Four Sides of an Attitude: A Cufflinks & Austen Novel

by Myers, Heather C.

  Now it is the day before Christmas Eve, eight days since Hannah has moved in, and instead of watching television, we are all sitting in the living room, drinking some form of hot liquid, and listening to KOST, the radio station that plays Christmas songs from the day after Thanksgiving up until the day after Christmas. I have a bet going with Hannah that “All I Want for Christmas is You” would be played at least once an hour.

  “Oh, get over it,” Taylor says, narrowing her sparkling brown eyes in my direction. “You know you love that song.”

  “Whoever doesn’t love that song is a major Scrooge,” Hannah points out.

  “I’m still mad at Mariah Carey for dissing Eminem in her “Obsessed” song, especially since they’ve been broken up for like, at least nine years now,” I say.

  “Yeah, but didn’t Eminem totally get her back and way better?” Taylor asks, even though she knows the answer because I’ve told her at least five times and even showed her the song twice. But I don’t think Taylor likes it too much because Taylor is the type of girl who can’t find a fault in anyone. Great when you need someone in your corner, not so much when you want to bitch about somebody.

  “So,” Taylor says, turning her attention over to Hannah. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

  Hannah smiles. “Yes, actually,” she replies. “I haven’t seen my brother since I first got here, so I’m going up to Los Angeles to see him for the day.” Suddenly, her eyes widen as though she has just remembered something. “My brother’s close friend is throwing a Christmas Eve party. He lives in Malibu and since he just moved in, he wants to get to know some people. Well, his family owns property everywhere, even more than my family does, so maybe ‘moved in’ is the wrong phrase. Anyway, he’s thinking about getting his Ph.D. in business at USC.”

  “Doesn’t your brother go to UCLA?” Taylor asks. “Does he know that UCLA and USC are the biggest sports rivals since the Yankees and the Red Sox?”

  “Point one for Tay and the sports reference,” I tease.

  “Actually, I think that’s why Stephen chose USC in the first place,” Hannah says with a grin. “Just to stick it to Aiden in his usual discreet, indirect way.”

  “I have got to meet this guy,” I say, referring to this Stephen fellow. As a huge USC fan, it is kind of in my genetic makeup to seek out those with similar athletic tastes and team up against those who challenge USC’s greatness, and then to tell those people to promptly suck it.

  “Mom expects us for Christmas Eve,” Taylor points out, looking at me.

  And that is her fatal mistake. I may not have mastered the evil glare, but puppy eyes I have in the bag. And after a quick phone call to Mom, who lives twenty minutes away in Fountain Valley, Taylor promises that we would both be there Christmas morning. She’s on that phone for a good half hour. Always the temperate one, Taylor. If I had been on the phone, I would probably have hung up on my mother five minutes into the conversation. Not that I don’t love my mother—I do—but sometimes she seriously annoys the shit out of me.

  * * *

  That whole stereotypical Los Angeles traffic thing is totally true. I’ve always loved going up to LA with any friend who happens to have a car, and I’ve since then developed a theory that no matter what time you head up to LA, you’re always going to run into traffic. I don’t care if it’s three o’clock in the morning or three o’clock in the afternoon; there will always be traffic. The thing is, I never really minded the traffic because I actually like car rides, and traffic just means that I get to listen to the radio longer. But then again, I’ve never been the driver in such situations.

  At least I had a companion in my carless misery. Hannah doesn’t have a driver’s license yet—you know, because she’s from England and everything. But she does have a shiny, silvery BMW sitting in the parking lot of our apartment complex just waiting for her. I am just the opposite; I have a license, but no car. We are quite a pair, aren’t we?

  Taylor is driving, and since Hannah knows where we’re going and gives directions, she is sitting up front in the passenger seat. Of course, this gives me and my iPod some much-needed privacy for our re-acquaintance. Right in the middle of a Ke$ha song, we arrive. And I experience the jaw-dropping effect. We are at a fucking mansion, with Rolls Royces, Beamers, and Jaguars all lined up on the street. Despite Stephen Downey’s recent move-in, the house is decked out in Christmas decorations including lights framing the square-shape, White House imitation, a Santa Claus and all nine reindeer on the roof, and an eight foot—at least—Christmas tree, completely decorated to the nines in the front yard. This is outside. Outside! Think of what’s going to be inside!

  Sorry, but I am all about Peter Pan. I never really grew up and I still get excited around Christmastime.

  Hannah tells Taylor to pull up to the valet and that from there she will take care of everything. And she does. Apparently, she’s on the guest list—yes, they have an actual guest list—and me and Taylor are her +2. From there, we walk through the doors, and Hannah is suddenly pummeled with greetings ranging from the very English “Happy Christmas” to the very American “What up, bee-yotch?”

  Classy, I know.

  But Hannah, like a trooper, keeps her cool through it all, revealing just how mature she is for her age. Taylor and I are introduced to a slew of people we promptly forget seconds later, and I’m sure they pay us the same respect. I try to take in the new environment, the decorations, and even the Christmas music, but there are too many people for me to focus on. I suddenly remember why I hate parties.

  “Okay, I just have to introduce you to two more people and then we can fill our faces and dance our arses off,” Hannah says, glancing back at us. “Goodness, I’m starving.”

  “Here, here!” I exclaim, agreeing with her sentiments. But then again, I’m always hungry.

  It takes another few minutes and more forgotten introductions before Hannah finds just who she’s looking for. The group consists of two men and one woman, and before I can try to figure out just who they all are, Hannah does it for me. Actually, upon seeing the really, really tall guy, she beelines for him and all but knocks him down. He chuckles, a low, bell-like sound, and holds onto her tightly. At first, I assume it’s her boyfriend, but upon getting closer, I notice those striking blue eyes and realize this must be her infamous brother.

  Aiden Shawe, as I have mentioned, is ridiculously tall. He has to be at least six foot two, maybe even six foot three. He has a high brow, with loose strands of his short, rich brown hair falling in his face, but they aren’t long enough to fall in his eyes. His face is pale, and along with his dark hair, enhances his already-popping eyes. The clothes he is wearing make me feel ridiculously underdressed. I mean, he isn’t wearing a tuxedo or anything, but he has on a white collared long-sleeved shirt tucked into tan colored slacks underneath a royal blue blazer. My entire outfit, including my cute black ankle boots bought at Payless last year, probably equals the cost of his socks. I’m not kidding.

  Glancing from the corner of my eye, I hope to catch Taylor’s attention, but her gaze seems to be fixated on the other man in the trio.

  “Everyone,” Hannah says, looking at me and my sister as she breaks free from her brother’s grasp. “This is my brother Aiden, his best friend Stephen Downey, and Stephen’s older sister, Farrah.” She turns to look at her acquaintances. “These are my new roommates, Marion and Taylor Bixby.”

  “Please,” I say, offering what I hope is a charming smile, “call me Ronnie.”

  The sister, Farrah, arches a perfectly plucked brow that I try not to notice. She reminds me of Blair Waldorf, except with red hair, blue eyes, and a long nose. And she looks like one of those women who, at this moment, is missing a Virginia Slim and a dry martini. But I have to admit that, even though I immediately dislike her, she is striking. I mean, she’s not beautiful or ugly; she’s just striking. Farrah Downey has a figure that inspires anorexia in fifteen-year-old girls, and she carries herself with an air that s
ays that she is aware of such a fact and is proud of it. Her face and that smirk on her cherry-apple lip-glossed lips causes my upchuck reflex to react.

  Her brother, on the other hand, is absolutely adorable. He has thick, ginger-colored hair that is pushed from his face but still somehow looks messy. He and his sister share the same face shape, but instead of a scowl on his lips, there’s a smile. But then again, he is looking at Taylor with those colorful hazel eyes of his. Does my inner Cupid sense an attraction forming? I think so. And luckily, Stephen doesn’t seem as stiff as his friend is. He’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a big fat Christmas tree on it. At first, I would have thought that Taylor could not fall for someone as insensible as to wear that in public, but my intuition tells me that he sacrificed his pride to wear something his grandmother probably knitted him. It makes me like him even more, especially for Taylor’s sake. Apparently his sister didn’t get the memo…

  Hannah seems to be sensing the same thing, and when I catch her eyes, we both smirk.

  “So,” Hannah says, walking over to me but talking to the English trio, “Ronnie and I are going to dance. Stephen, did you know that Ronnie’s quite the USC fan? Just ask Taylor; I’m sure she would love to tell you about it.” And with that, she grabs my wrist and begins to tug me towards the nearby dance floor.

  I chance one glance over my shoulder to see my sister’s reaction, but instead, I am met with the penetrating blue eyes belonging to Hannah’s brother. Before I can contemplate his stare, Hannah has me on the dance floor and he has already turned away.

  * * *

  Aiden Shawe absolutely detested parties. He hated the atmosphere of parties, he hated the music that played at parties, he hated the lack of self-respect shown by all of the guests at parties, and to top that off, parties rarely ever had the type of wine he liked. But above all else, Aiden hated being thrust into social situations with people he didn’t know and didn’t particularly care to get to know. There were only two reasons why he was here: Stephen Downey had been his best friend since they were both in diapers. They even shared the month of October as their month of birth. And because Hannah, his beloved sister, was going to be here and he hadn’t seen her since first arriving in the States.

  To be honest, Aiden had been ecstatic to hear that Hannah had been interested in studying here, but when she made it known to him that she wanted to be in Orange County rather than in Los Angeles, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. At least she had agreed she wouldn’t live alone. But then again, dormitories in America weren’t exactly trustworthy either. It was Hannah who had proposed a compromise: she would find an apartment in the area, and of course she would never even imagine bunking with males, and certainly she would call once she found a place and even do her brother one better by introducing her roommates to him at Stephen’s Christmas Eve party.

  So there he was, ignoring Farrah’s usual flirtations, giving nothing more than a head nod to those he was introduced to, his eyes focused on the crowd for the sole reason of catching a hint of jet black hair.

  To say he was happy upon finally seeing his sister was most certainly an understatement, but Aiden only revealed his felicity in a manner of quiet chuckles. And then even more introductions were made.

  Taylor Bixby, the older sister, was beautiful in the classiest of ways. She had ivory skin that contrasted greatly with her long, curly dark hair and her even darker eyes. Her lips were full and coral-colored, her cheeks matching them in both fullness and color. Her jawline was sharp and firm, the only masculine feature she seemed to possess. Taylor was tall, taller than her younger sister and even his own, but seemed on equal footing with the five foot ten Stephen. She was thin and willowy, wearing a red dress that reached her knees and a green sash tied around her waist. Festive. She was almost too pretty, Aiden realized, if such a thing were possible.

  It was the younger sister Marion—there was no way in hell he would ever call her Ronnie—that he found himself staring at, and it was something he couldn’t really explain, or help for that matter. Every one of her features was decidedly feminine, from her heart-shaped face to her wavy hair, and even her figure housed curves an hourglass would be envious of. And yet her eyes held a sparkle that hinted at being more than a pretty face. Her sense of style, however, was absolutely atrocious; currently, she was wearing dark blue skinny jeans that did an ample job of revealing her figure, but it all went to shit because she was wearing a red plaid long-sleeved shirt. Yes, plaid. Just because the season called for red did not mean it had to be worn in the form of plaid. And her hair, left down, was nothing short of messy, and its length—reaching to the middle of her back—only enhanced the imperfection. And yet, even with all of these obvious flaws, he could not make his eyes look away from her, even as his sister led the woman to what was loosely termed a dance floor.

  And yet when her own eyes caught sight of his, he snapped them away and wouldn’t think any more of her.

  “Apparently someone forgot that semi-formal still meant semi-formal,” Farrah whispered in her normal husky drawl, so soft that only Aiden could hear. As usual, Aiden ignored the comment.

  “So your sister’s a fan of USC?” Stephen asked, his lilting voice tainted with a high-bred accent. “Does she go there?”

  “No,” Taylor replied, her face still tainted pink due to her party’s abrupt departure. “No, we both go to UCI, where Hannah is set to start this spring, if I’m correct.” She glanced over at Aiden.

  “You are,” Aiden said, but would say nothing more.

  “Oh, of course,” Stephen murmured, glancing at his shoes as his face colored. If Aiden was anything resembling a romantic, he might have thought that Stephen’s reaction was cute but such a word had never left his mouth unless forced by his sister.

  “Our father is a huge USC fan,” Taylor said quickly, deciding that talking about Ronnie was safe territory. “He and Ronnie would always sit in front of the television set every Saturday. It gave my mother time to take the rest of us shopping, but she always worried that a preoccupation with football might hinder a preoccupation with boys.”

  “Clearly,” Farrah said, but no one except Taylor actually reacted to the statement.

  Taylor crimsoned at the blunt comment, her smile a little meek, but still, she pressed on, focusing her eyes on Stephen. “But they seemed to like her all the more for it,” she continued. “I think that they liked watching football with her because she gets as competitive as they do. And she would always say that she would never date a guy who went to UCLA.” Taylor suddenly stopped herself, her face flushing even more when she remembered that Aiden was starting at UCLA in the spring. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Shawe, I meant no disrespect—”

  Her apology was cut off by Farrah’s guttural laugh. “Why would Aiden care if Marion doesn’t date men who go to UCLA?” she asked, completely flummoxed at the notion that Aiden would even consider dating that American tart.

  Stephen colored at his sister’s outright rudeness, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Have you had anything to eat, Taylor? May I call you Taylor? We have a great table of sushi, or so I’m told.”

  Aiden watched as Stephen led Taylor over to the food table, leaving him alone with Farrah.

  “I wish I could say I was surprised, but they are American,” Farrah drawled. She turned to look at Aiden, expecting him to agree, but he hadn’t even heard her. His eyes were scanning the dance floor.

  * * *

  I’m the type of person who needs no excuse to get on the dance floor. Just give me a good song and I’m there. I don’t even need a partner; I’ll do it alone if I have to. But luckily, I have Hannah with me, and the DJ is playing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” Do I need a clearer message from the gods of dance to, in the words of my future ex-husband Eminem, get my ass out on the dance floor? I don’t think so.

  Okay, so I’m not exactly the best dancer. I can’t even pretend to be sexy because the notion of me actually being sexy cracks me up. Though
I should mention that I do like to rock my hips and I humbly admit that I’m pretty good at it. I mean, I’m actually supposed to be since I’m a Sagittarius after all, and as all Sags know, we control our hips.

  Anyway, Hannah and I are killing it on the dance floor, and it’s only after fifteen minutes and the start of a Ne-Yo song that I’m persuaded me to refresh myself. Hannah promises to come back—she needs to meet up with one of her friends or something along those lines—leaving me to myself. After grabbing a water bottle, I’m almost tempted to scour the place for Taylor, but if she’s alone with Stephen, I don’t want to interrupt. So I find myself currently leaning against the wall, watching couples bump and grind, and impatiently waiting for Hannah to make her grand appearance so we can start dancing again.

  It’s after five minutes of waiting that I realize that Aiden Shawe is standing next to me. I don’t think he’s noticed me, and I’ve just barely noticed him….

  Before I can stop myself, I tilt my head up to look at him, and ask, “Do you dance, Aiden?”

  He seems startled to realize that I’m standing next to him, but with skill, he pulls his face back so that it reflects what I’m assuming to be his usual indifference. He doesn’t look at me as he answers in the negative.

  Well, so much for starting a conversation. But then again, he does go to UCLA after all. I shouldn’t even care.

  Luckily, Hannah rescues me at that moment, and we both head over to the dance floor. And even though my back is to him and I cannot see him, I can say with certainty that Aiden’s eyes are following us the entire way.