{"id":3893,"date":"2017-12-01T20:16:43","date_gmt":"2017-12-01T20:16:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=3893"},"modified":"2017-12-01T20:40:47","modified_gmt":"2017-12-01T20:40:47","slug":"roomies-chapter-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2017\/12\/roomies-chapter-4\/","title":{"rendered":"ROOMIES – CHAPTER 4"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Hi again! And if you look just over there <– you’ll see us, and Roomies in the royal engagement edition of People magazine! We’re sort of losing our minds.<\/p>\n

Moving on! If you haven’t read Chapters 1-3, you can find them here<\/em><\/a> and here.<\/a> We’re just a few short days away, but until then here’s chapter 4!<\/p>\n

Chapter 4<\/em><\/p>\n

My new phone vibrates just as the credits roll on my third consecutive Vampire Diaries <\/em>episode of the night. I wouldn\u2019t normally be mainlining addicting teen dramas on a work night, but Robert balked when he caught me awkwardly trying to fold Luis Genova T-shirts and kicked me out after the Wednesday matinee, thereby exacerbating my guilt spiral. I can\u2019t go to yoga, I can\u2019t try to write, I can\u2019t go have a drink because of these painkillers. I can\u2019t even focus on reading without the intrusive worry about what Robert is going to do without Seth leading the orchestra.<\/p>\n

My phone vibrates again and I cross the room to where it\u2019s charging on the kitchen counter, next to the laptop I haven\u2019t touched in weeks. I\u2019m wholly expecting it to be my brother Davis calling to ensure I\u2019m not out venturing the mean streets of Manhattan with only one arm to protect myself, but am pleasantly surprised to see Lulu\u2019s smiling face light up the screen instead.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, there.\u201d I open the fridge, scanning the contents. \u201cHow\u2019s my little invalid?\u201d Judging by the sound of voices and clanking silverware coming from the other end of the line, Lulu is at Blue Hill, where she is\u2014like many in Manhattan\u2014 an actress waiting tables while awaiting her big break.<\/p>\n

I tuck the phone between my chin and shoulder, and with my good arm pull a casserole dish out of the fridge and set it on the counter. \u201cI\u2019m home. Robert said I looked like a three-legged puppy at a dog show and told me to go home for a few days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a monster,\u201d she says with a laugh. \u201cAre you at work?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Actually . . . hang on.\u201d A few moments of muffled silence pass and then she returns, the background quieter now. \u201cI had an early shift, so I\u2019m leaving soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re off tonight?\u201d I stop with my plate of cold lasagna just shy of the microwave, outlook suddenly brighter. \u201cCome over and I\u2019ll make you dinner. I\u2019ll only need one of your hands.\u201d \u201cI have a better idea. I got a two-for-one on the cover to see<\/p>\n

this ridiculous band, and Gene can\u2019t go. Come with me!\u201d<\/p>\n

I know this story well: Lulu found tickets to a venue on Groupon and couldn\u2019t pass them up because they were such a good deal<\/em>. Most of the time, I love her impulsivity and obsession with random adventures. But it\u2019s cold tonight and going out requires changing out of my pajamas\u2014which means putting on actual clothes that I\u2019d have to wrestle my way into.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is a pass for me, Lu.\u201d I pop my food into the microwave while she whimpers into the line.<\/p>\n

The sound is so pathetic, it chips away at my resolve and I don\u2019t even have to say anything\u2014she knows it. \u201cCome on, Holland! The band is called Loose Springsteen! How amazing is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

I growl.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t make me go to Jersey by myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA cover band in Jersey<\/em>?\u201d I say. \u201cYou really aren\u2019t sweetening the deal here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d rather stay home in your pajamas eating leftovers than have the night of your life with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

I snort. \u201cYou might be overselling it just a bit.\u201d She whimpers again, and I break.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Lulu was absolutely overselling it. Hole in the Hall is a . . . bar<\/em>? That\u2019s really the nicest thing I can say about it.<\/p>\n

The subway station lets out just across the street from a nondescript brick building and Lulu giddily dances down the sidewalk. The neighborhood is a mixture of business and residential, but at least half the surrounding buildings look vacant. Opposite the bar is an empty Korean restaurant, with shuttered windows and a sign hanging crookedly near the doorway. Next door is a converted house with neon letters that spell House of Hookah<\/em>; the once-bright tubes are now dark and dusty against the tin roof. It\u2019s not exactly a mystery why Hole in the Hall would need to seduce potential new clientele with Groupon deals.<\/p>\n

Lulu turns to perform her dance backward, luring me across the shiny wet street. \u201cThis is promising, at least,\u201d she says brightly as we join a small crowd of people lined up near the door.<\/p>\n

The opening notes of Journey\u2019s \u201cDon\u2019t Stop Believin\u2019 \u201d can be heard through the brick walls, and each time the door opens the music rushes out, as if escaping. I have to admit it feels good to get dressed and leave my worries to languish in the apartment for a few hours. Leggings and a dressy top weren\u2019t too much work, and Lulu and her two good arms helped me blow-dry my long hair. For the first time in a couple of days, I don\u2019t look and feel like a troll doll. This night might not be so bad after all.<\/p>\n

When it\u2019s finally our turn to enter, Lulu brandishes her two-for-one coupon like a badge and shimmies through the line.<\/p>\n

Unsurprisingly, it\u2019s pretty no-frills inside. The walls are lined with old video games, and carved-up tables stand in clusters surrounding the bar. The decor is a questionable mix of Harley-Davidson, taxidermy, and Old West paraphernalia. A stripper pole stands proudly on a platform at one end, and a stage at the other. The lighting is dim and dusty, and combined with a makeshift fog machine, it makes the band members little more than backlit figures moving around onstage.<\/p>\n

Settling at a table, Lulu flags down a waitress and we order drinks that materialize almost disturbingly quickly, like they were poured hours ago and left to grow stale behind the bar.<\/p>\n

Lulu studies her cocktail, charmingly titled Adios Motherfucker. With a tiny why-the-fuck-not shrug, she takes a swallow, wincing as it goes down. \u201cTastes like 7Up.\u201d<\/p>\n

I am mesmerized by the blinking neon ice cube in her glass. \u201cI worry your drink is going to give someone a seizure.\u201d<\/p>\n

She takes another sip and her straw blooms with fluorescent blue alcohol. \u201cActually, it tastes like sparkling water.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSee, that\u2019s the house-made moonshine killing your taste buds.\u201d<\/p>\n

She ignores this and turns her brown eyes on me. \u201cIs the cast a giant pain in the ass? I\u2019ve never broken a bone.\u201d She grins. \u201cWell . . . none of my own, ifyouknowwhatImean<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh, looking down at my purple cast peeking out of the black sling. \u201cIt could be worse. The camera\u2019s a bit unruly and I can\u2019t fold shirts very well yet, but I mean . . . I could be dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods at this, taking another sip of her drink\u2014which is already half-gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean,\u201d I say, \u201clet\u2019s be honest, I only need one hand to take people\u2019s money during intermission, so it\u2019s not that bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hear you\u2019re great one-handed.\u201d She slaps a beat on the table and makes a rim-shot noise.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe best.\u201d I wink. \u201cWhat about you, any auditions?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lulu shakes her head with a little pout and then does a shoulder shimmy to the beat of the music. She might waitress to make ends meet, but she\u2019s dreamed of being an actress since she was old enough to know it was a possibility. We met in grad school, where she was studying theater and I was writing. She\u2019s told me on several occasions that she should become my muse, and I can write script after script for her. This should tell you a lot about our dynamic, which\u2014despite this Jersey sidequest\u2014is generally more entertaining than tedious.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s been in a few low-budget commercials (she played an accident-prone chicken in an insurance commercial, and I have several gifs of this performance I like to occasionally text her out of the blue), attended almost every acting class offered in New York, and (as a favor to me) was given a small part in one of Robert\u2019s shows. It didn\u2019t last long\u2014because, as Robert put it, \u201cLulu is good at playing Lulu and only Lulu\u201d\u2014but as long as she draws breath, she will believe that her big break is just around the corner.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo auditions this week.\u201d She watches the stage while taking another neon pull from her drink. I gingerly sip my watered-down Diet Coke. \u201cCrowds haven\u2019t died down since the holidays, so we\u2019re all taking on extra hours.\u201d Nodding toward the musicians, she says, \u201cI feel like I\u2019m being visually assaulted by the crotch of that guy\u2019s outfit, but this band? They don\u2019t completely suck.\u201d<\/p>\n

I follow her gaze to where the lead singer has moved to stand under a single bright spotlight. His acid-washed jeans are so tight I can see every lump he has to offer. A few more hours in those pants and I\u2019m confident he can kiss his child-fathering years goodbye. The band shifts from the closing notes of Def Leppard\u2019s \u201cPour Some Sugar on Me\u201d into a cover of Great White\u2019s \u201cRock Me\u201d\u2014<\/em>I have my older brother Thomas\u2019s addiction to hair metal to thank for this knowledge\u2014and a brave (or drunk) group of women gravitate to the edge of the stage, dancing to the bluesy opening chords.<\/p>\n

And why not? I sway a little in my seat, drawn in by the way the guitar player drags out each note, like a maddening seduction, his head bent low in concentration. Loose Springsteen might be a cheesy cover band\u2014and most of them are wearing at least one dangly earring and\/or an article of clothing covered in animal print\u2014but Lulu is right: they aren\u2019t half bad. With a little polish I could see them playing in a bigger club somewhere, or in an eighties revival off-off-Broadway.<\/p>\n

The singer falls back and the guitarist moves into a circle of smoky light, beginning his requisite solo. There\u2019s a surprisingly loud reaction from the women up front . . . and there\u2019s something familiar about the way he holds the guitar, the way his fingers glide up the neck, the way his hair falls forward . . .<\/p>\n

Oh, holy . . .<\/em><\/p>\n

He lifts his chin, and even with his eyes in shadow and half his face turned away, I know.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s him,\u201d I say, pointing. I sit up straighter, pulling my phone out. I\u2019m still on enough painkillers to not entirely trust my eyes right now. I zoom in, snapping a blurry picture.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stare down at the screen and recognize the cut of his jaw, his full mouth. \u201cCalvin. The dude from the subway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShut <\/em>up.\u201d She squints, leaning in. \u201cThat\u2019s him<\/em>?\u201d There\u2019s a moment of silence where I know she\u2019s looking him over, seeing exactly what I\u2019ve seen almost every day for the last six months. \u201cDamn. Okay.\u201d She turns to me, brows pointed skyward. \u201cHe\u2019s hot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI told you!\u201d We both look back over to him. He\u2019s playing high on the neck, screaming out the notes on his guitar, and unlike the meditative lean of his posture at the station, here he\u2019s completely playing to the audience. \u201cWhat is he doing here?\u201d What if he sees me? \u201cOh my God. Is he going to think I followed him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, how would you possibly know he\u2019s the guitarist for Loose Springsteen? You\u2019re not exactly a member of their fan club.\u201d Lulu lets out a happy cackle. \u201cAs if they have <\/em>a fan club.\u201d<\/p>\n

She\u2019s right, of course, but even now, the way I can\u2019t take my eyes off him, I feel <\/em>like a stalker. I already know so much about his schedule\u2014I saw him just this morning, after all\u2014 and I know even more now. Is this the kind of thing he does when he\u2019s not busking? Good Lord. Maybe this is why there\u2019s such a fire to his playing at the station; he has to physically force this music out of his head.<\/p>\n

The song ends and the lead singer slips his mic into the stand, muttering that they\u2019re taking a break before smashing his bottle of Rolling Rock to his lips and triumphantly draining it.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m out of my chair before I know what I\u2019m doing. People shuffle back to their seats to refuel on bad beer, and the lights go up just enough that I see Calvin disappear into the shadows and reappear a moment later at the opposite side of the bar.<\/p>\n

Whereas the rest of the band is a veritable cover spread of 1980s fashion don\u2019ts, Calvin is in a black T-shirt, with the hem tucked lazily into the front of his dark jeans. He\u2019s wearing his black boots, too, and the left one is presently propped on the brass rail near his feet. The bartender places a dark beer in front of him and he lifts it, staring ahead.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure how to approach him, and he still hasn\u2019t seen me standing a few feet away. Saying his name somehow feels sincerely weird, so I square my shoulders and slide onto the barstool beside him.<\/p>\n

Only once I\u2019m seated do I register that there were about ten other women working up the nerve to do the same thing, coming at him from all angles. He turns slowly, like this happens at every set break and he\u2019s never sure what manner of companion he\u2019s going to end up with.<\/p>\n

But when our eyes meet, he startles, face immediately relaxing into a genuine smile. \u201cHey, it\u2019s the girl from the Netherlands.\u201d<\/p>\n

And I can\u2019t help it. Incredulity makes it burst out of me: \u201c \u2018Hey\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

Calvin\u2019s smile turns a little sympathetic, like he gets it, and waves to the bartender, who immediately approaches. \u201cWhatever she wants,\u201d he tells the older man.<\/p>\n

I hesitate. I didn\u2019t come over here to have a drink with him. I came here to scratch that tickle of curiosity in my head that\u2019s been plaguing me for the past few days . . . and maybe tell him off a little. <\/em>But his inherent easiness is disorienting. I expected him to be shy, or stiff. Instead he\u2019s nothing but relaxed, smiling charisma.<\/p>\n

The bartender taps an impatient finger against the bar.<\/p>\n

I apologize under my breath before ordering, \u201cClub soda with lime, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA real wild child you are,\u201d Calvin teases.<\/p>\n

I meet his eyes, giving him a forced grin. \u201cI\u2019m on painkillers.\u201d I nod to the cast. \u201cBroken arm.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grimaces playfully. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

The question is so much easier to ask than I\u2019d expected: \u201cSo why didn\u2019t you tell them what you saw? They told my family I jumped<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods a few times, swallowing his sip of beer before speaking. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I am. But I didn\u2019t think the police would believe my version.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pre-subway-platform-dive Holland would be losing her mind right now at the way his accent moves every word to the front of his mouth, and think <\/em>comes out as tink<\/em>\u2014a tiny coin dropped into a cup.<\/p>\n

Okay, Holland of today is losing her mind a little, too, but she\u2019s at least trying to keep her cool.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I say, \u201cthey didn\u2019t believe my version, either. They handed me a couple of self-help pamphlets and probably aren\u2019t even looking for the guy who did it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Calvin turns, meeting my eyes. \u201cLook. Being in the station, I see . . .\u201d He shakes his head. \u201cI see people do terrible shite all the time and then report it themselves. Crime fetish, or somethin\u2019. That\u2019s all I could think about in that moment. Your bum ran off, and I was more concerned with getting you safe than stopping him.\u201d<\/p>\n

As he talks, he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans for a tube of ChapStick, absently pulling off the cap and running the balm quickly over his lips. The move is so distracting that I don\u2019t realize I\u2019m staring at his mouth until the bartender loudly deposits a tumbler of sparkling water and limes on a napkin in front of me. Calvin slips the tube back into his pocket as he nods in thanks.<\/p>\n

My brain shuffles through memories of Monday night, and I have to admit that what he\u2019s said makes sense\u2014even if it doesn\u2019t explain why he lied to the EMTs. But does that matter? It was embarrassing to be handed the suicide prevention card, yeah, but in reality, Calvin called 911, and stayed to make sure.<\/p>\n

I was okay. Now what feels remarkable isn\u2019t that he fled after I was safely awake in the ambulance, it\u2019s that he stayed that long to begin with.<\/p>\n

Calvin holds out his hand. \u201cApology accepted?\u201d<\/p>\n

I take it, and grow a little breathless knowing that he plays his guitar with the fingers he currently has wrapped around mine. A hot pulse works its way down my spine. \u201cYeah. Apology accepted.\u201d<\/p>\n

Releasing me, he stares at the cast for a few seconds. \u201cI see you\u2019ve got no names written on there.\u201d<\/p>\n

I follow his attention down. \u201cNames?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s required when you choose a little-girl color, love. You\u00a0beg <\/em>your mates to mark it all up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh<\/em>. Something turns over inside me at his playful smile, exposing my vulnerable underbelly. I realize now that a significant fraction of my brain was hoping he wouldn\u2019t be so amiable when he saw me, that he would be defensive and sharp, so I\u2019d have a good reason to tuck my crush away.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m still traumatized by the gore of my friend\u2019s sweaty, smelly, graffitied cast in fourth grade.\u201d I grin over at him. \u201cI\u2019m trying to keep this one pristine.\u201d<\/p>\n

The band begins to reconvene on the stage, and Calvin glances over his shoulder before draining his beer.<\/p>\n

He stands, and then grins down at me. I\u2019m overcome by his exultant smile. \u201cWell, if you change your mind and want it dirtied up, you know where to find me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Preorder today<\/h3>\n