says. “We met twenty-five years ago because our fathers were in a band together. We went through every grade of school together. We were roomies in college and we have been roomies for all of the seven years since. Do you really think I can escape knowing something as basic as Mama Cass’s real name when you constantly rattle on about music? I do always listen to you.” Jacqueline turns the partial embrace into a hug. “Always.”

  Rox snuggles into Jacqueline’s shoulder. “Aw, you really do love me.”

  “Just like anyone would love her annoying little sister,” Jacqueline tells her.

  Bailey smirks. I give her arm a playful smack in return. She follows it up with a bear hug that crams my face into her shoulder, smashing my nose. Crammed face or not, I miss the hell out of her. Why couldn’t she have gotten a killer job in Hollywood instead of all the way across the continent? The moon seems closer than she does. Regardless, I am so blessed; my sister is one of my best friends, and my best friends are like my sisters. How perfect is that?

  Rox takes a sip out of her Milky Way Martini. Suddenly he
r eyes widen. I then become their target as they narrow. “You keep looking at the door.”

  “What? I do not!” Do I?

  “Yeah, you do,” Jacqueline adds.

  “Face it,” Bailey says, “you may be annoyed at that jerk, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Something about the situation has your attention.”

  I come to my own defense. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, he’s not even in town now.”

  “All the more proof that Bailey is right,” Jacqueline says. “It’s okay. Feeling that way is fine, but acting on it is another story. He sounds like an ass.”

  My sigh isn’t one of longing but more of frustration. GranGran gave me a lot of food for thought. It was so much easier when Chris was just a hot guy who turned out to be a jerk. Now I have no idea what to think. Then again, maybe I do. “The whole night was like watching a puppy who can’t figure out what his paws are for, so he barks too much to cover his insecurity.”

  Jacqueline shrugs. “One day, the dating game has got to work out for one of us.”

  Rox’s tilted head tells me I am being sized up. “Is that why you are thinking of giving him a second chance?”

  How did she know? Once more, why does everyone else look unfazed?

  “You are playing with your hair,” Bailey says. “A woman twirls her hair around her finger when she is either flirting with a man or is thinking of the one she wants to flirt with.”

  I look to my finger and see some of my green locks wrapped around it. Crap! She’s right.

  Truthfully, everything about the whole situation makes me feel awkward. I hate people who come off as fake. All interference from GranGran aside, it is obvious that there is a genuine side to Chris that I find fascinating. Thing is, it should not be up to me to dig for it, just like no person should think he or she has the ability, let alone the right, to try to change someone. “You know how James Dean always seemed a little lost and rebellious against himself?” I ask. “Chris seems more rebellious about being lost.”

  There is that word again. What was it GranGran said about rebellion? How we rebel, or even if we choose not to, shapes us. She also asked what rebellion I would have gone through to find myself.

  Rox nudges me and whispers, “Speaking of Mr. Rebel Without A Clue.” She nods sideways, and I catch a glance of Chris. My heart goes into a sprint, and I reach for a napkin. Why are my hands suddenly clammy with excitement, yet I also feel the urge to flee? “Oh God. What is he doing here? He’s supposed to be in Alabama.”

  Naturally, after I blurt that out, all heads snap in his direction.

  “Oh, wow,” Bailey says, sounding breathless. If she wants his drama, she can have it.

  I start kicking the girls under the table so they will stop staring. They all jerk and make poor attempts at acting naturally. Jacqueline grabs her glass and looks to an empty booth. Bailey reaches into her purse for a mirror to check her eyeliner. Rox dips her head to take a sip from her straw, and then raises her eyes to me. Bailey and Jacqueline’s eyes also snap in my direction. Nothing about any of this is covert. “I’m fine,” I tell them. “I think.”

  Chris heads my way—at least, the guy looks like Chris, but he doesn’t feel like the same person I attempted to have a conversation with. This man walks with hesitation, and his eyes have yet to make contact. The swagger of seduction is nowhere in sight. Neither is the air of smugness. In fact, everything about him says that he is a different person—a real person—not a poster child for arrogant misfits.

  A few feet away, he brings his hand out from behind his back. Even though I can’t make out the details through the paper wrapping, my pulse accelerates at the sight of a bouquet.

  Is he here to try a different seduction tactic on someone else, or is he attempting to play a new game with me? Maybe, just maybe, this is the real him. GranGran would never ask me to give a second chance to someone who could truly cause me strife. Regardless, I hate that my heart is trying to sprint out of my chest at the sight of that jerk.

  My grip on the napkin tightens as he closes the distance between us. Just like he did when we first met, he directs his hello to me before greeting the rest of the table. He is barely able to look at me when he asks, “Can I talk to you for moment?”

  Part of me is still annoyed from his antics on Saturday night and wants to tell him I’m busy. However, the person I trust more than I will ever trust anyone, told me to give him another chance, and he does seem to know he blew it. I just hope this is not an act.

  We take seats at the next table in such a way that he can sit without catching sight of the looky-loos known as my friends. Try as they might not to, they won’t be able to keep from staring. I don’t blame them. I would not either. It’s just how we are.

  “I owe you an apology,” he says. “I was so wrapped up in being what I thought a woman wanted that I didn’t respect the one in front of me. Here.” As if he had not already thrown me for enough of a loop, my breath now shudders when I get a good look at the flowers. The bouquet of daisies has been dyed in a glorious rainbow of colors. “You are far from being a typical, rose girl. You are daisies. The vivid colors of your hair suit you not because they look good, but because you are a rainbow of beauty who isn’t afraid to let the world see her shine. You are your own garden, much like how a bush of daisies is plentiful with life.” He stops to twiddle his thumbs. “Look, I know that I was far from being the perfect date. I heard the frustration in your voice, and I don’t blame you. Is there any way I can persuade you into a do-over?”

  “A do-over?” The words barely come out of me. Daisies—how did he know? Is this GranGran’s doing, or are these really coming from him? Maybe the flowers were his idea and she whispered the word daisies in his ear.

  “Yeah,” he says more to the table than to me, “I don’t feel you’re too keen on a second date. Maybe you would be willing to show a little mercy and grant me a do-over.”

  He’s so sweet. So genuine. So the type of man I could appreciate. But is this the real him? Given his words, his mannerisms, the daisies, and what GranGran said, I can’t help but feel hopeful. I also can’t wipe the grin off of my face.

  I play with a petal—a beautiful, hot pink petal that reminds me of my favorite lipstick—because as much as I try to fight the emotions that have blindsided me, my face feels flushed, and I don’t know what else to do with my hands. “I think I can manage that. But why are you here? I thought you weren’t coming back for a few days?”

  He seems to put up a fight with himself to look at me. Seriously, what changed? I love this side of him.

  Finally his voice wins the battle of his nerves. “Can I just say that it became pretty obvious that even if I had a way to reach you, you would not have answered when I called? I didn’t make the best impression, but obviously you made a hefty one on me. Jacqueline said you always wind up here on Fridays. The longer I waited to do this, the more awkward it would be. Besides, if I’m to be totally honest, I had to do this quickly, else I’d let myself come up with excuses not to. I need to fix me.” He rattles his head. “Sorry, that’s a long story. I’ll let you get back to your friends. I don’t want to push, but can that do-over be tomorrow?”

  He actually remembered what my friend said that first night, let alone her name? This is the man I was expecting that first date to be with. My heart feels so warm that I think it may be melting on to the floor. I have plans with Bailey for Saturday, but—

  Bailey kicks behind her, catching the leg of my stool. My ears ring with her silent lecture that I would be insane to say no. “Yeah, I can make tomorrow work.”

  His smile does in the last bit of my heart that has not already turned to goo. “Can I have your number so I can call you in the morning and work out the details?”

  Chris starts running his finger under the band of his watch like it has suddenly become tight. How he also sucks in his lower lip makes him seem concerned that I might say no or give him false information just to make him go away. It is so
sweet that by the time I’ve finished writing my number, I’m genuinely okay with our situation. When he walks away, I even let myself feel hopeful.

  Bailey steps up and puts her chin on my shoulder. Together we watch him go out the door. “You good?” she asks. The words may be hers, but I sense all of my friends asking as well.

  “Yeah, I’m great.”

  We take our seats back with the girls. Bailey’s gaze is locked on the flowers. She can’t hide the mist forming in her eyes nor the crackle in her voice. “I heard what he said about the daisies. Sounds like something someone we love would have told you.”

  It does, and it is especially weird in light of what that special someone told me a few nights ago, but I don’t tell Bailey that. It’s not that she wouldn’t believe me. I know she would. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she talks to GranGran as well. But GranGran gave me that board in private, so in private the resulting conversations will stay. It just seems right.

  Rox reaches across the table and touches my arm at almost the exact time Jacqueline does. Their eyes are also locked on the flowers. “They are not just brightly colored because you are a rainbow,” Rox says. “They are a neon sign trying to grab the attention of your soul.”

  Yes, and they worked. I hear you GranGran—loud and clear. But I won’t give him the second chance you asked for. Chris has earned that do-over.

  It's A Marshmallow World

  My eyes scan down my body for yet another check. Something must be missing, because I feel off balance.

  Okay, sweater? Check. Bra under said sweater? Check. Nice jeans? Check. Panties that there is no way he is seeing but are nice enough so that I won’t be embarrassed if he rufies my drink? Check. Killer, over the knee boots with heels that can take out a man’s junk, if necessary? Check. Coat to cover this awesome outfit? Check. Gloves to cover my jittering fingers because for some bizarre reason I can’t freaking wait to see this guy again? Check. Sweating bullets because this coat is too heavy for California and my heart is racing? Double check.