Rosé

Going for the psychological, fantasy yet comical approach.

The entrees came just as she was reaching for my hand across the table.
I pulled my arm away to make room: Crab cakes and pate, with some sort of forest green looking paste. The sweet aroma of the seafood greeted my nostrils, and my stomach called out for its sustenance. And the blonde waiter, who was dressed in a simple black Armani tuxedo and white blouse, leaned over the table to arrange the plate in the centre. As he was laying a napkin across my lap, he caught my eye and winked.
“Get ‘er done,” he whispered with an irking edge.
“Not happening,” I replied without even realizing.  The mere thought of sleeping with Debbie turned my blood cool; surely three months into the relationship was far too early for sex...wasn't it?
The waiter laid Debbie’s napkin over her lap before standing upright and clearing his throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Debbie watching me closely. I ignored her and forced myself to concentrate on his poorly gelled mane of sand and the scent of tobacco in the air.
“Can I interest you ladies in a bottle of wine?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Debbie laid her hand out across the crimson silk tablecloth and murmured in a faux-posh fashion, “a bottle of your finest Rose, please," she murmured. When the waiter was gone, she began to root around in her bag for something. Whatever was in there rattled and clicked noisily; just about overrode the hum of people around us. Shaking my head slowly, I reached into my own purse and produced a packet of Pall Mall reds and lit one. Debbie clucked her tongue.
"You want a drag?" I asked, blowing a herd of blue ribbons out.
"A drag?"
"Yeah, a drag. Of my cigarette."

Debbie chose to ignore me, lowering her eyes and arching her perfectly manicured eyebrows. Out came her silver hand mirror I never see her without, and she began to fussily wipe invisible lipstick smears from the edges of her small shiny lips. I took another drag, while my eyes wandered the room. The Red Lobster still looked the same as it did when I last visited it which was when I was eleven years old. The same showy red curtains along gold framed windows, the same jazz set up near the bar. Tonight they were playing a blues-like tune, and the saxophone wailed in melodic agony.

"You know I hate it when you smoke," Debbie interrupted in a snarly tone, "when are you going to quit?"
"The day I turn straight, my dear." I let out a soft chuckle. Debbie did not share in my glee.
When I was finished, I dabbed my cigarette's mocking embers out into the ceramic ashtray to my right. I reached out for a crab cake, but Debbie took my hand instead and wrapped her cool bony fingers through mine; she tugged me closer.
"This is a special night," she said warmly, circling her thumb nail along my exposed palm. I writhed slowly in my chair, as the gnawing in my chest erupted. "It sure is," I said, forcing the smile that won Debbie's heart. I took a breath in, attempting to ease the uncomfortable twist in my chest but it did nothing.
"We've been together for two months... three in a few hours," she continued. And her icy blue eyes, lit by the table's candles burned into me; drew holes in my gaze. So that she could almost see right through me. Did she sense my hesitation? I fought the urge to pull my hand back.
Somewhere around us, a woman laughed wickedly at the top of her lungs. Such delight in her voice; I stiffened.  That laugh reminded me of…
Debbie pulled me again, pulled me from my thoughts. “What’s wrong with you tonight?” she asked. Now her icy eyes melted to pools of concern. Her mouth was ajar as if she wanted to say something, but was waiting for me to say something first. Around my fingers, her grip slowed to a loosened hold. My pulse quickened. “Nothing, sweetheart.” I felt my mouth stretching once again into its rehearsed smile. “Everything’s fine. Tonight is very special, you know. I want it to be special.” To my own ears, my voice sounded limp and hollow. My pulse hammered even harder.
Debbie’s eyes lowered sheepishly, and her fingers came back to life through mine. “But it is special, Cecelia. It’s very special. You’re special.”
I took a deep breath. “You still want me, then?”
Debbie drew away, surprised. “Of course I do!” Before she could say anything more, the blonde waiter returned with the promised bottle of Rosé. As he set it on the table to release its cork, I watched the cold water drops sliding down the crimson glass until they landed in soft blobs on the tablecloth. Quickly, I reached out and took the bottle from his hands, placing it on the other side of the table. My heart jumped with the sudden contact of cold and its landing clink.
“We’re saving it for later,” I told him. Debbie smiled up to me. Was she expecting something big?

   * * * *

“That witch is really pretty, aye, Dad?”
Dad chuckled, sliding next to me on the rough green sofa. “Who? The blonde one?”
Giggling, I said, “no, she’s yucky. I like the one with the orange hair and green dress.”
“That’s Bette Midler,” he said, nudging me lightly.
“Bette Midler?” I repeated, half turning to look at him. He grinned down at me:
“That’s right. She’s a singer, too. I have a few of her records-“
Mum strolled into the room with an armful of laundry. “Come on, Cecelia,” she sighed, frowning at the TV. “You’ve watched this movie at least four times today.”
“I like it,” I replied half-heartedly, turning back to the screen. I watched the beautiful redheaded witch as she strode over to a boy on the floor and released yellow electricity from her fingertips into him. He slid quickly across the floor and slammed into the wall, grunting with the electrocution. I giggled with her as she let out an amused chuckle.
“Don, she’s only six,” Mum said. Her voice sounded very far away. Dad’s arm slid around my back and I fought to hide my smile of victory; my chest bubbled. “So what?” he said. “It’s a kid’s movie and it keeps her happy. We all win.”
Mum sighed again. “Well, as long as she’s happy then.”
When she left the lounge, I turned to Dad. “Records,” I pushed. “Like, her songs and stuff?”
Dad nodded. “Yep, I’m a big fan myself; got about six of them.”
“Can I listen? I wanna see what she sounds like.”

Seven years later…

“What do you mean you don’t have Beaches?” I leaned over the counter, incredulous. It was surprisingly cool to the touch. The pimply-faced boy serving me on the other side shrugged. “We just don’t have it,” he said, finality in his voice.
“Outrageous,” I shook my head. “I don’t believe it. Check your computer system.”
“Look, girl, I told you already. We don’t have it.” His eyes darted back and forth, as if he were afraid of what people thought of him.
“You’re deprived. You’re all being deprived!” My voice began to rise. People around me turned to look and whisper to each other. I drummed my nails nervously on the red counter top. “You’re the only video store open at this hour and you don’t have Beaches?!”
The boy held his hands out defensively, struggling to find something to say. “I just-“he started. I was preparing a nasty sailor mouth-ridden comment for him when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. A message from Mum: You producing the film? Hurry up!!
“Please leave,” the boy said gently. “You’re causing a scene. I’m sorry we don’t have your film, but you’re just gonna have to go look someplace else.”
I took a step back, giving the counter a tap with my forefinger. “Check your system,” I insisted. “Just give me any movie with Bette Midler in it.” My heart pounded furiously. I needed to watch something else of hers. Anything, damn it!
Looking a bit more relieved, the boy turned to the white monitor to his left. “Oookay,” he said, slapping a few keys. I texted Mum back: Almost done. Boy is an idiot.
“Let’s see,” Pizza Face said. “We have… Hocus Pocus, Stella, Big Business, the First Wives Club, The Rose and Scenes from a Mall.”
“I want them all,” I said, my voice final.
The boy drew his eyes slowly from the computer screen onto me. “Huh?”
“All of them! I want all of them. Hurry up.” To add to the score, I withdrew two twenty-dollar notes from my pocket. “Get me some CDs too, if you see any.” I winked. Without hesitating, the boy rushed off to fetch me my drugs.
“I will have my Bette fix,” I said to the staring people around me. “At any price.”
The boy returned a moment later. “Here we are,” he said, lowering a pile of cases onto the counter. One of them slid off the top of the stack. I picked it up: The Rose.
“Your friends must think you’re weird,” the boy commented with a laugh, scanning the barcode on the others.
“Bette would never leave me, would you Bette?” I kept my eyes on the DVD jacket and ignored Pizza Face's stare. Bette, in her Janis Joplin outfit, grinned at me as if she were assuring me she wouldn’t. Her curly red hair bounced out from her scalp and she was sitting cross-legged against a crimson wall. Her eyes, mahogany glitters, glowed back at me.

    * * * *

 

“I can’t be with you,” I whispered.
It took a few seconds but I watched the surprise and hurt register on Debbie’s face. She went from hesitant to shocked, and dropped her fork; it slipped from her delicate fingers in slow motion and hit the china with a harsh clang. People around us turned to the noise, began muttering in not-so-muffled whispers. Her face was an alarmed tomato of rage and sadness stirred together.
“What do you mean you can’t be with me!” she cried shrilly, reaching across the table for me. I drew myself back quickly, as if she were crawling with wetas. “No, Deb.” I said softly. “I can’t. I’m in love with Bette Midler.”
“You’re what?” Debbie’s face grew even redder; contorted into a disbelieving snarl. “Who is she? You can’t do this to me, Cecelia.”
“You know who she is,” I said calmly, pushing my chair back and fighting off the urge to dub her ignorant. I reached into my bag for my wallet. Debbie’s lips were butterfly wings of raging purple; fluttering up and down for an answer. “You can’t be in love with a celebrity. You simply can’t.”
My vision began to blur; I waited for the rage to pass before I answered her. I leaned forward slowly, grasping her hand in mine and looking her right in the eye. Maybe I held her a little too hard, because her eyes widened as I neared her. “I can, and I am. Since I was six years old.”
“No, no, no,” Debbie murmured, her eyes tracing every millimetre of the tablecloth. Beneath my hand, hers shook. “I don’t get you, Cecelia. I thought you loved me.”
“I never said I loved you,” I replied firmly. With my free hand, I pulled a fifty dollar note out and slid it next to my clean plate. The voices of the people around us grew louder; until their voices became a suffocating ocean of taunting hushes. And through it all, I heard the laugh again. Ha-ha-ha-haaaa!
She was much closer this time, somewhere behind me. I turned to look but Debbie was in my face, grabbing my jaw with her intrusive, cold hand.
“I know you love me,” she said almost desperately. “Please stay for dinner, at least.”
I took a deep breath. “No, Deb. Not for you.” Slowly, I released my hand from hers and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“You disgust me,” she spat as I got up to leave. Slowly, I laid my flawless napkin across my plate and left the tableside and its unopened bottle of Rosé. I turned to her. “Debbie, you are a very dark person. Find your light; no one can love you if they can’t see you.” Then I spun on my heel and left her there, stuttering. Then I stopped dead in my tracks.
Bette?
Her back was to me, but I would recognise her vibrant curls anywhere. She was speaking to a French man at the door. He said something to her and she threw her head back and laughed. My heart stopped for a mid-second but my feet didn’t.
“You’re going to die alone,” were Debbie’s final cold words behind me.
As I followed the beautiful redheaded woman out the door, I barely heard her.

 

Reviews

[Heather Maria]

I like the digression that you added in the middle of the story. I wasn't sure where it was going in the beginning, but the ending wasn't what I expected. I like the plot twist and gave the character development. Good work!

[Alpris]

Thank you, Heather! your review is greatly appreciated, and gives me hope :)

[Michael G.]

Bette... what a lady!
Great write! (more please? he asked with a questioning smile)

[Alpris]

There will definitely be more :) but for that, I need a spark of inspiration