It's not that he disliked the mall. There were certain appeals to having all of these shops in the same location, and there was a certain appeal to watching all of the people in one place. Corporate America's headquarters was in a mall, of that he was damned certain. He couldn't be opposed to something that provided him with such great writing material.
He disliked this particular mall.
Trent Lane felt like a stubborn three year old throwing a temper tantrum as he sat in the front seat of Quinn's black two-door sports car with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He'd been resolute in his position for over twenty minutes and as far as he was concerned he would be resolute on it until she changed her mind and took him somewhere else.
She had told him that they were going to get food and discuss the next step in their life overhaul. Groggy from only going to bed five hours before, Trent had stumbled into the shower and thrown on the outfit she laid out for him before collapsing into the front seat of her car.
At no time during the drive had she mentioned that they were going to eat at the food court in the mall, and that the next part of her plan was to change his wardrobe.
Any other mall and he would have begrudgingly gotten out of the car and let the fashion demon have her way with him. Just not here.
This was the mall where he first realized he was attracted to her sister. The memory of that afternoon was so fresh in his mind still.
"Hi-jacked my brain, moth to a flame"
The lyrics has been constructed around peanuts, the delicious smell of peanuts that had haunted him for a day before he finally broke down and followed it to the peanut stand at the mall. As soon as he had realized that Daria worked at the peanut stand, his mind exploded.
Something had hi-jacked his brain all right, but it wasn't peanuts. It was the girl that worked at the peanut stand.
The situation would have been humiliating for both of them had they seen each other. He knew that her crush on him was embarrassing enough for her without the work uniform, and he was embarrassed now that he realized that he was attracted to her. Very attracted to her.
Memories of the awkward moments that they shared together had flood his brain and he had realized he'd been attracted to her for a very long time, perhaps as long as that trip to Alternapalooza. She'd been so uncomfortable on that trip, but had managed to push aside all of her awkwardness to help him out. He'd never known anyone could do that for him before.
They had escaped Alternapalooza and that embarrassing afternoon at the peanut stand unscathed, and they had gone on to have many more awkward moments around each other.
He didn't want to relive any of it.
So he sat in the car with his arms folded, his lips set in a grim line, and an irate red-head standing next to the passenger door threatening him with bodily harm if he didn't get out of the car and go into the mall.
"T-rent, I am not wearing sunscreen right now and I will freckle! Move your ass!" she screamed at him, disregarding the other mall patrons on their way in from the parking lot.
He glanced sidelong at her, semi-amused by her proclamation. At the sight of real worry on her face, he sighed and opened the door and began shuffling towards the mall. She had been doing a lot for him and he didn't want to be the cause of any undue stress upon her.
Once inside, she shoved him down on a bench and ordered him to stay there while she went in search of the nearest restroom. He could see she was already digging in her purse looking for whatever skin cream she could find that would make the unprepared for time in the sun okay for the fair-skinned girl.
There was never a time he was more glad that he wasn't attracted to girls like Quinn. At one point he was convinced that as a musician he would have to date models, but the more time he spent around fashionistas, the more he was keenly aware that he'd never be able to handle it.
He'd said it a million times, they were cute, but way too high-maintenance. Hell, even Monique had been too much work and she wasn't nearly as girly as Quinn was. Monique was the least low maintenance rock girl he'd ever known, she wore the tattoos and the piercings and she wore the "I Don't Give A Shit" attitude, but there was no heart behind it. She did give a shit about her clothes and her hair and the way that she was perceived. The only reason that she bothered with the leather goth/rock look was because that was the look that went with the lifestyle, it's what she had to do if she was going to be the front person of a band.
They'd shared that in common. Ruefully he looked at the tribal tattoo that encircled his arm. Perhaps he shouldn't judge Monique that harshly.
The times that they were together were great, she had been a real sweet, down to earth girl when he first met her and they played in their first band together. They'd split up over creative differences. He wanted to go grunge, she wanted to go towards a more punk/goth feel. He'd taken the remnants of the band and formed Spiral, she'd found some like minded chicks and formed the Harpies.
The band break up was mutual and amicable. The relationship breakup – the first one – hadn't been.
He'd cheated on her the first time. She'd cheated on him the second. The third through seventh times, they'd broken up over priorities. Sometimes he thought she put her band before him. Sometimes she hated his lack of motivation. The eighth through the last time, and he had lost count of what number they were on now, had been over any reason they could come up with at the moment that made the thought of breaking up cross their minds – including his lack of taking out the trash at his house, and how long it took her to put on her makeup so they could go out.
They just weren't compatible.
Through it all, they had respected one another as friends and musicians. He maintained, she had the best stage presence out of anyone else in Lawndale, or Glendale for that matter.
It had been over a year since they'd last tried the relationship. He'd broken up with her, he said because he wanted to focus more on the band, but truthfully it was because it had felt disrespectful to her to date her when his mind always drifted back to a bespectacled brunette that he would rather spend his time with.
The last one had been an amicable breakup.
He still thought she took too long to get ready though.
The Harpies were touring the state on a miniature tour hitting up any joint along the way that did paid shows or the occasional free one, looking for any sort of exposure. He missed hanging out with them, but he definitely did not miss the time it took for that girl to throw on some clothes and makeup.
Daria wasn't like that.
He groaned at his mind's reminder.
There was nothing about Daria's appearance that screamed that she gave a damn what anyone else thought of what she was wearing. He respected that about her. He respected that she rejected dressing like the people that she hung out with to find a common bond with them. She let peoples minds and attitudes speak for themselves. She expected people to look past her exterior and get to know her and she did the same thing for them. He knew that she did, or she would never have made friends with that cheerleader and her brain-dead boyfriend. Daria saw the good in them despite their seemingly vapid shells.
He appreciated that. He appreciated that she looked beyond his shell and still saw something worth knowing.
His lips twitched into a wry smile as he saw the redhead walking back towards him. He appreciated that she had taught her fashion-minded sister to do the same.
"Oh my God," Quinn exclaimed as she walked back up to him. "There were these ignorant little girls in the bathroom, couldn't have been any older than Freshman, and they were talking about the most inane things. They were literally critiquing everyone's outfits as they came into the bathroom. One girl cried and left before she even used the bathroom! Then one of these girls actually called me 'Grandma' when I refused to give up my spot in front of the mirror so she could check her split ends and root-showing barley blonde bad dye job!"
"Whoa," Trent acknowledged, blinking slowly. "You met the Ghost of Christmas Past."
Quinn glowered at him, "I have never dyed my hair and I don't have split-ends!"
"I'm just saying, the Daria's sister that I first met took one look at me and dismissed me without a second thought. I believe the actual words were 'God, dad, are you kidding?' Kind of sounds like those girls in the bathroom to me."
Quinn flushed and sat down on the bench next to him. "God, I was terror."
He laughed roughly, "nah, you were just young and self-involved. You've joined the human race since then. Those girls will, too."
"The Fashion Club and I used to do the same thing that they were just doing," Quinn mused. "I used to make bets with Stacy on how many people Sandi could make cry in an afternoon. I've got some major karmic redemption to do."
"You can start by buying me lunch," Trent suggested, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets, slouching slightly as he waited for the girl to stand as well.
Quinn shook her head, a smile gracing her lips. "You're such a mooch!" She chastised him as she stood up and linked her arm through his, steering him in the direction of the food court.
Trent looked down at the girl on his arm and shrugged, "hey, if you wake me up with the promise of food, you have to deliver the goods. I think there's a song in that."
He began humming a tune and muttering to himself about waking up for food, losing himself into the inspiration he had found.
Quinn shook her head and thought about the situation she was now in. Two years ago she would never have even dreamed that she would be strolling through her mall with Trent Lane without declaring to everyone that looked at them that she was just helping this poor fashion challenged man become decent for other people to look at. Seeing those girls in the bathroom had made her so angry, she had wanted to throttle them and tell them that while looking presentable was important, it wasn't everything.
She got that now.
It made her sad to think of all of the potentially great people she had dismissed so readily for not wearing the right outfits or not having the newest haircut. She had actually rejected a boy based on the shape of his teeth before! Another over the length of his ear lobes.
"Thanks for letting me do this to you, Trent," she finally stated to the man she was walking with, feeling the surprise move through him at her words.
Playing off her serious tone, he shrugged, "hey, anytime you want to buy me food, I'm down."
Quinn nodded, recognizing that he understood her position and that he didn't want to discuss it any further. He understood that she was doing this as much for herself as she was for him. She was searching for some purpose in this world, she was searching for something solid to latch onto, something tangible and meaningful outside of her so far fluff filled life.
"You get me, Trent," she told him with a laugh.
He couldn't help but to feel proud that someone would say that to him. He had said the same thing to her sister, he had been so happy to have someone that he thought got the thoughts in his head. It was an amazing feeling to be able to provide that same comfort to someone else. He had never thought that he would be able to make someone feel that way.
Deciding not to ruin the sentiment with words, he simply nodded and resumed his humming, not stopping until they were settled with food in the food court; him with three slices of pepperoni pizza and her with a garden salad without any dressing, cheese or croutons.
"So why do you hate this place?" Quinn finally asked him, disturbing their peaceful repose.
He looked up at her and thought. "Memories," he admitted finally. "Things are still alive here. Things I'm not ready to remember."
She nodded, thinking back to the girls in the bathroom and how disturbing a reminder they served to how she was a few years before. "Your Ghost of Christmas Past?"
He considered that, "in a way."
"Does it involve my sister?" she teased him lightly.
Once more contemplation passed his countenance, "yeah, it does."
He didn't elaborate further, so she simply nodded and left it at that. Trent Lane was a man of few words, but she was starting to understand his language.
She was having a good time being around him, ghosts and all.
The actual shopping was entirely beyond Trent. After they left the food court, the entire afternoon was a blur, a whirlwind of colors and outfits thrown at him and on him while he stood awkwardly to the side and watched the Tasmanian Devil that was Quinn Morgendorffer on a shopping spree work her magic.
It didn't matter to her that the clothes weren't for her, though she did manage to pick some things up for herself while shopping for him. It was the exhilarating feeling of picking out the perfect outfit for the person that she was shopping for. She just loved to shop.
He didn't understand it. The majority of his closet came from Dega St. shops and thrift stores, or random clothes that wound up in the Tank from any number of band mates and hitch hikers that got picked up while they toured. If it didn't have too many holes and stains, and it didn't smell too much like vomit or body odor, he'd wear it.
He had never gone to the mall for the express purpose of updating his wardrobe before. To check out the music stores, to find Janey a present, and for some quality writing material by people watching, definitely, but never for something as unnecessary as clothing. It had always seemed like such a waste of time.
Still, he had to admit, there was something almost poetic about the way Quinn moved through the clothes racks, the way she held up clothes and compared it to him, muttering about seasons, cuts, and accessorizing.
It was art.
It wasn't painting or sculpting like Janey, it wasn't pottery like his mother, it wasn't word-craft like Daria, and it wasn't music like him, but Quinn was an artist. She had an eye and a skill when it came to clothing. The way that the shop owners came over and treated her with preferential treatment, no matter what store they were in, let Trent know that she was a master of her art. The store clerks would recognize and respect her seriousness and talent when it came to fashion, and they would go out of their way to cater to the girl.
He'd never seen clothing the way she did before, but he had to say, it was kind of beautiful.
"Do you know how to sew?" he asked her as he stood awkwardly next to one of the racks in a men's department store and watched as she critically chose between two almost identical pairs of black slacks. He'd never worn "slacks" before and found himself getting antsy at the change from his usual cargo pants. Where would he wear dress pants like that?
"Hmm?" she asked as she finally settled on a pair, shoved the other back onto the rack and tossed the pair she liked onto the pile growing in his arms. "Sew? No, not really. Mom and dad always just let me buy new clothes if mine tore, there's never been a reason for me to learn how to do something so mundane. Besides, I would have died in high school if anyone had seen a patch job on an outfit!"
Trent shrugged, not understanding that sentiment in the least. "That's a bummer, I think you'd probably be a good designer."
Quinn paused and caught his eye for a moment, mulling over the idea of designing the clothes instead of just buying them. There had been plenty of times in her life that she wished she could find a specific outfit on a clothing rack and had to give it up as a pipe dream. It had never occurred to her that she could make the outfit.
Tiffany had thought of it.
Tiffany.
She never thought that one day she would be envious of Tiffany's motivation. After the Fashion club break up though, the Asian girl had taken her love and knowledge of fashion and had directed the energy into creation.
Her designs were good, too.
Quinn just didn't think she was talented enough to go that route. She had ideas, sure, but she was much better suited at choosing options that went together rather than designing all new pieces.
"I don't think fashion design's my calling," she finally answered, trying to sound casual, and making a point not to bring up her jealousy of someone that until a year ago she had been convinced didn't have a brain in her head. It upset her though that Tiffany had a calling.
The girl turned back to the options before her and smiled delightedly at the sight of a thermal long-sleeve selection. Layering was a look that could work for Trent.
"Fashion and function," she informed him as she grabbed one of his arms and dragged him over to the section, not noticing or caring at all that he struggled with the large pile of clothes already in his arms, as well as the six bags that he was carrying for both of their purchases so far. "Thermal will keep you warm in this spring weather while providing the color contrasts needed to make your outer shirt pop. Layering adds an element of interest to most outfits. T-shirts are great, a T-shirt with an undershirt makes you seem more interesting. These will also work great in the summer for your night gigs where it's a little cool, but nowhere near cold enough for a jacket."
Trent considered that recalling the summer concerts he'd done and how much he had sweat during them, "those stage lights are pretty warm."
She chose to ignore his statement, throwing one of every small thermal color shirt onto the ever growing pile to the chagrin of the gangly musician.
He was starting to get worried about many different things in regards to this outing. He could afford some new clothes and the belts and wallet he'd already purchased, but he didn't think he could afford all of these items that she was throwing at him. Rent still had to be paid on the house, and he was pretty certain the electricity bill wasn't paid last month, which meant that he needed to do that soon, too. Not to mention the trash, and the cable, and the gas…
And food.
He did like to eat and he was pretty certain there wasn't any food in the fridge.
More important than money though was the fact that his arms were starting to get very tired from holding the clothes. When he thought about his arms getting tired, it reminded him that his sleep schedule was off due to this whole daytime thing she was pushing on him, and that made his eyes tired.
He didn't know much, but he was certain that if he fell asleep while they were shopping for him, he would get to witness a volcanic eruption of emotion the likes of which he'd never seen before and would hope to never see again. Quinn was temperamental and it was clear to him that she took this all very seriously for some reason.
He appreciated her interest in him, he appreciated that someone was taking the time to help him. It had only been a couple of days, but Quinn had already shown more personal interest in his health, well-being, and thoughts than anyone outside of Janey and Daria. He didn't want to disappoint her by showing her what a slacker he really was. Still, sleep sounded so good, and the clothes were pretty soft and he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to lay his head down on them for a little while, just while she was standing here talking about layering and summer time.
Quinn was not entirely unaware of the struggles going on in the man beside her. She'd dragged several guys on shopping trips with her and knew that this was not fun for him. She watched from the corner of her eye as his eyes started to droop and his expression slackened as sleep started to take over him. She had to admit, she'd been curious to know whether or not he could fall asleep standing up and was happy to discover that he indeed could.
"Alright, Trent, that seems good for now!"
His eyes snapped open and he looked groggily and a bit guiltily at the younger girl, expecting to see her angry and threatening him, but was surprised to find her just looking expectant.
"Well, go on! To the dressing room! March, young man, march!"
"Yes'm," Trent found himself muttering as he turned and headed to the back corner where he had seen the dressing room a half hour before. His arms were shaking from the continued weight upon them and from keeping them stretched out for so long. Relief was to be found in the dressing room and he marched there with the singular goal of dropping all of the items the second he walked in the door.
Quinn followed behind him, grabbing some extra items as she walked as after thoughts for the man. She was busy constructing an image of him in her mind, going over what she would like to see him wear and what she wanted to do to his hair. She knew that some of the things she had thrown on that pile weren't going to work for him – they were too trendy to fit in Trent's world. It was a sad reality, but she hoped that they could take at least five or six things out of the mountain he was now struggling to carry.
Woefully she looked out the door as they passed by to see Cashman's on the other side. Theresa had graduated college and no longer worked there, but she'd been replaced by Melanie who was equally accommodating to the fashion-minded girl and more knowledgeable about the newest lines coming out of Paris for every season.
How she wished that she was shopping at Cashman's for herself, and that she was filling up her closet with a new spring line.
"Another day, maybe," she murmured as she turned her focus back to Trent as he came up to the dressing rooms that said a ten item maximum per customer. Quickly she slipped a ten dollar bill into the man's hand that was monitoring the dressing rooms, "we're going to need that maximum waived."
Quinn evaluated the guy and determined that he was definitely cute enough to go on a first date with her, but nothing more. Still, it'd been a while since she'd gone on a first date with someone, and he was awfully cute.
"Uh, I can't do that…" the blonde guy replied, trying not to stare at Quinn.
A pout crossed her lips and he started to feel his temperature rising and perspiration beginning to show on his brow, "not even for me?" she asked in a baby doll voice.
Trent did his best to hide his smile and not laugh as he watched Quinn use her charms to her advantage. He'd heard Daria and Jane mention her ability to turn guys into Jello whenever she batted her eyes, but this was his first time seeing it in person. He had to wonder how she had perfected that art, and then had to wonder if she had used those skills against him to get him into this situation he was now in.
His mind drifted back, but was unable to come up with a moment where Quinn had seemed flirty with him. Disgusted, yes; annoyed, yes; amused, at times, but not flirty.
"Well…uh, oh man…I can't take your money, here, just hurry up!" The guy handed the money back to Quinn and ushered Trent inside. The blonde tried to stop Quinn from following Trent into the dressing room, but failed when she anxiously bit her lower lip, mindful not to apply too much pressure, and began to fake crying, exclaiming that he was very mean for not allowing her to help her friend out just because she had breasts.
Trent didn't bother to wait for the turnout of that show. He'd seen enough in the brief moment of interaction Quinn had with the guy that she would get her way no matter what. He worried what the world would be like if they found a way to bottle her manipulation.
He was unsurprised when she showed up a moment later with a cheeky grin on her face. "I got his number," she announced in a sing-song voice.
He raised an eyebrow; he wasn't sure, but he was almost positive that it had to be against the work code of this place to pass out your number to the patrons. Dismissing it since it was Quinn's life and she seemed to be happy with the conquest, he entered one of the stalls and began to change into one of the outfits. "Do I have to try on all of these thermal shirts if one fits?" he asked her, hoping for the negative.
"Of course you do!" Quinn responded in exasperation. "How can we tell what colors work on you if we don't see you in them? Besides, you can never trust the labels, sometimes things aren't really the size they say they are."
He groaned, but decided not to fight her on it. Clothes were her medium and he had no right to tell her that she didn't know her skill when he had never studied it. Besides he had absolutely nothing better to do at this moment. If they weren't at the mall, he would still be sleeping, he would have nothing to show for this day, and it would just be one more day where his life had slipped past him.
Acting as a mannequin, he put on outfits to have Quinn criticize them and praise them, not offering his own opinion on the subject. While he would have been more comfortable on Dega St. amongst his own people if he had to shop, he really did not care what clothes covered his body. If she thought that he needed these things, he would trust her opinion on it. Him trying to judge clothes was like her trying to tune a guitar without any music lessons.
With brutal efficiency she narrowed the large pile into one small keep pile and one large "what the hell was I thinking" pile. He snorted at her name for it, since it had been what he'd been thinking since he realized he was going to the mall that day.
He was just relieved when they got to the cash register almost an hour after entering the dressing room that he got to take the smaller of the two piles. He fumbled in his pockets for cash, a worried frown crossing his face as he tried to calculate the total out, but was stopped as Quinn slid a gold card across the counter to the cashier.
Confused, he caught her eye and she smiled graciously. "Compliments of Helen Morgendorffer. I explained to my mom why I've been hanging out with you the last few days. She's still very leery of you dating Daria, but she does appreciate you trying to turn your life around and wants to encourage you to keep doing so."
Trent wasn't sure what to say, but found words unnecessary as the cashier swiped the card and took the decision away from him.
Later after getting home and putting away the purchased items, he lay in bed and thought back to Quinn's words about Helen's feelings towards him. He knew that Daria didn't take a lot of stock in her mother's opinions, but it was obvious that if he wanted to stand a chance with her, he would need to get her mother on his side as well. Helen was a forceful woman and she was a master manipulator, it's where her two daughters got it, he knew that if she put her mind to it, she could shut him down with Daria before he even got a chance.
He had no idea how he was going to convince Helen that he would ever be good enough for her daughter.