1I Change Like A Season
"There!" Mindy declared, leaning back to appraise Alexandra's eye-makeup. "You look totally freaking hot!"
Alexandra turned to the fly-specked mirror, feeling as ever like a duck out of water, an elderly avian on its last flight to be precise. The more time she spent with Mindy, the older she felt, the five years between them sometimes feeling like fifty. Hot Stuff hadn't appeared at the diner for over two weeks now and in a desperate attempt to exorcize him from her mind, she had taken to hanging out with Mindy and her minions after work and at the weekend. After locking up one evening, Mindy had offhandedly suggested they go and check out a new bar that had just opened down the street, and since then, it had escalated from there. But to Alexandra, anything had to be better than facing the loneliness that haunted her shitty little apartment; the ever present monster in her miniscule closet.
"Well, what do you think?" Mindy pressed, pouting now, a facial expression that was becoming frighteningly familiar to Alexandra.
I think I look like a panda, Alexandra thought, trying not to grimace at her reflection. Mindy had crimped her long ash blonde hair so it frizzled around her face, before making her put on a pink crop top and black leather mini-skirt. If she didn't get mistaken for a hooker before the night was over, she would be surprised. "It's amazing," she lied through her teeth, "you have a real knack for this kind of thing."
"What thing?" Mindy said, confused.
"Like fashion and... makeovers... and stuff," Alexandra said, her voice all but trailing off, leaving yet another awkward silence.
The only time Alexandra ever felt comfortable with Mindy was when they were in the diner and slagging off the customers, especially Poor Little Rich Girl, the pair performing exaggerated impressions of her sipping her solitary mineral water. It always made Alexandra feel guilty afterwards, but come the next day she'd find herself slipping back into that cruel pattern of behavior, all just to feel that sense of social connection with Mindy.
"Oh," Mindy said, face clearing. "Well, I don't like to boast, but like, I totally have an eye for it," she then declared, tossing her hair back. "My sister's style on the other hand, is totally tragic. I'm like, girl, grunge is so not working for you, and she's like, it's all about self-expression, not about being sexy, and I'm like..."
Alexandra nodded as Mindy droned on, trying to remember to blink as her eyes threatened to glaze over.
Alexandra clutched her glass of champagne like it was a life-belt, trying to control the panic welling in her. In vain, she tried to spot Mindy or one of her minions, but they were nowhere in sight. All she could see was a swarm of strangers, a bewildering mixture of barely dressed girls and middle-aged men in suits, with waitresses walking around with bored faces and trays of canapés. An old Kate Bush song started playing overhead, its melancholy melody making the air tremble. One of the girls got on a table and began writhing in slow abandon, shaking her hips and dragging her fingers through her hair. Somebody knocked against Alexandra's arm, making her start violently. She stuttered an apology even though it wasn't her fault, but the person continued on their way, not even aware of her existence.
She hurriedly retreated into the shelter of some fake foliage, nearly tripping over one of the pot plants as she did, spilling champagne over herself. Cursing under her breath, Alexandra dumped her drink on an obliging nearby ledge, before snatching a fresh glass off a passing tray. Fighting the panic rising afresh in her, she looked around for Mindy and the others again. If she had any balls, she would just walk out of here under her own steam. But the very prospect was enough to make her palms sweat. She wouldn't have come here in the first place if she'd known what it was going to be. But the bunch of frat guys they'd run into at the club had intimated it was just an impromptu house party one of their buddies was holding, and that it would be 'rad' if Mindy and the others tagged along.
Bored, Alexandra had just trailed after them, barely aware of one of the frat guys' attempts to hit on her, his lame chat-up lines falling on deaf ears. Somehow she'd found herself in the lobby of a fancy apartment complex, all velvet carpets and dim lighting. The frat guys had been pushing and shoving each other the whole way there, Mindy and her minions squealing in response, but their exalted surroundings had soon made them shut up. Up ahead had been a gaggle of beautiful girls in cut-out dresses, Mindy and the others quickly following them, pretending to be part of their number. The sight of the besuited bouncers flanking the doors should have warned Alexandra this was no house party, but she'd been too lost in her own troubled thoughts to notice as she was carried along by the surge of the swelling crowd. But once inside, she'd suddenly recognized the swarthy face of a director she'd auditioned for a few times, and that's when she'd abrubtly realized what she'd walked into, the flesh market she'd fled five years before.
The frat guys had soon swiftly disappeared amongst the throng of heaving bodies, leaving Alexandra and the others on their own, the air sickeningly thick with sweat and scent. She suspected the frat guys didn't actually know anyone here; that it was just a dare or some stunt they'd surprisingly managed to pull off, gatecrashing an exclusive event for sheer shits and giggles. And as she'd stood there, head reeling, Mindy and her minions had also slipped off unseen, no doubt pursuing fresh prey now the frat guys had done a bunk. Now she was here, hiding behind some fake pot plants, too paralyzed by panic to think straight.
"Alexandra, right?"
Alexandra staggered back as a manicured hand suddenly materialized in front of her eyes, waving wildly. "What the fuck!?" she blurted out, batting it aside, only to see Poor Little Rich Girl of all people looming over her.
"Oh, it is you!" Poor Little Rich Girl declared, drawing back in disbelief. "I couldn't quite tell underneath all that frizz going on."
"It's crimped actually," Alexandra snapped, wondering why she was even bothering to explain herself. "I mean, my hair is crimped."
"Was crimped."
"Look, what's the point of this conversation, if you can even call it that?" Alexandra flared up, at the end of her tether. "Is it going anywhere?"
"No, a bit like you actually."
Alexandra stared at her. "You know what," she then said, casting the contents of her champagne glass into the closest pot plant before making past Poor Little Rich Girl, "I'm done here."
"If you're looking for Trailer Trash Barbie, she's long gone by the way," Poor Little Rich Girl said coolly, tossing her long dark hair back. "She and her girlies legged it out of the fire exit with a crate of champagne."
Alexandra faltered, thinking of the long walk home, her ride now seemingly out of reach.
"You know, my name's Cordelia by the way," Poor Little Rich Girl then beamed, that same dazzling smile that never quite reached her eyes, "I just thought y'all should know who you're mocking so virulently with your little impressions of moi back in the diner. Your insults could do with a little improving though, no offence." Then she turned smartly on her heel, leaving Alexandra utterly alone.
"Alex!?"
Alexandra tottered, nearly dropping what was either her fourth or fifth drink. After Cordelia's parting shot, she'd tried again to leave, only to have another glass of champagne unexpectedly thrust into her hand by a passing waitress as she battled through the throng. Finding herself in a far corner, she had hurriedly downed it for Dutch courage, only to find it wasn't enough. Common sense had screamed alcohol wasn't the answer, but anything was better than the crippling panic, the champagne smoothing the sharp edges of her anxiety.
"Alex, it's me, Margo!"
Alexandra tightened her grip on the glass, wincing at the grating sound of Margo's nasal voice. Against her will, she turned around, only to come nose to nose with a video camera. Then it was gone, revealing Margo's fox-like features instead, her vivid red hair longer than Alexandra remembered.
"Oh my God, Alex! It is you!" Margo shrieked, pulling Alexandra into a one-armed hug, the sharp corners of her too thin frame jarring. "Long time no see! What happened to you, girl!?
"I – I" –
- "Hold that thought, honey," Margo interrupted, raising her video camera again. "Duty calls! We'll catch up later, OK?" Then she was gone, leaving Alexandra shellshocked, the ground suddenly uneven beneath her heels.
Head spinning, Alexandria stumbled through the crowd, sweat pouring down the back of her neck despite the AC. Through the whirl of smug faces and party dresses, she could see Cordelia holding court in her low-cut burgundy silk number, trying in vain to impress two movie directors, their attention obviously wandering. For a moment, time seemed to stop, and she was seeing herself as she had been, full of naïve dreams of stardom, highlighted hair piled atop her head, soft curves barely contained in the red strapless sequined gown she'd saved and starved for. But Margo had been the architect behind the destruction of such dreams, selling Alexandra out to a seedy director who wouldn't take no for an answer until she'd mercifully managed to make her escape. After that, her agent had suddenly stopped taking her calls, before returning her audition tapes without a word of explanation.
She had cornered Margo over it, but Margo had simply smiled cryptically, saying it was just the name of the game. By then, Alexandra's illusions had been thoroughly ruined. It wasn't about talent but what kind of taste you held for the predators - if you appealed enough to them that is. Sometimes your face didn't literally fit. Your nose is too big. Your chin is all wrong. Or you were too tall, too fat, too short. And there was always a younger prettier girl ready to play the game Margo spoke of, more than happy to take your place – or at least appearing to. Alexandria often wondered if ambition was just a façade these girls assumed to get by; to make the abuse easier to endure. Five years later and nothing had changed, Margo still capturing her victims on video camera to peruse later, picking out the perfect prey for those prepared to pay for the privilege. Now it felt like Alexandra was caught in her web again, unable to break free –
"Are you alright, ma-am?"
Before Alexandra could even frame an answer, a hand had firmly clasped her elbow, and she was suddenly being steered forwards, the crowd appearing to part by magic. Then she was in the mercifully empty lobby, collapsing against the wall, taking huge gasps of air. The champagne glass was somehow removed from her hand despite her determined grip. Alexandra then found herself being gently pushed down into a chair, what little resistance left in her quickly subdued.
"Stacy, crank open a window, won't you?"
Alexandra pushed the hair out of her eyes, only to see a besuited man staring intently down at her, brow furrowed. He was in his late forties to early fifties and of middling height; with perfectly coiffured graying hair falling over nondescript features that were neither ugly nor attractive. The only distinctive aspect of his appearance was his disturbingly pale grey eyes, cutting a strong contrast to his darkly sallow complexion. He was dressed in a designer suit so sharp that Alexandra felt cut by its edges even from here, his shoes buffed and polished to a high shine.
"I apologize for manhandling you out of there," the man then said in low tones, careful to keep a respectful distance. "But you looked ready to keel over, ma'am."
Alexandra winced, throat now feeling painfully dry. "I'm – I'm sorry to inconvenience you, sir," she said with some difficulty, "but I'm really grateful for your assistance."
The man nodded, studying her again with that alarming intensity. "Call me Russell, sweetheart. Can I get anything else for you?" he pressed, gesturing for his lackey to come forth. "A glass of water, maybe?"
"I – I – I just want to go home, please," Alexandra rasped, bracing her hands on her knees, feeling like she was going to throw up. She desperately wanted her bed, and was now beyond caring about the ways and means of how she was supposed to get home, just as long as she did.
"Stacy, call a cab," the man ordered, snapping his fingers. "And fetch the young lady a glass of iced Perrier while you're at it." When Alexandra started to object, the man stopped her, halting her with his palm. "Please, just allow me the honor of making sure you get home safe, okay?" he smiled, eyes crinkling earnestly at the corners.
Alexandra hesitated before reluctantly nodding in acquiescence, too far gone to notice the faint flecks of blood staining his collar.
I've been gone
Because I've been on
This road too long…