A/N: Hello, everyone! It's good to be back. I have returned with another update for you! Just for you. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. I hope to be back very very soon with the next installment, but in the meantime, have fun with this bad boy.
Please Please Please leave a little love in the form of some feedback on your way out. It makes me so so happy. Also, there's been a stunning amount of traffic on this story in the last few weeks and I want to hear from you guys! So give me a shout, and if you read all of this little Author's Note, toss "Janeway" into your feedback somewhere.
I'll stop talking. Enjoy the ride and I hope to hear from you on the other side!
Chapter 9: Moosehead and the Elevator Blues
We're back on the subway. No, Ashley did not fall asleep again. I mean, obviously it was a distinct possibility and I don't necessarily blame you if the notion was the second thing that popped into your head, but the narcoleptic fiend has managed to stay conscious for an entire subway ride. And the Oscar goes to…
Anyway, we're moments away from the stop, which means we're minutes away from home, and probably an hour or so away from having to deal with Hayley when she's released from the sterile glass and aluminum cage in which she works. So, in essence, this escapade of ours has a definite termination point; the end is in sight and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
I mean I realize that it stands to reason that I would be overjoyed to escape the company of the chestnut-curled architect of destruction, but I find myself enjoying being ripped to shreds. There's a tingling sensation about it that appeals to my inner masochistic tendencies.
Alas, the train begins to slow and a voice comes over the loudspeaker to say "Garble garble garble garble, garb-garb-ie-garble garb. Garble garb and garbie garb!"
In conductor that means "We're here and have a nice day."
Ashley and I get up from the disconcertingly sticky and the consistently uncomfortable plastic seats of the subway car and make our way to the doors, which open momentarily to let a couple dozen people off onto the platform. We trudge up the stairs to street level, maintaining the silence we've been steeped in for twenty minutes or so.
As our feet touch the pavement, she's the one to break it, "I just want to thank you again for today, Spencer. It was—"
I cut her off, "Jesus Ashley, we've been through this. Several times."
I winch at the way the words come out. Is there really a reason for it? Or am I being a bitch just to be a bitch? I soften my tone a little, "I mean, I had a good time. You don't need to thank me." Embarrassed by my tendency to be a total dickhead, I look at my feet as I walk. "Thanks. For, you know, coming with me."
Out of the corner of my eye I can see a smile pulling at the corner of her lips and making dimples in her cheeks. I turn my head ever-so-slightly to look at her and her eyes seem to have lit up. I'm having a Steve Urkel moment via "Did I do that?"
A few more steps lead us to the front door of our building, right past the doorman, and to the elevators. Ashley pushes the button to call it and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet like a lolling ship while we wait.
For the first time (as far as I can remember) since I met her, I start talking first. "So, tell me all about Ashley. What's your favorite movie? Favorite music? Favorite beer? Why did you move and what was wrong with the last place? Any terrible landlord stories?"
If Ashley was surprised by my sudden thaw and seemingly unfounded interest in her life, it only flashed across her face for a moment before she adjusts and covers it pretty well. She breathes out a soft laugh, "Well, P.I. Carlin, I'll start with the easy ones. My favorite movie is a tie between White Christmas and The Wedding Singer. Asking my favorite music is like asking me to pick a favorite child, but at least you didn't ask what my favorite band was. I hate that question. But I'm into some old stuff—some Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Temptations, Frank, Dean, Sammy, you know—and as far as newer stuff, I can't possibly narrow it down. I'm into poppy stuff, folky stuff, punky stuff, R&B stuff, acoustic stuff. I'll make you a mixed CD!" She says it excitedly, then stops herself, clearly nervous that she's overstepped.
I nod to encourage her, "That sounds great. I suck at finding new music, and while I love me some Alanis, I think it's time for a refresh."
Ashley grins, "Alanis is great. But yeah, I'd love to turn you on to some new music."
Interesting choice of words, Ashley. She realizes a few seconds after she says them and blushes, clearly trying to think of something to correct herself.
I toy with a few possibilities regarding my next words before, "I'd like that," comes tumbling out. Hey there, Spencer. I move on quickly, trying to diffuse a little tension. "You skipped one of the most important questions," I raise an eyebrow in her general direction. "Favorite beer?" I hope she's keeping in mind that the answers to these questions may very well determine whether or not I ever speak to her again. Or something.
"Easy," Ashley says, relieved that we're moving on. "It's Moosehead all the way. So damn good."
"The stuff from Montana? The green bottle stuff?"
"That's the stuff, alright."
Not bad. Moosehead is pretty good. I can handle that.
"I approve. That stuff's pretty good. Now onto the next one: why did you move out of the last place? Creepy landlord? Creepy neighbors? Were you the creepy neighbor? Did you shoot a man in the hallway just to watch him die?"
The elevator finally arrives and the doors open. Ashley laughs as we step into the metal box. "No, nothing that interesting. Or terrifying," she punches the button for our floor. "It was a great apartment. Great location, great layout, nice building. I guess I just got tired of living alone." She punches the button for our floor. "My building was full of sad, lonely business people who had chosen careers over family and who've slowly lost all of the friends they had. Now all they have are golfing buddies, and where is there to golf around here anyway? I couldn't stay there."
I think for a moment; golf course, divorced yuppies, lonely business people. These things all point to big ass apartment complex with big ass prices to match.
She continues, "Bottom line was, I was tired of living alone so I thought it might be nice to try living with someone else. I hated living alone. Sure, it's nice not having to worry about leaving the chain off the door or divvying up the chores, but you always walk into a dark apartment with no one to talk to until it's time to go to bed, alone."
The elevator arrives on our floor as the plot thickens. Ashley's lonely. I remember now that Hayley had mentioned something about Ashley wanting to live with other people, but I figured it was just a cover-up for a shitty situation with a previous landlord. It's a common enough problem. But she's actually, legitimately lonely.
In a very uncharacteristic turn of events, I begin to feel bad for her. It seems like all she wants are some people to come home to. I wonder where her family is. Do they live far away? Does she not talk to them anymore?
Who knows?
She breaks my train of thought by speaking again as she unlocks the door to our apartment. "What about you, Spence? Favorite Music? Movies? TV? Book? What's your story?" The door to the apartment swings forth, and I make a beeline for my chair.
"Well," I stroke my chin contemplatively, "I think as far as music goes, I have no idea where I'm at. I love the Pogues—"
Ashley cuts in. A bold move, and one that would usually piss me off, but I seem to be in a very forgiving and personable mood. "Sweet Jesus," she says, "the Pogues are so great! Sorry," she looks apologetic and nods for me to continue.
"Right?" I feel as though I shouldn't totally ignore her. I mean, the Pogues are just that good. "Fairytale of New York is the epitome of an Irish drinking/Christmas song."
She nods her agreement, and that seems to be the end of that matter. An awkward silence falls between us.
Fortunately (though it may become unfortunate) Hayley bursts through the door. She's out of breath.
"Oh thank god," she breathes, closing the door and leaning up against it to catch her breath. "I was sure I was going to come back here to find both of your mangled corpses and blood all over this very nice, very clean carpet." I hate her. "So, did you two have a good day?"
I look at Ashley, who promptly turns her attention toward her shoes. There's an odd tint to her cheeks though. I think maybe she's blushing. Despite my best efforts to contain it, a smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. So Ashley did have a good time today. Apparently, quite a good time.
Hayley has her arms folded and she's grinning in a way that is wholly unsettling. "I'll go ahead and take that as a yes." She puts down her bag and saunters into the kitchen. "Anyone want a beer?" she shouts from the fridge.
"Good Lord, yes," I say, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch and reaching for the remote.
"Agreed," Ashley tries—mostly in vain—to hide her blush again. "Wholeheartedly agreed.
A/N: I hope this lived up to expectations. I realize we didn't move too far forward here, but I promise that in the next few updates we will dip into some real development.
Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love it if you left a little feedback action. And remember, if you read the Author's Note, tack that secret word onto your feedback!
Have a great rest of the week!
xxsb
