Pictures of You (20 page)

             
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased. “Mary told me it was going to be your birthday that day I was making waffles, while you were in the shower. I told her I wanted to surprise you tonight, so she gave me a spare key.”

             
“Mary gave you a spare key?” I didn’t know what surprised me more. Mary playing a part in a nice birthday surprise or Mary giving a stranger our spare key, allowing him free roam of our apartment. The truth was we didn’t really
know
this guy. Adrien could be a thief or a rapist or a killer—or a combination of all three. He could be anyone. Ted Bundy, Freddy Krueger, Hannibal Lecter. And here I sat in the apartment all alone with him. He
was
suicidal. Maybe he was the type who would take someone down with him. I pictured a murder-suicide headline on the late night news.

             
No, I thought, shaking my head. I hadn’t known this guy for long, but I somehow
knew
he was a decent human being. I had a gut feeling about him. He might be capable of hurting himself, but he was too gentle and sweet to do anyone else harm.

             
I felt surprisingly safe with him.

             
“Wait, so how did you know I’d be coming home just now. I had work tonight—”

             
“I called Chris to ask him to cover for you. He was more than happy to. In fact, he said he was planning to do it anyway.” He pulled a candle from the cake and licked the frosting off.

             
The night was full of surprises. “
You
called
Chris
? Where did you get his number?”

             
“Mary found it in your phone.”

             
“Wow.” I was stunned. Four people had plotted and schemed to make this work. I felt loved. And then amused—Chris and Adrien spoke to each other over the phone. The two guys I had feelings for, I realized just then.

             
“September, I also wanted to apologize for the way I left the other day. I didn’t plan—I didn’t mean—”

             
“Don’t worry about it.”

             
He looked down at his lap. “The thing is I’ve been through a lot. Much more than most people go through in a lifetime.”

             
My interest was piqued. Maybe I could finally get him to open up to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

             
“No,” he said, avoiding eye-contact. “I’m sorry, but…I can’t.”

             
We sat in silence for another endless moment. Tiger made an appearance, stretching and yawning before rubbing his body against Adrien’s legs.

             
Adrien gave me one of his sly grins, making me weak again. “Are you ready to celebrate? I’m taking you out for your birthday.”

20

              “What do you want to do? It’s
your
day,” Adrien said as we hopped onto the L train. We squeezed into seats next to an elderly man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. I could faintly hear him humming Frank Sinatra’s
The Best is Yet to Come
. My grandma used to sing it to me when I was little. She passed away when I was fourteen. Whenever I hear Frank Sinatra I think of her and the amazing donuts she used to make.

             
“Pizza sounds really good,” I said, just now realizing how hungry I was.

             
“Pizza it is.” He turned toward me, his face so close I could feel his breath on my face. “So how old are you turning?”

             
“Nineteen,” I said, realizing it was the last year of my teens, surprised by how fast it all went. “How old are
you
?” I’d wanted to ask him for awhile now, but the right moment never came up.

             
“I’m twenty.”

             
“So how are you
liking your twenties?”

             
“I’m not the person to ask.  I haven’t been happy in years. Actually, I don’t remember when I was last truly happy.” For a second his green eyes became stony, which caught me by surprise me and made me shudder. Adrien was one of the moodier guys I’ve met. He’d go from intensely happy, giving me a smile that made my head spin like a merry-go-round, to a place so dark it scared me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’s had to go through. I’ve wondered about it a lot these last few days.

             
“That’s really sad.” I swallowed. “Is that why you’re…?”

             
“This subject keeps coming up,” he said, shaking his head, half smiling. “Do you think for just a while we could pretend I never told you—that thing—the first day we met?”

             
“I don’t know if that’s possible—”

             
“Please try.” His eyes pleaded with me. “I know I’m not being fair. I shouldn’t even be hanging out with you, subjecting you to any of this—”

             
“I
want
to spend time with you,” I stammered.

             
“I don’t see why,” he said, removing a piece of lint from his pants.

             
I didn’t know how to answer. Even I wasn’t entirely sure why I wanted to spend his last days with him. I guess I still had a sliver of hope that I’d be able to get him to change his mind.

***

              At Eddie’s Pizza, Adrien and I talked on and on about music. I was shocked to discover, like Abby and me, Adrien also had a passion for 1980s alternative. Could the universe be screaming any louder that Adrien and I were soul mates?

             
“Okay, name your top five favorite bands,” I said, nibbling on a piece of crust.

             
“Don’t do this to me. I couldn’t possibly narrow it down to just five,” he said, really getting into the conversation.

             
“Try.”

             
He took a long sip of Coke. “Okay, let’s see. Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, U2 of course and…The The.”

             
“Cheater. You named six,” I said, kicking him under the table.

             
He shook his head. “But five was just too tough.”

             
“Good answer. I must admit—you have excellent taste. I love them all, especially The Smiths and The Cure. The The’s one of the most underrated bands, don’t you think?”

             
“Totally. The sad thing is none of my friends have even heard of them,” he said, grabbing another slice of pepperoni. We ordered a half-and-half. Half veggie for me, half pepperoni for him.

             
“Yeah, well most kids haven’t heard of any of these bands, except for maybe U2. It’s just the oddest thing, you and me loving the same stuff. I mean, what are the chances? I think you’d love Abby’s band, The Striped Goat,” I said, my mouth full of artichoke.

             
He almost choked on his food. “Abby was the singer of The Striped Goat? You’re kidding me. I love that band. I hear them all the time on college radio.”

             
“Seriously?” I was shocked, because one, I hadn’t realized her band was getting regular radio play. She would’ve been over the moon. And two, what were the chances Adrien was a fan? “You like The Striped Goat?”

             
“Do you need proof?” he asked, pulling his iPod from his pocket. He turned it on and scrolled through a million different 80s and indie bands until The Striped Goat filled the screen. “I have their CD in my car, too.”

             
“You have a car?”

             
Adrien laughed. “Of course I have a car. I am—was a car salesman, after all. It’s in the shop getting worked on. It’s a beater and it breaks down on me all the time. I really should get a new car.” Cradling his Coke, he searched my face for a moment. “Tell me more about Abby. If you want to, I mean. I don’t want to make you sad on your birthday.”

             
I set my half eaten slice of pizza down. “It doesn’t make me sad. I love talking about her. We met in second grade. She saved me from being the constant target of the school bully and we were best friends ever since. She was amazing. She had such a zest for life. She had big plans for the future,
huge
dreams. One of the things I loved most about her was she didn’t doubt them for a second, even when everyone else did. She was very sweet natured. A little flighty, too. We got an apartment together before she died. It was a big plan of ours to room together the second we graduated from high school. The tragic part is she was killed two weeks after our lives were really just beginning. And her band—they were on their way. That was her dream, you know, to be a professional musician, to see the world.”

             
“I’m so sorry, September. Sounds like she was pretty amazing.” He dropped his eyes and picked up his empty straw wrapper, twisting it around his finger.

             
“She was
amazing. There’s no one else quite like her.” I sighed, nibbling on an olive left on my plate. “Enough about Abby, tell me about you. Where did you grow up?”

             
“Vegas.”

             
I chuckled. “Las Vegas? You don’t hear that every day. What brought you here?”

             
“I moved here to go to film school, but I found I enjoyed writing books more than screenplays. Less interaction with people that way.” I raised an eyebrow. “That came out wrong. I’m not a hermit or anything. I just…crave time alone.” He averted his eyes from me and I wondered if he was hiding something. “My parents are divorced. They split up when I was nine. My dad was a security guard at a casino and my mom runs a bakery. I have an older brother who’s coaching high school basketball in Dallas.” He grabbed a third slice of pizza. “What about you? Where are you from? Tell me about your family.”

             
“I grew up in Queens. My sister, April, still lives there with my folks. My dad is a podiatrist, my mom chose to stay at home to raise us. She loves gardening. It’s scary how much she loves to garden. Me, I seem to kill a plant by just
looking
at it. My family, they’re really normal—and incredibly boring.”

             
“Then it must not be genetic because you’re far from boring,” he said, gazing at me until I had to look away.

             
We sat saying nothing, taking in the ambiance. The jukebox played a sappy love song. An elderly couple stood and danced. The woman wore sexy heels and a smile so big I wouldn’t have been surprised if it broke her face. The man with pit bull skin wore plaid pants high on his waist, almost reaching his armpits. The romantic way they gazed into each other’s eyes rivaled any Jane Austen book. I’d never seen a couple look so in love. I turned to Adrien, realizing he’d never grow old and sadness poured into my soul like a heavy rain.

***

              “After you,” Adrien said, opening the door for me as we exited the diner.

             
“Thank you,” I said, delighted by his chivalry.

             
The air smelled of tar and cigarette smoke and sizzling meat from a nearby restaurant. Although not entirely pleasant, I loved the smell of the city. There was something exciting about it. We simultaneously looked up at a halo of pink, orange and yellow clouds hovering over New York.

             
“Beautiful,” I said, suddenly overwhelmed with joy, happy to be alive.

             
“Do you like the Phantom of the Opera?” Adrien asked.

             
“I
love
the Phantom of the Opera.” I’d always wanted to see it but never seemed to have the money to buy tickets. Abby and I watched the movie version over and over.

             
“Good,” he said, grinning really big. “Because I have fourth row tickets.”

***

              After the show we went for a walk to enjoy the perfect late summer night. Lucid stars throbbed in a midnight blue sky. A gentle breeze rattled colorful leaves above us. The scents of fall and Mexican food filled the night air. It was one of those perfect nights. It was magical.

             
Adrien grabbed my hand, making my pulse pick up and my stomach muscles tighten.

             
“When I’m with you, September, you make me remember the good things. Sometimes I almost forget…the pain I’m in.” He squeezed my hand. “There’s something about you. I can’t put my finger on it.” I studied his face which glowed under a yellow street lamp. He looked so sweet tonight, like a little boy. When he turned to meet my gaze, I bit my lip and looked away. He continued, “I feel strangely drawn to you. It’s almost…other-worldly.” As he said this, I got the chills. He was right. There was some mysterious connection between us, besides physical chemistry, which we clearly had. What was it that drew us together? If I believed in previous lives, I could’ve sworn I knew him before. This was all so very déjà-vu. Adrien stopped. He turned me to face him, letting his hands linger on my arms. His brow furrowed and he hesitated for several long seconds. Finally he said, “I…I think I could fall in love with you, September…but I have to stop myself. I’d be an egocentric, selfish pig if I let this go any further than it already has.”