September 18, 2008 10:28 PM
The Winding Road, Week 1.2
Soundtrack:ATB’s “These Days”, The Wombats’ “Let’s Dance to Joy Division”, Gran Ronde’s “Wisdom”
“Good Morning, Molly!” Carleen swept into the back office, black tote over her shoulder, thermos in hand. Molly offered a tight smile, her attention focused on the paper work spread across the desk. Carleen dropped her keys and bag into a locker, adjusted her glasses and walked over to the other unoccupied chair. She sat down and began typing away, putting into motion the various programs needed to open Stella’s that morning. “So how was Shane’s first day? He’s a Sophomore now, right?” Carleen’s voice was accompanied by the sound of tapping keys.
“It went without a hitch.” Molly lied. She flipped over a few more pages and then tossed them sideways into a bin. “Well, we missed plan yesterday... again.”
“That happens. It’s going to be a slow month now that school shopping is done.” Carleen clicked a few more keys and then leaned back in her chair, taking a sip from her thermos. The smell of brewed coffee wafted through the air. “Is there something bothering you?” She looked inquisitively at Molly; while she was usually dedicated to the paperwork, she’d been attacking with an intense savagely that morning. Carleen knew that the issue of missing plan was hardly at the forefront of Molly’s mind.
Before Molly could formulate another lie, the jangle of plastic jewelry announced the arrival of Misha Bower; Molly quickly found a letter on the desk to occupy herself. Petite, dark haired, with a stunningly, pale complexion; Misha could have stepped out of any one of Stella’s advertisements. She smiled brightly at the two women, placed an oversized purse into an empty locker, and then stepped in front of the small mirror that was pasted to the back of the office door.
“Good Morning, Misha,” Carleen offered politely.
Between tugs at errant wisps of hair, Misha regarded the two women through their reflections in the mirror. “So, did Isabel call out yet?” Hey eyes alighted to their faces, as if she was waiting to judge their reactions.
“No, why, is she sick?” Molly closed the folder for the day and finally acknowledged the new arrival into the office.
“Well Tim,” she turned and nodded at the two, “You know Tim.” Carleen nodded, while Molly just shrugged. “Well, apparently he just up and left this morning!”
“What do you mean left?” Carleen was leaning forward, thermos held tightly between her hands; Molly seemed slightly less interested in the conversation.
“I mean he packed his stuff, bought a ticket, and is now on his way to Sunny California.” Misha finished primping in the mirror and turned directly to the two women. As she spoke, she emphasized each word with a wave or motion of her hand, the dangly jewelry bouncing and clanging with her movements. “The best part, you’ll love this! The best part is that he had the nerve to ask her for a ride to the airport!” She laughed, bitterly. “Can you imagine?!”
“Yes,” Molly bluntly replied.
Carleen ignored the tension between the two, concern overriding her normal role as mediator. “How’s Isabel?”
“As expected, totally devastated. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t home right now, bawling. Let me tell you one thing. If Tim was to walk into this store right now, I would take my shoe and ram it so far up his ass he . . .”
“I hope you’re date last night wasn’t that traumatic, Mish.” Isabel stepped into the office. She smiled, tightly, at Molly and Misha, then nodded softly at Carleen. She ignored the concerned look she got in return; she also ignored the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room upon her unexpected arrival.
Molly cracked the ice first. “Morning Isabel, how are you?”
“Me? Fine, why? What’s up?” Molly shot a look at Misha, who appeared to miss it. Isabel placed her bag and keys in one of the last free lockers, then turned to take Misha’s place at the mirror. Her fingers gently brushed at the puffiness that was slowly fading from underneath her eyes.
Carleen hesitantly broke in, “Nothing, you just seemed a little out of sorts when you came in.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Isabel motioned to her forehead as she turned away from her own reflection, “You know how I get those migraines? Killer one last night, I was curled in a ball at one point.” From her pocket, she pulled out a small orange container; prescription medication. “I took one this morning, so I am ready to go. Did anyone bring the registers out to start up?”
“No,” Molly replied, “I was about to.”
“That’s ok, I’ll take care of it.” Isabel walked over to the safe and tapped in the combination. It swung open and she retrieved three drawers, before closing the safe behind her. She left the office, leaving the other three women to exchange silent words between themselves.
* * *
Lee Hathaway leaned against the table, desperately trying to keep his eyes open. His lunch sat uneaten before him, a late night keeping his appetite sufficiently squashed for the moment. Across from him was his roommate of two years, Tucker Prince. Their relationship worked because of their complete incompatibility: where Lee worked for his grades, Tucker was grateful to just slide by. Lee spent his time with computers, books, NPR; Tucker was interested in computers for the games, books that had comic strips, and was woefully behind on most political events. Lee liked girls; Tucker really sweated the boys. They managed to keep out of each other’s hair; for this reason they had lived in a steady state of happiness since they’d started school together.
“Are you going to eat that?” Tucker motioned at the untouched food on Lee’s plate; Lee only shook his head in response. “Do you mind?” Tucker reached over and grabbed a couple of fries, then went back to scopeing out the dining room. The night before, Tucker had gone to bed early upon their arrival at campus; Lee had instead walked over to the library. At 4am, he’d called it quits on the thesis he was preparing for graduation. The three hours of sleep he’d snuck in before class was woefully deficient.
The two sat mostly in silence, one barely awake, the other eating off his plate and scopeing the crowd for good looking men to leer at. Their silent lunch was broken by the shouting off their names: “Lee! Tucker!” Lee nearly did a faceplant, while Tucker jumped ever so slightly.
Nick Brady crossed the crowded cafeteria towards them, by passing students with practiced ease. She dropped down next to Tucker, pulling him into a hug, then turning with a bright smile to Lee. “Wow, how are you two?”
“Fine,” Tucker responded, although his smile betrayed the faux annoyance in his voice.
“Great, good to hear! Your summers went pretty well then?” Nicki brushed back a piece of her blonde hair. They’d met three years ago, when she’d been a sophmore stuck living on a freshman floor. Despite very different personalities, they’d managed to all become close friends.
Lee sat up, despite the effort it took. “I was here this summer. Was taking some extra classes. . .”
“That’s our Lee, always working,” Tucker smirked.
“Whatever it takes to get done,” Nicki added.
“Yeah,” Lee yawned, “I guess you could say that.”
“Well, I can’t stay long, but I wanted to say hi and give you this,” Nicki reached into her bag and pulled out two pieces of paper. “You know how my brother, Jackson, is in that fraternity. Well, I know it’s not your scene, but I figured I’d offer you two an invite.”
Tucker laughed, “That’s not really my scene and come on, Lee at a frat?”
“Like I said, I know it’s not your scene, but I figured... well come on, we all deserve to have some stupid college fun sometimes. Besides, you’d be my guests and we haven’t hung out in a long time!”
“Well, I’ll go if Lee goes,” Tucker replied, placing the pressure solely on Lee. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he probably would have smacked him.
“I, uhm, we’ll see.” Nicki smiled, happy to at least have gotten a partial commitment.
“It’d be great, really great if you two could! Well, I have to go, class in about a half.” She jumped up, leaned over and kissed Lee on the cheek, then began making her way through the crowd once more.
* * *
“She’s in denial.” Misha and Molly stood behind the counters, watching as Isabel helped an elderly woman with a pencil skirt.
“Maybe he decided not to leave?” Molly offered.
“What?! She called me while racing down the parkway, a wreck. All whining and gasping and tears. I thought she was going to crash or something.” Misha mimicked an explosion with her hands; the 5 bracelets on each arm bounced and clanged against one another as she did. “I figured she was just going to pull an Isabel today.”
“An . . . Isabel?” An arched eyebrow accompanied this comment, as Molly glanced over at her coworker.
“She finds a guy, they click. Things go great, then they break up and she goes,” Misha threw her hands into the air, “Poof, no phone, no texts, like major recovery time without human interaction. It’s how she deals.”
“Maybe she’s just choosing to deal with things head on.”
“No, it’s called denial!”
“Or maturity.” Molly flashed a plastic smile as a customer placed a blouse on the counter. Misha just leaned over and kept steadily watching Isabel.
* * *
“PIVOT!” A gangly pledge shouted at his comrades as the three struggled to move a couch out of the common area. Jackson and Allan briefly glanced up to watch their progress, then turned back to their construction efforts. As they passed, the pledges knocked into one of the twelve kegs stacked neatly on top of each other. With a shrill shout, Tyke crossed the basement, leaping over discarded furniture and frat brother with ease. He fell to his knees and began inspecting the kegs, checking for any damage that the couch may have inadvertently caused. The nervous pledges hustled out with the couch while he remained distracted.
“You know,” Allan spat out between clenched teeth, a nail sitting tightly in his mouth, “These things don’t cost that much to buy.”
“I know, I purchased the last one, remember?” Jackson glanced at the instructions they’d been provided by Tyke. “Then Tyke had that bonfire party idea and suddenly the bar became...”
“A pile of firewood, yeah I remember.” Allan placed the nail down and then began hammering the two pieces of wood together. “All I’m saying is that I am not a bar-maker... a carpenter... or whatever. This thing falls down on someone, I am totally not going to be held responsible.” Discomfort passed over Jackson’s face. “What?” Allan questioned.
“You totally forgot, man. Damn, this sucks. I thought you knew.” Jackson ran his hands over his shaved head.
“Wait, knew what?!”
“Dude, it’s your turn to oversee the bar tonight man. Remember? You got skipped out last year, so your day fell on the first party. You’re the one going to be stuck serving the drinks tonight.” Alan missed the nail and slammed the hammer into his hand. Jackson winced as he whelped and collapsed into a ball.
* * *
Carleen and Isabel ruffled through the shirts, refolding shirts discarded by customers. The blonde watched her younger cohort, waiting for an opening to address her. Isabel seemed oblivious and completely intent on her task. Carleen started and then stopped a few times, attempting to find the best way to begin. Instead she was bumped to the side as Misha brushed past them, “Who is that?” Misha’s was motioning towards a young man, seemingly lost among the vast collection of women’s apparel. He appeared to be in his early 20’s, tall, dark skinned, latin; dressed conservatively in a pair of well cut jeans and a button down shirt.
Carleen pushed herself off of the table she’d fell against. “Shouldn’t you be on the register?” The tone of her voice betrayed her annoyance.
“I’m on break,” Misha offered, dismissively.
“Good, then I’ll help him.” Isabel smiled and broke away from the two, dumping a partially folded shell back unto the table.
“That girl is so amazing! Now she’s going after married men.”
Carleen noted the sudden, drastic change in Misha’s own intentions towards their male customer. “How do you know he’s married?”
“Hello?! Why else would he be shopping in this section. It’s totally for women who aren’t getting sex at home anymore.” Misha motioned at the clothing around her; Carleen self consciously tugged at the jacket and shirt mimicked on the hangers directly around her.
“Misha?”
“Hmm?”
“I forgot to mention, we need you to close the store tonight.” Carleen walked away.
* * *
“Hi, can I help you?” The young man looked up as Isabel walked over.
“Wow, is it that obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing here?” The man smiled at her.
“Well, no offense, but it is a woman’s clothing store. You don’t look like someone who has a lot of experience wearing women’s clothes,” She stopped, wondering if she’d made a goof. “ . . . not that there’s anything wrong with that if you did. I have a brother who’s gay and”
The man laughed, “No, not gay! Totally not gay!”
Isabel laughed, brushing a hand through her hair. “So who are we looking for? Girlfriend?”
“Nope, don’t have one of those. It’s actuallymy mother’s birthday and I wanted to buy her something.”
“That’s actually really sweet.” She smiled at him, thoughts of Tim being pushed to the back of her mind.
“Well thank you.” He stood there, patiently and nothing was said. He finally broke in, “But it’s the truth. I really do need to get her a gift.”
“Oh, OH, right. Sorry, long morning,” Isabel chuckled uncomfortably. “So what could we get her?”
“I don’t know. I was lost trying to figure that out. But I figure someone as beautiful as yourself probably has a good idea what would look good on someone.”
Isabel blushed slightly and attempted to change the subject, “Right, so how old is she?”
“She’s turning 40 tomorrow.”
“That’s about my mother’s age. I think that I can find you something, if you’ll follow me.”
“Anywhere you want to take me.” Now she was blushing; she turned away and began to move further into the back of the store. She felt a hand gently grab hers and she stopped, “By the way, my name is Julio.” Isabel squeaked slightly in response, gently pulled her hand free and began leading him towards a new section of clothing.
* * *
“Uh... remember to uhm, drink responsibly.” The two girls stared unresponsively at Allan as he handed off the cups. As they walked away, one, a brunette, turned back and glanced at Allan; she whispered something to her friend and they both broke out laughing. Allan leaned back against the keg, hating his life. He saw Tyke across the basement, suavely leaning against the paneled wall as he chatted up a voluptuous blonde. He hadn’t seen Jackson in over an hour; he was alone, serving beer, watching barely legal girls get wasted so they could go spend time with his frat brothers.
“Hey.” Nicki leaned up against the makeshift bar counter, smiling.
“Oh, uh... hey, Nicki.” He smiled awkwardly, leaning back against the Keg. His bandaged hand slipped on some beer and he nearly fell over, but managed to recover his balance.
Nicki bit back a laugh and extended out a hand to one of the ready poured beers, which Allan handed off. As she nonchalantly flicked some of the foam from the top, Nicki glanced around the party. “A lot of people here tonight.”
“Yeah, I think we managed to secure most of the frat row tonight.”
“I think Jackson mentioned something like that.” She smiled at him and Allan couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t walked away yet. Although his best friends’ older sister, the two had never really spoken much before beyond some playful ribbing. His suddend nervousness came out in his hands, which started wringing one another.
“So . . .” He offered weakly, unsure where to go next with that train of conversation.
“So, you having fun being beer bitch tonight?” Nicki smirked, her eyes watching his every move.
“Oh loads. Your brother promised that he’d stop by to help out, but he seems to have forgotten.”
“I think he got distracted. Brunette, my height, buck teeth,”
“Nancy Flirst,” Allan cut in.
Nicki laughed, “Oh, so you know her?”
Allan smiled and threw up his hands defensively, “Hah, I know of her! Tyke went a few weeks with her and it ended rather . . . dramatically.”
“Wow, so Jackson is showing off his amazing judgement skills once more.”
“Yeah, well, he’s good with picking the bad ones.” Allen caught Nicki’s eyes straying down to his hand.
“Should I ask what happened?” Nicki took a large sip from the plastic cup.
“Construction accident.” Allen pulled his hand back, feeling slightly embarrassed. Nicki was about to respond when she was drowned out by shouts coming from the upstairs. The two turned and looked at the stairs which led to the main part of the frat house above. They could hear feet, shouting, music suddendly shut off.
Tyke moved forward, seperating himself from the blonde, “Don’t tell me someone started a fight.” He was about to walk up the steps when four officers came rushing down towards him. As shouts of “Freeze, Police” filled the basement, Nicki dropped her cup on the floor.
Posted by beck at 10:28 PM
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September 15, 2008 11:56 PM
The Winding Road, Week 1.1
Soundtrack: Yael Naim "New Soul", Kate Nash' "Pumpkin Soup", Mika's "Stuck in the Middle"
As Carleen Hathaway entered the kitchen, the sharp smell of coffee assaulted her nose. She took a beeline to the pot, filling her favorite mug, left out on the counter every night, with the strong brew. She breathed in the strong aroma, then took a sip, savoring the bitter taste. Clasping the mug, Carleen glanced out the kitchen window and surveyed the outside world of Freeboro. The early morning traffic was beginning to filter down the street; soon there would be the buses taking the kids to their first days back to school.
She smiled softly, ruminating back on the days when she would have been rushing her own kids off. The hustle, the arguments, the jostling about in their cramped apartment. Now there was just silence and the distant rumble of far off buses. She’d done her job: Lee was starting his junior year at college and her eldest, Lynne, had graduated years ago. Now she was off...
The kitchen door swung open, missing Carleen by a few inches. She didn’t react; her only movement was raise her mug to her lips and take another long swig. Her daughter rushed in, hands fumbling to pull shoulder-length, scarlet-red hair into a more manageable pony tail. Lynne rushed into the hallway, the door left ajar in her awake. The stairwell led down to the family’s coffee shop and dinette below; Carleen could hear the sound of clinking cups and murmured conversation filtering up the stairs. Her husband, Levy, would be happy with that day’s turnout.
Lynne reemerged into the room, her hands now occupied with tying a dirty apron over a t-shirt and worn jeans. She halted, only just noticing her mother standing quietly by the open doorway. “Wow, sorry mom, totally didn’t see you there! Dad’s being a pain-in-the-ass about me wearing it,” her hand brushed over the apron. “I told him I don’t know why he’s bugging, we already passed inspection over a month ago.” As she spoke, she was already rushing past; soon her footsteps could be heard pounding down steps to her job below.
Carleen closed the door and made her way over to the table; she had a crossword puzzle to finish before work.
* * *
“Shane, let’s go!” Molly Bennet stood at the doorway, arms crossed, a booted foot tapping loudly on the tiled floor. Her long, black hair was pulled back from a face that was currently grimly set. She glanced over at the clock once more, agitation growing more intense within her. There was only an hour before she had to be at Stella’s to open; before that was errands, maybe a bite to eat. Of course, there was also her brother who had to be dropped off at his school because he couldn’t be bothered to take the bus. “SHANE!”
“Fuck, I’m coming!” The door to his bedroom opened and sixteen-year old Shane bounded out, shooting his elder sister a look.
“So’s Christmas.”
Shane offered a grunt in response, then disappeared into the hall closet to grab a pair of sneakers. He emerged and began pulling them on, not bothering to untie the laces before slipping the black and white diesels on. He brushed past her and opened the door, storming outside. Molly rolled her eyes and followed, the door shutting behind her.
* * *
“Morning Mom.” Jason McCaulley brushed past his mother into the kitchen, offering her a slight peck on the cheek as he did. Jillian smiled and then returned to her breakfast and morning news stories. Her eldest son threw a tie and keys unto the counter, then ducked into the refrigerator, rummaging for food; he emerged with an Orange Juice carton and an apple. As he began to take gulps straight from the carton, Alicia stumbled in. She was in the process of buttoning her shirt with one free hand while the other attempted to curl her eyelashes. Jillian appeared ready, for a moment, to provide a warning, but decided to not broach that argument.
“I can’t find my coat!” Alicia chucked her curler unto the counter top, having finished her work. Jillian turned away from the television to regard her youngest daughter, ready to start officially as a senior in High School. Made-up, with a simple black top and pencil skirt, she looked far older than her seventeen years let on.
“Which one?” Jason responded snarkily.
Alicia ignored him, her attention on her mother. “You know, mom, that white one you bought me last week?”
“Did you check in the hallway closet, dear?”
“Why would it be there?! That’s communal!” Jason coughed and nearly choked on the OJ he’d been in the process of drinking. Jillian shot him a look.
“Well, that’s the only place I would have put it if it was lying around.”
“I had it in my room! I bet Isabel took it! I can’t have anything in this house without someone touching it!” Alicia dramatically tossed about her hands as she spoke; her brother dodged underneath the flailing limbs and took his place by his mother.
“Yeah, you know Allen and I; totally interested in stealing all of your hootchie jackets from your closets.”
“Jason!” Jillian shut off her son before Alicia could respond herself. “Alicia, we’ll look around the house this afternoon, but you look fine without the jacket. Now stop wasting time, you and your brother have to get going if you’re going to arrive on time.” Alicia looked ready to further protest, but Jillian held up a hand, “Go! Remember the deal: too many lates and we’ll have to rethink that car.” Alicia’s face contorted and she held her tongue; she shot her brother a look and brushed past him, making sure to bump him slightly. Jason recovered his balance and glanced over at his mother.
“I swear, if it wasn’t bad enough I was starting a new job, I gotta worry about doing it in the same school as that?” He grabbed the tie and pushed up the collar of his shirt; After two tries, he seemed satisfied. Jillians ran her hands over the collar and pushed it down, making sure to smooth it out.
“Jason, you’ll be fine.” She regarded her eldest son, momentarily taken aback at how mature he’d come to look; a miniature version of his father at that age. “They wouldn’t have hired you if they hadn’t been impressed with your student teaching. Don’t worry about Alicia, she’s just having a difficult transition period.”
“Yeah, it’s called the last seventeen years of her life, mom.” But Jason seemed to have calmed down slightly, reassured by his mother’s confidence in his abilities. He pocketed the apple and grabbed his keys, then bolted out the front door. As it closed, Jillian could hear her children resuming an argument outside. She sat back down in her chair and returned to her morning programs.
* * *
The door swung open and the two best friends spilled into the frat house’s common area. Jackson “Jack” Brady was first, carrying with him two large cardboard boxes with labels, written boldly with black sharpie, that betrayed their contents: cds, books, clothes. Directly behind him was Allen McCaulley, struggling slightly under the weight of his own load: a rather large television set. Jackson glanced around, judging for a good spot, then dropped the boxes casually to the floor. He turned to offer Allen a hand, but was shaken off. With a few grunts, the set soon found it’s place beside the boxes.
Allen stretched, arms reaching over his head; despite a red-face, he seems to have felt no ill effects from the heavy set. Jackson stepped back, for the first time surveying their half hours’ work. The twenty-something boxes the two had previously carried in towered before them; each had their own neatly written label.
“Dude, I want you to take this personally... I bet your sisters pack lighter than you do!” As Jackson spoke, his distinctive wide smile spread across his face. Jason glanced at their load the two had previously packed the night before with the help of his mother, Jillian. They’d left early this morning for the half hour drive to their alma mater, Cole University, and their home on frat row.
“You think we got everything?”
Jackson couldn’t help but bust out a laugh. “Dude, I think we got your entire house in here! Fuck, I bet we have some of your siblings shit in those boxes too!”
Allen seemed not to be assured, “I just hate forgetting things.” He ran a hand through dirty blonde hair, biting slightly into his lip as he spoke.
“Al, we’re thirty minutes away. Besides, you got a mom who’s willing to drop anything to rush out here and check on her baby boy. I think you’re set if you happened to forget a shirt or two.” Jackson turned away from his best friend, for the first time noticing the state of the frat house around them. The couches, usually covered with college debris, were clean; the walls spotless, the hardwood floors actually shining in places. “Yo man, are we in the right house, cause this don’t look right.”
Allen’s eyes darted back and forth, “Maybe the pledges got put to work early?”
Before Jackson could respond, another of their frat brothers stumbled down the steps into the foyer and common area. Tyke Diore blearily stared at the two before recognition popped into his dazed mind; He stumbled towards them and clasped them both in a tight bear hug. “Al! Jack! My sweet black bro and his white mancrush!” Allen and Jackson winced at Tyke’s breath; the stale smell of whiskey and cigarettes was putrid that early in the morning. Their friend released them and stumbled back, nearly tripping over the television set. Dramatic arm movements allowed him to recover his balance and he swayed into a standing position. “’Bout time you dudes came back, you were missing the partying!”
Jackson glanced around, “Doesn’t look like there’s been much partying going on here.”
Tyke grinned and whispered cospiratively at them, “I know, that’s cause we want to look presentable.”
Allen took the bait, “For what?”
“For the biggest fucking party this year. Tonight we’re gonna kick off this season and put the rest of Frat Row to shame, bitches!”
Allen and Jackson glanced at each other; Jackson was the first to speak. “College fucking rocks, bro.”
* * *
Isabel McCaulley dabbed at her eyes with the tissue; bitterly she noted that it wouldn’t be hard to tell she’d spent the last five hours crying. It was really over now, there was no turning back. They’d officially ended things after three fucking years of her life and there would be no turning back. She pulled out the makeup pouch from her bag and hastily began applying her face for the day. Well, she’d spent nearly three years with him and he’d been unwilling to change; now he was on a plane to California. It was his loss!
She threw the bag to the floor and gave herself a once over in the rear view mirror. Her hand reached into a bag and pulled out a prescription bottle. Downing four pills, she stepped out into the early morning light. Door shut and locked, she began making her way across the mall parking lot towards Stella’s.
WEDNESDAY: Isabel tries to move on with her life! Allen and Jackson prepare for the biggest party of the year! More characters introduced!
Posted by beck at 11:56 PM
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