A/N: Definitely not my best. But. This is a story that does not focus on Beck! This is a story that focuses on Robbie! And Trina! But I must do more with Beck and Tori's satirical coffee shop. There's not a lot to say about this except that it is just a light ficlet about two lonely people meeting each other again. I think I got Robbie's characterization correct, but Trina feels iffy, since I matured her in some areas but I like to think she's still pretty self-centered.
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"Do you remember?"
She's thirty-five. He's thirty-three, but almost thirty-four. Rex sits on his lap, smilinglike an idiot and all dolled up in a black tuxedo with a red bowtie and a red baseball cap, which made sense in the comedy show he was just doing, but now he's not doing a comedy show. He is performing as Robbie Shapiro, real-life man, meeting a real-life woman who has been out of his life for so long. But now this real-life woman is leaning across him and placing a hand on his knee and she's chewing bubblegum and wearing lip gloss, and he isn't quite sure which he's smelling. She's obviously trying very hard to appear younger, but he can see the wrinkles tugging at the corners of her eyes and how fake her smile is. Sweat forms under his collar. His outfit is identical to Rex's.
Funny how Trina can make him feel nervous even after eighteen years of separation.
"Um. Yeah. Kind of," he admits, shifting in his folding chair. The children that came to touch Rex's hair are long gone, so why is she still here? "You're Trina Vega."
She rolls her eyes and smacks her gum, but she also stands up straight and sticks a hand on her hip, which is preferable. She looks like white trash and she probably is. "You better know just who the fuck I am. I'm Trina Vega. I'm a model."
So the overly-childish make-up and the pretty silver dress that hugs her now nonexistent curves fall into place, and something about her harsh talking makes Rex pipe up. "Last I heard, you were a porn star!" The puppet screeches from Robbie's lap.
Trina only smiles. "Damn right I was a porn star. And I was a good one. But the MILFs phase came and went. Nobody wants a washed-up Trina the Ballerina. Whatever. I'm a model now, and trust me, baby, it's just as sexual." She leans down and plants a kiss on Robbie's cheek, and then ruffles his hair. Which is kind of hard to do, considering he cut it short sometime in college and now his tight curls just stick to the top of his head. Trina stands up straight again.
"Do you-do you want to get some coffee?" Robbie asks, pulling his collar from his neck.
"Only if you take off that stupid hat."
.
They get coffee at the tacky coffee shop that Beck and Tori Oliver own, which is called WKYHI, which stands for "We Know You Hate It" and is pronounced wik-ee-hi. If you say it right, it sounds like "Wicked High", which is now what WKYHI is known as. If Beck is still the same Beck that Robbie's known for practically forever, the "Wicked High" thing was intentional. It feels nostalgic for all the right (and wrong) reasons.
"Funny how we ended up being the only famous ones," Trina said, flashing Robbie a smile from across the tiny and circular wooden table.
"That's not true," Rex says from his chair beside Robbie. His baseball cap is off, too. "Me and this loser are the only famous ones. You're-"
"Shut up, Rex! I'm sorry, Trina, he-he can just be so insensitive" Robbie says, smiling nervously. "But, um, André's doing the music for all the big movies now, and Beck had a lot of good movies back in his day. Jade and Cat are on Broadway."
"We're the only ones with household names," Trina elaborates. "Beck was a damn good actor but he paled in comparison to me and to the pretty boys. You know how the style changed from rugged to androgynous."
"You're a lot wiser than I remember," Robbie whispers, a flush creeping through his skin.
Trina tilts her head and smiles, stirring her hot chocolate with a spoon. "A career changes a woman such as myself. You're still awkward little Robbie though, one of Tori's stupid little friends, and I think that's cute."
Robbie gulps down a large sip of coffee which burns his throat and leaves a sticky taste in his mouth. He sputters.
"Now, come on, Robbie! You remember, right? We used to be in love." But she pronounces love like luuuuuuuurve.
"Eighteen years ago," Robbie murmurs. "Eighteen long years ago..."
Trina's smile never fades. Her bony fingers grasp her mug of hot chocolate tightly, and Robbie thinks she's hoping he can't tell how she hasn't-and isn't going to-took a sip since they sat down. Her smile looks so painted on, her fingernails are perfectly manicured to look perfectly natural, and her hair looks fried beyond the point of hair, falling down her back with unnatural straightness. Her skin is pale. This is not the Trina he remembers. This is not the woman-girl-he fell in love with years and years and years ago.
"Got a wife? A girlfriend? Kids? Anything besides the puppet?" She removes the spoon from her hot chocolate and points at Rex.
"No," Robbie sighs, leaning back in his chair. "What about you? A husband? A boyfriend? Little Trinas or Trinos running around?"
"Nobody," Trina sighs. "So what brings you back to Los Angeles?" She's like a never-ending question-firing machine.
"Oh, um, I'm touring. You know, Robbie Shapiro and Rex, The Dynamic Duo." He adjusts his collar again, and finally decides to strip the suit jacket. "You know, like a modern day Jeff Dunham? But with only one puppet." He tries again, weakly.
"Mmm," Trina says, returning to stirring her hot chocolate. "Fascinating."
"Well, um, to be honest, I'm kind of sick of the whole touring comic thing. I miss hanging out with Beck and Tori. You were there! You know how we all used to hang out on the steps of Beck's R.V. I would play guitar, André would do the keyboard, Tori would sing..." Robbie's eyes glaze with memories.
"You know, you're the type of guy that looks at his high school yearbook, like, once a week, aren't you?"
Robbie nods sadly.
Trina's smile never wilts. "Hey, let's get out of here. Tori has terrible taste in designing a room." She scrunches her nose.
Robbie rubs his temples and nods.
.
They end up on a cliff, Trina's blue car parked dangerously close to the edge but they are standing just far enough away to be safe, but look dangerous.
"I was fired from modeling," Trina says, sighing. "I'm too fat."
"I don't think you're too fat," Robbie says, his brow furrowing. Rex is in the car, sleeping, and it makes Robbie feel very, very naked. The stars are out overhead and the moon shines. Never has a night over Los Angeles looked so beautiful. Never has Robbie spent such a beautiful night with such a beautiful, intricate woman.
Trina shrugs. "Me neither. Bitches and bastards at modeling companies are blind."
"I have to be in Seattle by tomorrow morning," Robbie says, rubbing his temples again, as if he just remembered the fact. "My plane leaves in four hours."
Trina grabs his hand. "I've revisited everything from my past and I've tried to figure out where I went wrong."
Robbie has no clue where she's going with this. "I don't know where you're going with this."
"Jade was a bitch but a different type of bitch than me, which is why we never got along. Cat liked people who were different than her, I was different than her. André was a good boyfriend to Tori for those couple of years. I never gave a damn about Beck. Tori is my sister, and family is good. Beck is family by default, but honestly, I don't know anything about him other than he gives out really weird Christmas presents. All my other friends hate or hated me. It took me...fifteen years to realize this." Trina sighs and closes her eyes, squeezing Robbie's hand tight. He watches her lips flutter, and even through the heavy make-up, they're so beautiful. "So it must be you."
Robbie doesn't have time to sputter, reply, or dash to the car so he can hide behind a puppet before Trina's lips are on his-
.
They sit in the airplane together, Rex with a window seat, Robbie trying to sleep (motion sickness, he explains to Trina) and Trina wears baggy gray sweatpants and an orange top that slides up on one side, revealing a stretch of skin. Robbie thinks she has her belly button pierced.
The plane takes off.
It is a start. Of something. Of hope, of rebuilding, of Trina's rediscovery and Robbie's shell-breaking. Who the fuck knows, Trina thinks. She's thirty-five. He's thirty-three, almost thirty-four. It's time they wronged rights and righted wrongs and sorted out their lives.
Besides, her little sister got married before her, and that kind of pisses Trina off.