Alright, chapter three, where the plot actually begins: Taylor's little mission and the origin of the title. Enjoy!
Nommez cette chanson: I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
"Do I look ok?" I turn to the side, twisting my head to look at myself in the mirror.
"You look fine," Kaitlin whines, dropping forward to lean her forehead on the table. "You wanna tell us why you're extra-neurotic today?"
I bite my lip and shake my head no, smoothing down my dress one more time. I'm still not sure I look good enough, but if I change one more time, Summer might strangle me. "Ok," I decide suddenly, making Kaitlin's head rise off the table and Summer look up at me from her bowl of carrots dipped in ketchup. Her weird food cravings started in her second trimester, and it's only gotten worse. It's actually disgusting, some of the things she eats. "Ok, I'm going."
"If it weren't so hot out, I'd follow you," Summer mutters grumpily, not even bothering to move an inch on the chair. I haven't told them where I'm going – I can't. Not yet. Not until I know. "Hey Kaitlin…"
"No." I stop that thought immediately, glaring at Summer. "I'd just go to a strip joint and lose her, so don't even bother."
"I do have a thing for half naked guys," Kaitlin sighs, resting her chin on her hand.
"You're useless," Summer sighs, shifting in the chair and positioning the bowl more firmly on her stomach.
"Alright, well, I have to go," I take a deep breath before picking up my purse and heading out the door. "See you later!"
I pause when I get outside, squaring my shoulders and taking another deep breath.
It's mission time.
"You want what?"
I might kill her. I may actually kill the woman. Especially because she just stands there, hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, face unmoving and determined. I hate Newport women.
"I want a speakeasy," she repeats, like it's the most common request in the world.
"You want a speakeasy? Like… a prohibition type speakeasy?" She nods her head, and I resist the urge to bang mine against the wall. She wants a fucking speakeasy? Then it strikes me, and I look her dead in the eye, shoulders falling. "You want it hidden, don't you?"
She smiles – almost evilly – and nods, giving me a once over. "You're a smart boy."
Ok this thing where she hits on me? Starting to get a little creepy. It was creepy back when Kirsten used to make me go to parties, and all the Newpsies would hit on me, and it's still creepy now. Especially because Ms. Casetti's really old. At least some of the Newpsies back then were kind of hot – in a really medicated, plastic sort of way.
"Look, Ms. Casetti, a speakeasy? That'll take… weeks to work out all the details." Oh God. This can't be happening. I want – I need – to go on my honeymoon. I need to go. If I don't I may actually explode.
And I'm starting to think that Taylor's two week long sexcapades would make getting fired worth it.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
What if this doesn't work? That'll suck so bad.
It has to work. It just has to. And I'm persistent enough, right? I mean, I convinced Ryan Atwood to date me. Well, looking back, that hadn't been so hard – a few suggestive remarks, three kisses, and one red dress and he was putty in my hands.
But this has to work, for Ryan. I mean, the look on his face when he told me… he looked so lost. So this has to work.
I take a deep breath, check the apartment number with the address written on the slip of paper in my hand one more time, and knock. My heart starts beating wildly as I wait – for what seems like forever in the Vegas heat, and what if this isn't the right apartment? What if he moved? What if this was all for nothing? I'm about to turn away when the door opens.
"Yeah?" He looks at me strangely, because – duh – he doesn't know who the hell I am. I put on my best smile and square my shoulders.
"Trey Atwood?"
"You know what they're doing, right?" Seth rants, punching the buttons on the controller harder than necessary. "This is them paying us back for my bachelor party."
"That's not what they're doing," I tell him, because I keep flashing back to Taylor's comment about having 'business' in Vegas. What the hell kind of business can she have in Vegas? As far as I know, her dad didn't move to Vegas. That was the original reason she gave me for going to San Diego – her father hadn't RSVP'd to our wedding, and Veronica told Taylor that her cousin had told her that her uncle told her that her dad didn't want to come. Or, I think that was the chain, I'm not sure. All I know is there was a lot of relatives in between Taylor and her dad, but the outcome was the same. He wasn't coming, because he didn't really acknowledge her as his daughter anymore.
"It's totally what they're doing," Seth's voice brings me back to the conversation, and I'm actually glad, because I was getting angry at Taylor's dad again. "It's… it's revenge." He gasps loudly, dropping the controller and turning to me, "it's Revenge of the Vegas!"
"I'm taking your Star Wars DVDs away," I tell him, punching a combination of buttons that kills his character.
"Don't you get it?" he continues, not even noticing that the game's over and he's dead. I sigh and turn to face him – I might as well hear out his rant, because at least he's not ranting about a bachelor party anymore. "This is a sign! Like… foreshadowing, man," his eyes go wide and he shakes his head.
"How is that foreshadowing?"
"Because, man, it is! You've seen Revenge of the Sith-"
"Unfortunately."
"-and how does it end? With some guy getting all his limbs cut off and set on fire. See?"
"Not particularly."
"Ok, try and follow me here," he moves his hand in some sort of gesture I'm assuming is supposed to mean follow, and I lift one eyebrow. "Remember Vegas? Evil Vegas? Do you see where the removal of limbs and burning flesh come in?"
"I'm getting something to eat," I sigh, standing up and heading to the kitchen, trying to tune out Seth's rants about evil Sith Lords, true loves dying in childbirth, and his inevitable trip to the dark side – complete with a mask and cape.
"So who are you again?"
We're sitting in his living room, on the couches, and it's not a bad place. From what little Ryan's told me about his brother – and things I've picked up from Seth and Summer – I thought Trey's place would be… well, I figured it'd be some sort of crack den. But it's nice. It's not as nice as Ryan and my apartment, but there's nothing broken and dirty and full of crack. And Trey's not what I imagined, either. He's not sloppy and drugged up – he's actually clean, and ok, he's a little scruffy, but Ryan looks like that sometimes.
It's also a little scary how much they look alike. I mean, it's not completely the same, but they have nearly the same eyes – and not just the color. They have the same weary look, the jaded expression – the expression of someone who had to grow up way too fast. And then there's the same blonde hair – although Trey's is a little shorter – the same strong jaw, the same muscled build. Trey's a little taller, and Ryan's a little more built, but if I didn't know they were brothers, I could definitely guess.
"I'm Taylor. Taylor Townsend." And when my name doesn't register with him, I know something must be wrong. I mean, he got our invitation, right? I remember writing it myself, and Ryan mailed them all out. I remember when he got Trey's reply.
It had been less than a week after we sent the invites out, and Ryan came into the bedroom and told me Trey had called and said he wasn't coming, because it was too weird. Ryan had looked so lost – he couldn't even meet my eyes when he told me. That's when I decided I had to do something. Hence the trip to Vegas, to convince Trey to attend the wedding.
"Um… do I know you from the casino?" He shifts uncomfortably, looking over his shoulder at a door. "I mean, I'm flattered and all, but I have a girlfriend…"
"What?" I shake my head, trying to clear it, because I don't think I'm hearing this right. "I'm Taylor… Ryan's fiancée?"
That stops him dead.
"Fiancée?"
"You didn't get our invitation?" What the hell? He shakes his head no, still looking completely lost. He had to have gotten our invite, otherwise why would he call, and-
Oh, I'm going to kill Ryan.
He never even sent the invitation to Trey. And then he lied about Trey not coming.
"Ryan wants me to come to his wedding?" He chokes on the words, and I look up to see him… shocked, afraid, guilty, and it makes me feel horrible. He just looks so sad.
"Yeah," I lie. "Your invitation must've gotten lost in the mail. When you didn't answer, I decided to come see why." Liar. "Ryan would've come himself, but he has to work."
Liar.
He looks up at me and swallows hard.
"How… um… how is he?"
I'm pissed off.
And horny, but that's almost a constant lately, so I barely notice it anymore.
But I'm definitely pissed, and that I notice.
I kicked Seth out ten minutes ago. He'd pouted – a lot – but I figured kicking him out was a little less harsh than pounding the shit out of him. The whole Revenge of the Vegas rant had turned into a rant on how the new trilogy couldn't compare to the original, which in turn had lead to a rant about how sequels were never better than the originals (except, maybe, for Empire Strikes Back and The Godfather, Part II).
And this had made him get back to the subject of my bachelor party, which – according to him – was obviously not better than the original – his. At which point I'd gotten annoyed and punched him in the arm, and he seemed to think I was mad because he was calling my wedding not as good as his. And then he'd started freaking the hell out, because he thought I thought that he meant that Taylor was a sequel.
So there I was, with a giant fucking headache from that goddamn Casetti woman, with him ranting about how Taylor was like Empire Strikes Back and The Godfather, Part II, and he even added Toy Story 2 in there, which apparently is better than the original.
Then I kicked him out.
Which brings me to now. And it strikes me that it's less than two weeks from my wedding. I should be happy – or at least freaking out and having panic attacks and trying to figure out the best way to flee the country. Instead? Instead I have a constant headache from my annoying brother and my eye keeps doing this twitching thing, which started around the time Ms. Casetti first uttered the word speakeasy.
Now, normally showers can get rid of most of my stress, but even turning the hot water on full blast isn't doing it. Although it is making me a little dizzy. Probably because I'm breathing in steam. Oh well. Maybe if I keep the hot water running long enough, I'll just pass out from lack of oxygen.
That'll be nice.
"Wow."
I smile, nodding slightly and looking down at the floor to give him some emotional space. He stares at the wall, looking stunned, overwhelmed and – even if he's trying not to show it – proud. I pull my cell phone out of my purse stealthily, and holy shit, I've been talking for nearly an hour and a half. But Trey had insisted I tell him everything, which had begun my discourse on Ryan's life. I left out some of the shadier bits – like my high school bitch mode and the fact that I stalked him in a groundhog costume – and some of the raunchier bits – my tri-yearly trips home to fuck him during college and my plans for a two-week long sex marathon.
But other than that, I've told him damn near everything. Ryan getting in touch with his mother in senior year, Marissa's death, his trip to the dark side – although I 'forgot' to tell him how bad it really was -, how Ryan and I got together, Frank coming back, Frank and Julie getting together, me leaving for France and Ryan for Berkeley, Kirsten having Sophie, Julie having Matthew, Ryan's college graduation – top ten percent of his class, thank you very much -, getting his job at Branson, Anderson & West, Seth's wedding, Ryan's proposal. Just… everything.
"Wow," he repeats, shaking his head slightly. "Who would've thought?" He seems to be talking to himself, voice low and gravelly, and it strikes me that beneath his shock – hell, beneath even the pride – is a little resentment. "I mean," he continues like he's forgotten that I'm actually here, "mom always said Ryan would go places, but when we were little, that just meant he'd end up being the manager at a Wal-Mart."
"You're not doing too bad yourself," I add, and he looks up at me, startled. Then the guilt comes back – Jesus, he looks exactly like Ryan – and he nods. "I mean, you've got a good job, a girlfriend, a nice apartment. You seem happy."
"I guess I am," he nods again, and he looks so fucking much like Ryan. It's the same guilt, the same belief that they don't deserve to be happy. It makes me want to cry.
I hear the front door open and turn to see the girl that walks in. She stops, looks at me, looks at Trey, and then just looks confused. "Hey," he stands, and I follow him up. "Jess, this is Taylor – Townsend?" he looks at me for confirmation, and I nod. "Taylor, this is Jess."
"Hey," she gives me a weird look, moving towards the kitchen and dropping a duffel bag on the table. "You look familiar." I hear her silent question – have I seen you near my boyfriend before? And to be honest, she looks familiar, too, but I can't…
"Jess Sathers?" She nods, and nope, looks like she doesn't remember me. Not many people do. Either they didn't care enough to notice me, or they've blocked high school me from their memories. I kind of hope Jess just didn't care enough. "We went to Harbor together."
"Oh." Still nothing, but she seems to accept the explanation. "What're you doing here?"
"She came to invite us – us?" he looks at me again, and I nod, "us to her and Ryan's wedding." That makes Jess stop dead.
"Ryan, as in your brother Ryan?" He nods, and they exchange this look I can't quite interpret. Which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside – it's like those looks Sandy and Kirsten or Seth and Summer give to each other. I'm sure Ryan and I do it, too. Then she turns to me, eying me down. "Wait, aren't you that bossy chick who got Marissa kicked out?"
Well crap.
"Um. Yes?"
"And you stole her boyfriend?" she laughs slightly – looks like she wasn't too fond of Marissa. Maybe it has something to do with the whole almost getting her busted for drugs thing. Wait…
"You do know about Marissa right?" She shrugs, and crap, I don't want to explain this again. Once had been enough. "Marissa died. Like, seven years ago."
"OD?"
"Car crash." No need to go into the whole Volchok thing. She doesn't seem to care –why should she? They didn't really know each other. To be honest, I didn't really know Marissa either. I hated her, but I didn't know her.
Oh God.
I'm my mother.
"Hello?" I sigh into the phone. I'd been trying to sleep, and I don't even bother opening my eyes. I shouldn't have answered. It's either Seth or work. Neither of which is a good thing.
"Hey," she sighs back, sounding exhausted, and I open my eyes.
"Long day?" She groans, and I break into a smile.
"You have no idea," she whines. "And as much as I want to tell you about it, I can't." Damn. She knows me too well. Either that, or she's psychic, and saw that I was going to ask her what she did today.
"You can't?" I repeat, smiling wider. "Like, you don't want to can't, or you can't remember can't?" I'm rewarded with her giggle, and I feel the muscles in my shoulders loosen a little.
"I don't want to can't. It's a surprise."
"What is it?"
"Ok," she tries to sound stern, but I can tell she's trying not to laugh, "what part of 'it's a surprise' don't you get? The 'it's' or the 'surprise'?"
"The 'it's'." She sighs heavily – trying to sound frustrated. "Fine. Can you give me a hint? Like… is it a surprise like that time you tried to sign me up for yoga, or a surprise like the time you cleaned the apartment in the French maid outfit?"
She giggles again – she's so proud of herself – before answering. "Neither."
"Damn. I was hoping for a cheerleader uniform, or…"
"Ryan!" she scolds, sounding horrified. Or, at least trying to sound horrified, because I know her better than that. She likes to pretend she's not a complete freak. "We can do all that on our honeymoon," she amends, knowing I'm not buying her innocent routine.
"Have I mentioned I can't wait until our honeymoon?" I groan at her, closing my eyes at the thought. Taylor, hotel in Greece, penthouse suite, private beach, two weeks of nothing but sex.
"I can't either," she makes her voice dip low, which sends a tingle straight through me. Fuck.
"Then let's not wait," I suggest. Remember : Seth-like persistence. "When you get home…"
"No." Well, it was worth a shot. "But don't worry," she lowers her voice, almost to a whisper, and I wonder if she's in public, "on our wedding night, I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to see straight."
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Taylor," my voice cracks a bit, because fucking great, I'm so fucking horny.
"Goodnight, Ryan," she breathes, which doesn't help my situation. For a minute I think she's trying to make me all restless, but then it hits me: she wants it as much as I do. I mean, if she wanted to torture me, she would've stayed on the phone, but she didn't. She hung up. She wants it as much as I do.
Success.
So I was talking to someone (Ave, was that you? I can't remember) about the fact that no one tried to guess what Taylor was doing in Vegas. I mean, last story people were always trying to guess what was going to happen. So I give you this to ponder over:
Ryan will have a surprise for Taylor when she gets back from Vegas. Clues: it's not a present, and the show vaguely hints at it. Go theory-wild.