In Your Room

by Jordanna Fraiberg

  “Wow,” Molly said, walking in. “There’s so much stuff in here.”

  “Junk. All junk, but I have a hard time throwing anything out. Not much to sell back here except what’s in this pile,” Penelope said, pointing to a box by her feet.

  Molly was already on the other side of the room, inspecting the mannequins. “Why don’t you use these?”

  “You know, I picked those up at a garage sale a couple years back and forgot they were even here. Pretty silly, since they’re staring me right in the face.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Molly started, “but I think a display could be good for business. I don’t mind making one for you.” Molly loved window displays, especially ones that took risks and paired unusual items together to create a new look or a variation on a style. Molly also believed that as a designer it was key to know not only how to make clothes but how to put them together, and she’d always wanted to create a window display.

  “Darling, do I mind?” Penelope said. “That’s the best offer I’ve gotten all year! Let me dust these off and help you bring them out front.”

  They carried the mannequins one at a time through the store and stood them side by side in the display. Penelope wiped down the window while Molly spent the next hour carefully scouring the racks for clothes to dress them in.

  Once she narrowed it down to a few select items, Penelope brought her a box of pins and Molly got to work. Dozens of people streamed by, all of whom seemed to turn and stare at Molly standing up there, like she was on display too. Once she got going, though, she became so absorbed in mixing and matching outfits that she forgot about the eyes on her—until there was a knock at the window. Molly didn’t hear it until it came a second time, louder and more deliberate. She turned around with three pins clenched between her teeth and saw Sylvia, the red-haired girl from the coffee shop, standing out on the sidewalk, with a confused look on her face.

  Molly stuck the pins in the back of a men’s pin-striped shirt that one of the mannequins was wearing to give it more shape, then hopped down off the mounted pedestal. “I’ll be out front,” she called out to Penelope, who was sorting through paperwork at her desk.

  “It’s about time you had a break. Take your time, honey.”

  “Wow,” Sylvia said, when Molly came out. “Who knew there was anything that cool in there.”

  “That’s why I thought a display might help. It’s obviously not finished yet.”

  “But it looks amazing already! I’ve lived here my whole life and never even been in this store. It always seemed so old and creepy, but now I want that outfit,” she said, pointing to the mannequin in gray-colored cords, the velvet burgundy vest, and a delicate white blouse, creating a Ralph Lauren circa 1982 effect; the other two were still in a state of semi-undress, but Molly had at least masked the missing arm with a hand-knit poncho she had dug up in the back.

  “You should come in and see what else we have,” Molly said, ignoring Sylvia’s comment about the store. She had felt the same way the first time she’d stood in front of the window, but now that she was an official employee, her perspective had started to change, and she even felt a tiny bit defensive about the shop.

  “So you work here now?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yup, as of this morning.”

  “Okay, you’re definitely not the usual summer tourist,” Sylvia said. “So why are you here? I take it it wasn’t because of this job. There must be a million better thrift stores in L.A.”

  “I didn’t have much say in the matter,” Molly explained. Off Sylvia’s look, she added, “My mom and her new husband decided it would be great if I tagged along on their extremely long honeymoon.”

  “Romantic.” Sylvia laughed. “So where are you newlyweds staying?”

  “Very funny,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. It was nice to have someone her own age to talk to. “We’re doing a house swap with a family around here. We’re staying in their house, they’re staying in ours. Now that’s romance.”

  “I’ve heard about that kind of thing,” Sylvia said. “A bunch of people around here do it. I’d kill to escape my life right now if it were a remote possibility.”

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

  Sylvia’s eyes welled up and she sat down on a nearby park bench.

  Molly felt her stomach twist. Had she said the wrong thing? She followed Sylvia and sat down next to her—watched her wringing her hands, heard her ragged breathing.

  It was heartache, no doubt about it. Molly was familiar with the feeling. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No. No, it’s okay,” Sylvia said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue to stop her mascara from running. “It’s just that my boyfriend and I broke up, and I guess I’m still having a hard time facing reality.”

  “I understand,” Molly said. She didn’t, technically, since she’d never had a boyfriend, but if she had, she wouldn’t want it to end either.

  “I totally fell for him. My friends warned me that he was a player, but I refused to listen. I thought things were different with me, that he really cared.” She blew her nose. “I was so wrong.”

  “What happened?” Molly asked tentatively, not wanting to pry too much.

  “He came over after school one day and announced that it was over. Just like that, completely out of the blue.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Molly’s question brought on another round of tears. “Because he didn’t like me anymore.”

  “Wow. I can’t believe he said that.” She was amazed that anyone could be so heartless. “What a jerk.”

  “I know,” Sylvia agreed. “I was such an idiot.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. He’s the one who has the problem, and you deserve a lot more than that.”

  “Thanks,” Sylvia said, managing a half-smile. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence.

  “Why don’t you come in and try it on?” Molly suggested, nodding toward the mannequin’s outfit.

  “My break’s over,” Sylvia said. “I better get back.” She rose from her seat, then paused. “Thanks for listening, though.”

  “Sure,” Molly said. “Anytime.”

  • • •

  The house was empty when Charlie returned. Sally and Lisa were still at work, and the girls were god knows where with Celeste, who had come by that morning and offered to take them on an excursion. She had invited Charlie too, but he’d opted to spend the day alone. There was only so much girl talk he could take, and he was going to that party with Celeste in a few hours anyway.

  He went up to his room, kicked off his muddy shoes, and left them by the door. Three days in and he’d managed to avoid ruining anything yet. He turned on the stereo and played his current favorite song, “Together,” by the Raconteurs. He took off his shirt, sweaty from his ride, a worn red vintage tee from Second Time Around advertising Coke, and lay down on the bed with his laptop. Cheese suddenly appeared and jumped up on his lap.

  “Hey, guy,” he said, rubbing the cat’s chin. “Let’s see what news Molly brings from Boulder.” He opened his laptop and checked his inbox, which was empty. “Out of luck, Cheese-man. She’s probably still hard at work—unlike you and me.”

  He got up and walked over to the wall of photos and stared at the ones of Molly. “So who else calls her Molls?” he asked, looking down at his feet, where the cat was doing figure eights between his legs. “Is it her boyfriend, little guy? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Um, excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt your little moment, but we’re going to be late.” Celeste was standing in the doorway, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

  “Whoa! How long have you been standing there?” Charlie asked, hoisting the cat up in his arms to cover himself.

  “Long enough to know that you’re not ready…and that you talk to cats. Out loud.”

  “Where are my sisters?” Charlie asked, changing the subject. He grabbed th
e nearest shirt, which happened to be the one he’d just taken off, and put it back on inside out.

  “They’re in their room, trying on their new purchases. Expect a fashion show in about five,” she said, coming into the room. “And I see that someone’s shy,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “Ewww. And way sweaty.” She jerked her hand away.

  “That’s what happens when you exert yourself,” he said, picking a towel up off the floor. “I was mountain biking for the past three hours.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know how to exert myself, just not on a bike,” she said.

  “Do guys really fall for that kind of line out here?”

  “I think you know the answer to that,” Celeste said, dropping her purse and all the bags on the floor and disappearing into the closet.

  “So how much money, exactly, did my sisters spend on your little adventure?” he called out.

  “So uptight,” she scolded playfully, reappearing in a short black dress with a plunging vee that got lost in her cleavage. It was sexy, but definitely a size too small. “It was my treat.” She rotated back and forth in front of the mirror a few times and darted back into the closet. “You can put your eyeballs back in their sockets now.”

  “Was I that obvious?” he asked, with a sly grin. He wasn’t used to girls being this forward. They usually made their affections known in more subtle, nonverbal ways, like sitting next to him at lunch or in class.

  “Men always are. Boys especially.” She came back out in a white sundress with lace stitching. It was beautiful. He wondered if Molly had made it, if she had made everything hanging in the closet.

  “Didn’t you just go shopping?” Charlie asked, gesturing toward the bags from Kitson, Barneys, and Saks on the carpet. Molly wasn’t kidding when she warned that Celeste would be raiding her closet.

  “Are you trying to tell me this doesn’t look good?”

  He just looked at her. Now she was fishing for a compliment—they both knew she looked amazing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, prancing out of the room, taking her bags with her. “Now go shower. The party started at five. We’re late.”

  “You said eight,” Charlie called out after her.

  He switched his shirt for a clean one from the pile on the floor—the dumped contents of his duffel bag—and slid on a pair of jeans. In lieu of a shower, he ran his hands through his hair, matted from the bike helmet, and sat down at the desk. He opened his laptop and began a new e-mail to Molly.

  To: Molly

  From: Charlie

  Date: June 17, 2008 5:55 P.M. PST

  Subject: Congrats

  * * *

  Hey M,

  Cheese and I are sitting here wondering how your first day went. Not only have I heard of Second Time Around but I’ve been there many times. True story. Where else could I get T-shirts with slogans from the seventies? Tell Penelope I say hello.

  We’re also wondering which three people get to call you Molls. Or I’m wondering anyway. I’m guessing that two of them are all over that wall of fame of yours (Celeste and the other girl?) but who’s the third?

  And you definitely do not have to be an athlete to ride a bike, or an expert, or even experienced. Trust me. It’s now my goal to get you on one by the end of the summer.

  C

  “You’re still not ready?” Celeste accused, reappearing with a face full of makeup.

  “You have to chill out,” Charlie said, hitting send and quickly snapping his laptop shut before she had a chance to read the screen.

  “Ooh, secrets,” she taunted, peering over his shoulder.

  Charlie ignored her. “All right, let’s go,” he said, leading the way to the door.

  • • •

  The mountains seemed to follow Molly no matter which way she turned. The farthermost peak was capped with snow and served as a beacon to point her in the right direction home. She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked anywhere other than across the street to Celeste’s. In L.A., it just wasn’t done. But it felt good to breathe in the fresh, clean air, and to be free like that.

  She had made it through her first day of work. It had been a good first day and she was beginning to feel like she could do this. She could make it through the summer.

  “Hey! Molly?” a girl’s voice called out. “Is that you?”

  Molly turned around and saw Sylvia biking toward her, her red hair flowing loose behind her like a cape. She glided to a stop and pulled her bike up on the curb. “Where you going?”

  “Home,” Molly said. It wasn’t really home, but she didn’t know how else to describe it. “We’re staying in Boulder Canyon.”

  “That’s where I live,” Sylvia said. “You want a ride?”

  “Um, no, that’s okay,” Molly declined, trying to figure out how that could possibly work. “I’m not very good on bikes.”

  “It’s easy, I’ll show you.” Sylvia stood up and steadied the bike by holding the handlebars. “If you sit sideways here,” she said, motioning to the flat rack behind her seat, “you can hold on to me and I’ll do all the work.”

  “Okay,” Molly capitulated. She hoisted herself onto the rack and wrapped her arms around Sylvia’s waist. “Tell me if I squeeze too hard.”

  “Don’t worry. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  As the bike started moving, Molly thought she was going to slide off and pull Sylvia down with her. Once she got used to the bumpy rhythm, she relaxed enough to loosen her grip around Sylvia’s waist and enjoy the breeze whipping past her. Molly might not have been the one technically riding the bike, but she was at least sitting on one, which was a step in the right direction. She couldn’t wait to tell Charlie. It was strange that after knowing him for only two days, there was already something that she only wanted to share with him.

  “Which way?” Sylvia asked as they approached an intersection.

  Molly looked up at the mountains. “Left here and then it’s your third right.”

  “Where now?” Sylvia asked, turning onto Molly’s street.

  “Keep going a little farther,” Molly instructed. “Okay, slow down…and stop…here,” she said, sliding off the rack and hopping up onto the sidewalk in front of the house.

  “This is where you’re staying?” Sylvia asked, still straddling the bike.

  “Yeah, you want to come in?”

  “Um, sure,” Sylvia said, slowly getting off the bike and walking it up the driveway and leaning it against the side of the house. She hesitated by the entrance.

  “Come in!” Molly said, holding the front door open for her. “Don’t worry, nobody’s home.”

  Sylvia came in and Molly led the way upstairs. When she turned on the lights in her room, Sylvia gasped and retreated into the hallway.

  “Hey! Are you okay?” Molly asked. “You look really pale.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sylvia said. “This is just…I can’t be here.”

  “What is it?” Molly asked, trying to decipher what had just happened. “I don’t understand.”

  “This house…that room,” Sylvia muttered, backing away. “It’s Charlie’s.”

  Molly felt a smile spread across her face. “Yes, it is! Do you two know each other?” Her brain suddenly flooded with questions. She wanted to ask, How tall is he? What’s his favorite song? Is he really as good on his bike as he says?

  Sylvia swallowed noisily, a strangled sob. “Charlie Richards is my ex-boyfriend.”

  Molly reeled. Sylvia’s boyfriend, the total jerk, was Charlie? Her Charlie?

  Sylvia ran down the stairs and out the door. “I’m so sorry,” Molly whispered as she watched her go.

  • • •

  When Molly came back to the room she went straight for her laptop. She had been waiting to check her e-mail all day, hoping to hear from Charlie. But now that there was a new message from him in her inbox, she felt sick to her stomach. As much as she wanted to believe that he was genuinely interested in her, that a guy like him coul
d be interested in her, now she had every reason not to. The whole situation was better left alone. If not, there was one thing she could count on—getting hurt. Guys like Charlie were all the same.

  Molly opened his e-mail. When she finished reading it, instead of clicking on the reply button, she hit delete.

  8

  If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people.

  —Virginia Woolf

  Celeste’s BMW SUV pulled up behind a line of other BMWs, Audis, and Mercedes idling at a valet stand. “I thought you said this was a barbecue,” Charlie remarked, as two men in red vests appeared on either side of the car and opened their doors. The man on the driver’s side handed Celeste a ticket in exchange for her keys.

  “It is.” She locked arms with Charlie and walked toward the fifteen-foot gate enclosing the house. “Welcome to Hollywood.”

  A man in a black suit emerged from the guardhouse to the left with a pen and a clipboard. Celeste met him halfway and spent the next five minutes convincing him that she was “on the list.” She was the most presumptuous person Charlie had ever met, but she was effective. He had to give her that. In moments, the gate opened and they walked through.

  “Good friend of yours?” Charlie teased.

  “Technicalities.” Celeste shrugged. “Just follow me.”

  “Wow,” Charlie said, as a football-field—size lawn spread out before them. The grass gradually sloped up to a whitewashed Spanish hacienda with a red-tiled roof.

  This wasn’t just any house, he thought. It was an honest-to-goodness mansion.

  “This way.” Celeste led Charlie up the grassy hill and around the side of the house. A DJ stood behind a table, blasting hip-hop remixes while at least a hundred people congregated around the pool and the garden beyond.

  “So what do you think?” Celeste asked, scanning the crowd. A waitress in a skimpy miniskirt darted past, balancing a tray of tequila shots above her head.

  “Very intimate,” Charlie said with a smirk. “Just what comes to mind when I think ‘summer barbecue among friends.’”