07 – Andrew Fits the Bill
Although it came as a total shock I can’t say it wasn’t welcome – Rachael texting me out of the blue apologizing for dipping out at Boulevard 3 and wanting to make it up to me. She suggested a lunch at some Thai joint in West Hollywood called Toi.
How could I possibly say no?
That sounds bad I know and looking back I probably should have phrased it all differently but in light of what’s been going on back at the apartment with Lauren and all, if one was clued in, they’d understand.
What I mean to say is under normal circumstances I’d have to (as much as it may have sucked to do) decline Rachael’s invite. Simply under the principle in trying to make things work with Lauren… but in the past two days (despite my not being around too much) she’s done a total one-eighty. The few times we’ve inhabited the same space she hasn’t uttered as much as two fucking words to me. Totally bi-polar.
Here she was just a few days ago playing the role of neurotic and isolated hick-housewife akin to the Marianne character from The Devil’s Advocate (which I’m sure I’ve referenced before) and now, total opposite. Not only does she seem not to care about my antics as of late – just the past two days are a story on their own – but it seems as if she’s adopted her own life here, strange as it may be to fathom. One moment she’s afraid to leave the apartment and next thing I know she can’t get away enough. She even went out and bought herself a laptop, why I don’t know, and refuses to furnish me with a proper explanation behind its purchase.
So you know, whatever, she wants to play fucking games with me I can play right back. Rachael invites me to lunch and I’m supposed to decline out of some bullshit obligation to mend a crumbling relationship where the other party out of nowhere doesn’t seem to care much for?… whatever, I’ve had a rough couple of days. And if Lauren doesn’t want to be there, I’m more than ready to explore other options.
It’s a few minutes after three and I’ve been here waiting close to thirty minutes – being as we were originally supposed to meet up at two-thirty. Right around two-forty-five I tried calling her and before I could hit send she was buzzing in. She told me she had passed out at a friend’s place and they were supposed to go out but the friend never showed for whatever reason and she had taken some pill and ended up sleeping through an entire day and her friend never showed and her phone was off so she was going to clean up and meet me here – at Toi – where I’ve been waiting patiently for thirty-fucking-minutes.
It takes every bit of me to restrain from calling Rachael again for an ETA. As much as I’d appreciate any information she could give me, I just don’t want to be that guy, if you know what I mean. She’s the one feeling bad for dipping on me, so I’ve got hand here, why should I flip the script? This isn’t my first rodeo after all. That’s what Lauren and Tad never give me credit for. Like the last two nights Tad’s sitting there coddling me while he’s turning tricks like he’s exposing me to a life I didn’t know existed. Please. I’ve seen Midnight Cowboy and even the overly queer My Own Private Idaho, I know what’s up. Granted Tad doesn’t know the score, but Lauren has no excuse… I met her while living in a rehab facility for fuck sake! Obviously I’ve seen a thing or two in my short time on earth. All the last two nights did to me was bring out an aspect of myself all those fucking therapy groups and twelve-steps washed away… but that isn’t to say I’ve forgotten…
And just where in the fuck is Rachael already?
More irritated than anxious I fail to entertain any notion of calling her. Instead I peep the scene around me. Watching all these slutty-type chicks lean over their tables and pretend to be happy while leaching off their meal-ticket douche-bag boyfriends, who again, all seem to be fucking Persian… What is it with Persian’s in this part of town?
I observe these sluts who all look the same and am reminded of this game Lauren plays called The Sims – where each character has a little symbol hovering over their heads – and in watching these little fuck-me-sluts I get this image of a cash sign over their heads, with each cash sign a number coincides, as if to say must pay x amount to fuck me.
Fucking pathetic.
That’s what’s so special about Rachael, I think to myself, I don’t see her that way – even with what Lauren labels my new eyes. Little does she know, these are eyes I’ve once had before… the city and all the encompasses it is merely recalling—
“Sorry I’m late” a familiar angelic voice chimes in the background, breaking me out of whatever the fuck it was I was doing, “I crashed at a friend’s and she told me to pick something out of the closet and… well… let’s just say it was a big closet… I’m sooo sorry, I just wanted to, you know, look nice.”
I want to tell her she’d look nice covered in volcanic ash wearing a paper suit with period-blood running down her leg but instead say, “I don’t think it’s possible for you not to look nice.”
She makes herself at home on the seat opposite from me, brushes back her hair, and flashes a smile that (no joke) manages to bring me back to my innocent self and washes away any fears, guilt, pain, or bad-trips I’ve encountered in the past few days. Like the shrine of Lourdes, she’s managed to purify me… with just one fucking look. One smile.
“Oh now you’re just saying that to be nice” she says in a way that, although I couldn’t say why, suggests to me she’s full of shit.
I ignore it.
No one says a thing for a beat…
Until I break the silence by saying very pathetically, “I was actually surprised to get your text. After what happened at the fashion show, I thought you were like, I don’t know, weirded out by me or something.”
Why I said what I had I’ll never know. I wasn’t thinking. Where the fuck did that even come from? She’s looking at me like I have an inoperable tumor growing in the base of my spine… her almond eyes widen and her beautiful luscious lips take the shape of someone who feels sorry for another. What have I done? How do I play this off? I can force a chuckle maybe and pitch the whole scenario like I’m acting. She could probably dig that…
“Oh stop,” she says before I stroked out by way of thought overload, “why would you think that!”
“I guess I didn’t mean it how it sounded,” I start, getting an impression I can’t shake that she’s full of shit, that something, like with me, has changed within her in the past two days or so… but I shake it off acknowledging the sad truth I don’t even really know this cherub to begin with, so you know, what do I know? Realizing my thoughts and observations make zero sense, I continue, “I was like, I don’t know, joking… the invite was cool enough. I know how those events go anyway,” I lie, “meeting new people on a whim. It’s hard to remember why you were there in the first place…”
Rachael giggles, and again without substantial evidence outside of a hunch, I get the idea she’s putting on a show… and I really don’t know where all this is coming from. All the same, for whatever reason, red-flags are fucking flying. But why? Probably residual paranoia from all the coke, I tell myself and shake it off. And like her I put on a show of fake enthusiasm and laughter before saying, “Well I don’t know about you but I’m famished, let’s get that waitress here and grub out!”
Again another (what seems to be) synthetic smile from Rachael followed by, “We should get some drinks too! If you don’t mind that is…”
There it is, if you don’t mind that is…
And what I once thought to be a lunch amongst friends has quickly shifted to something else. I’ve been getting bad vibes since the moment she sat down. And although I’m sure I’m just being paranoid I can’t shake this feeling that I’m being used. But what the fuck – this girl’s worth it.
Besides, it’s not my dime we’re eating and apparently drinking off of anyway.
Rachael, Tad, or even Lauren herself – as much as they may think they know me – they’re all oblivious.
This whole excursion out west – the apartment, food, gas money, all of it – every last bit has been on Lauren’s dime.
She’d be heartbroken if she found out sure, but what the hell, I took an initiative here. It’s an investment. It always has been.
With all the money I’ve drained thus far, what’s a lunch with a couple drinks?
As far as Rachael’s concerned I’m fitting the bill…
By the time Lauren gets wise to the whole thing I’d have already paid it all off with one acting job or she’d have already left me for something else.
What’s she going to do with it anyway? Waste away back in her hick-home?
I’ve got a future to think about…
Potential…
And in regards to future and potential, I’d much rather treat Rachael to a lunch than anything else I could think of in terms of Lauren. She’s proven this within the past two days.
Lauren’s my past. Rachael’s my future.
And where I once felt guilty with every swipe of the card I couldn’t care less now. After the last two nights – coupled with this new attitude Lauren adopted over night – my eyes have been opened.
This is a dog eat dog town… and I’ve gotta take advantage of all my options.
And as it stands right now, Rachael’s by far my best…
