Bittersweet (4 page)

I towel off and get dressed, then head to the kitchen to make some breakfast, but my heart sinks as I see the way Max left the apartment after I went to bed. She’s a night owl, and it seems like she was flapping all over the place last night. There are beauty products and half-eaten plates of food everywhere, not to mention empty soda cans, and her laptop left open and plugged in on the coffee table, its cord trailing across the living room ready to trip me up and destroy both the computer and my collarbone in one fell swoop.

As I go to shut it off and put it in her room, I notice that she’s left it on a website about the
Bittersweet
TV show, and curiosity gets the better of me. I make myself a bowl of granola, then sit down to scroll through the article as I munch.

It’s a profile of the creator of the show, a twenty-something wunderkind who apparently impressed all the network execs with his scripts. The show is described as Stephen King meets
Dawson’s Creek
—something about a curse on the town, but there’s also your typical teen-drama romantic stuff. Who knows, it actually could turn out to be pretty good. Though if it does get successful I’m not sure I’m ready for a stream of tourists to start passing through town. I sigh, realizing how much of a stick-in-the-mud I’m becoming. I guess I really am in a bit of a rut.

I mean, maybe if I wasn’t so standoffish, that Greg guy might have flirted with me too. God, I hate feeling so unsure. The legacy of Jeff, rearing its ugly head again. Him suggesting the break-up made me feel like he must have found a better option than me out there. But damn it, I spent too long trying to get over all that. Maybe I need to give myself more credit. I guess it’s like the running—if I take a little better care of myself, it might make me feel better all around. And what am I thinking? I have a freaking beautician for a best friend! I pick up my cell and dial.

“The Salon, this is Maxine.”

I smile, remembering how she decided to name it that because she knew, being the only beauty parlor in town, that was what it would end up being called anyway. Plus, she was too lazy to think of anything else.

“Oh, hiii,” I begin, putting on my approximation of a Hollywood bimbo voice. “Yah, I wanted to bring my Shih Tzu, Marilyn, in for a cut and blow dry. How soon can you fit us in? Oh, and she only likes the freesia shampoo. You guys have that, right?”

Max chuckles. “Hah hah,” she says sarcastically.

“Hey, I’m just preparing you for the kind of thing you’ll be dealing with soon.”

“I’ll cut any bitch’s hair if they pay me enough,” she retorts, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“So I was thinking…”

“Yes, oh my god, please, I’ve been dying to get my hands on your hair—”

I purse my lips, trying not to feel hurt. “Maybe just a trim.”

“And some color? Trust me, it will be amazing. Come now, we’re not too busy.”

I realize with a slight pang that I don’t really have anything else planned today. Like I said—rut. “All right, I’ll see you in ten.” I hear her snip scissors in the background, and gulp.

A short while later, I’m sitting in a chair with Max behind me, and I watch nervously in the mirror as she pulls at strands of my hair, assessing. The Salon is looking great. I haven’t been in for a while, and I’m really impressed with how professional it looks, especially given the way Max treats our apartment. Everything’s neat and white and clean. Subtly scented candles burn everywhere, a couple of young women are shampooing clientele, and two others are busy giving manicures and pedicures. Maybe Max really will be getting some of those
Bittersweet
actors in here soon. I wonder again how it is that Max and Hal seem to have found their own paths, while I’m still where I was when we were in high school—minus the jock boyfriend. I’d love to do more with Joe Johnson’s—revamp the menu, change some of the decor. I’ve even tried pushing through a few ideas, but I always meet resistance from Joe. Every time I turn around, things are back how they were. Like I said, most people in Dogwood aren’t all that into things changing.

“Hmm,” Max mutters, and I look up, worried. “You haven’t been using that deep conditioner I gave you, huh? Maybe if I…” She tails off, thinking.

I roll my eyes. “Do your worst, Maxi. I trust you.”

I hope that isn’t Famous Last Words.

* * *

A half-hour later, I’m shampooed and sitting under a heated contraption while Max takes a break and shouts at me over the machine’s whirring.

“So Todd got those tickets for Meta at the Canal on Friday. You’re still down, right? You, me, Todd, and Hal. It’ll be the perfect place to test out your new look.”

“Yeah, I want to go, for sure, but—” I break off as I realize the machine has cut out when the timer pings. Max lifts the dome thing off my head and leads me back to her station, unwrapping my hair from a towel. It’s taken on an eggplanty hue that makes both of my eyebrows fly up towards my hairline.

“Uh, I believe your words were ‘
I trust you
’?” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply hesitantly. “All right…”

“You were saying?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking, if we all go to the Canal and you’re with Todd, that’ll kind of seem like a double-date thing, and I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

Maxine eyes me in the mirror. “Thought you were doing that whole
pretending Hal doesn’t have glaring feelings for me
thing?”

“They’re not
glaring
. He’s just a little… Nostalgic? He liked me back in high school, and he just sometimes kind of forgets we’re all adults now. Anyway, you and I both know he has plenty of other options.”

Maxine humphs. In actual fact, my issues are probably less about Hal than the fact that since Max has been seeing this new Todd guy, I feel like I’m seeing the prelude to a live sex show every time they’re in the same room together.

“You had that last Meta album on repeat for months anyway, so we’re going,” Max says. “It’ll be cool.”

She’s right, and it’s a long time since I’ve been into the city. “All right. Let me know what I owe Todd for the ticket.”

She finishes snipping my hair and I’m relieved to see there’s not too much on the floor. Once she’s done with the blow dry, I’m actually amazed at the sleek waves that are framing my face and skimming down my shoulders.

“Shit, Max, that’s pretty freaking awesome,” I say, leaning forward and running my fingers through the strands. She polishes her fingernails on her smock and grins. I grab my purse to pay, but Max won’t let me. Still, I at least want to give a tip to Lizzie, the kid who shampooed me.

As Max gets me some change at the reception desk, Clarissa Jones comes over to settle her bill, shuffling along in temporary foam slippers after her pedicure. She’s a realtor, and she leans over to Maxine conspiratorially after she takes back her credit card.

“So, I’ve been block-booking out the rental apartments over in Hazelwood for the cast,” she says, and Maxine begins to salivate in anticipation of imminent gossip. Hazelwood is about as fancy as Dogwood gets, and Max and I like to pretend we live there when we walk through the chichi area to get to our apartment on the border of it.

“Yuh huh?” Maxine says eagerly.

“That Bethany Keeler girl, did you see her on the cover of
Teen Vogue
last month?” Clarissa continues.

“Uh huh, the skinny actress who was in that indie movie last year?”

“Yeah. Well, she
insisted
on being booked into the same block as the fella who’s going to play her beau on the show. I had to shuffle some of the other actors around. I can’t tell you how difficult some of these people are. My Lord, what a diva,” Clarissa says with a smile, sounding like she’s in fact loving every minute of it. “I can only imagine what it’ll actually be like when they finally get here next week!”

As she shuffles out of The Salon, Max does a little dance of excitement. “Oh, man, you think I could be an extra on the show or something? I could get, like, discovered!”

“Sure, it’s not like you have a business to run, right?” I say.

She pushes my shoulder playfully, and I arrange to meet her for a drink at Mulligan’s later after she closes up. I head out of The Salon and find myself wondering about whether Greg might be moving into an apartment someplace in town, or if he’ll be sticking with the Fairview. I wonder what he’s doing now…? He said he wasn’t working. He’s probably still hanging out at the restaurant, seducing Jenna. Maybe I should go back over there, see if they need any help with—

“Cath!”

I jump guiltily, hearing my little brother’s voice behind me. I check my watch and realize he must have already finished up at his job at the library. Guess I was in the salon for longer than I thought.

“Your hair’s purple,” he says, breaking away from a group of his friends on the corner and coming over to me, grinning.

“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, Carlos.”

“Looks good, sis.”

“Thanks.” I nod over to the guys play-fighting at the end of the block. Considering that in my day Carl would (I hate to say it) have been considered a nerd, he seems to be pretty down with the cool kids. I hope he’s not just doing their homework. But maybe things are starting to change. The geeks shall inherit the earth. “Shouldn’t you be heading home?” I ask. I can’t help mothering him—force of habit, forced on us both.

“It’s barely past four,” he retorts.

“All right, all right. Is Dad OK? I stopped by the restaurant earlier—he finally took a day off, huh?”

Carl shakes his head. “He said he was going in for lunch service,” he says, and we exchange a look of worry. Neither of us will forget the night of Joe’s heart attack. It’s still one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me, and I wish our dad would slow down, let me shoulder a little more of the responsibility. I think he feels guilty about tying me to this place, especially since I didn’t get to go to college. I have a feeling he wants me to spread my wings once Carl graduates.

I resist the urge to tell my brother to be good, and give him a hug, telling him I’ll see him over the weekend. As he walks away, I realize how grown up he’s starting to look. Guess it might not be too long until I have to do that wing-spreading…

Truth be told, the thought sort of scares me.

* * *

A little while later, I’m sitting at the dark mahogany bar surrounded by the blaring old-school rock ’n’ roll and loud chatter that make up Mulligan’s at happy hour. Max has just returned from smoking her one cigarette, and we clink our beers together.

She shakes her head, mock-amazed, as she stares at me. “Damn, I’m good. I swear to God, new hair, new man. I can feel it in my
bones
.”

I roll my eyes. “Who says I need a man?”

“Your demeanor, your uptightness, your general mopey attitude?”

“Max, did I ever tell you that your friendship means the world to me?”

She sighs, her eyes shining with amusement. “OK, sorry. But we need to at least get you laid. Jeff was, like, an eon ago, and unless you’re hiding something from me…”

I shake my head. I know she’s right. I could do with some action. If only—

“How about tall production crew guy?”

She took the words right out of my dirty mind, but I shrug. “I did see him at JJ’s this morning…”

“Holy shit, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s a small town, Max. People have to eat.”

“So? Did you talk?” she says, ignoring my attempt to bat the notion away.

“Yeah. A little.”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna bang him. Mark my words.”

“Maybe not those
exact
words…” I say. She laughs, and we swig our drinks. “And anyway, he seemed pretty into Jenna. But I
was
kind of thinking a fling would be good, if there were any other candidates.”

She eyes me, her face becoming a little more serious. “Yeah, a fling … or whatever, you know? Cath, you’ve just got to be a little more open, less worried about getting your heart broken. I mean, how many times have you picked me up off the kitchen floor after some numb-nuts screwed
me
over?”

“Oh, a ringing endorsement of love,” I say defensively.

Max cocks her head to one side and lays a hand on mine on the bar. “Look, not all guys are like Jeff.”

I think of Greg’s moodiness and his flirting with Jenna, and wonder if she’s deluded. But then I also kind of wonder if it’s fair to judge when I don’t even know him. Regardless, even if all guys
are
ultimately good-for-nothing—once a fling is flung, it wouldn’t matter, would it? I turn around as I see Max wave at someone across the bar.

“Look, here comes proof right now,” she says with a grin, and Todd rushes over and scoops her up off her stool and into his arms, kissing her like they didn’t just see each other two nights ago.

“Oooh, baby I missed you,” Max coos, and I down my beer. Todd breaks away and gives me a peck on the cheek and says hi. He’s a sweetie really, despite being a big burly guy with tattoos and a beard. I actually hope this one lasts, but it doesn’t mean I want to stick around to watch the relationship being nurtured. I tell them I’m going to head home, unsure if they’ve heard me over the sound of smacking lips, but Maxine winks at me and gives me a wave.

As I walk home, the smell of flowers scenting the warm evening air, I feel a wave of romantic hope. Maybe there
is
someone out there who would make me forget the whole Jeff debacle, and all the potential heartbreak that goes with really letting someone in. Someone intriguing, someone different, maybe with messy dark hair that brings out his—

Damn it.

I breathe an audible sigh of relief as I see the lights of the Canal Club loom into view, and soon we’re turning into the parking lot. Turns out two of Todd’s many tattoos are black X’s on the back of his hands, which, Max informed me with glee, means he’s a straight-edge punk. And that means he holds to their ethos—no drink, no drugs? Designated driver!

While I’m thrilled I don’t have to spend my one night out in ages booze-free and driving my dad’s borrowed station wagon to Richmond, it turns out that being cramped up in the back of a Prius for an hour, with not only Hal but Todd’s
well-built
sister Cindy, isn’t doing great things for my circulation. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but then I also want to have the use of my legs for the rest of the night.