New Loves and Old Flames

[readingredhead]

I know I haven't updated in a while, but that's because I've been wonderfully busy. What with writing novels, writing papers, reading books, etc. it's been a busy month.

I spent the weekend at my roommate's house. She lives in Mountain View, CA, which is maybe an hour drive south of Berkeley, right near Stanford. While there, I did almost nothing productive, but I did watch maybe six movies and write a lot and go ice skating for the first time ever.

The novel is going rather well in terms of both wordcount and content. My main character just met the man she's going to fall in love with, although she doesn't know that yet! The Write-a-Thon is this Saturday, so I'll be busy at work trying to get everything together for that.

My second and final short story of the semester is due tomorrow, and this project is much less ambitious. The first story was 20 pages; this one is 7, and it wasn't written from scratch.  It's actually a rewrite of something from sophomore year. Nonetheless, I feel like I've put enough energy into it that it reads well. It's below the cut, if you'd like to read it (see, it's even short enough to fit in an LJ entry). 

Old Flames

            Finally, the bar was quiet. Gabrielle pushed a wisp of hair out of her face and looked over at the clock. The glass covering its face had been shattered in a brawl about a month ago, but the mechanism still worked. The hands pointed to nearly four in the morning. With a sigh, Gabrielle got out a rag and started wiping down the counter. Her boss had left more than two hours ago at the insistence of the blonde bobble-head hanging onto his arm, the latest in a line of cheap women. He kept each one for about a week before getting bored and moving on to something newer and younger.

            Her first week here, Gabrielle had been the object of his attentions. A tired smirk crossed her lips as she remembered how quickly he’d changed his mind and halted his advances after receiving a stiletto to the groin. Most men didn’t realize that high-heeled shoes were weapons: though they made women look delicate and defenseless, on the right girl they could be deadly.

            Gabrielle hummed to herself as she worked to scrub down all of the tables in the dingy bar. Her boss was still smarting about the heel incident, and though he wouldn’t go anywhere near her, he never failed to dock her paycheck if she made even the smallest mistakes. She would have quit ages ago, but she needed the money, and her boss knew that just as well as she did. The result was that she never left until the place was spotless, even though she knew she was only cleaning it so that the early crowd could come in and wreck it all over again.

            It was sad how quickly she’d gotten used to working here. She remembered her first week vividly—the stench of alcohol, smoke, vomit, and numerous other unthinkables, the rowdy groups of men and occasionally women who’d had too much to drink, the fights that seemed to break out over nothing and ended up damaging more furniture than the bar could afford to replace. These things had frightened her for the first week. Now she could no longer smell the tainted fumes, she was learning how to deal with drunks, and the fights no longer fazed her.

            Gabrielle finished polishing the last table and stood back to survey her work. Catching sight of her reflection in the shined surface, she stopped a moment to critique it. The job, while hardening her on the inside, had done nothing noticeable to her exterior. The dark circles around her eyes had faded to near-invisibility, and though her face was a little thinner than it had been when she’d started, she was the only one who would notice something like that. 

            She walked back behind the bar counter, stowing the rag and bending to retrieve her small purse. It no longer held anything important; she’d learned her first day that nothing was safe here. She never carried money to work, and kept her cell phone in her bra. If anyone tried to get at it, Gabrielle wouldn’t be afraid to give them what they had coming. The purse itself was a cheap Gucci knockoff, holding nothing but tissues and tampons. Anyone who wanted that could have it, as far as she was concerned.

            The door to the bar opened, startling Gabrielle so that she hit her head against the underside of the counter. “Merde,” she cursed, chiding herself for not putting up the “Closed” sign and looking over the counter to see who had walked in this late at night.

            The man didn’t look like he frequented too many seedy bars. He had a sophisticated air about him that made her feel that he would be more comfortable sipping at a martini at some corporate get-together. Though his dress was casual, there was something about him that just felt polished, like the man had never been perturbed in his life.

            That air vanished as soon as he saw her. “Gabby?” he asked, astonished. “Gabby Rousseau?”

            Gabrielle flinched back from his recognition. Gabby? There was only one person who had ever called her that.

            “Jacques?” she asked, disbelief painting her features. “What are you doing here?” Though the man had at first seemed just another stranger, Gabrielle now noticed the traits she had missed earlier. The tall build…the dazzling smile he flashed her way…

            “That’s it?” Jacques asked, trying his best to sound hurt. “I see you again after all this time, and this is the response I get? Excuse me if I expected a bit more excitement.”

            “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you,” Gabrielle said, regaining her composure.  “I haven’t heard from you in ages, and then you show up in Paris again. You must understand my surprise.”

            “I thought it would be a more pleasant surprise than you make it out to be,” he said, walking up to the counter and sitting down on a bar stool.

            “It’s been a while,” Gabrielle said, turning her face away from his calm gaze.

            “Too long,” Jacques said. “I’ve missed you.”

            Gabrielle fought with her emotions, glad that the counter separated them. Did he really think he could waltz back into her life like this, after being gone for so long? But even as she tried to reject him, a part of her warmed to his presence. “What brings you back?” she asked, ignoring his previous comment.

            “Business,” he replied. “The company I work for has a branch here, and I’ve been promoted to assistant manager.” At such close proximity, his smile was nearly blinding. Gabrielle remembered almost as an afterthought that it was his smile that had always gotten to her. “I wondered if you were still in the area, so I asked around,” he continued. “But I’ll admit, I honestly didn’t expect to find you here.”

            “Neither did I,” Gabrielle said.  She paused to take a deep breath and turned her attention back to vigorously scrubbing the counter.

            He moved his hand to cover her empty one. His palm was soft against her skin. “You shouldn’t be working in a place like this,” he said gently. “Come on, let me drive you home, and in the morning I can see about getting you a job with my company.”

            Not quite trusting her voice to speak, Gabrielle looked down and shook her head. It had always been like this with him. As strong as she might be on her own, something about his presence made her weak.

            Jacques did not relent. “At least let me buy you dinner sometime,” he suggested.

            “I don’t need your charity,” she said. It took a great effort to push his hand away.

            “You always were proud,” Jacques said, “but you were never too proud to listen to reason before. Don’t think of it as charity, then. Think of it as one friend helping out another.”

            “Are we friends, Jacques?” Gabrielle asked. “Because the last time I checked, friends call before leaving the country for two years.” Her fist balled up around the rag, her knuckles whitening.

            This time it was Jacques’ turn to look away. “I was afraid that coming to find you now would be a bad idea,” he admitted. “I was afraid you would hate me.”

            “Can you give me a reason not to?” Gabrielle said.

            “Not a good one,” said Jacques. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t listen. But please—for the sake of what we had, Gabby?”

            He looked sincere enough, sitting there across the bar from her. And she wouldn’t lose anything by agreeing to listen. She could still refuse him when the story was done. And if it was a good one…then, maybe, she wouldn’t have to. “All right,” she said. “But make it quick. I don’t want to stay here forever.”

            “We could continue this back at my place,” Jacques suggested.

            The idea tempted her, which was exactly why she knew she had to refuse. “I’m fine here, thanks.”

            Jacques nodded, doing a good job of not looking upset. Gabrielle knew better. He did not like it when people said no to him. 

            “It was my father’s fault,” Jacques began.

            Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. Shifting the blame. That, too, had always been part of Jacques’ defenses.

            “No, really!” he said. “You know he never really approved of you. He was an idiot that way. He was an idiot in a lot of ways, actually. But he convinced me to take a break for a while and think over our relationship. He thought you were dating me for my money.”

            “And you couldn’t have come to me about this?” Gabrielle demanded. Jacques’ story was already having the opposite effect to what he’d promised. Instead of exonerating him, it affirmed Gabrielle’s mistrust.

            “My father said I wouldn’t be able to think straight around you,” Jacques said. “And he’s still right about that. If I’d told you I was leaving, you would have made me stay.”

            “And there’s something wrong with that?”

            Jacques sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “At the time I thought there was,” he said. “You have to understand—my father was pressuring me. He threatened to disown me if I even considered marrying you!”

            “That’s no excuse,” Gabrielle said. She wasn’t about to let him see the way he was affecting her. Marriage? He’d really been considering it? “What would your father think about you seeing me now?” she asked to cover up her confusion.

            “He’s dead,” Jacques said.

            “Oh. I’m so sorry—”

            “No, you’re not,” Jacques said, “and neither am I. It means that we’ve got a new chance. Things can work out between us.” He smiled that Cheshire cat grin that had once dazzled her with its palpable exuberance. It was what had drawn her to him originally, like a moth to a flame. 

            Like the moth, she had been burned.

            “I’m sorry, Jacques,” she said. “I don’t think this can work.” The façade of confidence that he put up so well started to slip away as she talked. “You had a chance two years ago. You could have stood up to your father. We wouldn’t have needed his inheritance—I was in love with you, not your money, no matter what he thought.”

            “I know, Gabby, I know you didn’t care about the money,” Jacques said. “But look at where that’s gotten you!”

            “Excuse me?” Gabrielle said, staring him down. “I’m here because I don’t mind hard work. I’m here because it’s what I need to do to get through college, and I’m not afraid to get my hands a little dirty for something worthwhile. You were.”

            “Gabby, we’re talking millions of dollars!” Jacques protested. “I love you, but—”

             “Don’t try to tell me you love me,” she spat at him. “You lost that chance two years ago.”

            There was silence again. Jacques’s expression darkened. The smile Gabrielle had once found alluring turned into an angry grimace. When he spoke, his voice too had changed from one she longed to hear into one which, curiously, did not affect her any longer. “Fine, if that’s the way you want it,” he said, thinly-contained rage evident through his tone. He never had been one to accept it when things didn’t go his way.

            “It is,” Gabrielle said, once again getting ready to go. “I hope you’ll excuse me for leaving so soon, but I’ve got to lock up so that I can get home and sleep. I have an exam this afternoon, and I’d like to do well.” She walked around to the other side of the counter, heading for the door. She locked it and pocketed the key, then started turning off the lights. The neon liquor signs blinked out like so many extinguished constellations.

            Her hand paused upon the last switch. Jacques was still sitting on the barstool, and she looked back at him. “Are you leaving?” she asked politely. He made no reply, so she continued. “Well, when you do, be sure to turn off all of the lights—and close the door behind you.”

I'll be coming home for Thanksgiving, but I expect my weekend to be quite busy.  Though I'm not sure, at the moment I think that Friday might be my freest day but I can't promise anything.  Call me and we'll figure things out because I do want to see all of you.

Comments

[incaseineedyou.livejournal.com]

I'm pretty sure- no, I'm sure that I've read that story at some point, but it was a long time ago so I don't remember it well enough to see what you've changed. I like it though.

I can't remember if you said you wanted to have a Buffy marathon over thanksgiving, or over winter break. Either way, let me know. I'm excited for it!

I miss you, and I'm glad things are doing well. And the company that I ordered your book from didn't put my name, just my address on the package, so it's currently sitting in the post office at school while they verify that it's mine and not my roommate's. I even went with my roommate to see if they'd give it to us, since it's obviously one of ours but... no good. But it'll be on its way soon, promise!

[readingredhead.livejournal.com]

Erm, that's one of the stories I had posted on fictionpress at one point...so you might have read it there, though that's doubtful. Maybe I made you read it for something else? It doesn't really matter.

I'm probably too busy over Thanksgiving for the Buffy marathon so it looks like we'll have to wait for x-mas but it'd still be nice to see you. Then you don't have to worry about mailing me the book, you can just bring it back home with you for Thanksgiving. (And I can give you the book that I have waiting for you. Remind me to bring that down with me.) And maybe it'll turn out that I do have time to actually talk and do things over the too-few days when I'm there, we'll see. :)

That's funny that the post office is so ridiculous. Good luck with that!

[alexandria-skye.livejournal.com]

i liked your short story :) especially how the gallant jerk didn't get the girl...

also... good job on your nanowrimo :D you're almost half-way there!

[readingredhead.livejournal.com]

Glad you liked the story. Don't you like it when the good guys win? :)

And thanks also for the nano congratulations. Hopefully by the end of the night I'll be at 35k!

[pippins-smile.livejournal.com]

I read this before! :) I liked it then and it stuck in my head, so of course I love it now. I want your job. lol.