Versus (Facile)
Summary: Manuela is who you become when you're feeling particularly inept; you slip on her shoes and try to see what it feels like to be someone important, someone with a purpose. Manny, future one-shot.
A/N: Inspired by Manny's habit of introducing herself as Manuela whenever she meets someone new. Nothing big.
Facile- adj. specious, superficial; readily manifested and often lacking sincerity or depth
The man staring down the front of your shirt is David Scott, the best film producer in town. You shift in your seat to allow him a better view of your cleavage. His grin widens and, after about a minute and a half, he finally brings his eyes up to your face.
"David Scott," he says, putting his hand over yours with a flourish. He's been waiting to say that all night, you can tell, waiting to brandish his power and title and watch it take control over you.
"Manuela," is all you offer, leaning forward, purposefully holding the tip of your tongue to your teeth as your mouth forms over the "el".
Manuela is who you become when you're feeling particularly inept. Whenever you're feeling a little intimidated, you slip on her shoes and try to see what it feels like to be someone important, someone with a purpose.
"Listen," he says, leaning towards you. You nearly choke on the smell of his cologne, practically saturating his clothes and assaulting your nasal passages. "I've got a room at the Ramada…"
Manuela holds the smile in place while Manny squirms in girlish embarrassment. You've been down this road before many, many times. "Some other time. I've got an early meeting in the morning."
With who? Your D-list agent who doesn't have an office or a business card?
Even in thought, Manuela is unabashedly and brutally honest.
He shrugs, completely unchanged and unaffected by your brush-off. "Suit yourself." Now that you've established you're not going to sleep with him, he's moved on to greener (and bustier) pastures.
Manny sighs in defeat and Manuela rolls her eyes in utter disappointment.
You take another sip of your drink.
"Do I know you?"
The voice that asks this question is somewhere close to your ear, a set of stranger's lips brushing across your hairline. You smile because you have grown used to lines like this, the small part of you that is still twelve years old and trailing in Emma Nelson's shadow is jumping up and down at the idea that you have been noticed. (It will probably never be a feeling you grow tired of.)
But then, you frown, because this face does look familiar and the part of you that is now twenty three years old- and pushing yourself as far away from all things Degrassi-related as you possibly can- fills with dread.
"I don't think so," you respond immediately, dismissively. The fact that you can't remember his name on the spot means he isn't someone you need to help solidify your career, help you climb to the top—which means, essentially, that he's of no use to you.
But even as you turn away from him, your mind lingers on a moment, seemingly unimportant and insignificant: a Valentine's Day dance and your inability to differentiate between the guy who wants to be with you despite what people say and the cute boy who's embarrassed by you because of what people say.
It's Chester, Last Name Not Important.
"No, I, uh, think I do. It's Manny, right?" He still has his dimples, still has that easy-going air about him that made him so adorable. You lost that, you think at about the same time you told Emma to go screw herself. And you haven't heard from her since then. At least, not directly.
Manuela is certain that life will be better without her, that Emma only clipped her wings. Manny isn't quite sure that she can flourish without her.
"It's Manuela now, actually. Don't act like you know me." He smiles, in spite of your tone, but that only irritates you further. "I'm not that girl anymore."
"Well you've certainly changed."
He's referring to the breasts you've always wanted, the makeover that was supposed to make the world take you seriously. You hold his gaze, jut out your chin in a show of defiance; remind yourself that Manuela wouldn't feel embarrassed, she'd be proud.
"Why are you even here?"
He takes a sip of his drink; you sneer because it's probably non-alcoholic. He doesn't need to get lost in the haze of alcohol in order to avoid the harsh truths of his reality. (Not like you.) "Just meeting some friends."
"What kind of friends?" Manuela perks up at that, opportunist that she is.
"The right kind." He is giving nothing away, and holds his cards close to the vest. Smart guy. Manuela nods, approvingly, at his cunning.
"Well, Chester, maybe you should introduce me." You add a deliberate sultriness to your voice and flutter your lashes, but it seems like it might take more than that to get him to bite the bait. Hand on his knee; squeeze it just light enough so he feels the pressure. His facial expression doesn't change and you clench your jaw, tight.
"So, now you do know me. Of course, because it's convenient, right?"
"Well why can't we both get a little something out of this?"
"Out of what? I just wanted to catch up. See how you were doing. I've heard some things..." The smile falls, finally, but he pulls your hand away from his leg.
You grow tense and stiff at what appears to be the beginning signs of pity. "What things? Have you been talking to Emma?"
Chester shakes his head, and ignores your question altogether. "What happened to you, Manny?"
"It's Manuela," you correct him softly, though it is mostly out of habit. "Nothing. I— nothing."
"Something did." The look in his eyes makes Manny want to cry, but strengthens Manuela's resolve to make him eat his words.
Manny will always want what she can't have and mopes about any obstacles that get in her way.
Manuela finds a way around those obstacles. Always.
"I'm making a name for myself. Changing. Doing what I have to. I'm an actress."
You feel your throat tickling, the warning signs that tears are coming and allow yourself to be consumed by resentment; you haven't cried in years and suddenly a blast from the past you'd rather forget almost has you bawling into your vodka tonic.
Chester slides off the bar stool, throws a couple of bills on the counter. You calculate the bill and deduce that he's left enough for you to catch a cab, but somehow you can't bring yourself to thank him. "Good luck with that. Goodbye, Manny."
He walks out with that, leaving you, Manuela, and Manny alone at the bar.
fin.