15. Smells Like Teen Spirit

CHAPTER 15

SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT

MALIA J

The conference bustles with crowds and noise, just as we expected. We spend most of the day taking reference pictures, collecting more postcards and free trinkets than I've ever seen, and occasionally ducking into a panel to check out the presentations. It's less about what's being presented and more about how. The company we're working for is young, but it has a lot of potential. They don't want the same old shit people have done over the years; they want to break molds. Of course, every company says that, so how broken those molds get remains to be seen.

I was worried our conversation over breakfast would make things weird, but Lexi got back to feeling like herself again and I pulled myself out of my spiral. There was a little banter, some harmless flirting, and by the time the day was over, I knew that no matter how this went between us, I was madly in love with her. It's the dreamer artist in me; I fall fast and hard. I only hope that this time, I can get a softer landing than usual.

I keep getting harassing text messages until I eventually turn off my phone. Blocking the number doesn't matter, she just text from another number; they're all burner phones or computer systems anyhow. Lexi has noticed, but so far, she hasn't brought it up. I'd rather not bring more drama to the day.

We leave well after dark, and the drive back takes us no time since rush hour has long ended. There's an open spot up the street from her building, so I pull in, jump out and run around to the other side to open her door for her.

"You really don't have to do that, you know."

"I most certainly do." I reach behind the seat and pull out her bag and the oversized tote full of random things we collected throughout the day. Our hands brush together as I hand it to her, and she hesitates for a minute.

"Do, uhm, do you want to come upstairs and go through the shots from today? You don't have to. I still have all this energy and, ugh, never mind. I'll start going through this bag of crap and organizing everything. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"If you're okay with me coming up, getting a little deeper into the project sounds fantastic." I would take any excuse to spend extra time with her, even though I'm making this harder on myself. "I'm a night owl, so I was planning on heading home and looking through the shots anyhow. Having company wouldn't suck."

"Yeah?" She tucks her hair behind her ear, her smile beaming in the glow of the streetlamp.

She leads me down the long, dark alleyway that heads to the back of her building. Only one light still works, or tries to, as it hopelessly flickers against the night. I'm immediately concerned that this isn't the best situation for a single woman in this neighborhood. I'm confident she can handle herself, but Los Angeles can be rough. People can get desperate when they're lost and find themselves forgotten by a system that was always meant to fail them.

We round a corner, and she lets us into a small, dimly lit room with an ancient elevator opening on one wall and a door to the lobby on another. She hits the button, sending a screeching, rickety elevator down to the first floor to greet us. The elevator doesn't have an actual door, nothing but a rusty metal grate and cage.

"The elevator is some kind of antique from one of the old studios, which should scare the hell out of me," she says after she sees my hesitation. She pulls back the grate and motions me in. "But really, it's kind of cool. It makes me think of old classic movies and gives the building some personality. Everyone is afraid of it, so it doesn't get used much."

"Hey, so long as it works and isn't haunted, I'm game." I tilt my head to the side before she can hit the floor button. "Do you mind?" I take her hand, place it on the grating, and pull out my camera. I quickly adjust the settings and start taking pictures while she watches me.

"Sorry, it's a photographer thing. It looks too damn cool to pass up."

"Yeah, but you ruined it with my hand."

I've never been so glad I have my digital camera. I flip the screen over and pull up the last few shots as we let the elevator slide shut and start its journey up.

"Your hand is beautiful, and the way your rings bring in the extra contrast, it's perfect. So much at odds with one another."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, so the metal grate is cool looking on its own, but it's old, rusted, and dull. Your rings are shiny and smooth—a juxtaposition of textures. The picture could be fine like that, but your hand," I take it and rub my thumb along the back, "is beautifully pale and exquisitely soft. It's a texture you can't make from manipulated metal."

"Wow, see, this is why I could never be a classical artist."

"Eh, it's just words. At the risk of you kicking my ass onto the street, I think I like this one the most." I hand her the camera, a dangerous move since she could delete the picture before I can stop her. The elevator grate with her hand is in the foreground and out of focus, framing her face while she watches me. Her eyes are dazzling, and the old, yellowed light gives her a spellbinding Old Hollywood vibe. She stares down at the screen in surprise.

"That's, uhm, the best picture anyone's ever taken of me, and I had no clue you were taking it. It looks…" she fumbles for words. "Creepy? But in a cool way. I didn't know you could shoot digitally in black and white. I thought that was something you did in Photoshop or Lightroom later."

"Monochrome settings. Not all cameras have it, but there's really nothing like shooting in black and white. Okay, 8mm might be a little bit more fun. No, a lot more fun."

"You listen to vinyl records, too. Don't you?"

"Guilty. Does that make me a hipster millennial, old soul, or just someone who's mentally older than they physically are?"

She holds the camera up, takes a picture of me, and looks down at the screen. She's smiling as she hands it back, and the air thins as her fingers slide over mine and up my arm.

"I think they're calling us Elder Millennials now. I dunno." She reaches up and plays with the ends of my hair at the back of my neck. My knees are weak, and I'm not sure my heart can beat any faster. "If you grow the hair out a bit more and maybe a little more beard, I think you'd make an excellent hipster. I bet you'd be even hotter with longer hair."

I smile like an idiot and realize that, like her, I don't know how to take a compliment—I never have. The elevator stopped a while ago, and she finally turns around and pulls the grates open again, the loud screech pulling me from my daydream. She leads me down the hall and to her door, and I wonder if she can hear my heart or if it's only me.

She opens the door and drops her bag on a nearby couch. "So, this is my place. The bathroom is straight through there; no snooping in the medicine cabinet. The kitchen is over there, but it's probably pathetically empty unless there are such things as grocery fairies." She pulls my jacket off and her baggy sweater, tossing them both over the back of the couch. I'm trying not to stare at the tight tank top that's hugging her body the way I want to.

"I've got more edibles or there are a couple of joints in the box over there by the tv if you want. I know I work better that way." She turns to me; I can see her chest rising and falling nervously as she steps toward me. "How about we order something for dinner? My fridge is kind of empty."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a great—" I jump when someone bangs loudly on the door and jiggles the handle, trying to get in. I look at Lexi with an eyebrow raised, and I can feel the panic coming off her. She knows who this is, and so do I. She told her mother she'd be home tonight.

"Would it be better if I hung from my fingertips by the fire escape or something?"

"I'm so sorry. Uhm, let me try to get her to go away. She probably watched us come in, so hiding wouldn't do much except make her tear the place apart looking for you. I'm sorry for anything she says. She's…"

"Hey, it's alright." I offer her a smile as I lean against a wall, preparing for the oncoming storm. I want to stand with her. I want to hold her and tell her we can get through this together, whatever happens. I squeeze her hand gently. "Only what you say matters to me, Angel. Not her."

I see the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth at the name. She hasn't asked me to stop using it, so I haven't. She walks over to the door and timidly places a hand on the deadbolt. The Lexi I'd come to know over the day is gone, replaced yet again by a scared child who's afraid to open her door to a monster she knows all too well. Home is not her safe space, which explains why she works so much.

She barely gets the door unlocked, and she's pushed backward as the woman who could only be her mother comes in like a locomotive. She's taller than Lexi and thin as a rail. She looks like she's stepped out of some conservative magazine from the 50s, her blonde hair pinned up neatly and a buttoned-up neckline under the sweater.

"Alexis, how do you expect me to get in when you've locked the deadbolt? I've brought the?—"

I keep still, wondering if she's realized I'm here.

"I thought we talked about this, Alexis. You can't be wearing these kinds of things out in public, and your hair is a mess." She pulls at the hem of Lexi's shirt like she's a child. "This style isn't doing anything to help hide your figure, dear; it's far too tight on you. Did you get those pills I sent over? I can't believe you really go to your job like this. Come on, I want to go through your closet and get rid of these things. I left you new clothes the other day, and you still wear clothes that make you look like a?—"

She doesn't take two steps before she notices me. Immediately, her eyes become daggers, and her face hardens. My jaw ticks, and I'm trying not to let my lip curl into a snarl. I give her a curt nod, daring her to finish that sentence. She scoffs and spins so fast that Lexi flinches. Seeing that reaction makes my blood boil. There's only one reason someone would react like that.

"Mother, please. This is James. We work together."

"Oh really? At this hour? In your home ? Well, since you're practically undressing in front of him, am I to assume you've started working at a whorehouse?" She spins, focused on me again. "Come on, Alexis, what kind of idiot do you think I am?"

"Mother, I?—"

"And you," she spins on me, wagging her finger, but not stepping any closer. "What kind of man intrudes on an innocent young woman's home at this time of night? Are you here to take advantage of my daughter? It's obvious you are with how she's dressed. Clearly asking for it, so I suppose I shouldn't blame you?"

Her words are poisonous, not protective. She barely gives me a second glance. My fists clench in anger, and I want to throw her the fuck out, but this isn't my home, and Lexi is begging me not to with her eyes.

"Two more minutes, and he'd be defiling you right here on the couch. Is that what you want, Alexis? Should I put a sign on the door advertising you to the entire neighborhood? The Strauss Whore House."

"Mother, that's not what happened! I just got home. I was on my way to get changed. I swear." She grabs her sweater off the back of the couch and pulls it back on. "Please, go home."

Her mother grabs Lexi's arm and pulls her close. I go to move, but Lexi shakes her head, staring right into me. Her mother thinks I can't hear the next part, or at least pretends to think that.

"How dare you, Alexis? You're done up like a damn harlot, and I find you alone in the home we provide you with this lecherous older man? I bet he's married. Home wrecking slut." She sneers. "You lie to me so you can bring this filthy man into your bed to spread his depraved seed? Why do I even bother with you? You're just like your rotten sister. Is this what you've been doing all day? Lying on your back for him?"

"Mother, I?—"

She's staring Lexi down hard. "I should have never let you move out alone. I told you that you couldn't handle the responsibilities and temptations. God is testing you, and clearly, I have failed you as a mother." She's a pompous windbag, looking down her nose at the child she's tormented for too long. "You've brought the devil into your home, welcomed his seduction into your bed, and stained your eternal, lust-filled soul. I won't have a filthy daughter claiming me as her mother."

"Please stop!" Tears stream down her face as she holds her stomach. I won't stand by anymore. I move behind Lexi, sliding a hand to her back to tell her I'm here for her. Her mother literally clutches her chest as if she's having a heart attack.

"You're done here," I say, feeling Lexi press against my hand.

She gawks at Lexi, then at me. When that doesn't get her anywhere, she scoffs at us. "Are you seriously asking me to leave you alone with this…this… pig? Your father is going to hear about this. Where did we go wrong with you, Alexis? I gave up so much for you and your sister, and this is how you treat me? It hurts me, Alexis. It hurts that you do these things to me."

"Please, mother? Please, just go."

It comes out as a whimper. My hand finds hers while my eyes don't leave her mother's. No one deserves this, especially not from a parent. I hope being here keeps her physically safe for now, but I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I've been there, I've been in this situation, and it's utterly helpless from her position.

"You are so dramatic. You had better be at the church and on your damn knees in the morning. Your father is going to want to talk to you about this. About what Jesus thinks of whores like your sister. I will not have a Jezebel for a daughter. Do you understand me?"

"No, mother, you can't tell him. Please? I haven't done?—"

My hand comes up, catching her mother's arm in mid-swing, inches from Lexi's terrified face.

"Lexi has asked you nicely to leave. Go. Now." My voice is a growl, and I'm careful not to squeeze her wrist. I could already see the police report now, and I'm not about to put Lexi in that situation.

"How dare you touch me!" She pulls her hand back and rips the door open. "This conversation is not over, Alexis."

The door slams shut, and I grab Lexi, holding her tight. "I'll let go if you tell me to, Angel. You're okay now," I whisper as I rub her back and let her sob into my chest. "I'm sorry if I've made things worse, but I wasn't going to let her hit you."

I don't hush her or tell her not to cry. I don't lie and say everything will be okay. I hold her, rocking her gently until she pulls away on her own, trying to wipe her face.

"It's alright. I'm so embarrassed that you had to be here for that—for her."

"Lexi, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. She does, you don't." I wipe away her tears. That's two nights in a row I've done that. I'll be damned if it will be three. "How often does she hit you?"

"It's not…it's not like that. I should have known better than to?—"

"Hey, look at me." I tilt her chin back so she has to look. " No one should ever hit you. Do you understand? I'm not going to let her touch you again. No one will touch you like that again."

In an instant, she buries her face in my chest again and she finally lets out the sobs she tried hard to hold back. Strawberries fill my nose from her shampoo as I kiss the top of her head and whisper her reassurances that she's alright for now.

"I should have known; I should have known she'd do something like that. I shouldn't have had you come up here. I did this to myself."

"No, that's her gaslighting you. There wasn't a single thing you did to deserve any of that. She's wrong about you, Lexi."

"You don't know me."

"I don't have to know you. You didn't deserve that. No one does, Angel." My hand slides up and down her back, and I feel her arms around me, clinging to me. "You were very brave, standing up to her the way you did. That isn't easy. Mothers can be…a tricky situation sometimes."

"She wasn't always like this," she mumbles. "She only gets mad when I do something wrong. She doesn't mean it."

I pull back a little and slip my hand to her face. I want to tell her how soft and perfect she is, and that she doesn't need the walls up around me. I want her to realize that even with puffy, tear-soaked eyes, she is still a vision of beauty that I would protect with my life.

"I have an idea."

"Uhm, I… I don't know. I think I should just go to bed."

"Nope, that's the worst idea. Please?" She hesitates, then nods. I pull her jacket off the hook and slip it over her shoulders. "I promise you won't regret this. Come on, we can walk it from here."

"Walk?"

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe." I mean those words in every way possible.

When we leave the building, she immediately scans the streets to see if her mother is still lingering nearby. I honestly don't know what I'll do if she is. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my mouth shut if she tries to come near her again. Thankfully, there's no sign of her, so we walk up the empty street.

The night has a little chill to it, so when I see her shiver even with her coat, I pull off my hoodie and drape it over her, then wrap my arm around her and pull her close. Her skin smells like cherry blossoms. I never want her far from me again. I've never felt like this for anyone, especially not someone I've just met.

My dating life, as minimal as it's been lately, includes too many one-night hookups at bars and a few relationships that lasted into the month's range. Only once had I been with someone for over a year, but she was my high school sweetheart, and it felt like we would be together forever. It's strange to think that tonight, as we walk down the dark streets of Los Angeles, I feel that way again with Lexi.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Well, it's a safe bet that if you haven't already guessed by where we're walking, you haven't been there before." I'm a little surprised she hasn't pulled away or told me to get lost yet, but I also understand what it's like to just really need someone around—especially someone who isn't judging you for how someone in your family acts. Every family has at least one person they're not exactly thrilled to be related to. "Do you not like surprises?"

"Sometimes. I guess it just depends on what it is and why. Surprise visits from my mother. Yeah, not so much. God, I'm still so embarrassed you had to see that and the way I broke down. I'm not like this all the time."

"Oh, this is going to be way better than surprise visits from her. Don't worry. You don't have to be embarrassed about that, sweetheart; I'm not going to think any less of someone as incredible as you over something out of your control like that."

"It should be in my control, though. I should be stronger and tell her to fuck off."

"Woah! Hold on now, you mean to tell me that a woman as sweet and pretty as you has a dirty mouth, too?" I'm relieved when she smiles at my piss-poor attempt at humor.

"You have no idea, dirty mouth, dirty mind. Guess I'm one of those weird kids that was sheltered by church life only to turn out to be messed up and a mess."

"You're not the first person a cult has messed up, and you won't be the last. But you really need to stop talking so badly about yourself. As the reigning king of self-deprecation, I know something about being a big old mess." Reaching around her and into the pocket of my hoodie, I pull out a joint and hold it out to her. "No pressure, obviously. It helps my nerves when I'm in a bad way."

"I can't picture you in a bad way. You're so confident and sure of yourself most of the time." I flick the lighter as she inhales. "I wish I could be more like that. Stupid stuff doesn't even seem to bother you at all. Meanwhile, I'm having internal panic attacks because we were late to a conference we weren't really even a part of." Her head hangs low.

I stop in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders, "Lex, look, I know I'm still getting to know you and that first impressions can be misleading. Yesterday, when you dropped your phone, I was one hundred percent certain I'd just met the most brilliant, confident, amazing angel in the entire city. My opinion of you hasn't changed a single bit since then."

We talk more as we continue our walk, passing the joint between us and letting the weed take the stress away.

"It should have." She says a few minutes later. She holds the joint out for me, and I take a hit while she holds it. "Changed the way you think about me."

"It hasn't," I say after I hold the breath in. I cock my head to the side. "I'm confident about absolutely nothing in my life. Okay, not true. I'm confident about one thing, but only one."

"What's that?" She asks, already giggling as she blows a smoke ring.

"Pie."

"What?" She looked up at me, confused.

I turned to the side, revealing the sandwich board sign for The Pie Hole. "Pie. It makes everything better. And their apple pie is absolutely freakin' worth it."

Her eyes narrow and her face scrunches up, "You watch Supernatural?"

"Hey, don't knock my boys. I love those guys. They're like brothers I never had. Dad and I used to watch it all the time in the studio."

She giggles again, and to my surprise, her arms fling around me in a hug. Just as quickly, though, she dropped her arms at her side and bit her lip, apologizing.

"Angel, you can hug me any time you want. I'm never going to turn that down."

"You're kind of ridiculous, you know that?"

"What can I say? Being around someone like you just puts me in a good mood. Which is impressive. I haven't been in a good mood since at least my late teens. Come on, let's get to business on this completely unhealthy coping mechanism."