three advocation
Crink Records was a safe haven buried deep within downtown L.A., where people who didn't feel comfort in their day-to-day lives could find comfort in music. The month that Massie had gotten her driver's license, she had gone to Crink every afternoon straight after school and found comfort in mix booths, where she would listen to old classics like Jeff Buckley and new favorites like Temper Trap and Florence + the Machine.
That month, Massie and Alicia had been fighting. Massie had been in a magazine with her father. This had made Alicia terribly jealous, though she would never admit it to Massie. The article was commissioned because William Block had been named as one of the 'most intriguing people in Los Angeles';Massie had been included because William had hoped it would be a rare show of father/daughter bonding... It hadn't been. It had been the single worst experience of Massie's life. In fact, the interviewer had, at various intervals throughout the brief 'discussion', asked Massie how she felt about the death of her mother, famous French actress Ruby Tulienne – as if there were some simple, sound-bite, twenty-five-words-or-less answer that Massie could say, that would express all the loss and anger and sadness she felt.
During that lonely month the owner of Crink, Martin, had offered Massie a job. She hadn't hesitated to say 'yes'.
"I can't believe you'll be in Paris all summer!"
Layne Abeley was Massie's favorite co-worker and, secretly, Massie's only true fried (excluding Derrick and Alicia, of course). Layne didn't wear the right clothes like Alicia did, nor did she have a rich father like Derrick did, but she loved music like Massie did and she understood why Massie spent so much of her time downtown at concerts. Layne tangled her hands in her long black hair and began pulling it into a messy topknot.
"I can't either," Massie called back over the new Yves Klein Blue cd. Today it had been her turn to pick the store's playlist - and thank God. She wasn't in the mood for Parkway Drive, or whatever loud hardcore band Layne was into this week.
Layne pouted and dropped her hands from her hair to the pile of cd's she was sorting into alphabetical order for re-shelving. "But seriously...? I'm going to miss you so much. It was meant to be you and me this summer!" Layne turned her emerald green eyes on Massie, her features assembled into puppy dog frown. "I was going to take you to all the shows and introduce you to my friends - "
Massie bit her cheek in a concentrated effort not to reveal how glad she was. Thank God for Paris, or Doormat Massie would have agreed to Layne's plans and spent her summer suffering in silence. She'd already met a few of Layne's friends, who all seemed too abrupt and condescending for her liking. There was Stephen the Vegan, Pete-with-the-head-tattoo, and Ryan from the hardcore straight-edge Christian metal band - none of whom had taken much of a shine to Massie of the Designer Suede Pumps. Massie reciprocated in turn.
She turned back to the order form she was filling, diligently marking down costs and numbers. "I haven't told you the whole story, either," she said, dangling the bait.
Layne bit.
"You haven't?"
She dropped the several cd's she was holding aloft. They landed on the empty wooden rack with a loud, plastic clatter. Within seconds, she was leaning against the counter, her heavily-banged forehead practically pressed against Massie's.
Massie lifted her head slightly. "You have lipstick on your front teeth, Layne!" she laughed. "If you're going to wear lipstick, wear it with panache, darling!"
Layne flipped Massie the bird, and in turn Massie waited until Layne had rubbed away the red smudges.
"The weirdest part is that Kendra - you know Dad's friend, Kendra - ?"
Layne nodded.
"Kendra set it up for me."
Layne frowned. "She's in the Business... so it's a Business thing?"
"The secret is - and you can't tell..." Massie glanced up. The three customers milling about the store were all wearing headphones. "...but I'm working as a companion for a celebrity."
"Who?"
Massie hesitated. Would Layne make fun of her for spending her summer with some lame pop idol? "Claire Lyons," she whispered, and cleared her throat and leaned back against the counter, anticipating the backlash. Would Layne think less of her?
There was a momentary pause as Layne digested the information. Then, her eyes grew wide. "No shit?" she asked. Then: "Can you, like, get me her autograph?"
Massie finished her last shift half an hour early at Layne's insistence and headed home to pack in a rush. Her plane would leave at four-thirty the next morning and she still hadn't put aside a single garment in anticipation.
Back in her bedroom, she cranked her air conditioner to its frostiest setting and placed the latest Ministry of Sound Annual in the full-house sound system. Then, she began to sort through her wardrobe, pulling out denim cut-offs and thin, sheer button-downs, and innocent white mini-dresses. Every ten minutes or so, she would refer back to her Macbook, where several tabs of French street style blogs were open for guidance.
She was neatly rolling up a beat-up, fitted denim jacket (ambitious, she thought, but what if the weather were to turn cold while she were there?) and several light-weight summer scarves, when the sound system was silenced.
"What the fu - !" Massie hissed, spinning on one bare heel. Surely the sound system hadn't broken down? It was brand new.
"Didn't mean to scare you."
Kendra stood in the doorway, a Borders bag in one hand and a fancy pearlescent bag in the other. The second bore no label, but it's very make suggested that it protected something beautiful and expensive. "But, I can make it up to you. I come bearing gifts."
Massie grinned, tossing the jacket into her Samsonite. "Now that's what I like to hear!"
Kendra sauntered through the room in a dignified manner – even more so for someone whose sling back platforms thwacked against her heels with every step. If Massie were asked to pick Kendra's most admirable trait, it would be her unshakable confidence; a confidence which Massie herself was sorely lacking.
"One's from you father," Kendra said, placing the Borders book on Massie's queen-sized bed, "and the other is from me."
"How exciting," Massie deadpanned, reaching for the Borders bag first. It was so typical for her father to bestow upon her book after book. She'd gotten books for Christmas, and for her birthday, and while she wasn't complaining it would be nice to get a pretty tennis bracelet or a new GHD every once in a while. "Let's see..."
She felt around in the bag, her hand catching the corner of a thick book, and pulled it out. "'An American in Paris'," she said, reading the title aloud. "'Live the Life You Deserve, and Become the Person You Dream of Being...'"
Kendra's perfectly threaded eyebrows raised in the slightest. "That's almost sweet... by your father's standards..."
"It is," Massie replied. It was.
"Open mine!"
Massie grinned at Kendra's excitement and snatched up the unopened bag, tipping it upside down rather unceremoniously. Two pairs of luxurious Elle McPherson Intimates sets spilled out, one glittery and midnight blue and the other fire-engine red silk.
"Not that I'm advocating," Kendra murmured, winking conspiratorially at Massie. "But I hear nothing heals a broken heart like a summer fling in the City of Love..."