Thank you for the views and reviews and the follows, much appreciated. It boost my confidence to write/post more.
About Chloe's swears, it's just that Chloe has a bad night, Aubrey being drunk, meaning she would probably jump at anyone and that they need a ride, then there's Julie who wasn't suppose to be there (she assumed Julie's following them), then when she though that she's lucky to have met/kiss Beca, she turns out to be Julie's ex, and Beca's car isn't helping. So yeah rough night, how can she not curse. But I'll try to reduce unnecessary swears on future chapter.
All credits goes to Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.
Chapter 3 Summary: Chloe's having a hard time dealing with drunk Aubrey, Luckily Beca's is there to help, or to just drive them. Then Julie want to borrow Beca's car, but Chloe won't let Julie. Only to find out what Beca's car is.
Chapter 4: Evil Ex
Chloe's POV
So this is what my promising life has been reduced to. A wealthy daughter of a famous producer who chose a cheap university to accompany her best friend, a girl whose possibilities are supposedly infinite, is sitting through the middle of an April night in the passenger side of a Yugo that smells like Julie's patchouli aromatherapy oil. Perhaps it's only the vehicle that won't start, but it feels like it's my life that won't start. Yes, this Yugo with the passenger-side seat metal coming through the torn seat fabric, scratching against the back of my thigh, this Cold War relic that won't respond to Beca's turn of the ignition key is like a metaphor for my sorry-ass life: STALLED.
Beca might be a music goddess but she's also a parking god because she scored a spot right in front of the club. The unfortunate consequence of which is that now my stalled ears are receiving the listening benefit of the band playing inside the club and they're really good and that's really pissing me off. I'm not sure if I backed into my life by getting into this Yugo with my new almost-girlfriend, or if I backed out of it by leaving the club to save Aubrey once again, but whichever end it is, I'm left wanting more music. It's now Cynthia-Rose on the stage but I can still hear that the Stacie girl is singing with another Green Day cover. How is that possible and why does it sound so damn good? And if the Yugo doesn't start within one second, I am outta here. I don't care how tempted I am to try for another seven minutes of being Beca's girlfriend after we've got Aubrey back to my place. For a poor schmuck, she's temptatiously cute.
"Do you hear that?" I ask Beca.
"What? Is the engine starting?" The poor schmuck is not only cute and a great head-bang thrash-dancer, she's probably a good guy. At least she proved deft at maneuvering a drunken Aubrey goddess into the backseat of a freakin' Yugo and making her think it was her idea. Let's not forget the part about her being a great kisser. She deserves better than a Julie and a Yugo.
I tell her, "No. Dude. Listen up. That rhythmic banging inside the club? It's called drumming. It's like, famous as an underlying staple of sound since primitive cultures." I play drums on the glove compartment of the Yugo. The compartment pops open from my banging. A Polaroid of Julie is taped inside the compartment. I rip it out. Bloody hell! I toss the picture out the window and turn to face Beca. "Your band needs a drummer. I saw you grinding to earlier Green Day cover back in the club. I know you feel rhythm more than just your heart-attack-inducing music skills. Think about it. What would 'Chump' have been without Tres Cool? Get a drummer for your band."
Aubrey has yet to reach her warm-cuddly drunk stage, post-heave and pre-slumber, which would put her in inquisitive stage about now, and right on schedule, from the backseat, she interjects, "Really," because Aubrey is always picking up sentences where I leave 'em off. "Driver person. Hey!" She taps Beca's shoulder from behind her. Beca looks around to her but quickly turns back around to face me. Such a pretty girl, such rancid tequila breath. Aubrey wants to know, "Why would you wear such ugly shoes? Answer me, driver person. Please?"
"The shoes go with the car, Aubrey," I tell her. "Yugo drivers are required to wear torn and graffitied hi-top Chucks shit on their feet. It's like a rule. It's in the manual." I pull the Yugo car manual from the glove compartment. A chewed-up wad of gum extends from the manual back to the compartment. I take the McDonald's napkin stuck inside the compartment and wipe the gum away from the manual. Fucking Julie and her Bubblicious. I throw the manual into the backseat for Aubrey's perusal.
She ignores the Good Book. "Are you Yugoslavian, driver person?" Aubrey asks Beca. "Chloe, is that why she's driving us home? She's the taxi driver, right?"
"Sure," I tell her. She'll be the taxi driver as soon as her Yugo cab will fucking start. We're operating on a limited window of opportunity here. It took ten minutes just to get Aubrey into the backseat. I can see Ralph now, loitering outside the club, smoking a cigarette, glancing towards the Yugo, ready to pounce on Aubrey again, I'm sure, if this Yugo doesn't blow outta here soon.
"Is there such an ethnicity as Yugoslavian anymore?" Beca asks. "Now that the country's all broken up? That was some bad shit that went down there in Serbia and Croatia, right? Damn shame." She shakes her head and her hand idles on the ignition key, as if she's given up. She knocks her head against the wheel, then slams her fist against the stick shift. She's done. Can't take it anymore. This car ain't going anywhere. She looks so depressed and defeated. I don't have the heart to slam her for acting like she's grieving for Yugoslavia when it's so obvious she's really grieving for Julie. Aubrey informs us, "I'm part Yugoslavian, you know. On my great-grandpa's side."
I tell her, "You're part Transylvanian, too, bitch. Be quiet. I need to think." How the hell are we going to get home now? And why do I have to get Aubrey home, anyway? There's a hot girl sitting next to me even if she is a Julie pass-along, but she's got potential to be molded. Here I am in Manhattan, like Dad's favorite Stevie Wonder song goes: New York, just like I pictured it. Skyscrapers and everythang. Shit is supposed to be happening here, not stalled Yugo shit. Through the car windshield, I can see the Empire State Building, lit up in pink and green for Easter. I am reminded that Jesus died for Aubrey's sins, not mine-I'm from a different tribe-so why am I saving her ass again when I could be outside this Yugo getting some life-living going on? I never properly used up those two add-on minutes of being Beca's girlfriend.
Aubrey says, "You're not the boss of me."
It's basic instinct, I can't help myself. I turn around to face Dragonbreath and snap, "Yes, I am!" She giggles, satisfied to have gotten a rise out of me.
Aubrey's merciful giggling transforms to dozing. In the reflection off the passenger-side mirror, I see that Aubrey appears to be falling asleep, her cheek pressed against the backseat window. I've never seen her pass out without heaving first. Beca and her Yugo may have magical properties, after all. Please, let it last till we can make it back home.
A heave-snore from the backseat announces that Aubrey is indeed out. YES! Sweet Jesus, thank you for this temporary stay, and hey, I'll throw in thanks for the dying-for-my-sins thing, too. You ROCK, J.C.! I'm totally not gonna stress on the fact that once I get home, I'll have to sleep next to Dragonbreath to make sure she doesn't choke on her own vomit in her sleep. Again.
"That's one problem solved," I tell Beca. I place my left hand on her right hand, which is clutched around the stick shift. "Now, what are we gonna do about this other one?"
She flinches a little at my touch and pulls her hand away to turn the ignition key again. Don't know why I placed my hand on hers anyway. She wants to know, "Why would you fuck up Julie's Barbies?" and now I'm like, Shit, is this the price of the sacrifice for Aubrey passing out unexpectedly early that Beca has taken over the melancholy stage that usually follows Aubrey's inquisitive one? "I have three sisters and I know that's some serious business, messing with another girl's Barbies." Okay, maybe she's not being melancholic because her sarcastic smile lets me know she's back to being standard-issue band-girl irony creature. Damn her that it somewhat makes me wanna jump her bones. Still, I can tell she's looking for information, but I am not going into the Julie's thing with her. I just can't.
On the other hand, perhaps I could make a project out of Beca. Detox her from Julie, rehabilitate her, put her through a good-girlfriend immersion program. I like sevens. We could go steady like all sweet and nice, for seven days instead of minutes. Then I'll set her free, less the Julie baggage, molded and perfected into the great girl I know she is under those Julie-heavy eyes. She'll be my gift to womankind, an ideal lesbian or bisexual specimen of musicianship and making out. I'll send her back out into the world thoroughly cleansed of irony, no longer holding all females in contempt as potential Julie suspects. Now who rocks?
A white van barrels down the one-way street in the wrong direction, stopping in front of the fire hydrant directly ahead of the Yugo. "Oh, thank God," Beca says. Interesting. We're in tune on the divine intervention thing. Fate? A guy emerges from the van and I recognize him as the guy who made out with the non-singing member of Beca's band after their band's set and someone at one corner. I only caught a minute of their kissing before I had to look away.
If not for the really hot kissing I witnessed between those two, I might not have answered Beca's request to be her five-minute girlfriend by pulling her mouth down to mine. That seems like years ago, not minutes, what with Dragonbreath and the stalled Yugo since, and WHY am I giving so much thought to being suspended in time and in Yugo with this Beca girl, anyway? She's hung up on Julie!
The guy leans into Beca's open window. She tells Beca, "Pop the hood and we'll try to jump-start this baby."
"Yeah," Beca says, like it's their routine. "Thanks, Bumper."
Bumper looks my way. He says, "Amy could use some help in the van if you don't mind."
Whatever.
I shrug and get out of the Yugo while Bumper pops the Yugo hood to attach the jumper cables. I pass Ralph leaning against the wall of the club and I give him a shove, just because. Then I step to the passenger side of the van and see band equipment in the back. I knew Beca's band had a van! Why didn't I specify, van, not Yugo?
The girl sitting in the driver side of the van says, "Hi. I'm Fat Amy."
I tell her, "You call yourself Fat Amy?"
"Yeah, so twig bitches like you don't do it behind my back."
"Noted, but I'll just call you Amy. I'm Chloe."
Amy hands me a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. She says, "Bumper and I chipped in. We saw that kiss between you and Beca." She sings out, "Giving her something she can feel!"
"I don't get it," I say.
The hood of the van obstructs our view, but we can hear the rattle of the Yugo engine threatening to come to life. "No time to explain," Amy says. "Let's just say Bumper and I hate the fucking guts of Beca's ex and we'd like to give her a little assistance with moving on with her life. So, please, take the girl out tonight, see the city, see the backseat of the Yugo, I don't care, just please take our friend out tonight. We've already decided that we like you and that you'll be Beca's salvation. No pressure or anything."
Flattery could get her everywhere and I am all about salvation right now, but, "Can't," I tell her, though I'm tempted. Really tempted. I'm curious what would happen if I dared another leap towards Beca's hand, or other parts, like that really tasty mouth of hers. "Beca's giving me and my drunk friend a ride back to Barden. She's asleep in the back of the Yugo now." Amy says, "We've got a mattress in the back of the van. We'll trade you. We'll get her home if you'll take on Beca tonight."
I decide some living is worth doing. "Done," I tell her. I slip the fifty into my inside shirt pocket, then scribble the directions to our dorm on Amy's hand. I tell her where to find the key under the potted plant. And I am not feeling frigid about Beca at all. I can't remember the last time I felt anticipation-not of sex (necessarily)-of getting to know a delicious new person, even if she is a poor schmuck.
So we're settled, and I get out of the van with Amy, who enlists Bumper to help her transport Aubrey from the Yugo to the van. But once I'm back inside the Yugo, I have no chance to explain to Beca the new order of this middle of the night.
Because through the windshield, I see that Ralph at the wall is doing the soul-brother shake with a new arrival who happens to be the mindfucking guy who I now call Evil Ex. And fuck, the Evil Ex has seen me and now he's at my side at the passenger door of the Yugo and he's saying, "Hey, baby, you ready to pick up where we left off?"
End of Chapter 4.
More swears, probably next chapter too because Chloe's ex has just been added to her list of things to swear on a rough night.