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Through Other People's Eyes
Part 2
By Steph
It was eleven a.m. on Wednesday morning and Lane wasn't even trying to concentrate on the history lecture. Usually she was a diligent student, more focused than she ever was in high school, and took decent notes, but today she was distracted with thoughts of her new job and of Dave. Mostly of Dave.
She had her notebook open and was working on rewriting a song she had written. It was a slower song, a thinly veiled nod to the Dave situation. Still she was proud of the song and presented it to the band members with all the pride of a new parent showing off a newborn.
The guys had read over it before Zach handed her song back to her.
"You don't like it?" she asked crushed.
"It sounds like it was written by a girl," Zach said.
"It was written by a girl," Lane said. "I'm a girl." She thought that much was obvious.
"No, Lane," Zach said condescendingly. "You're a drummer."
She rolled her eyes and looked to Brian and Gil for support. Both looked away.
"What if I rewrote it to sound a little less girly?" Lane asked as a compromise.
"Sure," Zach said. "Just try to sound a little less like Avril and a little more like Brody."
That was harder than she had initially thought. The professor droned on about the Civil War in a voice that made Ben Stein's sound animated. She looked over at Kristen next to her. Kristen was doodling illustrations for the cover of her unfinished saga, an epic romantic novel involving "death, disease and evil." She described it to anyone who would listen as "'Romeo and Juliet' meets '28 Days Later.'"
When the class was over, Kristen looked up from her doodles and asked, "Did you take notes?"
"No," Lane admitted sheepishly. "I was writing songs."
"Nice," Kristen said. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"
"Working. I got a job. At a diner."
Kristen grinned. "A diner? How noir."
"Not really. It's more of a family place."
"So it's not full of sad sacks and women of questionable virtue? It's not like the Edward Hopper painting?"
Lane laughed. "Not quite."
"It'll be great to earn your own money. Start saving for the apartment," Kristen said.
"I haven't said yes to that," Lane pointed out.
"You will," Kristen said. "Dora and I are counting on it."
After school, Lane had just enough time to change into jeans and a sweater and run to Luke's. She filled out her forms and got a pamphlet about foodservice regulations. Luke gave her a quick tour, went over some basic rules (hand washing was emphasized much to Lane's amusement) and gave her the choice of either wearing a hairnet or pinning her long hair into a bun. A backward baseball cap was not given as an option.
"That's it?" Lane asked surprised. The orientation lasted a grand total of forty minutes.
"That's it," Luke said. "You'll learn more from actually working than from anything I would say. Here's an order pad and a pencil. Go wait on that couple who came in while we were talking."
"Are you sure?" she asked. "What if they ask something I don't know?"
"I'll just be in back," he promised.
"But what if there's a problem? What if I'm rude? Not that I'm thinking I'll be rude…I'm not generally a rude person…"
Luke smiled a half-smile and gestured to the couple. "Don't worry. You'll learn more this way."
She did fine with the patient older couple. She relaxed and realized that Luke was right. She was learning.
She got home from Luke's, tired, sore and full (cheeseburger and fries--definitely a perk of the job). Her mother was in the kitchen, standing over a covered pot of…something. The smell was not appetizing.
"How was your job?" Lane's mother asked.
"Good, Mama," Lane said. "I'm sorry, but I must excuse myself to finish my homework. I have a history test tomorrow." Lane learned that she got into less arguments with her mother if she spoke politely.
"First we will sit down for dinner," Lane's mother said.
"I'm sorry, Mama, but I ate at the diner. I get food from Luke's as part of my payment for the work I do."
"Very well," her mother said, sounding less-than-happy with this new arrangement. "Go upstairs to study. No phone calls."
"Okay," Lane said. She went up to her room and pulled out her history text book.
She should've taken notes.
"This is really good," Dora remarked the next day at lunch. She was looking over Lane's song lyrics. Dora was an editor-in-training and had the unfortunate and time-consuming task of editing Kristen's gothic masterpiece. Kristen was a notoriously bad speller. Lane's short song was a breeze comparatively.
"Really?" Lane asked doubtfully. "It doesn't suck?"
"It doesn't suck," Dora said. "Is this about you and Dave? Because it's a depressing song. Are you two having problems?"
Lane felt uncomfortable. "No, not really. It's just about love and relationships in general."
"That's good to hear," Dora said kindly.
Lane nodded and changed the subject. She didn't want to talk about Dave anymore.
Tonight she was going to ask him about Aimee.
Tonight they might be breaking up.
"So you weren't scared off," Luke remarked as she walked behind the counter.
"Nope," Lane said. "It's empty today."
"Yep," he said noncommittally.
"What should I do?" Lane asked him.
"Do you know how to cut carrots?" he asked her.
"Yes," she said.
"I was going to make some vegetable soup soon. It'll be a big help."
"Sure," she said. "Whatever I can do to help." And whatever she could do to keep her mind off of things.
She started chopping vegetables. Her mind traveled to Dave. He had a job too, working at a pizza place in the Whitwood Mall. He said it was usually deserted there, but the pizza was good. She wondered if she would tell him about her new job. She wondered if he would care. She wondered if he was using his extra income to take Aimee on fancy dates--dates that he wasn't permitted to take Lane on.
She continued to cut, distracted, and didn't look down until she felt pain. She looked down and realized that she managed to nick her finger. She quickly surveyed the damage. Her finger was bleeding a little, but the carrots remained unsullied. She walked into the kitchen where Luke was cooking French fries.
"Luke?" she said.
"What?" he asked, not unfriendly. He kept his eyes on the fries.
"I was cutting the carrots and accidentally got my finger instead."
That got his attention. He looked over at her and told Cesar to watch the fries. They walked in back to the first-aid kit.
He watched as she applied disinfectant and put on a Band-Aid. "Here," he said handing her a paper. "This says that you were injured and that I provided you with first-aid supplies."
She signed the sheet. "Is this so I won't sue you?"
"Yes," he said. "Don't handle any food directly while wearing the Band-Aid. Concentrate on taking orders."
"Okay," she said. "I guess this means I'm out of the running for 'Employee of the Month.'"
He shrugged. "I still burn myself occasionally. It's one of the hazards of working in this business."
"Okay," she repeated. "I hope I won't have to sit out of this week's band practice."
"What do you play?" Luke asked.
"Drums," she said.
Luke nodded. "I was guitar."
"You were in a band?" Lane asked surprised.
"When I was a little younger than you. It wasn't really a band. Just a bunch of stupid kids who thought they could play."
"Did your band have a name?" Lane asked curiously.
He didn't say anything and looked at the ceiling. Finally he looked at her and said, "I better get back out front."
"What was your band's name?"
He rubbed the side of his cheek and finally said. "Paranoid Monkey."
Lane cracked up. "That's a great name." She was still giggling when he told her that she should go out in front.
Later that afternoon, she looked over at Luke. Paranoid Monkey.
She was going to love working here.
"Hello," a voice said.
Lane looked at the egg timer. How much time did it take to get your heartbroken? "Is Dave there?"
"Nope, he's out."
Out. He wasn't there for their regular Thursday night conversation. Her heart sank. "Oh," she finally said, dejected.
"Who's this?" he asked. The connection was fuzzy so he had to repeat himself.
"It's Lane," she said. Dave's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend?
"Jane?" the guy asked.
"Lane," she said. "My first name is Lane. L-A-N-E." Just in case, he got the wrong idea and wrote down that Jane Lane called. Suddenly she was a character on "Daria."
"Okay," the guy said. "I'll let Dave know that Lane called."
"Thanks," Lane said. And on a hunch, she asked. "Is he with Aimee?"
"I'm not sure," the guy said. "But it's always a possibility."
"Thanks," she repeated and hung up.
She had six minutes to spare.
She told her mother she needed to take a walk. But that wasn't what she needed. She needed to know what was going on. She needed a comforting voice.
She needed her best friend.
Lorelai let her in, made her some instant cocoa and handed her the cordless phone. Lane dialed.
"Hello?"
There were few things as comforting as a familiar voice, even if you weren't sure how things stood with the friendship.
"Rory," Lane said, her voice thick with tears she would shed later that night. "I think Dave and I may be breaking up."
To be continued…