Musings of a Gossip Queen: A Chick-Lit Comedy

by Victoria Bright

  “Want to grab something to eat? There’s this really good place a few blocks from here.”

  “As long as they have heat, I’m down for whatever,” I answer. We say goodbye to everyone and all but run to the parking garage to his motorcycle. After standing in the cold for two hours, sitting on the back of a bike with the wind slapping me in the face is the last thing I want. But hey, I’m all for having a reason to have my arms around Silas again. Who in their right mind would complain about that?

  1:12 p.m.

  VLife NYC

  Yeah...I probably should've declined when he asked me if I wanted to grab something to eat. After standing in the cold passing out fliers and talking about something I knew nothing about, the last thing I expected was to be standing in a vegan restaurant for lunch. No offense to Sex Bomb or the animals, but mama needs a juicy burger, not rabbit food.

  "This is one of my favorite places," he says, rubbing his hands together as he looks at the menu. I glance at the options with a frown.

  Tofu? Ew to the no.

  Seitan? Sounds too close to Satan. Definitely no.

  Tempeh? What? It’s as if the menu is in a different language.

  "See anything you may want to get?" he asks me.

  I look over the menu once again and decide to play it safe. "I think I may just have a salad. I'm not all that hungry anyhow." That’s a lie. I’m starving, but this definitely isn’t what I want to eat.

  "Boring," he jokingly says, trying to disguise it with a cough. I playfully push him.

  "How is it boring? I don't want to get something I don't like! I don't even understand what most of this stuff is anyhow."

  "Just try something new. You never know; you may end up liking it."

  I sigh and tap my fingers against my chin. "Well, what are you getting?" I ask.

  "The Philly peppersteak is really good."

  "Peppersteak? Isn't that meat?"

  "It's made with soy peppersteak," he explained. Bleck. Sounds like it would taste like cardboard.

  "The BLT looks tempting, but I'd be disappointed to not taste actual bacon," I say. "No offense."

  "It's actually really good. Could probably pass as the real thing."

  "If it's not bacon, then it's not a real BLT."

  "Yeah, yeah. How about you just try it and let your taste buds be the judge of that?" he teases.

  I step up to the register. "Okay, fine. But if I don't like it, you're paying me back for this."

  "Deal."

  1:23 p.m.

  VLife NYC

  "So you were saying?" he asks with a smug grin. I giggle and pop another cajun fry into my mouth. Okay, so it’s good. Really good, actually. Although the texture will take a little getting used to, the sandwich itself is pretty great.

  "You were right," I admit. "It's almost scary how it almost tastes like real bacon aside from the texture thing."

  "Yeah. A lot of people don't realize that it's spices that give meats their flavor. That's why it's so easy to veganize dishes. But in all seriousness, I'm glad you like it," he says, biting into his sandwich.

  "How long have you been vegan?" I ask.

  He leans back in his chair and sucks his teeth for a few moments. "Almost ten years. I've been vegetarian since I was a kid, but didn't make the full transition until I was 17."

  "I don't know if I could do something like that. I love cheese too much."

  "There are alternatives for that. You should watch some documentaries about it. Once you watch Earthlings, I'll guarantee you that you won't want to eat, use, or wear anything that comes from animal."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Is it bad?"

  "The documentary? It shows the brutal truth of what happens in these slaughterhouses and farms, even the ones that are supposed to be 'humane,'" he says, making air quotations around "humane." "Matter of fact, I think you should watch it, that is, if you're brave enough."

  The smirk playing on his lips tempts me to lean across the table and kiss it off of him, but instead I wave him off. "I'm sure I can handle it."

  "Well, look it up on Youtube when you get the chance. It's life changing," he says, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  "I'll even watch it today," I say.

  His eyes widen as a slow smile formed on his lips. "You surprise me more and more, Blake,” he states.

  I laugh nervously. I have no idea what I just got myself into with this documentary.

  1:35 p.m.

  VLife NYC

  "So tell me something about yourself," he says taking a sip from him Go Green smoothie.

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Well, who is Blake Spencer?" he asks.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Who are you? If you weren't you and someone asked you who is Blake Spencer, what would you tell them?"

  Well, the answer to that varies depending on who you ask. Some people would think I have a big mouth, that I’m a troublemaker, a drama starter, an instigator, and a shit talker. I’ve become so lost in depression that I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t even recognize myself when I look in the mirror, only because a part of me is missing along with my old life.

  "I'm still trying to figure that out, actually," I finally say. "I always look at life as a story that's constantly being written. I'm still trying to figure out who I am and what I'm supposed to be doing."

  "Fair enough," he replies, taking another sip of his smoothie. "You know, you're different."

  "Different how?"

  "Different than what I expected. You seem like a really good person. You don't find too many girls these days who'd want to stand out in the cold on a Saturday for animals if they aren't vegan. You're just...a breath of fresh air, if that's the right way to put it."

  Heat rushes to my cheeks as I divert my eyes to my straw. "Thanks. I try."

  "You want to know who I think you are?"

  I meet his eyes across the table. “You’ve only known me a few days,” I tease, taking a sip of my drink.

  He leans forward on his elbows, never taking his gaze from mine as his head cocks to the side. “I tend to be observant,” he says. “I think you're a force to be reckoned with. You're creative, fun, a great writer, and you're turning things upside down at Hot Topic. You’re pretty dope, Spencer.”

  I can’t stop the smile that breaks out on my face. "Oh, Se—um, Silas. That's really nice of you."

  "I'm serious though. You haven't been here two weeks and you're already taking things by storm. It's great that you're here."

  His gaze is enough to make me squirm. He has a way of looking at you and making you feel completely naked and vulnerable, as if he can see right through me. It’s a bit unnerving, really.

  I clear my throat. "So, since I'm so fun, how about going to that party with me then?" I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

  "Are you asking me out on a 'date?'" There he goes with those air quotations again.

  "What if I am?" I ask, a bit surprised by how bold my voice is.

  He smirks as he strokes his beard. "Then sure. I'd like to be your date," he says.

  I smile and sip my smoothie. I have a date with Sex Bomb.

  Holy Santa Claus shit.

  I HAVE A DATE WITH SEX BOMB.

  Move over, Madicunt. Ms. Steal-Your-Crush is in town!

  Blake - 3, Madicunt – 0

  Chapter Seven

  3:42 p.m.

  Living room

  On the couch

  Home, sweet, beautiful home.

  I flop down across the couch with a satisfied sigh, a sense of satisfaction filling me as my body relishes in not being on my feet any longer and out of the cold. Before I can take a deep breath, my phone chirps with a text message. I feel around my coat pocket to retrieve it, a bit disappointed to see it’s Taylor and not Silas texting me to tell me he’s changed his mind and wants to know if he can come upstairs and do me. Hey, a girl can dream.

  Taylor: Do you have a super classy dr
ess for tonight? You can’t show up looking like you’re going to some kid’s bar mitzvah.

  I chuckle to myself. Geez, thanks for having faith in my sense of style, Taylor.

  Blake: I don’t know if I can afford to get a super classy dress, whatever that happens to be.

  Her text bubble pops up immediately after my message sent, her response coming in soon after.

  Taylor: Let’s go shopping then! It’ll be my treat. Plus, it’ll be fun!

  Taylor: Oh and tell your boyfriend to wear a nice tux.

  The thought of Silas being my boyfriend brings a smile to my lips. That would be great if he actually WERE my boyfriend. Hell, I’m still reeling about the fact that we’re calling tonight a date. It’s a start at least.

  Blake: He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just a friend from work.

  Taylor: Riiiiiiiight. Whatever you say, Carolina. I’ll be ready to go in 15!

  I groan audibly. So much for relaxing for the rest of the afternoon. At least I get a free dress out of this.

  4:02 p.m.

  Outside of my apartment

  I try to give Taylor the benefit of the doubt; I really do. Even though I think she’s the biggest whore alive with her different-partner-a-day lifestyle, I at least thought she had a certain standard these guys had to meet. Considering how much she likes to have sex, I can assume one of those standards would be that her boy toy doesn’t require a Viagra to get it on.

  My eyes nearly fall out of my head when I step out of my apartment and meet her and her current beau, who looks old enough to be my grandfather. Taylor has her arm linked with his and is saying something that sounds flirty to him. The balding man blushes and chuckles at whatever she says to him before they realize my presence.

  “This is my friend Blake, the one I was telling you about, honey,” she says. “Blake, this is my sugar daddy Grady.” Gag. I don’t even want to think about what kind of sugar she’s giving up to him. I guess that explains how her bills are still getting paid despite her complaining about not booking any gigs. Doesn’t that qualify as prostitution though? Who knows and at this point, who gives a damn? Free dress.

  He extends his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you,” he says. I give his hand a firm shake and force a small smile.

  “Likewise,” I say, eying Taylor. She turns to Grady and bats her eyelashes.

  “Honey, Blake and I would like to go shopping to get dresses for the event tonight, but I’m a little short. It’s her birthday, so I want to treat her to something nice,” she says and pouts her full lips slightly. “May we have your gold card, please?”

  “Anything for you, princess,” he coos, kissing her on the forehead. “How about I have my driver take you ladies where you want to go? I have to run a few errands in the city anyhow.”

  “You always have the best ideas, honey,” she says and turns to me. “Let’s go then, Carolina,” She pulls her geriatric chaperon alongside her and head for the staircase. I exhale deeply and follow behind them. This is definitely different.

  4:07 p.m.

  In the back of a limo

  There are parts of Taylor’s life that I’m jealous of. For example, she gets to meet really cool people with lots of money, even if she has to sleep with them. She also gets to ride in limos and is invited to cool parties and events. Everything in her life seems exciting from the outside. I mean I’m in the back of a limo sipping champagne on a Saturday afternoon. Never mind the fact that there’s a gross make out session between the two of them going on across from me. Note to self: remember to vomit every remnant of my existence to purge that memory from my brain.

  My stomach rolls a bit when I accidentally cut my eyes to them. I’ve never been so grossed out by a kiss, especially when it looks as if one of the parties is on the verge of losing their teeth in the other’s mouth. Thankfully my phone distracts me when a text message comes through, giving me a reason to look anywhere but at the abomination happening in front of me.

  Sex Bomb: Where should I meet you tonight and what time?

  Without looking up from my phone, I clear my throat. “Taylor, my friend is asking where and when he should meet us?” I ask.

  “Just tell him to meet you at your place. We’ll all ride in the limo together. We’d all need to arrive together, otherwise there’s no guarantee they’ll let him in due to the crowd that will be there.”

  “So what time should he be at my place?”

  “Hmm…9:30 is good,” she says and picks back up where the smacking left off. Bleck. Hearing them kiss is even worse.

  Blake: She says we all need to arrive together, so we’ll be leaving from my place in a limo. You can come over around 9:30. Oh, and wear a nice tuxedo, preferably nothing you’d wear to a bar mitzvah according to her LOL

  I send the message, a slight grin settling on my lips. A response comes back quickly.

  Sex Bomb: Darn. I actually worked really hard to be able to fit into my brown suit saved especially for bar mitzvahs. I guess I’ll wear something else then. See you at 9:30.

  The grin turns into a full-fledged smile as I put the phone back in my pocket and lean back against the seat. I so can’t wait until tonight!

  4:39 p.m.

  Saks Fifth Avenue

  “Taylor, I don’t care how ‘in’ this dress is, I look like I’m auditioning for the role of broccoli in VeggieTales,” I complain after trying on the fourth dress she thinks will “look cute” on me. Maybe I just don’t understand fashion, but I’m not paying $2,000 for a sheer tutu over a cotton skirt. Unless that skirt is made from the hair of Jesus and blessed with his tears, I won’t be caught dead in it.

  “Apparently our styles are very different,” she says, admiring her reflection in the mirror as she spins around while wearing a white dress covered in feathers. “This is so cute.”

  If by cute she means that she looks like Mother Goose, then be my guest. But seriously, I hope she isn’t serious with that dress. It will NOT go over well with Silas and his vegan thing.

  I leave her in the dressing area and go to browse through the other dresses. This store is completely out of my element. The price tags are enough to send me into cardiac arrest and yet nothing has caught my eye.

  Until I see it.

  An antique silver sequin-embroidered gown with a beautiful illusion style calls to me from the rack in the center of the store. I grab it and run my hands over the silk material. It definitely feels expensive; there is no way I can look at the price tag until I try this bad boy on. The skirt is sheer, decorated with sequins and beautiful crystals along the bottom and trailing up.

  I rush back over to the dressing room where Taylor is trying on yet another dress from the “Old McDonald Had a Farm” collection. Apparently now she’s trying to achieve the cow look.

  “I’m going to try this one on really fast,” I say, holding the dress up.

  She gasps. “O.M.G. Hell yes! I have to see this!”

  4:52 p.m.

  Saks Fifth Avenue

  Holy Santa Claus shit.

  I was in love with the dress while it was on the hanger, but I love it even better on me. It molds to the curves of my body and my tan peeks through the sheer material. The lights above me bounce off the crystals with each turn I make. I feel amazing.

  “This dress was made for you!” Taylor squeals, looking at me through the mirror. “You have to get it!”

  “I don’t even know how much this dress is,” I say, patting around for the price tag before finding it on the sleeve. One glance and my knees almost go weak.

  $7,495? FOR ONE DRESS?

  MY CHEST!

  “This is crazy expensive,” I say with a sigh, plopping down on the plush ottoman nearby. “Maybe I can find something cheaper.”

  “You ladies finding everything okay?” Grandpa asks as he approaches us.

  Taylor scurries over to him. “Honey, doesn’t that dress look amazing on Blake?” she asks, waving her arm at me. “Blake, stand up and show him.”

  I
stand and move back over to the mirrors, spinning around a few times before stopping in front of him. “I really like it, but it’s way—”

  “I think it’s perfect for you. Besides, it’s your birthday! You should get whatever you want on your birthday,” he says and smiles.

  I give a nervous giggle and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Yeah, that would be fine and dandy if it was actually my birthday, but I’m not complaining.

  “Thanks so much, Grady. I truly appreciate it.”

  “No problem. You look lovely in it.” He turns to Taylor. “And what did you find, my dear?”

  “Nothing here is really catching my eye, so I may just wear that dress you bought me last week that I haven’t had the chance to wear yet,” she says and purrs at him.

  Someone please send help. I may throw up.

  5:13 p.m.

  Back in the limo

  One dress, a pair of heels, accessories and almost $12,000 later, we finally leave. Grandpa doesn’t bat an eye as he slides his gold credit card, meanwhile I’m having a mini heart attack over what he considers “chump change.” I wish I could be reckless with money like that. My idea of reckless and living on the edge is spending $100 in Barnes and Noble, and that’s after convincing myself for at least 45 minutes that I really need whatever books I’m trying to buy.

  “So Blake, are you a model as well?” he asks me once he pries his lips away from Taylor.

  I shake my head. “No. I work at a magazine as a columnist.”

  “Ah, journalism. That’s pretty exciting as well. You have the face and body to be a model though,” he says, his beady eyes scanning over me. Hey, watch those eyes, grandpa. It’s going to take more than twelve grand to worm your way into my pants.

  “Right? I keep telling her that,” Taylor adds.

  “Modeling isn’t really my thing. I prefer to be out of the spotlight,” I say.