City Love
by Nyssa Jayne
I couldn't find the bar in the beginning of the evening. I'd wandered past VIP queues and five dollar cappuccinos, searching for only one venue, one that she said was different. I'd thought about going home, pouring some liquer in some instant coffee, and drowning my woes into that instead. I wasn't a hipster who could make bouncers open doors; a rockstar with an entourage, I was, to tell the truth, an out-of-work musician with no other creditials to my name, plus I was over eighteen but under the drinking age. All very good reasons to question why a seventeen year-old model goddess would invite me to The City's latest hot spot. Wouldn't she want someone who could legally buy her alcohol?
Then, I'd heard a voice call out my name from the balcony of what may of been a building just like all the others, except it was dressed up Cuban party style with posters, some old enough to be considered a chic kind of retro -- it was not the understated cool of its friends.
"There you are! Come up!" she'd cried from the balcony. I'd stumbled into the bar, wanting to see her but not wanting her to see me. I'd weaved a confusing maze upstairs, looked around blankly for a moment, until she stood up and waved me over.
She's a model, which used to always leave me wondering why she kept inviting me out. I kept coming because she was unlike any girl or model stereotype I'd ever met. She didn't have an entourage, she didn't think she was the hottest girl in the room, but she didn't think she was the ugliest either, all of which made her the only girl like her in the room. She had nothing against counter meals or fine restaurants, beer or Midori, hip-hop or rock 'n' roll, she was a local in all cultures, and I was quite sure if anyone brought world peace and celebrated it with a club crawl, it would be her.
Me, well... I saved pop music and killed my career in just that one step. I really doubted achieving the world peace on my agenda.
We'd been "seeing each other" for awhile now, or at least, she'd invited me out and by the end of the evenings I'd invited her back. To make sure this arrangement was kept, I let her borrow my clothes, even let her put a toothbrush in my bathroom ("Yours does look lonely.") so that she would keep coming back.
And so, the evening had continued, like a lot of evenings, her friends disappeared, people I knew stopped by for one or two drinks, but the evening had been ours.
We'd bought each other drinks, made each other laugh, she'd relaxed me a lot. Being drunk and giddy may have contributed to this feeling, but I liked to give her the credit. We didn't always drink ourselves silly, but we always had a good time.
But I wouldn't let myself go completely. That evening, my relazed side suggested I should do more than just invite her back, that I should officially invite her into my family, with a ring and everything. In theory, said my relaxed side, she can't leave you then. My not-so-relaxed side, the one with my wallet and paying for the drinks, was starting to wear down, so I'd hoped that somoene would do something soon.
"Last round!" Saved by the bartender.
"Do you want to come back to my place?" I'd asked. She'd sighed.
"Not tonight. I have an early call tomorrow." She'd kissed me and slinked out. I'd stared doumbfounded for a moment, before making my own way out. I'd run into a table and found the toilet door before I'd found the actual exit.
"Why wouldn't she come back?" I'd asked myself, as I'd walked home. Her toothbrush would be neglected, as would the new clothes the stylist said I could keep. They would begin to feel left out, like they didn't belong in my flat.
And now, I look around me, and an alarming thought has struck me.
Where am I?
My mobile rings.
"Hello?"
"It's me."
"Hey, Nat."
"Sorry I could't come back tonight." She explains about the shoot she has tomorrow, as I continue to look for my flat. "But I still love you."
I blink and my flat appears in front of me.
"... Tay?"
"I love you too," I assure, elated to have found my way.