She had a four-foot glamour shot hanging in her living room. Front and center. All the furniture was slightly tilted towards it. Creating a sort of shrine. Nobody mentioned it, but by his face I knew he was thinking the same thing… WTF.
It was actually her that brought it up. “I do photo work” she stated emphatically. Neither of us knew what that meant but we acted very impressed. He turned around and he gave me one of those looks. I loved those and always had to hold in my laughter. This was no different. He quickly turned his face to appear very contemplative like we were analyzing a painting at the Louvre.
I loved him in that moment. As we left, she asked if his son could help her move this weekend. He said yes and we snuck out. We giggled down the stairs and the bartender gave us a wayward glance as we made our way back for one more drink. We both knew what he was thinking, but didn’t care. We looked like a couple… but we felt like one, too. I liked it. I didn’t know what he thought about it, but it was a rare moment where we both just elated. Life was funny. She was funny. The bartender and his reaction to us, acting like sneaky teenagers was funny.
That Saturday, while carrying groceries, I noticed the bustle of activities in her new apartment. I looked through the window to see a 12-year-old standing on an expensive sofa with the portrait, almost taller than he was. She was giving directions and I could see his frustration. I loved all of this. Like I had stepped into a romantic comedy.
****
She was in every way my foil. He had a strange attraction to her. I like to think he was intrigued because she was just so different than me in so many ways. Her apartment always looked like it was staged for a photo shoot. She had Tiffany lamps and antique sofas and a sitting room. To be fair, I had a sitting room too. I had made it into my office, or rather a room with two large desks that I used to collect bills I didn’t pay.
She always had on makeup and loads of jewelry. The jewelry she wore for a trip to the post office was more than I think was in my entire “collection” if you could call it that. A box of mismatched earrings and some necklaces I bought at a home party my aunt threw. Why were my earrings always missing? I took them off together. I bet hers were neatly organized in an expensive jewelry box. It probably had a lock on it. I had zipper pouch and some baggies where I stored my earrings. When I went out, I’d dump all the contents on my bed and find two that matched, steal backs from another pair and call it a day.
I liked to pretend that he liked that about me. That I was the down-to-earth, low maintenance girl, and I think he did. But I know that he liked how she spent an hour on her hair and ironed her clothes.
It wasn’t a sexual attraction but rather a curiosity. What had she been like 20 years ago? Which led to the inevitable, what will I be like in 20 years? I liked to think I’d be like her, but I knew I wouldn’t. What could happen in the next decade that would inspire me to wake up at 7 a.m. wearing matching pajamas vs. a race t-shirt, spend an hour doing my hair, learn makeup and invest in jewelry? The thought was actually pretty amusing.
I was jealous of her too. She didn’t do this for anyone in particular, but for everyone. She wanted to look her best for whomever she might meet that day. Whether it was he and I after a few drinks or the maintenance man, or just the 20-something xray tech that lived next door.