Chapter Eight
"You've always hated my python boots!" said Lance, slumped back on the couch and languid as Ash tied the laces of his solid black high tops.
"I feel like you're expecting me to disagree," she replied, looking up at him and tugging the laces of the first shoe before moving on to the next.
Lance huffed and looked away. "These aren't dress shoes, Ash…" he said, then paused. "I'm going to look like an idiot!"
"Yeah," Ash yanked the second set of laces into a bow, then grabbed both of his feet and bumped them together twice, like he was a toddler. With a sardonic grin, she continued, "But if I let you show up wearing white snakeskin boots, we'd both look like idiots." Ash stood up, smirking as she walked over to the window facing the street. "If you hadn't fought me on it for so long, we might have been able to get you a pair of dress shoes," she said condescendingly to her increasingly frustrated boyfriend.
Lance just sat there quietly for awhile, then said, with total sincerity, "I'm about to throw a fit, Ash."
"Good," she moved the blinds and looked down at the street. "Get it out of your system before the party," she finished, and looked back at him, smiling. He was half-way between leaning back and sitting up, eyes wide and lips slightly pursed like he couldn't believe it.
"Fascist!" burst Lance, in a distinctly Californian accent, and there was a pregnant pause.
"Oh, baby," Ash crooned, like she pitied the attempt, and stepped toward the kitchen. Lance's incredulous look melted away shortly thereafter.
"Fuh-Ash-ist," he said, all the seriousness leaving his voice as he relaxed back in his seat. "When's Rosy gonna get here?"
"She should've been here a couple minutes ago," answered Ash from the kitchen. She'd called and made up with Rosita while Lance took his forty-minute long shower. They'd decided before the spat that Rosita and Norm would pick up Ash on their way to the soiree; the only difference now being that Rosita would pick up Lance as well, and Norman would be working late (and consequently would have to arrive separately from and later than the rest of the group).
"Well, she'd better hurry up," Lance shifted into a laying position, now lazily draped over the couch.
"Be nice, baby. I really want her to like you," implored Ash, much more genuinely than earlier.
Lance closed his eyes and crossed his arms, saying, "Don't you worry 'bout a thing, babe. I'll treat her as if she were my own mother."
"Oh God…" Ash murmured under her breath.
Rosita put the car in park and jumped out; she was already past-schedule, thanks to the traffic, and didn't want to be too fashionably late. She wobbled hastily up the stairs to the apartment building in her heels and opened the door. As she walked up the stairs, it occurred to her that this would be the first time she'd actually meet Ash's boyfriend, and her pace slowed considerably. Up until this point, she'd managed to push her fears over he and Ash's reunification to the back of her mind, telling herself that he couldn't have been that bad if Ash was willing to take him back. But now, standing in front of their door, she couldn't help but to feel nervous.
No matter how she felt, time marched on just the same, so after only a moment of hesitation, she knocked on the apartment door and turned the handle. Making a mental note to remind Ash to keep her door locked, Rosita walked into the apartment.
"Hey, Big Mama!" Lance launched off the couch and onto his feet, and Ash groaning from the kitchen could be heard.
"H-hello," was all Rosita could think to say as the porcupine rushed up and pulled her into a hug. "You must be Lance."
"In the flesh," he replied, pulling away from the embrace as his girlfriend walked into the living room, holding a juice box. Rosita could see why Ash liked him; he was handsome, even if his features were a little weak–had a deep, rhythmic voice, and seemed to be friendly enough.
"Well, it's nice to meet you," said Rosita, trying her best to smile through the strange encounter. Lance didn't seem to have any idea how awkward he was making their meeting, keeping his hands on her shoulders and an over-enthusiastic grin plastered on his face.
"Let go of Rosita, baby; we've got to get to the party," Ash toggled off the kitchen light and threw her empty juice box into a nearby trashcan.
"We can stay and visit for awhile, can't we?" asked Lance to Ash, his tone just slightly less confident, and his eyes belying some greater trepidation.
"Well, we're actually running kind-of late," said Rosita gently, her finely-tuned emotional senses picking up on Lance's apprehension.
"O-okay, if you say so," Lance's voice, while maintaining the intonation of enthusiasm, was now markedly diffident. After Ash made sure all the lights were off, the three stepped out of the apartment and, once Rosita made a point of telling Ash to lock her door, they walked out of the building altogether and into the biting night air. Once they got to Rosita's nearby minivan, Lance pushed passed Ash and clambered into the passenger seat, leaving his girlfriend to sit alone in the back while he entertained himself at Rosita's expense.
After a couple minutes and closing and reclosing car doors, buckling seatbelts and adjusting mirrors, they were on the road. It was quiet for a little while, Rosita trying to think of what to ask Lance, Ash trying to think of a way to defuse the silence, and Lance fidgeting over the encroaching party.
The atmosphere of the van only shifted once Lance rested an elbow on the console, smirking slyly, and started to give Rosita puppy-dog eyes, trying to get her attention. Once he did, he said, "I can see why Ash likes you so much."
"Oh?" smiled Rosita, glancing over.
"Yeah… You know, her father's a pig, too," he continued, sitting up and looking back at his girlfriend.
"Wow, Lance, that joke gets funnier every time you tell it," sighed Ash, crossing her arms (but secretly happy he'd broken the tension).
"Louie would've liked it," muttered Lance under his breath, falling back in his seat.
Rosita grinned bemusedly, trying to keep her eyes on the road. "What's he mean, Ash?" she asked.
"My dad's a cop," answered Ash, leaning back.
"Really? I didn't know that," Rosita said, looking at Ash via the rearview mirror. Then she glanced over to see Lance had resumed his fidgeting. After a short pause in conversation, she asked him, "What does your father do, Lance?"
"I dunno," he quickly answered, and emphatically, almost like he knew what she was going to ask before she did. "I had a step-dad, drove a bread truck–but he died of cancer awhile back. My mom and I don't talk," Lance ran his hand along the upholstery, blatantly admitting these personal things with a detached, almost upbeat tone of voice.
"Oh, well… I'm sorry to hear that," said Rosita, taken aback by the dissonance between Lance's tone and what he was saying. He only grunted in response, and the car went quiet again.
"I mean, my dad used to be a musician. When I was growing up, he mainly just did–he mainly just did odd jobs around town, y'know? But he still kept a band together," said Lance, now a little more invested in the conversation for whatever reason.
"So music runs in your family, then?" Rosita looked over, then back at the road.
Lance knew she'd say that. "Well, no… My father and I are the only ones. He came from the South, see, and he grew up really poor," a caustic grin was starting to appear on Lance's face, and Ash was getting suspicious. "On account of–well, see, our family used to be very affluent; well-to-do… But after Lincoln freed the slaves it destroyed the family business-"
"Lance!" Ash lunged forward and slugged her boyfriend's shoulder, just as he burst into fits of laughter. "That's not funny!"
"A-all I know is that the L'Estrange family plantation was thriving until the war of northern aggression!" he continued, sitting on the edge of his seat and just out of range of Ash's hand.
"His family never had a plantation–he doesn't even know what his family did," said Ash to Rosita, who was trying not to grin.
"Oh, oh–she's one to talk!" Lance's shrieking laughter had devolved to a suppressed chuckle. "Ashley Heilig? Doesn't that sound suspicious to you, mama?" he continued, eyebrow raised, while Ash made noises of protest as she swiped at him. "Y'know, they called her 'Sieg' Heilig in high school-"
"You, Lance! You called me that in high school!" Ash fell back, giving up her assault, and Lance soon did the same.
"You thought that music runs in my family, but Ash's father–but Ash's father actually comes from a long line of policemen; secret policemen," teased Lance. "All the way back to the Gestapo in the old country-"
Ash lurched forward again and smacked Lance's arm, this time a little more playfully. "First of all, that isn't true; and even if it were, that long line of police would only be, like, three people-"
"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" he said, and Ash grinned a little. "Would you believe that I called her a fascist today, and she didn't even disagree with me?" he asked Rosita, and smiled at Ash's little giggle.
"I-... I'm not sure," said Rosita, chuckling, and she looked over to see Lance sticking his head back to kiss Ash.
After twenty-or-so more minutes of Ash and Lance teasing each other, the trio had arrived at the venue, and stepped out of the van into the cold night air (Lance being the most reluctant to do so, his apprehension over the soiree obviously returning in force, even as he tried to hide it). Once his non-dress-shoed feet hit the concrete, and he closed the door to the vehicle, Ash could tell immediately that Lance was terribly anxious. While Rosita had already started toward the entrance to the place, Ash and Lance stayed next to the minivan, looking at one another in silence. She adjusted his tie, and he stood there like a slab of stone, wearing an emotionless expression that only Ash understood. Then she kissed him and took him by the hand, and they walked toward the double doors that led to the party.