DISCLAIMER - Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
A/N - This is a sequel to my story When In Rome. I don't know where I want to head with this, and I don't even have a plot in mind. This is just a little drabble I had bouncing around in my head. Suggestions are always welcome, and I hope you enjoy! xx CK
-1-
Alex sat on the fire escape of her New York City studio, one foot inside the loft and one foot on the steel overhang. It was one of those perfect city nights, 55 degrees with a clear, crisp breeze.
Arizona was working late again, bartending five nights a week to help pay rent. Alex landed a job at a nearby café, but they still only had enough money to afford a shitty studio in the West Village. There were no bedrooms, no doors, no privacy. Just an open space with two beds, a couch, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom. They put up ancient bohemian curtains purchased from a Hungarian woman at the Brooklyn Flea Market, strung with bits of gold and turquoise and red cotton designs, creating at least the illusion of privacy.
Alex and Arizona had never lived like this before. Growing up in mansions on the New England coast, the girls were used to never wanting for a single thing. But both sets of parents were less than thrilled with their chosen university, finding the dangers and chaos of Manhattan completely undesirable. They had agreed to pay for the tuition at Columbia, at least acknowledging the prestige of the university, but absolutely refused to spend money on an Upper East Side apartment. Maybe they were trying to teach the girls a lesson, maybe they were just total assholes. It was anyone's guess.
But the irony of the situation, much to Alex's amusement, is that she and Arizona had never been happier. They had their educations paid for, which was the most important thing, but they were completely dirt poor. They lived off of pizza rolls and spaghetti-o's, drank domestic beer out of a can instead of popping bottles of rosé, had no cable or internet and instead relied on the entertainment of their favorite authors. Hemingway, Plath, Faulkner, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hunter S. Thompson, and more recent sensations like JK Rowling and Gillian Flynn. Anything they could get their hands on to pass the time. They used the computers at the library on campus or at the café where Alex worked, having become accustomed to completing essays and term papers while surrounded by the noise of strangers.
They had the good fortune of living above a record store. Owned by two lesbians who looked to be in their fifties, clad in flannel and baggy jeans and Dr. Martens, Alex and Arizona had made fast friends with the women. They had taken pity on the young blondes, remembering back to their first days in New York during the 80's and how broke they had been. They loaned the girls a vintage record player, Alex and Arizona promising to give it back when they moved, and stocked them up on all of their favorite records. Everything from Lou Reed to Lykke Li to Sleater-Kinney and Bikini Kill. They invited them over for Sunday night dinners at their apartment in Brooklyn, even extending the invitation to Olivia and Callie. It was the only home-cooked meal they enjoyed all week, but what they really looked forward to was the company, the camaraderie, the feeling of being surrounded by such wonderful women who finally understood who they were and what they stood for. There were no sideways glances, no snide remarks, no judgment. Just warmth and openness that had never existed in New England.
Alex had tried to get through one more chapter of Wuthering Heights, but the sights and sounds from the city below made it difficult to concentrate. She put a bookmark into the old, dusty page and closed her book. Just then, Arizona came in the front door from a long night at the pub. She kicked off her brown ankle boots, grabbed a tan crotched blanket from the sofa, and put on a Patti Smith record. She popped out onto the fire escape, draped the blanket loosely over Alex's shoulders, and huddled into her best friend. Alex pulled a pink lighter out of her pocket and lit the lavender candle that sat on the windowsill, then proceeded to light two Marlboro Lights, one for herself and one for Arizona. She took two more beers from the six-pack that sat on the steel staircase, twisting off the caps and handing a Yuengling to Arizona. They clinked bottles, smiled at each other, and sat totally content, just listening to the deep voice of Patti Smith and the rushing of cars below.
"Hey, beautiful!" A cab door slammed shut down on West 12th Street. Alex glanced at the road below, hearing that perfectly familiar voice, and saw the most luminous smile she could ever imagine.
~tbc~
