Black, that's all she's been seeing for over a minute now.
Rules are important to her, people tell her you're the unsitcom version of Monica Geller, the kind of perfectionist who would make the perfect victim in a thriller. She agrees with that, but there is always a surviving victim at the end of a film.
So even though she doesn't believe in standing still. She meditates, she keeps at it. She has been doing it for 42 days now.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Colors are crystal clear as she opens her eyes but it's a subdued clarity. Colors are not organized as items; it's not blue couch, grey carpet and purple shades. The colors are organized as if in a spectrum. She sees blue, grey as well as purple but they are just auras of colors, unattached to objects.
She smiles. Colors, after all, are the world's greatest illusion.
What do I wear? She thinks as she juggles the choices she has.
There is a question that can never apply to an MCQ answer. What to wear is the new what women want, kinda like orange is the new black, except the latter really does not make much sense. An orange top with a black bottom can work, vice versa as well but try and compare an orange suit to a black one. Classic always wins.
For the current shift of frequency, S is not the horoscopic person Em is, she goes with a V necklined red camisole, a long dark skirt transparent form the thighs down so it's really a short skirt; and to compliment the bohemian vibe, she settles with oily brown wedged heels. As they are pretty uncomfortable she considers choosing another pair; but just as her mind starts to consider the options, the door bell rings.
The thud of Nell's blingy rings on the door is probably waking up mrs. Kitty. S applies a final coat of Huda Beauty on her lips, places her iPhone and car keys in her lavender bucket bag then habitually glances at the clock. It's 19:02. She frowns slightly; nonetheless, opens the door genuinely smiling.
"You look amazing. You should wear more red" Nelly beams "And that skirt you Miley, that's new?"
S nods but Nell doesn't notice.
"I see" she says as her eyes shift from her phone to Cara. iPhone.
Marketing is about what's on the outside, and your job determines a big part of your character. In a way, it shapes the person you're becoming into the person you're gonna be when you're a parent, or a senior partner at the firm, or when you finally part your ways and start your own business. S usually notices people's shoes and phones before their accents. She doesn't like this about herself; but she attributes it to being a job thing. Comes with the territory.
Nelly is wearing a raglan sleeved woven blazer with hues of charcoal grey and a hint of blue, a shimmery satan pink shirt underneath, with dark jeans that compliment her curves generously. Among the three best friends, she is the prettiest.
She notices that, too and she doesn't like this either, but for a different reason.
Nelly stops at Emma's apartment to pick her up. The shift of frequency is immediate.
"She's late. Ring her, please"
Emma is more of Cara's best friend.
Just as S scrolls to her name, Emma strolls out in an LBD, tall like a model with a hair shinier than Serena Van Der Woodsen's, an attitude nastier than Blair Waldorf and an entitlement that is of Chuck Bass with a world of Dan's hidden insecurities.
Cara knows that both her friends are important to her equally but she has always struggled with the fact that if she were ever asked to pull one person out of a fire, she knows she'd pick Emma. She tells herself that's only because Nelly can handle herself, not needing the help she's certain Emma would.
All is good once Sia's Chandelier hits the radio and the three friends are mistakenly but happily singing to the lyrics. Cara in particular loves those little moments because she has a terrible voice that is thankfully being drowned by the beautiful voices of her two best friends.
"I need to dance"
They are at the Nightingale, it's behind the Murex D'azure café where S met Matt for the first time.
"Not sure those stilettos would agree" Em grins and they all glance at Nelly's pink heels. S frowns slightly at Emma. It's the level of friendship where she could tell trickery in the undertone of her best friend. Nelly wouldn't notice, Cara realizes.
"I need to go shopping"
Emma nods, answering what she thought is a question as Nell raised her intonation at the end. Again, S knows Nelly wasn't asking a question, she was contemplating a decision loud. Nelly is perhaps the surest person Cara has ever met, that's why the recent change in her friend's character unsettles her.
"You know there's this great Italian shop right round the corner from my old high school, it has those amazing nylon heels made trendy"
"Sounds weird"
"Yeah, that's the point"
"I think you're safe to dance, just dance walk and you'll be fine" Em nudges Nelly, and as she leaves S glowers at Emma.
"We're supposed to be celebrating, don't fuel her" Cara pouts.
"Don't you think it's weird and unfair we always have to consider her feelings? Do you really believe she considers yours? Or even thinks about them?"
Cara opens her mouth to reply but Emma cuts her off raising her glass. "Okay, we are the new ambassadors for a big fucking Chinese company so cheers"
Happy that Emma changed the subject because she really wasn't sure what to say, S raises hers back.
"The Nightingale really serves the best Merlot. I bet your vodka tastes like water there you teetotaller"
The sour tinge of alcohol has never appealed to Cara.
She shivers as she sips "I wish"
Cara does not mind the taste as much as she fears loss of control.
Control is a side effect of stress, Matt said to her the last time they talked, which was five days ago.
She has never stayed this long not contacting Matt, he has never done it either. This time, he really is setting his foot down. She scans the surrounding, she should dance, she should relinquish control and let the music take her away for a few minutes.
"I think I'm going to join Nelly" Emma takes the words out of her lips.
"Sure" she smiles to her best friend, changing her mind.
Just as Emma advances to the dance floor, Nelly makes her way, tentatively, toward them. Considering those two rarely ever agree, it's ironically appropriate their subconscious minds wouldn't either. Rather forlornly, Cara smiles.
Fifteen minutes later, the girls make way to The Dollop. S's favorite spot in Stamford. The first time Cara sat foot in the Dollop was also for another celebration, Matt has brought her there to tell her he's moving to Germany as his uncle runs a business there and chose Matt to be the manager to one of the branches in Bremen. S thought she were fine with Matt moving away, their connection has always been great, the kind of meant-to-be great. But, now, as she's growing up, she finds herself considering things she's always taken for granted. As if her decisions are changing in spite of herself.
The smell of lilies hit violently as the girls enter, the place is small but intimate, Dan, S's boss, once told her it's the wrong kind of intimate. As Nelly and Emma make way to their table, S takes a look around: floors unpolished, windows closed, plants suffocating customers.
She frowns, but she knows it's not strange, Tom is lazy, he likes to close up early, it's his way of throwing away customers. One would tell him he's throwing away money, but he'd agree with that. That's how careless he is. Cara goes round opening a few windows.
She glances at the white bar but it's empty, empty are the eight chairs in front of the barstool, there is one couple sitting at the further end on one of the round white tables but they are too invested in their quarrel that the plants don't seem to bother them, their words doing the suffocating as the girl places her hand on her mouth preventing upcoming tears and the guy running his hand through his hair so much it looks wild. Not sexy wild.
S runs her hand along the large periwinkle blue cookie jars filled with chocolate and vanilla cream; alongside there are two spoons with mini iron plates, the plates have a tiny ball attached for the customer to place their coins upon eating their dollop, that's where the name originated from, she loves everything about this place, cliché included. She notices a commotion in the kitchen and smiles once Tom pops his head out.
"Yeay Mileys, time to have fun at fucking cream land" Emma jokes, raising her voice.
"Yeah S, we love you and everything but you are literally the only twenty four year old who prefers a boring pub to an enthralling nightclub" Nell weighs in.
"And she wouldn't even drink in the fucking pub! Like the fuck!" The arguing couple stops for a minute to frown at Emma.
She frowns back. Em is the kind who swears, a lot. Like hi, how are you, fuck, shit, good night.
"A wild guess, three lattes?" Tom joins the parade.
As S nods, Tom goes about frothing the milk and arranging the cups with sugar and processed coffee, he knows by now who likes what.
"What's up with you, stalker?"
"Not funny, S. That was a long time ago."
Tom is Matt's closest friend and the first time he met Cara, he was monitoring a mobile phone, a laptop as well as an iPad with GPS, maps and monitoring apps with algorithms. He said he needed to know where his last exes were as they were insane, his way of demonstrating his own "restraining order", he said. Cara likes to call it MCS; multiple crush syndrome.
She smiles as she answers "OK, Ethan Hunt"
"Stalking is romantic. If you really think about it, it's James Bond in disguise"
He winks as she shakes her head, genuinely smiling. Tom, like a book, is warm. He's also an open book, someone you can confide in.
"So, how's Matt? You heard from him lately?" His green eyes blinking.
She knows what he means did you talk to him after the fight?
"Umm, no"
Tom's Robert Downey Jr's jaw clenches and Cara immediately knows what he's going to say.
"S, I know Matt is my best friend and he's this amazing guy, I can never stress enough how incredibly real this guy is, and most importantly is head over heels with you but honestly, you two have been really off the last few weeks, it's keeping him on edge, I really think you should ,,, "
"Excuse me, can I have a pint please?"
The weeping woman earlier lashes her eyes at both of them, she smiles, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.
Is he really going to tell me it's okay to dump him? Cara thinks.
Tom hands the woman her drink and doesn't wait for her to leave. "Just talk it out. You two are meant to be"
Like a dirt blotch on just-cleaned whites, S is clearly disappointed by the suggestion. Much to her dismay, she would have preferred the alternative.
"What's keeping you so long?" Nelly says in a husky voice, fixing Tom with a mischievous gleamy look. Tom blinks away his discomfort and hands out the coffees shaking.
"Careful!" S scowls.
"What is it, Em?" Cara asks as Nelly is in the water cycle.
Emma stops humming Adam Levine's One More Night and looks at her.
"Just this whole promotion thing, you know I never really wanted to be in marketing, and you know I love working with you despite your controlling, or pretty much because of it, but her? No, I can not work with her. You know how she gets"
"Come on, now! What has brought this up?"
Cara knows the answer to this. They all do.
"I know I made mistakes but so did she and they are just as big, why do I have to pay for mine when she doesn't for hers?"
"Maybe that's why the promotion and this task is a good idea. You know, for you to bond"
"I don't know, I just feel like I have to make a wise decision regarding this friendship, either in or out"
"Oh, no, please don't. We both know how fucked up you are when it comes to wise decisions" S's tone is lighter and Emma smiles.
"You always say that, you know. Name one situation where I screwed up, just one"
Cara folds her arms and leans back to her chair. "OK but I shall warn you, you brought this on yourself"
"Hit me" Emma does the same as S arches an eyebrow at her.
"Back when you and Blueprick were dating in college and it was his birthday and you baked him, of all things, strawberry tart with strawberry icing, now how wise is that knowing your boyfriend is allergic to strawberry?"
She laughs. "But I meant well!"
"That's what worries me"
Em sighs "He did deserve it though"
"He sure did"
Nelly comes back form the bathroom with puffed eyes. Cara considers asking but she already knows it's about Scott. She refrains, especially since Emma is here.
As Emma makes her way to pay, S and Nelly stand awkwardly next to each other. Cara can feel Nelly's heated body next to her, something is seriously bothering her but Nelly's eyes are focused on Emma chatting with Tom.
Emma nods her friends to go. Cara says goodbye to Tom.
"The Dollop, S!! Talk about it being a ritual" Tom rolls his eyes at his friend.
Cara takes a dollop of cream and places it in the iron plate, she places a coin in the coin spot. This ritual started with Matt, to Cara it always felt like it is an ode to him. As she eats the cream, licking the spoon off, she is immediately taken back to her boyfriend, she closes her eyes for a few seconds and she can see him. That nostalgia you try to escape, but clings to you like an aroma seemingly to fade but never really does.
Cara is at the door when her habit kicks in, it is 23:01. She stalls for two more minutes going through her purse pretending to look for something. When it's 23:03, she leaves.
"Pull over here, please. I feel like walking"
Nelly stops her Benz without saying anything. Cara is certain now that Nelly is hurt and probably suspects that she and Emma were talking about her when she was in the bathroom.
"I'll call you later, good night"
Nelly doesn't reply.
"Good night, Em"
"OK" Emma is editing the new entry for her musical blog so her concentration is reserved for her Samsung.
At this time of day, there aren't many cars, the road is practically empty which, to cars' owners, seems to justify driving a 4th gear on a 2nd gear road.
Cara walks around two blocks and stops when she spots what she believes is the last thing this reckless area needs; a car gallery, what seems like an extravagant vintage car gallery. Around four blocks away from where she lives. As Cara stares at the cars she's only ever spotted going through Cristiano Ronaldo's instagram account, a man's voice says. "It's open".
She turns around. A very hot man says, she thinks.
"Umm, it is just, uh, I live nearby and um I have never noticed the er place before" She stutters.
She's fixated on his eyes, their blueness is a view to behold. If they were something to eat, they'd have a long lasting saccharine flavor, and a sexy French name to go with. She shakes her head out of the inappropriate reverie.
"It's beautiful though" Coughs "The place, I mean" She adds unnecessarily.
She looks away in an attempt to escape his eyes, up to his Hemsworth hair, down to his Gosling mouth. He's like a portrait of celebrities. Her marketing brain kicks in as she takes in what he's wearing, a button-down black shirt with the collar turned exactly at the neck level (her favorite look on a guy!), and jeans. Nonchalant, cool yet elegant and businesslike.
"Yeah, only the R11 leads straight to us"
"Us" Her wayward thoughts go far away to a pretty inappropriate zone; she feels uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. And hot, very hot.
"Aha, I own the gallery with a friend. Just started actually. I bet it's a good omen to have it capture the beauty in red attention" He smiles, nodding at her attire.
For a moment, Cara forgets that she's wearing clothes. That she's wearing red, red.
"Would you like to come in?" He invites.
"Come in where?" She asks, startled.
He nods towards the gallery and moves ahead to open the door for her.
"We've yet to get many guests, currently it's just passersby or people who want to take pictures. It's vintage" He shrugs in explanation.
We've yet? Do people really talk like that? When was the last time someone used such phrasing, Cara considers then shakes her head, again.
Before walking in, Cara's image of the place was of metal desks and dark floors, but the gallery is anything but. White, pristine floors. Ancient museum-like vases at the corners, and scattered around the middle are three small mahogany desks. The stairs are open all the way round the place, so you can see both floors without having to go upstairs. As she turns to ask where the cars are, an abhorring human being is standing in front of her.
"Hey, S" He smiles braggingly.
"That's Cara to you"
A young couple enters the gallery. With the corners of her eyes, Cara notices the woman wearing an all sky blue ensemble. She frowns, she doesn't know why but it unsettles her. What unsettles her even more is how shallow she can sometimes be, getting upset over a simple thing like a matching outfit, or a matching color.
"We can be grown ups now, can we? It's not college anymore" Wills smirks, bringing her back to reality.
She looks him up and down in his khaki corduroys, his ragged T-shirt, the opposite to a button down, and his antagonizing smirk. The smirk bothers her, but not as much as his lack of the correct use of Question Tags. "It looks college to me" She raises both brows.
"That's has always been the thing with you, you never forget"
Her grammar frown deepens. But when he adds "Why do you even care anymore?" something in her really tics.
"You never even apologized. You acted like the whole thing is beneath you while she ,,, "
"If you could please leave"
She is looking at Will but his lips haven't moved. It was not Will.
The young couple are standing, facing her now. They are looking at the scene, her scene.
She turns to the Collar-shirt guy, he looks away.
Cara leaves the premises feeling lightheaded and embarrassed and aggravated. She's walking fast, to the point of running. She should've worn flats, she contemplates.
It's forcing its way into her mind, the story, the heartbreak, the late night comforting or trying to. But, more than anything, the accusations.
"Em, he's not right for you. He's condescending to his own friends. To his own girlfriend"
They had gone back and forth before Emma ripped her truth out.
"He told me, S. I know how you feel"
Cara knew Will had been cheating on Emma. She opened the wrong door once, when she was visiting their friend Regina in her sorority house. He didn't even stop what he was doing. She thought Emma was referring to the infidelity.
"You mean you know?"
"He told me"
"And you're still with him?" Cara practically shouted this.
"No, I'm still with you" Emma roared back.
Then she explained to her how Will told her Cara has feelings for him. And, how that's the real reason she's never liked the both of them together.
Cara remembers now how she wanted to slap her, partly to wake her up but also to hurt her, to make her feel the way she was feeling.
She tries to downplay the hurt now by throwing jokes whenever the subject of him comes up; but within every joke, the bruise itches.
Mrs. Kitty assigns different cleaners for her rentals' yards even though she doesn't need to because it's a municipal duty. Cara thinks she's a type of bored perfectionist. The yard is almost always pristine to the point where the mailwoman places their mails right up on the mat, squarely. That's why Cara is frowning when she's standing at her maisonette's door, staring at a light pink card, it's crumpled in the way someone might have trashed it then changed their minds and unfolded it. She steps down and holds the note. She unfolds it. The words on the note say:
Each day needs its own color
END OF CHAPTER ONE
