Smiling at Everything

Lunch at Jazz's father's house had been quiet. After the questions had been asked, they ate in silence, each not bothering to start up conversation. Jazz had left once they were finished and decided she needed more coffee. The coffee she picked up before she went to see her father was small, serving in keeping her mind from fogging with exhaustion for the time period she was in her father's home.

Jazz stood in line at the Starbucks she decided to stop by on her way to the penthouse to change before the dinner, her eyes hidden by large sunglasses. It was the first one she saw on the drive. All she wanted was a coffee with a few espresso shots, something to keep her awake so she wouldn't crash till after the dinner. She would have stopped anywhere to get it.

Jazz shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for the line to move so she could go home and stop smiling for awhile. It was beginning to hurt her cheeks. The chime attached to the store door beeped once, signaling that someone just left or walked in to add to the ever-growing line.

"Jazz?" someone asked from behind her.

She recognized that voice. She knew she did but the name of the person it belonged to evaded her. The exhaustion must have been hitting her worse than she thought. Caffeine needed to be surging through her system now.

"Jazz, is that you?" the person asked again.

Jazz turned around, smiling brightly. Her smile faltered when she realized Zack was the owner of the voice.

Was she really tired enough to forget that voice?

"Hey, Zack," Jazz squeaked, moving her sunglasses from her eyes to the top of her head.

"You look," Zack hesitated, "different."

Of course she did. Zack had never seen her in anything but shirts that showed her midriff, occasionally her cleavage, with jeans or shorts. Never a sundress. Jazz wasn't the type to dress up.

Or he thought she wasn't. Maybe there were more layers to Jazz than he was aware of.

"Was that an insult?" Jazz asked.

"No," Zack said quickly, "You always look great. Fuck, you could make a burlap sack look good."

A real smile graced Jazz's features. The compliment left butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, the good kind. Not the one's that came with nerves or fright.

"Thanks," Jazz said.

"Ma'am, can I help you?" the barista asked.

Jazz turned around, realizing the line had quickly dispersed while she was talking to Zack. She walked up the counter.

"Sorry about that," Jazz said.

"It's fine. What can I get started for you?" the girl behind the counter asked.

"Can I get a coffee with three shots of espresso?"

"Will that be all for you?"

"Yes."

The barista rattled off the price. Jazz handed her the credit card that connected to the account that held her personally-made money. Her father and mother both gave her a credit card connected to accounts that they filled with a certain amount of money per month. They were given to her in middle school and she had only used them twice. Both times were an emergency.

Jazz stepped to the side once her card had been swiped so Zack could give his order and to wait for her drink to be made. Her eyes focused on the way Zack's jaw moved while he talked, noticing the strength in radiated. She was convinced there wasn't a side of him that wasn't manly.

Besides the pink bass guitar.

He stepped to the side next to Jazz, allowing the woman who was in line behind him to order.

"So why are you dressed like this?" Zack asked.

"I had to see my parents today," Jazz replied.

"They must have seen you dressed like a wild child in high school."

Jazz shook her head, "That would have been unacceptable."

"One coffee with three shots of espresso and one Cinnamon Dolce Crème Frappuccino," the barista announced, placing both drinks on the countertop.

Jazz grabbed her drink, Zack grabbing the Frappuccino. Jazz eyed the feminine drink in his hands. Maybe he wasn't all man like she thought he was.

"Your heart is going to stop if you drink that much espresso," Zack commented.

"And you'll lose all your masculinity when you drink that coffee," Jazz joked.

"What else am I going to get at Starbucks?"

"A man drink," Jazz stated.

Zack laughed, causing Jazz to giggle. It was real. After the initial shock of Zack seeing her dressed the way her parents liked her to, she warmed up. He didn't seem to care that she wasn't wearing her normal clothing, which put her even more at ease around him.

Maybe he wasn't like them.

"You know, your real giggle is cuter that your fake giggle," Zack commented.

He noticed the change in her giggle just like he noticed the change in her smiles. Her eyes are what gave it away most of the time. Not to mention her real giggle wasn't half as high pitched as her fake giggle.

Jazz forced a smile on her face. The change in topic wasn't one she could talk about in the middle of Starbucks. She wasn't even ready to talk about her fake emotions yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jazz stated.

Zack shrugged, dropping the conversation. Anytime he brought it up, she tensed. When he kept the conversation light, she stopped faking it. The only problem was she continued to be happy. If she was upset, she faked happy. If she wasn't upset, she didn't have to fake happy. He wanted to see her other emotions; he knew she had some. She had to get scared or depressed or angry. That was the side he wanted to see. He wanted to know she was real.

"What are you up to, besides getting coffee?" Zack changed the subject.

"I have to go home and change before the dinner," Jazz said, "What about you?"

Neon had sent Jazz a text message telling her that the dinner was at five thirty that night. All the band members had to be present. It apparently was a mass text message because Neon sent her a second text telling her that she better not wear a shirt showing her cleavage. Leave it to Neon to act like her mother.

However, Jazz responded telling Neon she wasn't going to wear pants. She was pretty sure Neon didn't know whether or not to believe her.

"Just walking back home before dinner tonight," Zack responded.

"You walked here?"

"I live nearby. You didn't walk here? I was pretty sure you didn't have a car since you never drive anywhere."

"I have a car; I just don't like driving it. My parents are too far away for me to walk to their houses."

"Houses?"

"They're divorced."

She was still smiling, a real smile. Zack couldn't figure out why she would still be smiling. Wouldn't she be upset that her parents were divorced? Or was she emotional detached from people to the point where her parents' emotions weren't a big deal to her?

"Oh. I'm sorry," Zack said.

"It's not a big deal. It was bound to happen at some point."

"Well that's one way to look at it."

Maybe she just didn't care. But that wouldn't make sense. Everyone had some feelings toward their parents. Jazz would too.

"Yeah," Jazz said, "Well, if you're not doing anything till dinner, you could always come over. I don't have anything to do besides change."

She was accustomed to inviting her band mates over if she saw them around town and having them decline. It was habit that, apparently, still hadn't broken. Oddly enough, she picked it up from her parents.

"Sure. It beats watching television till five thirty."

And she hadn't planned for Zack to say "yes."

"Then let's get out of here. I'm ready to rip this dress off."

She wasn't going to take back the invitation. That would be rude. She would simply make the best of Zack coming over.

Jazz led the way out of the coffee shop and through the small parking lot to where her car was parked, unlocking her car with the button on the key. She walked around to the driver seat.

"This is your car?" Zack asked.

Jazz turned; Zack was standing near the trunk, mouth slacked. She hadn't realized he stopped walking.

"Yeah. Get in," Jazz replied.

"Wow," Zack whispered, walking to the passenger seat while staring at the car.

Wait until he saw her penthouse.