Lessons In Being A Flapper (19 page)

“Ladies! Over here! Over here!”

“Can we get a quick quote?”

“Why did you choose to talk to those men in the club?”

“Will you be making any more videos? How do you know each other?”

The q
uestions kept coming; the flashbulbs blinking rapidly in our faces as we tried to walk to the door which seemed to be blocked by tons upon tons of people. The Plaza was
so
not the place to go if you wanted to remain under the radar. Which I did, but Marisol did not. She was loving the attention. Eating it up like a 20-year-old fame whore. Sigh.

Eventually we made our way through the
hordes and the doors closed behind us. Luckily, the photographers weren’t allowed inside the lobby as the staff wanted the hotel to remain a safe haven for its upper crust guests. Thank goodness we were safe, even if it was only for a few minutes.

“Now wasn’t that splendid? We are definitely the cats pajamas in this city, toots!”

I knew Marisol was loving every minute of this but I knew that the journalists would only increase in volume if we didn’t give an interview soon. I told Marisol that it might be best if we called a TV studio ourselves and offered an exclusive interview – just to get the damn press off our back.

“And no more nights out!” I said, as if I was disciplining a naughty
student and not a 99-year-old with more chutzpah than a bull on steroids.

S
ince it was still early afternoon, I decided to call over to the
Today Show
and tell them we would be willing to make an appearance if it would quell the insane amount of interest in our rather dull lives. I didn’t word it exactly like that, obvs, but you get the picture.

“Ok, they’ve booked us in for the 8 o’clock hour tomorrow. We’ll be appearing right before One Direction! Can you believe it?!” I said excitedly
, while wondering if that adorable teen dream Harry Styles would hit on me. He did like older women, after all. Though I wasn’t a cougar. And I did have a boyfriend. Damn. My one chance to (possibly) get in with the cool kids and I was taken. I wasn’t complaining of course. Bayani was amazing and the sex was
divine
. There was no way and 19-year-old British kid could ever compare. Like,
ever.

Anyway
, I should call Bayani now that I was thinking of him. He might want to know that his girlfriend and her batty old companion were going to be on national TV in the morning.

“Hey babe, it’s me,” I said when he picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Cupcake. Are you still feeding the media frenzy over in the city?”

“We are. Hopefully it’ll all stop tomorrow though when we appear on the
Today Show
at 8 o’clock.”

“WHAT?! That’s fucking amazing! My girlfriend on the
Today Show
! How freaking cool is that? Everyone will be so jealous!”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll be crazy. I can’t even believe that my work trip has turned into this.”

“Well, everything happens for a reason, Autumn. Maybe you and Marisol were meant to be on TV for some reason or another.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. Don’t worry. You’re too cute to worry,” he said with a smile in his voice. Oh how I loved him. “Maybe I’ll come down. I’m not too far away at my brothers. I could be in the city by 7 o’clock tomorrow. Would that be OK?”

“That would be more than OK. That would be
amazing
,” I said.  Tomorrow was going to be the start of the rest of our lives. I could feel it in my bones.

T
he next morning came in a wave of excitement and pure glee. Both Marisol and I were up early, trying to figure out what exactly we should wear to the
Today Show
set. Would they do our makeup? Would they let us borrow a stylist? It was all so new to us. As I dug through my rather limited wardrobe, Marisol spoke up.

“Darling, your grandfather said to wear your teal dress and a strand of pearls,” she said nonchalantly, as if getting style advice from the dead was the norm. Maybe for her it was but for me it was
still massively weird. Either way, I picked up my teal dress, admiring its intricate details as I put it on. It reminded me of the 1920s in some ways yet it was also very modern and not too revealing. The last thing I needed was my boobs popping out on national TV. I’d leave all the flashing to Marisol. I was not one to show my goodies to the world.

We were dressed and ready by 7:00 and in the town car that the
Today Show
provided by 7:30, on our way over to Rockefeller Center. Watching the sights of the city flash by through the tinted windows of a luxury town car was a new experience but definitely one I could get used to.

We arrived on set and were greeted by a flurry of people; Stylis
ts, makeup artists, assistants, and people prepping us for the interview. It was happening so fast that I had trouble taking it all in. I hadn’t yet seen Bayani but I wished he would show up soon so that I could at least have some sense of normalcy this morning. I really needed something or someone to keep me in check.

One Direction
was performing on the stage inside the studio, since it was a rainy and drizzly day. Marisol and I watched in awe (me more so as I was secretly trying to figure out which member was the cutest) when suddenly Marisol asked me a question that made me laugh so hard I thought I had peed my pants. Yes, I was already at the age where a bought of laughter left me crying in the ladies room as I tried to cover up my wet spots. I’ll admit it.

“
Why in the world are these young things called One Direction? Do they not know where they are going? What a silly and ridiculous name.”

“I think it means that they are going in One Direction. Like up or something.”

“With a name like that, they’ll be going in One Direction alright and it will be down.”

I looked out onto Rockefeller Plaza and saw thousands of screaming girls. These boys were definitely not going anywhere soon.
Their music was like NutraSweet to the brain. Destructive, but oh so good.

As soon as the boys were gone and I got to wave to Harry Styles (!!) it was our turn to be interviewed. I swallowed any pride I had (which admittedly, isn’t much most of the time) and walked out onto the stage with Marisol’s hand tucked into the crook of my elbow.

Here we go, I thought.

Just before I took the final step on to the stage, I felt a firm hand pull me back and then consum
e me in a hug. At first I was a little startled, but soon I realized it was Bayani. I couldn’t see his face in the dark hallway but I could smell his signature scent of aftershave mixed with toothpaste and soap. He smelled like a real, strong clean man. Minty fresh. I inhaled it and hugged him back.

“Thanks for coming,” I said into his soft cable knit sweater.

“You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Two of my favorite women being interviewed on national TV! It’s an honor to be here with you both.” I smiled and kissed him quickly before running off (in heels, mind you) to catch up with Marisol. The segment was due to start any minute now and I didn’t want to make a scene trying to get on stage in the middle of the interview.

Arriving just in time, I took my seat next to
Marisol, who gave me a naughty wink. God, I hope she doesn’t say something insane. No doubt the crazy remarks of last night were going to come up. I just hoped I could keep my composure when they did. I wasn’t very good in social situations. I was even worse when put on the spot.

The interviewer, who happened to be female and kind of friendly
in a New York way, had us sit on stools facing her. The camera was started and before we knew it, we were on live TV. Oh. My. God.

“This morning we have the pleasure of having viral sensations,
Marisol Silva and Autumn Hayes in the studio with us. As you may have heard, Marisol and Autumn went on a little bender last night over at legendary jazz club The Birdland. It ended up on film and voila! Here we are,” The interviewer said.

“Now, tell me, Marisol, how old are you again?”

“I’m 99 but I feel like I’m in my 50’s!” Marisol quipped.

“Well, you certainly look amazing for your age and it seems as though you have a lot of spirit as well.”

“Yes, I do love to live dangerously. You know, a little drink, a little drug…I dabble in many things to keep myself limber and in-the-know.”

The interviewer had the right idea when she blinked furiously, a bit confused, before laug
hing unnaturally, like a Hyena. “Oh dear, you are a funny one,” she said.

“I am. I like to make people laugh. I like to see others happy,” Marisol said. I felt close to tears. She was just so cute. She reminded me of a teddy bear that I just wanted to keep forever. Alas, that wasn’t possible but I chose to ignore that fact for now.

“So, tell me about your night at The Birdland, girls. Was it as much fun as it seemed?”

“Oh yes! It was lovely. You see, Autumn here is head o
ver heels in love with the 1920s – and a certain young man who won’t be named – so I thought there was no better place to take her than to a jazz club. As you probably, know the twenties were known for their jazz music just as much as the Flappers and prohibition.”

Oooh. That was sure to go right up Sophie’s behind
like a bee. Marisol admitting on TV that Bayani and I were in love. Even though she didn’t say his name, there was no doubt to those who knew us both as to who she was referring.

“Anyway, I danced some dances I hadn’t danced in ages, listened to some music and genuinely enjoyed myself. I think Autumn did too,” Marisol said, squeezing my hand.

“Yes, I had a great time. I still can’t believe our video went viral. I’m not sure what’s so interesting about us, really. We’re just two women enjoying a night out.”

“But you must agree that the circumstances were different, Autumn. Not every woman your age is out partying with a 99-year-old,” the interviewer pointed out. She was right, of course. How many geriatrics did you see in the night clubs?
Unless you were in Florida, the answer would be almost none.

“Are you married, Marisol? Do you have any children?”

“No, dear, I’m widowed. My soul mate, John, died about ten years ago. We never had any children. Weren’t able to unfortunately. I had that damned hysterectomy.” What? Marisol had no children? So then how was Sophie her great-grand daughter? What wasn’t she telling me?

The interview went on a little while longer,
interspersed with clips from our night at the jazz club and photos of Marisol as a younger woman in Flapper attire (where had those come from?) It seemed to go by quickly and by the time we were done and the cameras were switched off, everyone in the studio was applauding us. It was a surreal experience.

“And that, my dear, is how it’s done,” Marisol said to me before sauntering off to the dressing room leaving me staring wide-eyed in her wake.

I
was glad that was over. Hopefully now the press would let us be and stop pestering us outside the hotel. We were only in town for a few more days and then I could go home and see Clara. I missed her so much. Even the daily picture messages sent to me by Jeanette weren’t enough to keep my heart from aching. I felt that way about Bayani, too, sometimes, but at least I got to see him this past week. In fact, he should be here soon to take me out for a celebratory dinner and show. My first New York theater experience! I was excited beyond words.

Marisol hadn’t talked to me much since the interview commenced. It seemed like something was weighing heavy on her mind. I assumed it had to do with the subject of her husband. She had never brought him up before or since and I wasn’t about to ask. I figured she’d talk to me when she was ready.

I spent a few hours lounging in the bubble bath surrounded by the soothing tones of Buddhist monks chanting. I picked up this tape after visiting a Buddhist Temple with Bayani. Since he was from Thailand he had a custom of attending local Temples for certain occasions to do with his country. He invited me along one day and although I was slightly apprehensive, I found it to be a very eye-opening experience. The monks were so kind and generous as were the Thai people as a whole. These tapes were perfect for laying in the bath and relaxing.

By the time Bayani arrived I was cleansed to
within an ounce of my life. Being a woman was exhausting. Thank God Bayani appreciated all the effort I put in, because between you and me, if I weren’t seeing him I wouldn’t bother. I’d look like a crazed gorilla with hairy legs and arms and smell like a muskrat that just came out of the filthiest river possible.  Not a pretty sight at all.

Seriously, if there were no men in the world, would women want to constantly one-up each other? Would they go through all the pain of waxing, pinching, nipping and tucking? I doubt it.
We all did it for the men. Without them, women would be a completely different species.

Thankfully
, I looked stupendous tonight. I took Marisol’s advice and let my hair go back to its curly self and wore minimal makeup. I think I should keep myself looking as close to normal as I could. Though I loved the 1920s, I felt like Marisol was right. I shouldn’t let the era dictate me or change who I really was.