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  Chapter 19

  I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Sabrina is coming over whether I like it or not. I didn’t even bother to ask her when. I have no plans so I honestly don’t care if it’s Saturday or Sunday as long as I get a heads up before she comes. Which, I know she’ll give me because she hates unexpected, pop up guests herself.

  In our last class, Melody announced we’d need to arrive next week with a fashion magazine in hand, wearing a trendy, unique outfit using a recent—as in from the last six months—fashion magazine as inspiration. We also need to come in the makeup we practiced somewhere between basic commercial and glam—our choice. There’s nothing in my closet that can be parlayed into anything even close to what I see in magazines and Sabrina sensed my apprehension.

  “Hey, I can come over sometime this weekend and help you out if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay I’ll figure it out.”

  “No, let me come over. I’ll bring wine. We can make a night of it. It’ll be fun.”

  Sabrina drives me nuts sometimes. Why can’t she take no for an answer? If I say no, why can’t she accept it?

  “No Sabrina. I’ll find something.”

  “I’m coming over. Saturday or Sunday?”

  I groaned, dropped my head back and looked at her with a face of utter annoyance while she smiled back at me expectantly. The girl does not listen.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  I’ve never had a filthy rich friend before, and I imagine that compared to the sleek fancy high rise she lives in this place is going to look like a hovel.

  When I was living with Will, I hated cleaning because I felt like the maid. But now that I’m in my own place and I’m doing it for me, not me and the slob who won’t help, I don’t mind it at all. It’s therapeutic. I love the fresh, clean smell of the citrus dusting spray. The sharp, slightly medicinal smell of Comet brings back memories of childhood. It’s what my mom used to clean with when I was growing up. There are all kinds of fancy scrubbing bubbles and foaming sprays out there, but I still prefer the old school powder. Grinding that gritty texture into the tub gives me a feeling of accomplishment. Someday, I might have a tub too nice to stand up to its abrasive texture, but the dingy tubs I’ve occupied for the last few years need it. I take out a new can and tip it upside down so the powder hits the square sticker sealing the top. Peeling off the sticker, I place it on my hand then pull it away to reveal a round pattern of dots like I used to do as a kid. With sponge in hand, and a small trickle of water flowing into the tub, I go to work scrubbing it down. I move from the bathroom to the kitchen, tidying up the living area along the way. Carrying the trash out to the dumpster is the last task, and when I’m finished, I survey my work with a sigh of relief. Cleaning always takes the edge off a messy life.

  I settle down to watch some TV and become totally absorbed in a Lifetime movie. Four hours later, it’s finally over, which is ridiculous because no movie needs to be that long. Even more ridiculous is that I sat through the whole thing. I get a text from Sabrina saying she’ll be here in about an hour. Do I want any specific kind of wine? I text back. Get Moscado. Also, I have no food. If she insists on coming over, she’d better bring some snacks.

  “Hello, darling,” she trills when I open the door. “I’m the fashion police and I’m here to save you!”

  I roll my eyes but laugh even though that was technically a dig at my less than stellar fashion sense. I feel uncomfortable watching her look around my miniscule studio where you can see the kitchen and the bedroom all at once. There isn’t much to look at. Her eyes take in my IKEA issue futon, double bed and mini, two person dinette in front of the window next to the kitchen. My sad attempt at décor consists of a vase filled with dried flowers on the dinette. She’s got three shopping bags in her hands and a duffel bag, so I grab two of them and lead her to the kitchen.

  “Welcome to my humble abode. You can put your bag there.”

  “It’s really cozy,” she says, looking around.

  Cozy is the nice way of saying ridiculously small, but I don’t call her on it. What else can she say?

  She’s wearing black leather leggings and a baggy, grey tank top under a chunky cardigan with high top converse sneakers, which is officially the most stylish outfit ever to cross my threshold.

  “I come bearing treats,” she says, unloading bags. One by one, she gently sets down three bottles of Moscato.

  “Do you really think we’ll get through all of this?” I ask, rooting around in my drawers for the wine opener.

  “Of course we will. Its girl’s night and we’re just getting started.”

  She also brought all kinds of amazing things for us to stuff our faces with.

  I pull out the plain white boxes and delicious aromas permeate the air before I’ve even opened them. Crab cakes fill one box. Another smaller one contains what she says are Olives stuffed with blue cheese. I didn’t even know such a thing existed.

  “Where’s all this stuff from?”

  “Oh, I stopped at Delaney’s on the way over.”

  Seriously? That’s one of the most expensive steakhouses in town. Will refused to take me there because he said it was overpriced and it didn’t make sense to spend that much money on a night out. I can’t say I don’t agree, but it would have been nice to have been wined and dined there anyway.

  “I didn’t know they did take out.”

  “They don’t, but my dad is friends with the owner so they let us call in orders for pick up whenever we want. Their Mac and Cheese is the best. You’ll love it.”

  I take out real plates, which I rarely ever use, but the first time I eat Delaney’s should not be off of paper.

  “Sabrina, this is enough food to cater a cocktail party. Do you really expect us to eat all of this?”

  “Trust me. Once you start eating, you won’t want to stop and there were so many things I wanted you to try, I just sort of got one of everything. You can keep the leftovers. It’s even better the next day.”

  And that’s exactly what happened. Once I started, I didn’t want to stop and even my guilt over Sabrina insisting that I didn’t owe her any money for the spread couldn’t stop me. I wanted to try everything. We decided to set up on the floor instead of my two-seater dining room table because there was so much stuff; plus, it was a more adventurous and fun way to pig out. I got a blanket and we sat on the living room floor, picnic style, chatting, drinking and feasting our way through the rich, calorie laden food. The Mac and Cheese was in fact to die for. So were the blue cheese stuffed olives. The Angus sliders were the best I’ve ever had, and the garlic fries were out of this world. I’m not a big fan of seafood, but I tasted the crab cakes and even they were good. So this is what really expensive food tastes like. I take another sip of my wine and flop over on my side, stuffed. Sabrina giggles and does the same.

  “Good thing we’re wearing spandex,” she laughs while staring up at the ceiling. Her leather leggings look skintight but they have a lot of stretch and so do my yoga pants. I’m sure I would have busted a button by now otherwise.

  “Do we really have to log all of this crap in our food journals?” I wonder out loud. We dissolve into obnoxious laughter because we ate so much, we probably can’t remember all of it to write down anyway.

  We’ve gone through an entire bottle of wine, and I’m feeling a little tipsy by now. Without thinking, I decide to ask Sabrina something I’ve been wondering for a while. It’s an awkward question that I should probably never ask but for some reason, I don’t care at the moment. I guess it’s the wine. I want to know, so I blurt it out. “Why do you like me?”

  “What do you mean, why do I like you?” Sabrina asks, confused.

  “Why do you like me?” I persist. “I’m not rich. I’m not stylish or successful. I’m shy. I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m nothing like any of your other friends. I have nothing to offer you. So why do you like me?”

  She lays there in silence for a while and I wait. It�
��s a weird question leading to a potentially weird, awkward moment. The least I can do is give the girl a chance to figure out how she wants to respond.

  “You ask me this like it’s totally unreasonable to believe someone would want to be your friend, which makes absolutely no sense to me. What is it that makes you feel like you aren’t worth liking?”

  “I’m totally average, totally unremarkable. What’s to like? And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Jeez, Lexi, can’t you give yourself any credit for anything?

  I’m getting closer, but I’m not quite there yet. “No.”

  She sighs. “There are a lot of cool things about you and it’s so sad you don’t even see it. You were one of the best in acting class, so there’s one talent. You’re funny. We have fun together. It’s cool that we come from different backgrounds. I love it that you are so totally unpretentious. You don’t care about what labels people are wearing or how much money they make or what they do for a living. You like people for who they are—not what they can do for you. I take my lifestyle for granted sometimes, but I know you’ll set me straight and I need that. I grew up around a lot of shallow, materialistic and very mean girls. I hate to admit it, but there is a lot of that in me. Ever wonder what this means?” she says, holding up her tattooed wrist with the four tiny letters. PLRG.

  “Yeah. What does it stand for?”

  “Poor Little Rich Girl. It’s a reminder of what I am and what I don’t want to be. It’s also the name of a really cool boutique in New York City with free shipping and the cutest clothes ever. Anyway, I promised myself when I finally break away from daddy’s puppet strings, I can turn this tattoo into anything I want. I don’t want to be consumed by keeping up with the Joneses. I’m tired of hanging out with people who do because they so easily turn me into that same kind of monster. It’s just one of the reasons Tessa bothers me so much.”

  “Sabrina, you gotta give her a chance. She’s got a tough exterior and I have to admit, she is a carbon copy of those mean girls when you look at her, but inside, she’s really nice.”

  When Sabrina officially announced the big end of class party after our photo shoot, everyone seemed to be really excited about it except for Tessa. She’s a lot friendlier to everyone else and vice versa, except when it comes to Sabrina. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to have to stage an intervention to bring these two together.

  “We’re not talking about Tessa right now. We’re talking about you.”

  “You brought her up,” I retort.

  “As I was saying, it makes me so mad you can’t even see how gorgeous you are and how much potential you have to do whatever it is you want. You have all the raw goods. You just haven’t quite figured out how to put it all together yet. But when you do, you will be the total package. Trust me on this. You know I know things right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you that you would love the tomato soup at 59th & Lex and you did, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you that you should come to my party that night and you would make it to work the next day and you did, right?”

  “Yes. I felt like a total loser and work was hell, but technically I made it.”

  “Whatever, you fit in fine.”

  I’m not sure what girl she’s talking about.

  “I told you that once you started eating this food from Delaney’s, you wouldn’t be able to stop and you couldn’t right?”

  I’m seriously starting to crack up now, but Sabrina is still playing Miss Serious.

  “Yes.”

  “And when I tell you that you are worth a hell of a lot more than you think you are and that you are talented and smart and pretty, you believe me, right?”

  I pause for a moment. Gosh, I wish I believed every word she said. I want to believe it so badly. Should I lie and tell her yes? Nothing in the world can make me believe what she just said.

  She rolls over on her side, props her head up on her hand and gives me a look. “Fine. I know you don’t believe it right now, but please believe me when I tell you that you will. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I look over at her and smile. This friendship was totally unexpected. I took one look at Sabrina when she walked into Chloe’s and knew she was out of my league and not the type of girl I’d end up being friends with. I judged a book by its cover and I’m so glad I was wrong. The only other good friend I’ve made in my adult life is Sarah and it means the world to me to have made another one.

  “Whatever you say, Sabrina.” I roll my eyes at her. “Now, how ‘bout we get to that fashion makeover shall we.”

  “Fine. I’ll start cleaning up here, and you pour us some more wine.”

  After she puts away all the food, Sabrina grabs her bag.

  I slide open my tiny closet and flop down on the bed. “Have at it!”

  My closet full of embarrassing clothes that I probably should have gotten rid of a long time ago comes into view. She wrinkles her brow and gets down to business. She pulls out a few items and holds them out in front of her then puts them back. After a minute or so, she grabs one of her magazines and flips through the pages. Apparently, she doesn’t find what she’s looking for so she grabs another one and when she gets to a dog-eared page, she says, “Aha” and pulls out a shirt, tossing it next to me on the bed. “Put this on. And you are not to look in the mirror until I tell you to.”

  This is the first shirt she pulls out? I hate this shirt. It’s a red, navy and white plaid, flannel, long sleeved shirt. I feel like a husky cowboy when I wear this shirt, which is why I haven’t worn it in a long time. I shake my head, but put it on anyway. She’s the boss.

  “Do you have any skinny jeans?” she asks me.

  “Nope,” I reply.

  She turns around and gives me a confused look. “Not a single pair?”

  “Nope,” I say shaking my head.

  “Wow.”

  “Skinny jeans are for skinny people and I’m not skinny, therefore, I don’t wear them. Plus, what if it’s a trend? I’m not so sure I really want to spend my hard earned money on a fly by night fashion fad.”

  “What are you talking about? Have you been living under a rock?” she sputters. “Skinny jeans are not a fad. They’re here to stay. What else are you going to wear your tall boots with? They’re not only fashionable, but they serve a purpose and every woman should have at least one pair, if not ten.”

  “Well, I have short Uggs, but I don’t have any tall boots so...”

  She looks at me like I just told her I didn’t own a toothbrush and shakes her head but says nothing. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pair of what she refers to as boyfriend skinny jeans and tosses them at me. What looks like a sketch pad falls out of the bag. I reach for it and she bats my hand away.

  “Put these on,” she barks.

  “Sabrina. Are you kidding me? If these are your jeans, there’s no way I’m fitting into them. I probably can’t even get these things over my thighs.”

  “Contrary to your skewed sense of self, you are not fat, Alexis Conway. Put them on.”

  She’s using my full name. I guess I better put them on.

  I look at the size on the label and sigh. I put my left leg in then my right and hold my breath as I begin to pull them up my legs. Wouldn’t you know it, the suckers fit. They’re really snug, but it works.

  “Now roll up the bottoms.”

  “How high?”

  “Two or three times are fine. And roll up your sleeves too.”

  She looks at my shoes and pulls out a pair of black pumps. “Put these on.”

  Pumps and jeans? “Aren’t pumps for work?”

  She ignores me. “Where are your accessories?”

  “I don’t have much. This is the only accessory I wear,” I say, showing off the silver bracelet Sarah gave me. “This is my jewelry box.”

  She looks inside for two seconds, puts it down and starts rooting around in her bag of tricks again until she
finds a chunky string of pearls and a pearl cuff bracelet. She finds pair of pearl drop earrings out of my jewelry box and silently hands them to me.

  I put them on without a word.

  “Okay, let me look at you,” she says. She scrutinizes my outfit from head to toe and narrows her eyes in thought. She comes up to me and unzips my jeans a little so she can tuck part of the shirt in then zips me back up.

  “What about belts?”

  I go to my dresser and pull out a black one and a brown one. Both look like they should be holding up heavy duty work pants.

  “That’s it?” Sabrina asks shaking her head. She pulls a silver skinny belt out of her bag and tells me to put it on. Then she stands back, stares at me again, and nods her head. “Now comb your hair and put on a little lipstick. Here. Try this,” she says, handing me one of hers. “Just so you can kind of get the full effect. When you’re done, you can look in the mirror.”

  Its way brighter than what I’m used to, but I diligently do as I’m told. I rub my lips together and give myself a little pucker then step in front of the full length mirror. I stare at myself while Sabrina stares at me, waiting for my reaction. Sabrina hands me the magazine. I look from the magazine picture and back to myself in the mirror and see that it’s a match. I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I actually don’t look that much different than the model in the picture does.

  “So, what do you think?” Sabrina asks me. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it!” I say, smiling at my reflection. The jeans have that cool distressed look with strategically placed holes and a run in the thigh.

  “See, I told you that you would. You really need to learn to start believing me. The reason you didn’t think you would fit into my jeans is because you’re probably wearing a size too big.”

  She’s right. Well, of course she is. She’s right about everything. If something fits too well, I usually go for the next size up to leave room for fluctuating weight.

  “You look hot, girl!” Sabrina exclaims. “This is your outfit for next week. And you seriously need to do some shopping. You can’t look hot one day then go back to your fuddy duddy clothes the next.”