I laughed. Like actually laughed. “You remind me of a less pretty, more pitiful, underprivileged, poor version of me.”
“Fuck you. Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She made a face. “That’s horrible.”
I shrugged smiling. “I said it because I was sure you could take it. Besides, any version of me is better than a version of anyone else.”
“Wowww.” Her mouth made an O and again, she tilted her head to the side. “How does your neck support such a big ego?”
“I do a couple chin tucks each morning and I’m good to go,” I said, showing her.
She tried not to laugh but couldn’t help herself. Shaking her head at me, she said, “Fine. I don’t mind being a less pretty, more pitiful, underprivileged, poor version of you.”
“Penélope,” I huffed and exhaled loudly. “Just when I was starting to like you.”
“What?”
“You should mind. Who wants to be a less pretty, more pitiful, underprivileged, poor version of me?”
She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “You just said that’s better than being everyone else!”
“Exactly!” I said in the same whiny tone as her. “You’re already better than everyone else. You should strive for more, not just settle. I saw your self-portrait and thought… This girl is ahead of her time.”
“The ones displayed in the hall? You liked that?” she asked in disbelief.
I nodded. “I love art. But I love artists more, despite the fact I can’t draw to save my life. Everyone probably sees that drawing and thinks you’re weird, right?”
“I mean, it isn’t the only reason, but it didn’t help my popularity,” she said a little less cheery than before.
“High school popularity is shit and I say that as someone who has always been popular.”
“So, you don’t know what it’s like to be on the outside, then. To always be out in the cold,” she muttered before drinking her milk.
“I didn’t say that.” I rested my cheek on my palm. “And you also don’t know what it’s like to be on the inside. They’re not any happier. In fact, they’re so terrified of being out in the cold that they’re willing to bend, deform themselves, inject Botox into their faces, cut away pieces of themselves just to stay popular. What they don’t realize is that those pieces they are cutting away are important.”
“What are you, a walking, talking self-help book?” She tried to laugh this time, but it didn’t come out the way she wanted, so she just hung her head.
“If you mean myself… Yeah most of the time.” I nodded. “But today I decided to share my almighty greatness with you, poor child. Think of me as your one-time fairy godmother.”
That did make her laugh. “One time?”
“Make one wish. Please don’t wish for something small and useless, I’ll be insulted. I’m too rich for small wishes.”
“Why?” she asked me, carefully, and I liked her even more for doing so.
“Because when asked to draw a self- portrait, you didn’t draw yourself one dimensional. You said, I am many things which make the whole; I am pieces put together in strange angles and I cannot choose just one for anyone.”
“I could just like cubism,” she muttered, before sucking on her straw, and we gave each other a look before laughing. “Fine one wish, and prepare yourself, I make big wishes.”
“Bring it.” I waved her on.
“I’m not kidding. I’m going to come off like a total parasite, trying to take everything I can—”
“Good on you.” I nodded to her. “Now you sound even more like me.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she muttered, sitting up and rolling her sleeves. She was so funny.
“Well, I don’t have all day—”
“Make me rich,” she cut me off. “Make me so rich, they have to respect me. So that they can’t abuse my mom and the teachers can’t look down on me.”
I smiled from ear to ear, leaning in close to her. “If I give you this, you aren’t going to go crazy, lose your personality, and try to become one of the popular girls, are you?”
She waved her hand over her stomach. “It’s kinda hard to be a cheer girl with a belly.”
“Fine. I’ll trust you.” I nodded, getting back up. “Keep drawing. Your stuff is going to be worth a lot. I’ll buy the self-portrait for one-five.”
“$1,500 is a little steep for a high-school painting—”
“$1,500? I’ve spent more on shoes. Try one point five million.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You lie.”
“Always, but not about this. Enjoy your last shitty sandwich and watch how the popular ones are the first to swarm to new fires.”
I turned around, ready to make my great exit; happy with completing my good deed of the year when I saw him. Dressed in head to toe black, standing at the front of the cafeteria, and grinning at me proudly.
In the next meeting, we are definitely discussing the school’s damn security system.
GABRIEL
“How did you get in here?” she hissed once she’d gotten close enough. I looked her over; covering my mouth as my eyes drank in her curvy hips under the tight, high-waisted yellow skirt which stopped just a little below her lacy crop top, showing a small sliver of her mid-section. “My eyes are up here.” She snapped her fingers at me.
“I’m not looking for your eyes,” I said, finally looking back at her. “Though they are beautiful, as always. I’m trying to figure out how you got in here.”
“Excuse me?”
I waved my hands over her outfit. “I know you enjoy being every man’s fantasy, but this a little much, don’t you think? They’re teenagers; you aren’t playing fair.”
She raised her hand as if she were about to smack me, but I quickly side-stepped her, looking to the women who now stood behind her. “Ladies, please excuse us, but Ms. Callahan has another engagement this afternoon and we must leave now if we hope to be on time.”
“Ma’am,” I turned back to Dona, waving her towards the door. She gave me a look that was more than annoyed… Which I had to admit hurt, seeing as how I’d just witnessed her true smile.
“Ladies.” She faced them, speaking politely. “I’m sorry, I must go. Principal Pomar, someone will collect Penélope’s drawing later.”
“You’re buying it?” The woman’s eyes almost fell out of her damn head.
Donatella simply nodded, looking over at her shoulder at the girl she’d spoken to. Other students were now gathering around her. “I have feeling that girl is going to be a great artist one day. I’m surprised someone as sophisticated as you didn’t know her talent. For shame. I guess it’s true… Somethings you can’t buy, or teach. You’re either born with it or not.”
When I wasn’t on the other end of her attacks, I had to admit that the way Donatella made words into weapons was masterful. Without another word, she spun around gracefully and walked out.
“Ladies.” I nodded to them once more, hurrying to catch up. I matched her pace to reach her easily. Noticing one of the girls in the hallway taking a photo with her phone, I winked at her, and they all gasped and giggled, nearly falling over themselves.
“A little much, don’t you think? They’re teenagers, you aren’t playing fair,” Donatella mocked me as we reached front glass doors, which slid open.
“You know, I like this side of you,” I said, walking down the stairs.
“What side of me?”
“The playful one. You were even, dare I say it,” I gasped placing my hand over my mouth, “nice.”
“Give me the keys. I’ll go by myself.”
“What keys?” I asked, placing my hands in my pockets.
At the bottom step, she paused and shook her head. “I’m not playing this game with you; where is the car?”
“What car?”
She nodded to herself, lifting her phone and starting to dial. “Yes, I’m finished. I need a car—”
She was cut off by the sound o
f the helicopter as it flew overhead before landing on the grassy field to our right.
“Option one, you wait out here for your car. There’s traffic, so it will take at least twenty minutes for the car to get here. Option two, you go inside and wait with the woman you politely berated—”
I didn’t even need to finish. Dona was already walking towards the helicopter. I grinned again, catching up and walking in pace with her.
When the door slid open - because I was born a gentleman - I placed my hands on her ass, helping her inside before getting in myself.
As I sat beside her, she said, “I’m going to kill you later.”
“I’m ready when you are,” I replied, taking a set of headphones, carefully brushing the loose strands of hair out of the way before putting them over her ears. She didn’t even pretend not to glare at my face as I did.
When I was done and had put my own headphones on, she crossed her arms and legs and looked out the at the city below us. The noise from the chopper made it far too difficult for us to talk, but that was fine. We had time for that.
Step one: Get her to give me the smallest of chances; even if the door to her heart opened a millimeter, it was still an opening I could work with.
Step two: Get her to invite me in.
Step three: Stay there at all cost.
I was currently on step two. Step one took much longer than I’d anticipated. Step two required even more patience and a man proficient in seduction.
Luckily, I was such a man. Normally the secret to the art of seduction called for one thing—knowledge. Knowing exactly what it was the other person craved and giving it to them in small doses until they became addicted. However, with Donatella, I was sure it would take more than that. I needed to make sure she was always on her toes, that she never knew what to expect. I needed to frustrate, anger, excited, confuse, and amaze her. I needed to give her everything. I needed to be everything.
It sounded daunting, exhausting, for most men at least.
However, I was not most men. Since I was a child, I’d been taught and trained to be best at everything. So, I was willing to do almost anything even if it meant crawling to her cousin and begging for a clue. I was sure she’d do it, with a little convincing and I was right. What didn’t expect was her answer.
Her text simply said, “Donatella is greedy in the same way all women are greedy. Her dream date is every cheesy thing you’ve seen in movies and read in books. She wants to have every experience.”
The answer was both helpful and completely useless.
She’d basically told me anything is fine in the most eloquent way possible. Meaning I was left to think of something on my own. Fortunately, there was no shortage of things to do in this state.
She’d be pissed at first, but I was looking forward to it. Her rage excited me.
If she wanted everything; I’d give her everything.
SEVENTEEN
“We didn't realize we were making memories,
we just knew we were having fun.”
~ A. A. Milne
DONATELLA
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stared out at the barely clothed bodies, covered in fake tattoos, body glitter and jewelry, all of them holding clear cups which were definitely not filled with water. There were blow-up chairs, fake Bohemian print blankets, and tents on top of the grass. I looked at what lay before me with a mixture of astonishment and exasperation. “You brought me to TLSM?”
“Is that what this is called?” he asked me, tossing the duffle bag he’d taken off the helicopter over his shoulder. He was the one who’d brought me so why did he look like he no idea where we were? Noticing me ready to beat him to death, he lifted his phone. “I just searched things happening within a hundred miles of the city and saw this music festival.”
He’s an idiot.
I’m an idiot for thinking he was anything but an idiot.
“I’m going home—”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me back. “Donatella, have you ever lived life like normal twenty-six-year-old?”
“No, because I’m not a normal—”
“Me either,” he said seriously, looking me in the eye. “Tomorrow we can go back to being not normal people. My secrets will start to come out and when that happens, I don’t know when either of us will get to have normal day of youthful stupidity. You don’t trust me. You don’t know me. Fine. But everyone here is the same. No-one knows anyone. They don’t care; they just want to have fun. So, let’s join them and have fun.”
“WOOOOOOHHHHH!” Three random guys ran right in front us, holding flags behind their backs as if they were capes. No sooner had they gone before the music got louder as a new band took the main stage.
“You could have at least gotten me shoes,” I muttered, lifting my heel to stop from sinking further into the grass.
He flipped the bag down slightly and unzipped it, pulling out a pair of sandals. Bending down, he put them at my feet. “Anything else, your majesty?”
Saying nothing, I stepped out of my heels and into the sandals. He extended his hand to take the heels, but I took them myself and walked forward. He was so damn annoying and doing far too much.
A private helicopter ride to The Last Summer Music Festival? Who was he trying to be right now? And of all places, TLSM? The festival took place on the last day of summer each year, but because most teens and young adults were already back at school, it had just become a festival for post-graduates who didn’t have to go to work the next morning or had nothing else to do with their lives. In the middle of the damn clearing of Foster Woods.
“TLSM rules! Whoa, yea!”
“Dude, you’re like forty; shut the hell up,” I muttered at the man to the left of us as we made our way through the crowd.
Gabriel, who must have heard me, snickered but didn’t say anything. It was only then that I realized he was still holding my hand. When I tried to pull it back, he just held on tighter. Too tired to fight him, I let it go. He kept us good distance away from the massive crowd, until finally we got to where a green blanket was spread over the grass beside the tree. A thin, frail woman was standing guard over it.
“Thanks.” Gabriel handed her a wad of bills.
“No problem, hot stuff.” She winked at him then happily skipped… Yes, skipped, away from us.
“Hot stuff? What is this, 2003?” I asked myself as I watched her go.
“Be nice, she’s a paying customer of yours,” he said to me, finally letting go of my hand and bending down to bring out containers of food.
“A customer of mine?”
He glanced up at me like I was stupid and I must have been because it took too long for that to connect. Shaking his head, he finished setting up and said, “Sit.”
“I’m—”
“I know you’re not a dog, I’m just saying you’re free to sit so we can eat,” he said as if he could read my mind, lifting the box for me.
Saying nothing, I sat down on the blanket, dropping my clutch to the side. Inside each of the boxes were more of my favorite foods. Tomato galette with fetta and fresh thyme, deep-fried shrimp fritters with cornichon dressing, and honey lemon chicken with artichoke bites. “You made all of this?”
“Chef Carluccio is warming up to me,” he replied, shifting to lay on his side, his legs off the blanket. “I promise it’s edible,” he replied, taking a bite of the food. However, it must have been much harder than it should have been because he had to keep chewing.
“It is edible, right?” I asked, trying to not to laugh.
He reached over and took the box from me. “Eat the others.”
“Nope,” I snatched it back, taking one and popping it into my mouth, only to have the same problem as he did. It was so hard.
He broke out, laughing at me. “You really can’t help yourself, can you? If I say left, you will say right, even if it means going over a cliff!”
I handed him the box back, still chewing, and he smiled, shaking his head
at me. He handed me a bottle of water which I didn’t want to take, but decided to man up and take it when I noticed the way he was trying not to laugh at me, fully aware I was just fighting him and choosing to suffer.
“I can’t help it,” I told him after drinking. “People have been giving me orders I’ve had to follow my whole life. I don’t like it.”
“People as in your parents?”
“Most kids could rebel… But if I did, I’d end up in a ditch somewhere and they’d have to come and save me, and then lecture me to death on why I should have listened to them and their all-knowing selves,” I muttered, stuffing a chicken bite into my mouth which thankfully tasted the way it was supposed to…amazing.
“I’m guessing that actually happened?”
I paused mid-bite, not liking how casual he was again. “Let’s talk about your parents.”
“New topic,” he said quickly, looking back over the crowd.
“What, I thought we were going down memory lane?”
“Today you are the most beautiful and happy I’ve seen you since I got here,” he replied, changing the subject completely.
“Nice try but—”
“You don’t laugh like that at home,” he said, still not looking up at me. “At home you… You’re the princess of the mafia; bloody-thirsty, ambitious, cold, and ruthless. That’s beautiful in a tragic way. But today, you are just beautiful. You saw another person and decided to change their lives for the better. You gave them hope and you enjoyed it. You laughed with her, teased her, and even made faces.” He laughed to himself before turning to stare at me. “You were beautiful in an organic way.”
“What happened to accepting me at—”
“I do accept you. I accept the darker parts of you and the brighter ones. You weren’t acting out of character today. That is who you are under those conditions. That was you, too.”
Reaching over, I grabbed one of the napkins and reminded him, “That was me working. It’s good to make sure people think we are generous.”
“True, but there were other kids sitting alone. Other kids there who could have used that generosity. You chose her because there was something about her you liked. That’s why you sat down with her, too. If not, you could have just bought the drawing and left.”