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cherry-gemz · 3 years

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Summary: This is a continuation of the movie Before We Go and my interpretation and imagination of an A/U. Brooke is you (Y/N) and Nick is still Nick :)

Prompt: "Just admit that I'm right." for @the-ce-horniest-book-club Drunk Drabbles for Nick Vaughan.

Pairings: Nick Vaughan x Y/N

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: <2k...is this a drabble still? Oopsies XD

A/N: I watched this movie for the first time just last week. It's now one of my top 3 Cevans movies! While I'm all for a romantic, serendipitous, spontaneous trope...much like Before Sunrise *no spoilers*, the ending was great, but I wanted a different spin. No pressure...yah, right! Either way, hope you enjoy xx.

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @tonystankschild @a-little-counter-esperanto

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You sniff and rub the end of your coat sleeve with your nose. Had to be the chill in the air, you thought. Not the fact that you just spent the most amazing and life changing night with a man you just met hours before and it was ending.

You stare out the train’s window; the gentle hum of the cart gliding across the steel tracks echoed in your thoughts. You shook your head in thinking that you made a mistake. I should have stayed...I should have told him how I felt…

“Nick. It's you again. Listen. I want to give you one more piece of advice. You're gonna be playing one night... Grand Central... thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl that broke your heart. Then, you're gonna meet somebody. And now, at first, she's gonna seem… icy. You're gonna know right away she's trouble. She's gonna take all your money. You're probably gonna get punched in the face. But stay with her; you're gonna need her a lot more than she needs you. And at the end of the night, you're gonna want to say some things, but don't. Don't ruin it. It's nothing she doesn't already know. Just give her a kiss. Wish her good luck. And thank her. Thank her for showing you that you can love more than one person in this life.”

He was unbelievably charming. You said so yourself. His raw talent with the trumpet was beautiful and different from what you were used to. The suburbia of the Boston bubble was what you were forced to live in now. You were from London, you were cultured and refined. Sure things with Michael were exciting at first, but the ho hum of the daily diatribe of routine became loathsome. Dépaysement. But you still never wavered in your marriage. Unlike Michael who had crossed that sacred line and lost your trust. It wasn't even fully the physical aspect that he went to another woman. It was the intimacy of telling her his deepest desires and then some that hurt the most. That he would want to share that with anyone else but you. But tonight. Tonight was what made you see clearly.

"It's possible, isn't it? It's possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else," you asked as you bit your lip.

"No, no, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else."

You found yourself blushing and cupping your cheek in thoughts of Nick. He was right. The whole night was a cluster mess of you trying to get home before Michael so you'd be able to throw away that wretched note. That he'd come to his senses and forget Linny. That he'd realized he was a fool and you'd start over. Just like old times.

However, slowly that feeling of reconciliation faded away little by little as each hour in the city passed. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but somehow the scrappy trumpet player Nick Vaughan etched his way into your icy heart and left an impression and stayed.

His fluffy, dark hair - so soft and inviting for you to rake your fingers through it was enough to drive you mad. His scruffy beard, which tickled when you kissed. You already loved ghosting your palms over it softly and imagined being able to do it whenever you wished. He said earlier into the night you weren't his type; you scoffed, but we're annoyed that it bothered you. You were a classic model of what guys were into, looks wise. Sure, your attitude was what rubbed some people the wrong way, but Americans really were too sensitive.

He however...he was the full package. Every toothy grin, wink, and full hearty laugh. He was addicting. He was a dead ringer for a heartthrob, but you also couldn't hate the guy for it. He was the friend you'd call to bail you out of jail at 4am and the boyfriend that you could see settling down with. It was nauseating really.

And then his lips. His soft lips...you can’t believe you kissed him in the hotel room. And then again at the train station. But you would have kicked yourself for not doing so in the first place. The way your fingers interlaced themselves on his terry cloth robe, how desperately you wanted to press your body against his. All you wanted was for him to feel that burning need within the apex between your thighs and extinguish it all night. But it was more than that, he was what you were missing. But you were kidding yourself. You weren’t running to Michael, you were running away from Nick.

But why? Because of the unknown? Because he actually knew who you were deep down inside? How could a man you barely knew, change you? Change what you thought was true, what you thought was love?

You dove your hand into your wool jacket’s pockets to push any thoughts of self-doubt, when you realize there was a piece of cardstock. You were puzzled to find it and immediately smiled in recognizing the hotel survey card. You bit your lip as you read down the survey questions one by one and notice Nick’s handwriting at the bottom, ‘turn over’ with an arrow.

Curious you turn over the hotel card and he’s written the word ‘yes’. Yes? You furrow your brow and contemplate further what he would be saying yes to. You think about the night - the time at the bar, helping him with Hannah, when you went to the psychic reading. Yes? What in the world - and then you turn the card back over and realize that on the second to last question it asked “Will you be likely to return?”

None of the boxes are checked, but he’d written ‘yes’ on the back. Yes. Yes he’ll return? Where? To the hotel? But when? You look up and rush to think about stopping the train dead in its tracks to return back to Grand Station. You breathe out heavily and come to terms that this isn’t a movie. He’s not chasing you down the tracks, jumping on the train to find you. Or is he? You wouldn’t put it past him. The whole night was filled with serendipitous concourses, this would be icing on the cake. You dart your head around to see if he’s in the cable car. It’s like in every rom com movie ending, the man of your dreams will be right there. He’s somehow charmed his way into boarding the train and found you waiting like a princess in her high tower. The train car is dark and bleak, only a few passengers are riding it as it’s the first route to Boston on a Sunday. You peer over to see if he’s in the next cart, but alas he is not. You slump in your seat and rub your thumb methodically over his words.

"Have you ever had a feeling that somebody was going to play a major part in your life?” you ask.

“Yeah."

“Do you know the most interesting thing about hotel art? It's what's on the back.”

It’s then you realize you have to return to New York. This story wasn’t about you and Michael anymore. No, it was about the man who selflessly helped you while you were in need, not only at your dire hour, but metaphorically as well. This was meant to be. You were meant to miss your train, break your phone, and meet the handsome man named Nick Vaughn. You knew he’d still be in the city because of his audition for the day with Duke at least, if you could just get to him somehow...

Your knees bounced as you sat on a cushioned chair in the hotel lobby. You had planned to wait there all day, but then realized the $13 train ticket was your only way of providing you security back home. So you went home. Confronted Michael. Cursed, cried, and then relief rushed over you as he had read your letter and how you knew about the affair. How you wanted to throw fists on his chest and tell him how much you hated him. But once you saw him, you found it didn't matter to you anymore. Someone else was worth fighting for. Your marriage was over. The hatred and spite you once had for your husband had dissipated. Your world didn't end like you thought it would. This wasn't your only chance at love. You were choosing to be happy, whether it was with Nick or not. This was the first time you were going to jump without having a net.

And Nick was wrong. Michael didn't want to work things out, he was coming to tell you that he loved you, but that and he'd be returning to Atlanta for good. The house, car, everything was yours: Nick said so himself, you gotta be okay with not being okay. So you walked away. You made the choice just like the psychic said and took it in stride, you faced the music.

However now you found yourself back in New York. Not the once stranded woman at a crossroads less than 24 hours before, but the woman that made a choice. You were worried that Nick would see it as you running away again. Running away because Michael didn't choose you. But in reality you didn't choose each other.

Still without an ID, you took your car and better against the four hour drive to the city and hoped a cop wouldn't pull you over. You thought of the night in the hotel. The laughs, the closeness you two encountered. The playful and cheeky way he could make you feel seen. You were starting to get nervous, what if he doesn't show up? What if I missed my chance?

"I'm an idiot," you murmur to yourself. "I can't believe I'm here."

You stand up and realize there Nick was there in your path. He looked a little worn, obviously from staying up all night. But he had changed and showered from the looks of it, and his signature trumpet case held in his hand.

"Well look who it is. The biggest loser in New York."

You laughed and blushed at the sight of him. He slung his trumpet case over his broad shoulder and walked over to close the gap.

“Just admit that I’m right.”

"Admit what?" You ask as you find yourself touching his jacket sleeve.

"Admit that you couldn't get enough of me." You hitched a breath from his words.

"You can say that."

"I can't believe you came back," he responded. His blue eyes gazed into yours as he brushed away a tendril of hair from your face.

"I read your answer to the survey...on the back."

"The stay did exceed my expectations and I did say I would return," he smiles.

"And here you are."

"Here I am…" he pulls away slightly as he's reminded that you're married.

"I jumped," you replied.

He's taken back by your statement and furrows his brow.

"What? With what?"

"I told Michael it was over."

"Wow. I'm so...sorry, Y/N."

"Don't be. You said so yourself, at some point it was time to face the music."

He nodded, absorbing the information.

"Say what's in your head."

He shook his head and grinned,"I'm just glad you came back is all."

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

"I didn't. Just sure as hell hoped you would."

He intertwines your fingers with his and holds tight. Like a missing puzzle piece found, your hand fits perfectly with his.

"Whaddya say we get out of here?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I may know a place," he smiles devilishly and gives your knuckles a kiss.

You grab his dress shirt collar and turn him towards you. He runs his hands through your hair and places his lips upon yours, kissing you deeply. It's a kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after you part, neither open your eyes for a few moments afterwards and he embraces you tightly.

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere."

#drunk drabbles #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x female reader #nick vaughan #before we go #before we go spoilers #nick vaughn x reader #romance

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this-is-freeridge · 4 years

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The Air Between Us

Chapter Twelve: Mari takes a chance on Trey.

Warning: this fic deals with dark themes, including but not limited to teen pregnancy, rape, drug abuse, murder, abortion, underage drinking and underage sex. Read at your own risk.

Find all other chapters here.

Read the new and improved (and more regularly updated) version here!

After the first night on the couch, Mari had decided to temporarily renounce the idea of a good night’s sleep. Curled into the foetal position just to fit, she tossed and turned all night. She wished she could blame the lumpy cushions or the light that streamed in from the blinds, but every time she closed her eyes she saw Oscar and she knew that was the source of her problem.

Desperate for a distraction she threw herself into working, waking earlier and coming home much later. There were two silver linings to this newfound work ethic: the first, money. Though the guy that owned this place didn’t care what happened to the store, or what hours she worked, he did believe in somewhat fair pay for fair work. She may still be earning only two cents above minimum wage, but he paid her for every hour that she worked. The way she was going at the moment, that was stacking up and soon enough she could start looking for a new, permanent, place to live.

The second thing was Ruben. Surprisingly, now that she was spending more time away from home, she was also spending more time with her father. They shared small talk over black coffee and toast in the mornings and late-night discussions after a long day of work. It was nice in a way that made Mari feel comfortable and safe.

School had started up again and it was, admittedly, a little quiet and a little lonely without Trey there. She killed time the same way she usually did, with trashy magazines and horoscopes, but this time she didn’t creep onto Cesar’s Instagram, yearning for just one glance at that gorgeous face. Mari feared her she wouldn’t be able to recover if she were to do that to herself.

At least she had Mario. He had called her during his free period and for that, Mari was eternally grateful. She told him about what’d happened; about Oscar and Trey and Cesar and Monse. She told him how she begged Spooky to accept her heart and instead, he broke it.

She had imagined that she would feel better after talking about it, that she would feel lighter and that breathing would no longer be so hard. But none of that happened and it was just as bad as before, only now someone else knew about it. More than anything, she wished Mario were here. He would convince her that everything is going to turn out alright. She needed that reassurance right now because that light at the end of the tunnel was starting to dim.

“Hey,” Trey called as he entered the store and made his way behind the counter.

Checking the clock, Mari realised how late in the afternoon it was already. It was seemingly harder to keep track of time lately; she was losing hours of her life in various states of disassociation. If she was being honest, it was starting to scare her.

“Hey,” she offered a smile, but it was weak and if he looked hard enough he would see right through it. “How was school?”

At her question, Trey crinkled his nose. “When you say that, I feel like you’re my mother, and that’s definitely not how I want to think of you,”

Mari let out an almost genuine laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,”

Trey smiled and grabbed an empty box, heading into the aisles to sort the expired goods. Mari was about to return to her horoscope (she had been reading something about a fresh start for emotions and self-worth, and now more than ever she needed to believe things would change) when the doorbell buzzed and a pair of light giggles filled the air. Smiling, she set her magazine aside. She knew those voices.

“Monse,” Mari called, grabbing their attention, “Olivia, what are you guys doing here?”

Mari was always happy to see Monse. They got along well and the younger girl seemed to appreciate having backup when Ruby was being, however accidentally, a little insensitive - something that was occurring more and more since Monse decided to stay friends with Cesar. Things weren’t completely mended between them, any of them, but Mari was happy to see them try. It was more than she could say for her situation.

When Olivia moved in a couple of days ago, after things with Oscar had fallen apart and right around the time Abuelita’s room got fixed, Mari had been more than a little resentful. All the time she had spent trying to earn enough brownie points to worm herself into Geny’s good graces and she had almost nothing to show for it, yet this girl was welcomed with open arms. Mari had a door slammed in her face and Olivia got all her favourite meals cooked for her.

Mari had just had her heartbroken. She had just lost the person who was her solace, her only escape from this daytime soap that was her life, and she couldn’t even feel sorry for herself anymore because this girl had it worse.

It wasn’t until, on Olivia’s first night there, Mari returned home at almost midnight and found the younger girl curled on her bed and holding a picture frame for dear life. At that exact moment, Mari dropped all misplaced anger and held Olivia as she talked about her parents and cried herself to sleep. It made her heart hurt, hearing the stories Olivia had to tell. Mari hadn’t grown up with loving parents and she thought that’d been the worst thing in the world, now she realised it may have been worse to have had it and lost it.

Aside from that night, they hadn’t had much time to get to know each other. But they were sharing a room now and Olivia seemed nice, not to mention Ruby and Monse seemed to like her, so Mari wasn’t worried.

“Monse is showing me around the neighbourhood,” Olivia said with a warm smile as they made their way over, “so we thought we’d stop by and see you!”

“Yeah,” Monse agreed with a smile that was almost too wide, even for her, “and get snacks. But, mostly you!”

“It’s cool,” Mari laughed, “I’m sure I can hook you up with some snacks,”

“What do you recommend?” Olivia asked, placing both elbows on the counter.

Mari raised an eyebrow. “I may have some potato chips and chocolate bars that hit their ‘best before’ a couple of days ago. They’re going to the trash unless you guys want them?”

Olivia laughed happily. “Sounds perfect!”

“I’m not sure what I have out back,” Mari said, “but Trey is checking the shelves now so you might find something with him,”

“Great!” Monse suddenly exclaimed, a little too eagerly. “I’ll go check out back with Mari. Olivia, do you wanna have a look out here?”

“Uh, sure,” she agreed warily and headed out to Trey.

Mari frowned at Monse’s strange behaviour but let the girl follow her nevertheless. Monse was silent as they made their way through to the storeroom.

“So, Trey, huh?” Monse finally spoke as Mari started sifting through boxes. “I haven’t seen him around before. Is he new to Freeridge?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mari replied. “His family just moved here from some place called Brentwood. He’s a junior so you probably don’t see him around school,”

“Brentwood? What’s a kid from rich, white, suburbia doing working in Freeridge?” Monse said, folding her arms across her chest and them unfolding them. Her fidgeting was starting to make Mari nervous.

“Monse, as happy as I am to see you, you’re acting weird. What’s going on?”

Monse huffed a sigh and dropped her arms to her sides, a pained expression on her face.

“First of all, I want to preface this by saying that I don’t understand why you’re friends with him. He’s sleazy, obnoxious and he just went to prison for drug possession! I get that you probably think he’s cute but the bad boy thing only works out in movies. His life isn’t safe and you shouldn’t get mixed up in it, I just really don’t know what you see in him. I mean you’re sensible, Mari, I-”

“Monse!” Mari snapped again. She felt bad for losing her temper, but the last thing she wanted right now was a lecture on all the reasons she shouldn’t be with Oscar. “I’m sorry, you’re kinda losing me,”

Monse sighed again, but she seemed less pent up this time. This time, she seemed almost nervous.

“I need you to talk to Spooky,”

Mari froze. Did she hear that right?

“What?”

“I need you to talk to Spooky, about Cesar. Jamal and Ruby and me, we’re trying to get Cesar out of the Santos and the only way we can do that is to reason with Spooky. They won’t let me do it because I’m too confrontational, and Jamal is...well, Jamal. So that only leaves Ruby. And don’t get me wrong, the boy can talk, but I don’t think he’s right for this. He seems to have a soft spot for you, do you think you could try?”

Mari bit the inside of her lip. She wanted to help Cesar, she knew how much he didn’t want to be in this life, but she couldn’t do it. Seeing Oscar, trying to convince him to let Cesar out was the last thing she wanted to do and, given how things went down the last time they spoke, Mari wasn’t so sure Oscar would listen to her anyway.

“I’m sorry Monse, but I don’t think I can,”

A cocktail of anger and disappointment flickered behind Monse’s dark eyes, so Mari continued before she got the wrong idea. “Spooky and I aren’t on speaking terms right now. As much as I wish I could help, I think that if I were to do this, it’d do more harm than good,”

Monse softened. “Oh. I’m sorry, I know you guys were close,”

Mari could only nod in response to her words. They were close, and now they weren’t anything. What was there to say?

“Ruby said you’ve been working a lot, he’s getting kinda worried. Is that why?”

Mari almost laughed. The list of reasons she had to bury herself with work was ever-growing.

She ran away from home to be with her dad and was no closer to him than she was before. Her mother was trying to get her back, yet refused to leave her shitty boyfriend. Mario, the only person to make her feel truly at home in this family and the only one she could talk to about Oscar, was gone. She trusted someone with everything she had left and he used her up and broke her heart. It was safe to say, Mari thought, that her life was on a steady decline and she was struggling to see past tomorrow.

“A little, I guess,” she didn’t want to get into it right now. In fact, she wanted to keep pretending that she was fine because she would be, eventually. “Oh, here, I’ve found the candy bars,”

Eager to get out of the conversation, Mari all but threw the food at Monse and shoved her out of the storeroom. Monse and Olivia left soon after that, and Mari was grateful for her ability to read the room. The moment the girls, or more specifically, Monse, was gone, Mari found herself breathing a sigh of relief. All she wanted to do was move on from Oscar, forget everything she thought he meant to her, and that was a lot easier said than done.

Mari was starting to wonder if coming to Freeridge was the best decision, though it wasn’t as though she had much of a choice, to begin with.

“Hey, Trey,” Mari called to the boy who was already making his way over, something Monse said earlier had lingered in her mind. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he flashed a lopsided grin and leaned across the counter toward her, “but only if I can ask you something in return,”

“Deal,” Mari returned with a sweet but halfhearted smile. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. “What are you doing in Freeridge? I mean, you’re from Brentwood, right? I hear that’s a pretty nice place,”

Trey blanched, looking almost afraid to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, though he was avoiding looking directly at her, something Mari noticed was extremely out of character for the boy. “My dad had to relocate, for work,”

“What do your parents do?”

“My dad’s in finance. He’s an investor for some big company,”

“And your mom?”

“Uh, events. Like functions and parties and stuff,” he answered, though Mari didn’t miss his hesitation. She didn’t dwell on it though, as that charming, boisterous smile was plastered back on. “My turn,”

Mari nodded and smiled, “shoot,”

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Mari’s stomach dropped. How did she not see that coming? And how could she let him down easy when he was smiling at her like that? It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wasn’t over Oscar and she didn’t want to lead him on.

“Look, Trey,” she started, “you’re really sweet, but I-”

“Wait! Before you keep going, if this is about that guy with the tattoos and the cool car who looks like he’s in a gang-”

“He is in a gang,”

“Oh - well, that’s beside my point,” Trey shook his head to clear his thoughts, his mop of blond hair falling into his eyes and making him look like a stray pup. “My point is, he clearly isn’t making you happy. I see you every single day, alright? Every day.

“And even though you try to hide it, I see how sad you look and I know it’s because of him. I know because ever since he turned up here, you haven’t mentioned him and every single day it’s like you lose a part of your spark.

“I don’t know what happened between you guys, and quite frankly, I don’t think I want to know. All I’m asking is for a chance to make you happy,” his was pleading, hands clasped together and cheeks red and Mari’s resolve was cracking. “Just one date,”

The corner of Mari’s lips twitched, almost into a smile.

“Just one date?” She repeated, making sure that’s all he was asking because she couldn’t give him much else.

Trey’s hopeful grin widened and he nodded. “And if you aren’t into it we can pretend it didn’t happen,”

If there was one thing Mari had to appreciate it was his honesty. He was putting it all out there for her, laying it on the line. That was a scary thing to do, a dark cloud of potential rejection constantly looming. Mari knew how bad it hurt when that hopeful bubble bursts, so she would throw him a bone.

“Okay,” she agreed, and the way Trey’s eyes lit up almost made her heart flutter. Almost. “One date. I’ll text you my address, pick me up at seven,”

. : ♱ : .

At promptly six-fifty, a beat-up Ford pickup truck parked across the street. Trey sat in the car, waiting patiently, counting down the minutes until it was exactly seven before he crossed the street and knocked on the door of the Martinez house.

“I got it!” Mari called, but Ruby was already at the door.

Mari groaned. This was not the first impression she had been hoping for.

Ever since he had arrived home from school today, Ruby had been down; pouting non-stop and making belittling comments about himself. For a while, he refused to tell her what was wrong. Olivia had said that Monse said it was because he wanted his own room, so Olivia had tried to give it back, but Mari knew better.

So she confronted him about the real problem - his meeting with Spooky. And then, Ruby told her that Cesar had been promoted, all because of him. Fury flooded her veins. How could Oscar do that to him? He knew Cesar wanted out and yet he trapped him in the life anyway.

“Um, hello?” Ruby’s voice brought Mari back to the present.

Right, she thought, I’m going on a date.

She needed to stop thinking about Oscar.

“Hi,” Trey replied. He was smiling but he was jittery and Mari could tell from where she stood on the sidelines that his nerves were getting the best of him. If she were being honest, she kind of liked that he was nervous. “I’m uh, here to pick up Mari,”

“Oh,”

They each stood there, for a moment. Ruby said nothing and Trey didn’t know what to say. What was the correct etiquette in these situations?

So, he said, dumbly, “you don’t talk much,”

Ruby shook his head. “Bad things happen when I talk. Oh, there’s Mari,”

And then he walked away.

Mari made her way over, plastering on a smile as she came into view.

“Hey, Mari,” he greeted, almost sighing with relief at the sight of her. “You look beautiful,”

The white sundress with pink flowers, that Olivia had insisted she borrow, felt foreign on her. Her legs felt exposed and the fabric felt too light and she almost changed into jeans and a t-shirt one hundred times. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t like the way Trey was looking at her, so she put her insecurities aside.

“So, where are we going?” She asked as they crossed the street to his car. He opened the passenger door for her and helped her in, using one hand to hold her dress down and clasp her hand in the other. It was nice, sweet.

“There’s a diner just on the outskirts of town that I heard is okay,” he said, starting the car, “I thought we could have dinner there,”

“That sounds great, I-”

“Oh, I love this song!” Trey announced as some top-forties song came on the radio. He turned the volume up to max and sung along as he drove, only stopping to scream over the music, “do you know it?”

Mari only offered a polite smile and shook her head. Trey continued singing. Crossing her arms, she leaned back in the chair and did her best to enjoy the ride.

The diner they arrived at was small, maybe enough space for twenty people at best, with a couple of booths on either side and a group of round tables in the middle. I was cramped, but the large windows and white-and-beige colour scheme made it seem bigger than it was. The paint was chipping on the walls, and the rood was water damaged, but the furniture and floors looked newly renovated.

Taking her hand, Mari let Trey lead her to one of the booths. A waitress came around to take their orders, but Trey paid her little mind as he told Mari about a comic he had been reading, his hands gesturing animatedly.

Mari couldn’t help but relish in the way he made her feel - the way he looked at her like she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, the way he ignored everything else in favour of speaking only to her. He made her feel warm inside. Slowly but surely he would help rebuild her confidence, but was that enough of a reason for her to stay with him?

Maybe not, she couldn’t help but think. Maybe she was enjoying this for all the wrong reasons, all the selfish reasons, because she sure as hell wasn’t as passionate about him as he was about her. And you need that to make a relationship work, right?

And then, just when Mari was beginning to suspect it wasn’t possible anymore, he made her laugh. It was a stupid dad-like joke that came completely out of the blue, and Mari laughed. It bubbled up in her chest, a light feeling like when you swallow soft drink too quickly, and before she knew it her head was thrown back and she was laughing, and it was real.

That was until, against all odds, Spooky walked in, two Santos in tow. He met her eye as he walked past but was quick to avert his gaze. She couldn’t bring herself to do the same though, like staring at the sun she couldn’t look away no matter how much it hurt.

The Santos sat in a booth across the diner. They were loud and they were smoking and the other two had already started cat-calling the waitress. Spooky laughed.

The shred of happiness she’d been feeling before sizzled away until it was replaced almost solely by anger. Anger for Cesar, for Ruby, for herself, even for Trey - because he knew he couldn’t compete, judging by the disheartened look on his face.

“Shit, Mari, I’m sorry,” the teen said, as though he could’ve done anything to prevent this. “We can leave if you want?”

Through sheer force of will, she managed to peel her eyes away from the cholo.

“No, we can stay,” she said, eyebrows knitting together, “but um, I know this sounds bad, but would you mind if I just go and talk to him?”

Trey licked his lips and his gaze flickered away, just for a second. “Uh, yeah, sure, go ahead,”

With a muttered “thanks,” Mari was already striding towards Spooky.

She didn’t wait for him to notice her and she didn’t say anything to the other cholos as she sat down in the booth before him, arms folded across her chest.

Spooky took a long drag of his cigar, dark eyes trained on hers as though he was challenging her.

With a groan, he released the smoke and fell back as though he couldn’t be bothered doing this right now.

“Give us a minute,” he told the Santos. Mari hadn’t realised until right now exactly how much she had missed that deep voice. Once they were gone, he continued, “you look nice,” he glanced over at Trey, “happy,”

Mari’s frown deepened. Happy? How could Oscar miss something that even Trey could see - she was far from happy.

But she wasn’t about to fall into his trap. She wasn’t going to say that she missed him or that she wasn’t happy without him. She wouldn’t say that she needed him, no matter how true it was.

Instead, she said, “how could you do that to Cesar?”

“What are you talking about, hyna?” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Mari knew that look - it’s the look he gives girls at parties that he isn’t interested in or Santos that ask him dumb questions. Mari never thought she would be on the receiving end of it.

“Cesar running for the Santos!” She clarified, voice escalating. The more he treated her as though she wasn’t worth his time, the rage inside her only intensified because she knew better. Actions spoke louder than words did, and his actions had told Mari long ago that she was worth every second. She just needed to remember that.

“Oh, that. You can thank your brother for that,”

“Don’t put this on Ruby!” She snapped. Oscar almost flinched at her sudden reaction. “You made this choice for Cesar, don’t use Ruby as a way to avoid feeling guilty,”

“You think you know me?!” Oscar screamed, slamming a hand down on the table so hard that Mari jumped back in her seat. “You don’t. So how about you fuck off and deal with your own messed up family instead of worrying about mine?”

Her vision blurred with tears. Her chest was tight. Her throat closed up until she couldn’t breathe.

Everything he knew about her she had told him in confidence and now he was using that against her. Maybe he was right, she really didn’t know him.

Without a word she stood from the table and rushed out of the diner. It wasn’t until she collapsed on the sidewalk, the curb hot against her legs, that she let herself cry.

“Mari!” Trey’s voice came from behind her. Within a minute he was crouched beside her and pulling her into him. His arms were thin and wiry and nothing like the arms she was used to, which was probably a good thing right now.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, wiping frantically at her face, “I shouldn’t have spoken to him. I ruined everything,”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Spooky and the others heading out to his car. He caught her gaze, and maybe she was being hopeful, but his eyes glimmered with something akin to regret. Still, he kept walking.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Trey said, “I got our food to-go, so how about we go? Just for the afternoon, we can leave Freeridge and have a picnic somewhere,”

Somehow, she managed a smile through sobs. He was persistent, that’s for sure, but it was endearing. Maybe, if she just let herself accept what Trey was trying to give, things could get better.

Maybe he was her light at the end of the tunnel.

Taglist: @robinsdolan @lostgirl219@kseniainneverland @ravengreystone@weediskindabad @moistdollerbills @javoqetal@kenzie44469 @goddessate@blackdepressoexpresso @classyputa @babygirl-htx @wonderlandlovelove @cacapoodlepoo @agent-femmefatale @elliesshitofablog@daydreamer0307 @lucyfuh @harduy @elizabeth-santana-98 @lonelyyblues

Boy, it’s been a hot minute. Honestly I just keep forgetting to update tumblr (and AO3) when I update wattpad oops. Please drop a comment if you like it!

#on my block #Oscar diaz #Oscar diaz imagine #on my block fanfic #spooky #spooky diaz #Oscar spooky diaz #becky g

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levi-ish · 6 years

Text

Don’t Ask My Neighbors | 1

Summary: When the night is quiet as a whisper and the windows are all closed, sneaky kisses are shared under the same old tree where kids swore their love would never fade.

Pairing: Tom Holland X Enemy!Reader

Disclaimer: mentions of car accidents, sex and alcohol (there’ll be smut later in this story)

A/N: Hi there! Thank you so much for all of you who read the teaser and liked it, so here’s the first part, and I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I set your sisters, parents and last names already because it was getting too confusing to write, so yup. Sorry for the shitty chapter, I promise the next ones will be more intriguing.

Also, if you want to be tagged, send me an ASK.

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

“Your neighbor is hot” Dave peeked through the curtains as you kept your eyes glued into the notebook, writing down more complex words that would lead you to a better grade.

“My neighbor?” You asked without even looking, knowing already what he was talking about, or even worse — whom.

“Dude, look at that fucking eight-pack” Eva sighed, sneaking under Dave’s arm and peeking through the window while you wondered if you should offer them a napkin or something like that. “But (Y/N) already told me that he’s off limits, so...”

You rolled your eyes and turned around on your chair, analyzing the two other young-adults that were crowding around your window, staring at the boy’s room and letting their hormones take over their minds.

“Why’s that?” Dave bit his lower lip and turned around, running a hand on his dark hair and twitching his mouth to the side.

“Because of their families’ war” said the other girl before you could even think of an answer.

And she wasn’t wrong; not only he was off limits, but his entire family was too.

You never had the chance to ask for a cup of sugar or to even wave back while putting the trash away; or even to pet the Holland’s dog from time to time because of the weird looks you would receive from your own family and from the other. So a normal life in suburbia wasn’t something you grew used to.

It all started before you could even see the light of day, when your family bought the house that other couple wanted, because the neighborhood was quiet and that specific place had a better yard and pool. The Hollands, however, decided to buy the house on the left and your parents, who weren’t that fond of competition, decided not to let them slide that easily.

The firsts steps were the fake smiles and crooked gazes to their backs, and then, soon enough, the families started to rub each conquest against each others faces. When Nikki first got pregnant with her boy, your mother called for a war. She discovered that she was pregnant too a few months later, having you and then, she didn’t want to waste more time, trying again, only to have a baby girl two and a half years later, your sister Morgan.

But then, Nikki discovered that she was having twins — and guess what?! — your parents couldn’t stand the thought of losing.

With all that back and forth, pregnancies and showing off the babies and their toys around, it resulted on a house with four boys and the other with four girls.

For informational purposes; the Hollands were composed of Dominic and Nikki, Tom (21), Sam and Harry (18) and Paddy (13); while the Hodges were Luke and Viola, you (19, but almost 20), Morgan (17), Danny (14) and Stella (10); but the confusion was too big even for you, sometimes.

And the pressure — don’t even get me started. You had to be the greatest in all of your classes because fucking Tom couldn’t be better than you. And it wasn’t that Thomas fucking Holland was a bad kid or anything like that, he was actually nice and you had nothing to complain about, but since your and his mother hated each other, you had to keep the profile and break any kind of contact you two had in the past.

“Why do you have to be a part of this fight again?” Eva sat on your bed again, her body sinking into the cocoon of blankets you set there before they came.

“I’m not a part of it” you said, lifting your head and pulling one of your legs closer to your chest. “This is my mother’s business and I’m not putting up with it. I’m just...”

“—Too scared to contradict her.” Dave finished your sentence, throwing himself at your bed and his legs hitting Eva’s back, making the girl let out a small whimper, slapping his thigh. “But don’t even pretend that you like him a lot.”

That was true; you didn’t. You didn’t even know when you started to get annoyed by him or if you were really annoyed by the boy or if it was your mother’s voice inside your head, manipulating you into hating the boy.

You smiled kindly at them and turned around. “Maybe we should go back to the project since I am the only one doing something here.”

But he was right, you were too scared of your mother. God, every one in your family was, because when she was mad, she would turn the tables and make you feel guilty with a great selection of words that would keep you inside your room until the end of times.

So, no, no one dared to contradict her.

“I’m too old for that” Eva rolled her eyes and threw her head on a pillow, dramatically sighing. “I might be dead tomorrow and you are worrying about the damn project.”

“Well, it’s a third of the final grade.” You stated, licking your lips quickly and adjusting the hoodie’s sleeves on your arms. “I’m not getting a B because of you.”

“Nerd” Dave yelled-whispered and you threw a pen at him, laughing while your eyes reached for the small space that the curtains didn’t cover, watching from afar the figure of the boy who smiled at the sight of you, making your stomach feel funny — not the bad way.

[...]

You yawned deeply as your eyes tried to keep open, the sweet smell of pancakes downstairs keeping you away from falling asleep once more, ignoring all the alarms you always set on your phone. You changed from the pajama pants to some comfortable jeans and an old shirt you were fond of, putting on some sneakers and grabbing your stuff to leave quickly.

Climbing downstairs, you walked into the kitchen and found all of your sisters already sitting there and your father cooking some pancakes while your mother finished some work on her laptop. You were greeted by sleepy ‘good mornings’ and helped yourself with a cup of coffee, sitting beside Morgan and drinking it slowly.

“Ugh, I hate those small keyboard keys” your mother muttered to herself while downing a big gulp of her coffee.

“Don’t mind your mother, girls” your father said, turning around quickly and smiling politely. “She’s had a bad night.”

“It’s not my fault” she glared at her husband and rolled her eyes, completely annoyed. “I couldn’t sleep because one of the Devil’s spawns let their music too loud last night.”

You furrowed your brows while your father put some pancakes on your plate, grabbing syrup to cover them.

“Devil’s spawns?” Questioned Danny, twitching her mouth.

“Her new nickname to Nikki’s sons” your father explained and rolled his own eyes.

You laughed to yourself, already aware of their rivalry and how your father wasn’t so into the battle as your mother was. Actually, when you were younger, your father told you about how he used to be friends with Dominic a long time ago, ending their friendship because of their wives. What a waste.

“Anyways” your mother closed her laptop and looked at you with demanding eyes, making the pancakes going down your throat seem stuck there. “(Y/N), could you take your sisters to school before class?”

Coughing on your coffee, you put the mug on the surface of the table and looked around, watching as your sisters seemed to mind their own business, so you just nodded while cutting another piece of the pancakes, your stomach humming quietly, but noticeable.

“Sure” you smiled and ate your last bite before standing up. “I’ll just brush my teeth and then we’ll be out.”

The girls nodded and your mother adjusted her pantsuit, straitening the edges before smiling to herself and grabbing her stuff. She was a journalist and worked in the cooking section, always talking about food and nutrition, so she mostly worked from home, but sometimes, she had to go to these meetings and keep her name and works clean.

Don’t even get me started on her key lime pie, because oh, you wouldn’t believe the taste of that! And, of course, she and Nikki would compete who made the best pie.

“Will I see you later, darling?” Asked your father, looking straight at you and you smiled shyly.

Your father, on other hand, had a small market around the corner and worked with all of his heart and passion on it. Sometimes, you would join him to help with some stuff, since some of his employees quit and he could use extra help. You liked doing that, so it wasn’t such a burden.

“Of course.”

Quickly, you brushed your teeth and grabbed your phone and car keys to leave already, only waiting for your sisters to come and entering the car when they were all ready.

Opening the garage door, you moved the car back and let out a small sigh, looking at the mirror as you did so. But when you saw it, it was too late; your nails were deep into the steering wheel and your sisters screamed loud, causing Stella to cry in desperation. You felt your heart starting to thump faster and turned around, looking at the girls.

“Stay here” you said.

It was a small collision, but still a collision that could have done damage to your car — the one you loved so much — so you jumped down of it and walked at the back, looking around and seeing the silver Audi with a small scratch, and so did your own car (luckily).

The owner showed his face while climbing down of the Audi, the brown curls falling against his forehead just slightly since the rest of his hair was pushed back. You crossed your arms and gazed at him, waiting for something to be said before you lost your temper.

“Oh, shit” he said, removing his sunglasses and giving your eyes access to his hazelnut ones as he crouched down behind your car. “I’m so sorry!”

He looked up to find you already staring and you bit your lower lip, twitching your nose.

“I hope so” you said, furrowing your brows. “My sisters are there, you could’ve hurt them.”

You already felt that he was being genuine about his apology, but you were too infuriated to control your choice of words (and you already had the ability to destroy a person with them).

“I’m really sorry” he licked his lips and stood, walking in your direction and stopping only a few inches in front of you.

God, does he know anything about personal space?

You looked a bit up to find his freckled nose right in front of you, making you cross eyes for a little more. Redness staying to spread all over your cheeks and you looked down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you blush.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, almost in a mutter.

Looking up again, you found his eyes still invading your personal space. His arm twitched a bit, as if he wanted to touch you, but he hesitated and looked away; and you could swear that you had a déjà-vu that moment, almost smelling the humid grass from the park and hearing the leaves of the big old tree above you, but you shut down that thought, going back to reality, the one where you stood in front of that guy — the same one from the tree — but looking like a stranger.

“Do you—” he started to say, and you wanted to hear, but your mother rushed from the entrance door and to the street, her eyes full of anger and worry.

“What the—” she looked around and her eyes found Tom’s, not making the situation any better. “You!”

She stormed at his direction and you knew that a hurricane was coming, so you held your breath and closed your eyes quickly. Then, another voice appeared and you felt even more frighted.

“Don’t even try to blame it on my son!” Screamed Nikki as she walked down the front yard, standing in front of your mother and crossing her arms. “It’s not his fault that your daughter doesn’t know how to drive. You better be careful, she could’ve hurt someone!”

“Excuse me?!” You furrowed your brows, but were completely ignored.

You looked at Tom again only to find him rolling his eyes and going back to his car, starting it and preparing to leave, but not before he found your reflection on the mirror and gave you a small smirk.

How dare he?

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@hey-i-really-miss-you @starlightfound @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy @isabellamozzarellla @tshollandlove @peterparkerdeservesbetter @marveldes @hamiltrin @teeterparker @draqcnheartstrinq @httpmcrvel @hi-mishamigos @scarlettsoldier @pandas1923 @ultrunning @hobbitoburrito @queenkrissy11 @iamburdened @isabellamozzarellla @sholla4-314 @p-hilo-phobia @determinedpines @tinynlwt @padackles2010 @a-very-superwholocked-starkid @holland-peter @daringbanshee

DON’T ASK MY NEIGHBORS TAGLIST:

@exploratiionist @call-me-wisegirl @ihavenolifeandiambored @bluparis @hbmoore1986 @mxlti-vxrse

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #smut #fluff #romance #college #au #neighbors #enemies #mapas writing

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thotyssey · 4 years

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It makes sense that there’s a “Job” in her name, cuz this queen is Working! Currently a digital darling, reality TV starlet and video vixen, the Minneapolis-born burlesque clown gogo queen Glow Job can’t wait to get back to a real life stage… but until then, let’s get on point with this rising drag star.

Thotyssey: Yo, Glow! How is quarantine treating you on this beautiful day?

Glow Job: Hi! It really is a nice day out. At least we got that going for us! But, you know… Quarantine Life. Just when you think you’ve got some rhythm, things change up. I’ve somehow got a lot on my plate, all of a sudden!

Yes, I noticed! How are you liking the strange new world of digital drag?

At first I was really reluctant–mostly because I didn’t want to come across as sad or desperate, even though in the beginning I was. But after realizing there was a way to get in this space beyond just doing a number in my living room–and started thinking outside the box–I started getting into it. That’s not shade. I just saw everyone flood the market, and it was overwhelming. I definitely wasn’t “crushing quarantine” the way I saw others do, and wasn’t feeling inspired either. But the Met Gala got the juices flowing again, and then I just started to create. I did the online challenges, and had some real fun.

And now with Black Live Matter taking the forefront, I really have the time and energy to put my drag to good use and be a part of that movement, too. So, being a part of that and making my drag mean something more: from raising money in Zoom parties, to taking some leadership with online communities, to being out on the protest lines, to producing my own parties. Again, I feel like I have a place in this new world.

[Photo: SidewalkKilla]

Indeed you do! I’ve also been enjoying a lot of the pre-recorded pieces many of the queens have been putting out there, including your clip for the Grace Jones showcase you were part of, where you performed “I’ve Seen That Face Before.” It was really polished, stylized and fun. But it must have been a huge effort putting that together, and shooting with limited access to resources in quarantine.

Well, my style is basically “I have an idea, and I’m gonna wait until the very last minute to do it all.” Seems to work for me! So for that number I figured out the storyline, sort of made a quick shotlist, got into drag and filmed and edited it all in one day, all by myself. I almost forgot I have a background in video editing, and I never had really used it in my drag before. So it was fun to incorporate that skill. But yeah, tripods and ring lights are my new best friends. Also, I already happened to have an accordion from the time five years ago when I thought I’d try to learn that! I have a lot of random stuff in my apartment that sees the light of day eventually.

youtube

Werq, Prop Queen! Actually between that clip and your role in Bright Light Light Bright’s music video for “This Was My House,” you are a veritable video vixen of the modern era.

That shoot was super fun! I love Rod and Bright Light Bright Lights music! I’ve been a fan for a while, and was kind of in awe and starstruck when he started DJing my Retro Factory parties. So I was honored to be in his music video, but also because it is exactly the message I want to spread with my drag. And it’s catchy as hell! We shot that all in one day, and just every hour went to a different location. It was a little party. It’s a little surreal to see it now, ’cause it was shot right before lockdown.

It’s a great video! And I see that you appeared in the third episode of a Bravo reality show, Camp Getaway! I’m not familiar with that yet; what’s it about, and how did you get involved?

It’s a show that basically follows a group of camp counselors–or social coordinators–at this camp in Kent, Connecticut which gets turned into an adult campground each weekend. I’m friends with Glen North, who is one of the featured counselors. He is the only queer cast member, and actually was integral in getting me and another drag queen, Sol, there for their LGBTQ weekend.

That particular weekend was especially cool, and for me personally it came right on the heels of me ending my marriage. You don’t get to see much of my story (and there were so many stories shared from other people that day too, like one guest who decided to live her life as a trans woman thereafter), but it was cool to be in the show and get featured regardless. There was even a contest with Carson Kressley judging… and I won’t give any spoilers, but let’s just say he gave me a real boost of confidence in the choices I was making in life.

youtube

I see that you’re a Minneapolis native, and and I’m guessing that growing up queer and Asian in that predominantly white, hetero-normative city was tough on you.

More than ever right now, I’m seeing how desperate I was trying to fit into a white supremacist normative that I was never going to fit into. All my friends were white. I’m actually half-white, but definitely look Asian. There was no way around that, no matter how much Abercrombie cologne I’d spray on. I think I suppressed so much of who I am, including being gay, that I didn’t truly explore those parts of myself. It wasn’t “tough” because I ignored it, and laughed off any micro-racism or homophobia I felt or saw.

So I overcompensated. I got everyone to like me; I became all the things in high school. But it wasn’t until I was in New York for college that I came out. And it was here, after college, that I started hanging with non-white people. It wasn’t until the last few years that I started exploring drag and gender expression. And it wasn’t really until this past month that I started breaking down how much I was subscribing to a system that wasn’t designed for a small, Asian, non-binary queerdo–and how I was then contributing to that culture. So fucked up. And it’s been tough hearing how silent it is now from my MN peers.

It must be very surreal and upsetting for you to see how things have unfolded in Minneapolis.

Seeing how people are reacting is making it super clear that it isn’t a surprise that that stuff is happening there. So many people just live, acting like it isn’t their problem. It’s super upsetting. I have a couple friends who have really stood up as allies though, and I know a couple are looking to me for guidance and support. So I try to offer that now, at the least.

[Photo: Fwee Carter]

[Photo: Bronson Farr]

[Photos: Fwee Carter and Bronson Farr]

You said you didn’t create Glow Job until recently… what were the exact circumstances of how she got born?

The first time I took my drag to the streets was the Women’s March in DC. It was incredibly powerful showing up in the biggest, loudest, queerest way I could imagine. Then the first time “Glow Job” was fully realized was when I did my first show put on at Bar 9 for an amateur showcase, featuring drag queens and comedians from the NYC gay dodgeball league Big Apple Dodgeball. There were, like, seven of us that wanted to do drag, and Jose Paz / Miss Ogeny just decided to create her own show from scratch. Since then that group has expanded, and I had been going back every so often to perform.

But truly, my drag came from the realization that drag can be whatever I want it to be, and it combines many of the things I am already good at! And now it incorporates my love of circus, gogo-ing, pole dance, painting, photography, video editing, costume design, set design, etc. I have a background in ceramics, so that’s gotta be incorporated next somehow too!

I’m actually just super excited about my drag right now, and where it’s going, and how it’s finding new life (especially when I thought Glow had died this March once Covid hit), so I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m bragging! I just love it so much!

[Photos: Fwee Carter]

Brag away, it’s well-deserved! How did you come up with that four-“pronged,” butterfly-shaped signature lip that you often have? It’s striking! The only other queen I’ve seen sport something like that is Sandy Devastation.

Love Sandy! Madame Viv once told me I looked like her… just less devastating, lol! I dunno, I just didn’t like how painting my regular lips looked. And I wasn’t looking pretty like I had hoped when I started, so I definitely veered into a more clown aesthetic. I was sort of doing clown work, so it came from that… and it just stuck. It was one of the first decisions I made [for Glow’s look], and the only real original signature aspect I kept. I love them, too; they go well with the name.

You’ve done Viv’s “Hot Mess” drag competition at House of Yes a bunch of times. Do you consider yourself a Brooklyn girl?

House Of Yes is a bit of a home base for me. I had been working the line entertaining people as they waited to get in, and also gave the consent speech for them in my own way. I also did set design, and ushered for them, too. My style, I suppose, is more Brooklyn Drag? Or maybe it’s Sunnyside, Queens drag!

But I’m kind of all over, and doing my own thing. I’m the resident burlesque drag queen with Siren Pack; we performed at Madame X in the Village. I hosted [the party] Ultramaroon at Blue Midtown. And I recently got in Susanne Bartsch’s crew!

[Photo: Chris Sorensen]

Your last digital show with the POC Drag Art Collective (headed by Thee Suburbia) was that Grace Jones tribute, but now when you all return to our screens for a new show on Wednesday, June 24th (on Zoom, with proceeds going towards the Black Trans Protesters Emergency Fund) it’ll be the Solange songbook that gets the star treatment! What an interesting choice! Do you have an idea what you’ll be doing for that?

I have an idea… but knowing me, it could end up being anything. It’s gonna be meaningful, though! Know that!

Then on Thursday the 25th, you’ll be livestreaming all the body-ody as a digital gogo boy for Michael Block and Haireola Grande’s Zoom party, Elation!

Yasss! Love that! It’ll be super fun, turning a look and giving some energy and moves. Being a professional hype-person is my most natural state. And it’s for a good cause. So yes, very happy to be in this show.

As far as the Bartschland crew goes, you were just part of her BLM fundraiser that earned a whopping $32,000 in donations. And now comes “Pride On Top of the World” on Sunday the 28th, once more care of Zoom! Several Drag Race faves will be in virtual attendance including Latrice Royale, Laganja Estranja, Scarlet Envy and Aquaria. And of course, the large cast of beautiful Bartschies!

I’m so excited! I’ve been going to Susanne Bartsch parties forever, and always just showed up in typical club kid fashion. She’s nightlife royalty. I can’t wait to be in this one, too! I gotta figure out my look; I feel like nothing is too big with On Top!

Anything else coming up for you?

I’ll be out protesting again on Juneteenth, but on the 20th after more protesting some of us are gonna put up an outdoor show in front of the Barclays at 7pm. And then I’ll be on the front lines again in drag the following weekend with the Bushwig crew, starting at 5:30 in Maria Hernandez Park.

Fight the good fight! So, to end on a light note: whose team are you on for All-Stars 5?

Shea Couleé is perfection! But Jujubee cracks my shit up!

Thank you, Glow!

[Photo: Kenny Rodriguez]

Check Thotyssey’s calendar for Glow Job’s upcoming appearances, and follow her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and YouTube.

On Point Archives

On Point With: Glow Job It makes sense that there's a "Job" in her name, cuz this queen is Working! Currently a digital darling, reality TV starlet and video vixen, the Minneapolis-born burlesque clown gogo queen Glow Job can't wait to get back to a real life stage...

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rachelclewis · 7 years

Text

Double Sided

I spent the summer of 2001 working (unpaid) for a small artists’ venture called St. Jayne’s Theatre Company. The company was founded by a girl I knew from college, who I would have described as a “frenemy” if we had that word back then. She was passionate and driven and was dying to produce good theatre. But she could also be vain, obstinate, and a bit of a drama queen. I was concerned when she asked me to be on her board of directors because I didn’t trust her leadership and I was worried the project would end badly. I also wanted to be making theatre and there were a number of other people on the board I respected, so I said yes. I thought there was a good chance we would pull it off.

I was wrong, though. It didn’t end badly. It started badly. It got worse as it went along. And then it ended in tears, accusatory phone calls, and terminated friendships. What I hadn't counted on – what I didn’t realize at the time – was that I could also be vain, obstinate, and a bit of a drama queen. And the two of us together, my frenemy and I, twisted our vain obstinate energy into a vortex of destruction and bitchery. But somewhere in the middle of all of that, we put on a play.

I’m glad that I did it, though. I learned a lot. We overcame some serious obstacles to persevere and I am still proud of the production. The play was SubUrbia, and there are two things that I remember most about it. Both require a little bit of explanation. The first one is the sound wall.

We were doing the play outdoors at a music venue called Kilby Court, which is in the center of a block in an industrial area of Salt Lake. It made sense because the play takes place in the parking lot of a Kwiky Mart-type convenience store, but if a band was playing on the stage across the alley, it was too loud to hear the actors. So the board decided that we would need to get a contract from the owner of Kilby Court that stated that we had exclusive performing rights on the nights of the show and we tasked the founder of the company, my afore described frenemy, to get the contract signed.

I asked about the contract during rehearsals and my frenemy responded by saying vaguely, “yeah yeah, it’s fine… it’s taken care of.” In fact, she had approached the owner with the contract and he refused to sign it because he couldn’t afford to lose the profit from the bands and take the risk that we would be able to deliver a similar amount. It was smart, and I understood where he was coming from. We never drew in the same sized crowds as the bands. But she was afraid to tell us what happened, so she just… didn’t. We didn’t find out until the weekend before the show opened that the owner of Kilby Court had booked bands in his other space for every single night we were performing.

That night we were sitting on the deck trying to figure out how we could possibly make it work. We talked for hours and a plan began to form. Twenty four inventive hours later, we stood in the alley of Kilby Court looking up at our brand new, functional sound wall. That day, we rented two stories of scaffolding from a construction site, assembled it ourselves, and filled it with a ton of hay that we bought off a local farmer. Then we covered it with tarps. It wasn’t beautiful, but it worked. The show could go on!.

The second thing I remember most about SubUrbia is the giant purple dildo.

The main female character in SubUrbia is a twenty-something girl named Suze who is planning to move to New York to become an artist. In her first scene on stage, Suze presents the performance art piece that she has been developing.

The monologue is a fuming estrogen-angst filled rant that is desperate to be shocking, but comes off as a poor knock-off of Ani DiFranco lyrics from the early 90s. We wanted it to be a parody of clichéd performance art. We had a trunk full of props. We put her in a body suit that she could paint on as she wore it. And best of all, we got The Blue Boutique to donate a large double-sided dildo in exchange for advertising in our program. Every night, Suze ended her monologue by swinging the dildo over her head and then letting it go, making it thwhack the brick wall behind her and fall down behind her feet with a thud.

The only problem was that people actually lived at Kilby Court and there were a couple apartment windows that ran along the wall that we were using as our Kwiky Mart. So we were really careful to choreograph the dildo-throw to make sure that it always hit the bricks and only the bricks.

I was elated when closing night arrived. After a series of ugly arguments, my relationship with my frenemy had devolved to fit under the less complicated “enemy” category. We were a handful of livid phone calls away from never speaking to one another again. The audience turn-out was a less than half of what we had hoped for. Everyone involved in the company was losing money, and I couldn’t take the stress much longer.

I was sitting in the audience, thinking “all I have to do is get through this performance, unload a ton of rain-sopped hay, disassemble two stories of scaffolding, return it to the construction company, and I will be done with Saint Jayne’s and I’ll never have to do theatre again…” when, something went wrong with Suze’s dildo-throw. For some reason, after weeks of perfect executions, the throw went wild and the dildo sailed through the air and disappeared through one of the darkened apartment windows with a slap and the tinkle of shattered glass. The audience must have known that wasn’t the plan, because that was the only night we didn’t get a big laugh. There was some laughter but it was mostly uncomfortable.

“Oh my God, ohmigod, ohmahGAWD!” I was thinking, as I snuck out of the audience by squeezing through a gap in the hay. “We’ve killed someone. We’ve killed someone. At the very least, we’ve killed someone’s cat…”

I I pictured a leathery old man – recently homeless, reentering society through the devalued rental property of Kilby Court – sitting in a rocking chair and reading a tattered paperback copy of Keats poems. When suddenly, without warning, there was a crashing sound and… “wisht, wisht, wisht…” something long and purple spinning through the air, and then, “BAM!” right to the forehead, knocking him backward, over, and out of the rocking chair! And then, SILENCE. Death by dildo…

I found one of the managers at Kilby – a really nice guy named Mike – and I told him what had happened. He told me not to worry about it. He said he knew the guy pretty well, and he would talk to him. I snuck back into the audience and watched the rest of the play, which unfolded without further incident, but I was distracted. We were going to be sued; I was sure of it. I was twenty-four, unemployed, and done with theatre. And, at that moment, I was quite certain that I was going to have to go into some sort of indentured servitude to pay for the ex-homeless man’s funeral and a new window for Kilby Court. At that point in my life, I would have had to go into indentured servitude just to buy the man a new cat.

But after the show, I found Mike again to see what he found out and he told me the man wasn’t home. “Whew. That’s a relief,” I said.

“Trust me; it’s fine. I’ll talk to him when he gets home.”

I expected to hear more, but I never did. I wasn’t even contacted about paying for the new window, which I thought was the least that would happen. About half of the cast showed up to help me return the scaffolding to the construction company, and a friend with a truck was kind enough to come and take all the hay out of Kilby. I was done with the show and I promised myself that I would never use my degree in theatre again, and I have mostly kept that promise.

Then, ten years later, I spent a weekend this fall at a writer’s retreat in southern Utah. I was one of six other writers staying on a small ranch outside the desert town of Torrey. We were all from Salt Lake City and we spent the days writing and the evenings talking about writing and making one another laugh.

One of the writers was a musician named Jeremy Chatelain. Jeremy has toured with a bunch of east coast bands over the years, but he has also been in a lot of bands here in Utah. Another writer remembered him from a band called Iceburn Collective and the two of them started talking about these old local Utah bands that I’ve never heard of. In fact, I was basically tuning out of the conversation until he mentioned that he had been in a band with a guy named Gentry.

I interjected then and said, “Wait, Gentry Densley?”

And Jeremy said, “No way, you know Gentry?”

And I said, “No, not at all. But I remember that his band played at a fundraiser for a theatre company I worked for a decade ago called Saint Jayne’s. He was great.”

Another one of the writers named Adam said, “I remember Saint Jayne’s.”

“That’s not possible,” I said. “We lasted one summer and no one came to our shows.”

“Oh no, I remember. I was living in an apartment at Kilby Court that summer. And they were doing a play called Suburbia. And I remember that I came home from a late shift at the hospital one night to find broken glass everywhere and I giant purple dildo in my bed. And this guy, Mike, who was running things at Kilby, came running in and was like ‘oh dude, I was hoping to catch you before you got home… I wanted to try to explain…’ But I was like, ‘Dude!? How? How could you ever explain THIS?”

And I said, “Oh my God… I’ve spent the last ten years wanting to ask you if you were okay! I remember watching it go through the window and thinking, ‘oh Christ what have we done?’ So let me just finally officially say to you, I am very very sorry about that.”

I didn’t think we would ever stop laughing. I was relieved to find that he wasn’t angry. He was just disappointed that they didn’t let him keep the dildo.

“I was going to frame it and hang it on the wall so I could point to it when I told the story.” Then he pointed at a random spot on the wall and said, in an old man voice, “And that thar is the very same dildo that came through my window that night…”

“Really?” I said. “Because we didn’t get it back! I would have let you keep it, for sure. Mike would have known you shouldn’t use it after it’s been in contact with broken glass, right?”

The next morning we told the rest of the writers the story and Adam said, “I’ve been telling that story for so long now, as an example of the texture of Kilby Court and what it was like to live there. Who knew I would come down to Boulder Utah and meet the person from the other end of that dildo?”

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#salt lake city #theatre #humor #blog humor

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