…
…
That evening you meet up with Audrey again.
She's sitting out in front of a fancy French bistro, under the wide green storefront canopies. This time, she's modestly dressed with an ironed out blouse and wool slacks and a pair of espadrilles. Her hair was still unmistakably dyed a sharp red, but otherwise curling elegantly.
"Did you turn a new leaf? Squaring up now, aren't we, baby?" you remark.
Audrey moans and gives you the middle finger. You just laugh and sit across from her at the table. You know she didn't change her outfit because at least in university, she was more tame, and this is what she wore this morning. Not that you didn't like her just fine this way.
She orders table wine. You settle for just water. You put the folder of papers on the table, Audrey pulls out her laptop. Both of you start working on the assignments. Audrey figures, for the next few weeks this was how it was gonna go. And you realize just how severely ironic it was turning out, and why it's not a good idea to bang someone who could be your classmate for the rest of the year.
It was the first time you ever saw Audrey so serious. But she ought to be, because she agreed she would have to set things straight, find a part time job, you as well, and help out with the campus committee for credits. She says that it's her treat this time, and after you both finish with the papers, there'll be supper. But of course she procrastinates.
About twenty minutes in, she lights another Marb Light, and you stare at her.
"You've just about gone through the bottle as well," you remark.
Audrey stares back, shrugging.
"Urgh… I need a smoke. Fucking right now. You have no idea, but looking good puts me under a lot of stress."
You laugh. "Yeah, baby? I bet you're tuckered out."
"Heh."
"Audrey, it does make me curious. Is it something about, I don't know, being half-French that sometimes you're awfully pensive like some kind of Nietzche?"
Audrey gazes over at the busy boulevard, with all the cabs and cars passing through Glenberry county. Most of them coming to or from Fresno, but mostly L.A., which is about the nearest big city from here.
She turns towards you and sighs, watching you cynically.
"Hey, the way I see it, if you got a problem with me smoking a cigarette I would suggest looking around at the world in which we live and… shutting your fucking mouth."
Audrey flashes that severely angelic smile again, then laughs.
"Don't take life too seriously," she then says in an almost sad kind of voice. "Nobody ever survives it anyway."
Funny how this girl could throw you one and keep you guessing about what she's really like underneath that facade she keeps up.
Your orders arrive - two arrabiata pastas, and Audrey sends for another bottle of table wine. She digs into her plate almost immediately, and you follow soon as well.
After a while, she looks up.
"Hey. Sorry about the fucking mess the other night. I'm sorry you had to bail me out. I'll make it up to you, somehow…"
"Well, I ain't going nowhere," you say.
"Yeah, I know. Like it or not, I guess I'm stuck with a guy like you," Audrey mutters bashfully.
You scoff incredulously. "Right. And you complain."
"Don't push it. I like you," Audrey rolls her eyes, "but you're no goddamn peach yourself."
When she finishes her plate, she starts puffing on another cigarette again and remarks, "not enough sauce."
"Hey. What's your plan?"
"What?"
Audrey scowls at you.
You lean back in my chair, just crossing my arms.
"I said, what's your plan? Have you ever thought about becoming a food critic, Audrey?"
You can tell your own quip flies completely over Audrey's head as she squints at you.
"Huh? No."
Audrey flicks away her cigarette, though it wasn't even halfway burned yet. You see a glint in her eyes and you know she's onto something again.
"Look, plans are overrated. If you keep living for tomorrow, you'll always be one day behind." Audrey sighs. "Least, that's the way I feel about it."
.
.
.
