‹ Prequel: Lost In Pacific Time
Sequel: When Hearts Are on the Line ›
Status: I'll Usually Post a New Chapter At Least Once a Week.
"You Can't Stay a Saint in This City"
I Was Seventeen And Stupid, She Was Pink And Perfect
Jeff and I are at the Orange County Flea Market hands down the best place to find something unique that no one else has. The downside was that I wasn’t much of a haggler so most of the time I paid full price.
“Sean Avery was put on waivers. There are rumours Toronto might pick him up” Jeff says as I sip my coffee.
“Of course there were. Could you imagine how awkward that would be if he actually went to Toronto?” I ask as people gawk at me. It’s probably the camera, I tell myself.
“Why would it be awkward?” Jeff asks as we pass a stall selling beautiful vintage jewelry.
“Dion Phanuef is the captain…” Ladies and gentlemen that is why I make the big bucks.
Jeff laughs “I’m sure that’ll secure them some sort of contract with Bravo.”
“I know, maybe you’ll get transferred there. I can see the drinks being thrown and tables being flipped right now.” I tell Jeff with a smile as I check the price tag for a light fixture made of antlers.
______
“What was your first car?” Mike asks.
“My Bentley.” I reply remembering driving out the car dealership with the hugest grin on my face and Greg in the passenger seat. My first indication that maybe things were going to be alright for me from then on.
“Your parents bought you a Bentley for your first car?” At the car dealership this Russian billionaire who made his fortune in manure offered to buy it for me but I didn’t want him to use it against me later on when he needed something. In tenth grade there was this presentation about prostitution and apparently one of the main reasons women go into the sex-trade was because they owned outstanding debts to the pimps.
“No I bought it myself when I was twenty. Before that I just took the bus everywhere.” The LA transit system is always getting over looked honestly it wasn’t that bad. “Yours?”
“When I moved out to play major junior hockey in Kitchener my parents bought me a Ford Escape. Before that I used to go joy riding in my mom’s car.”
“That’s interesting.” I tell him as Tyler films me from across the room. “First job?”
“I’ve never had regular full-time employment but when I was 9 or 10 I ran a lemonade stand during the summer.”
“That’s too cute.” I reply imagining a little kid with floppy brown hair and pinchable cheeks selling lemonade by the side of the road.
“I take that back. I was a paperboy when I was fourteen for about six weeks.”
“Six weeks?”
“It started getting cold and I started … not delivering the papers.”
“Mine was manning the paint department at Home Depot.”
“Are you serious?” Mike asks as I print out a floor plan to a bedroom we’re going to be doing next week.
“Yeah I am. The manager was really impressed with my ability to pick out the right hues of colors so they gave me a promotion from just being a sales associate to being resident colorologist and paint adviser” It was a pretty sweet job. No one really needed to buy paint on Saturdays between 10 in the morning to 7 in the evening so I was basically paid to sit behind the counter and browse through interior design magazines. Sundays were a different story.
Mike laughs “Does anyone ever mistake you for Tila Tequila?”
What kind of question is that?
“Yeah,” I admit “I don’t know why.” Tila Tequila has like hundreds of tattoos and unlike me she actually is a professional body model.
“You two have the same sort of stature.”
“Do you have any tattoos?” I ask Mike. I thought I might have seen glimpses of one but I’m not entirely sure.
“I have two I have this one that’s a Canadian flag draped over a hockey stick on my shoulder and I have ‘Carpe Diem’ written on my arm”
Just when I thought he couldn’t become anymore like stereotypical hedonist “That’s interesting.” I say unsure of what else to say
“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo Ambrosia?”
“If I did” and I won’t “I’d get an Andy Warhol quote on like up my upper thigh”
“Upper thigh? No one’s going to be able to see it considering how little you spread your legs.” Yeah well I wonder where Ashley is now, Mr. Carpe Diem.
I roll my eyes “That’s the point. I was it to be like a secret and only people who’ve been there know about it. I like secrets”
“So you want to start a secret society where only people who’ve seen the tattoo can join.”
“Yup”
“How many people would be in this club?”
“Are you asking for my number?”
“I already have your number’s how we got here. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” He says it like a challenge.
“Well I chose not to.” I say knowing my boundaries. “So why do you wear number ten? Was that the age you lost your virginity/ had your first drink/ stopped selling lemonade by the road?” I like to think hockey players have a special relationship with their numbers.
“Lost my virginity?! At 10? I don’t know what happens in the big city of Vancouver but in Kenora we don’t do that.”
I giggle and Tyler rolls his eyes, jealous that he’s not in on the joke. “You know I didn’t always wear number 10 right?”
“No,” There he goes again, just assuming everyone knows everything.
“I used to wear 18 in Philly.” Mike says
18 and 17 are pretty close I wonder why Milan wears number 17. Was that the number of women he’s slept with? No wait he wore 27 because that was the number of girls he has slept with or so he told me when I asked during a particularly boring chemistry class. If he wasn’t joking I guess it must’ve progressed from there up to 62. My god that’s a huge number. I mean, if my assumptions are true.
“Is that your height in decimeters?” I ask him.
“That’s 180 centimeters right?”
“Yup” I assume Mike is somewhere close to six feet.
“How much is that in imperial?” I see he has been Americanized already.
“5’11” I say doing the calculation surprisingly fast. That was basically all we did in Chemistry 11, conversions.
“Actually yeah it is.” See, I am not crazy. I just see things that other people don’t. “But that’s not why I wore number 18”
“Yeah I guess that would’ve been a pretty stupid reason to wear that number.” I admit.
“Honestly Ambrosia, sometimes a number is just a number.”
I frown but don’t give up on number 17. So what was our senior year of high school…
I make a list of things that happened between June 7, 2005-2006 on my note pad.
“The plane’s about the land” Mike says as I hear some noise in the background
“Have fun in Sweden” I say with the best intentions.
“I will,” and I can already see the smirk on his face.
I groan “Not too much fun” We don’t need him bringing back a Scandinavian string of herpes.
“Sean Avery was put on waivers. There are rumours Toronto might pick him up” Jeff says as I sip my coffee.
“Of course there were. Could you imagine how awkward that would be if he actually went to Toronto?” I ask as people gawk at me. It’s probably the camera, I tell myself.
“Why would it be awkward?” Jeff asks as we pass a stall selling beautiful vintage jewelry.
“Dion Phanuef is the captain…” Ladies and gentlemen that is why I make the big bucks.
Jeff laughs “I’m sure that’ll secure them some sort of contract with Bravo.”
“I know, maybe you’ll get transferred there. I can see the drinks being thrown and tables being flipped right now.” I tell Jeff with a smile as I check the price tag for a light fixture made of antlers.
______
“What was your first car?” Mike asks.
“My Bentley.” I reply remembering driving out the car dealership with the hugest grin on my face and Greg in the passenger seat. My first indication that maybe things were going to be alright for me from then on.
“Your parents bought you a Bentley for your first car?” At the car dealership this Russian billionaire who made his fortune in manure offered to buy it for me but I didn’t want him to use it against me later on when he needed something. In tenth grade there was this presentation about prostitution and apparently one of the main reasons women go into the sex-trade was because they owned outstanding debts to the pimps.
“No I bought it myself when I was twenty. Before that I just took the bus everywhere.” The LA transit system is always getting over looked honestly it wasn’t that bad. “Yours?”
“When I moved out to play major junior hockey in Kitchener my parents bought me a Ford Escape. Before that I used to go joy riding in my mom’s car.”
“That’s interesting.” I tell him as Tyler films me from across the room. “First job?”
“I’ve never had regular full-time employment but when I was 9 or 10 I ran a lemonade stand during the summer.”
“That’s too cute.” I reply imagining a little kid with floppy brown hair and pinchable cheeks selling lemonade by the side of the road.
“I take that back. I was a paperboy when I was fourteen for about six weeks.”
“Six weeks?”
“It started getting cold and I started … not delivering the papers.”
“Mine was manning the paint department at Home Depot.”
“Are you serious?” Mike asks as I print out a floor plan to a bedroom we’re going to be doing next week.
“Yeah I am. The manager was really impressed with my ability to pick out the right hues of colors so they gave me a promotion from just being a sales associate to being resident colorologist and paint adviser” It was a pretty sweet job. No one really needed to buy paint on Saturdays between 10 in the morning to 7 in the evening so I was basically paid to sit behind the counter and browse through interior design magazines. Sundays were a different story.
Mike laughs “Does anyone ever mistake you for Tila Tequila?”
What kind of question is that?
“Yeah,” I admit “I don’t know why.” Tila Tequila has like hundreds of tattoos and unlike me she actually is a professional body model.
“You two have the same sort of stature.”
“Do you have any tattoos?” I ask Mike. I thought I might have seen glimpses of one but I’m not entirely sure.
“I have two I have this one that’s a Canadian flag draped over a hockey stick on my shoulder and I have ‘Carpe Diem’ written on my arm”
Just when I thought he couldn’t become anymore like stereotypical hedonist “That’s interesting.” I say unsure of what else to say
“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo Ambrosia?”
“If I did” and I won’t “I’d get an Andy Warhol quote on like up my upper thigh”
“Upper thigh? No one’s going to be able to see it considering how little you spread your legs.” Yeah well I wonder where Ashley is now, Mr. Carpe Diem.
I roll my eyes “That’s the point. I was it to be like a secret and only people who’ve been there know about it. I like secrets”
“So you want to start a secret society where only people who’ve seen the tattoo can join.”
“Yup”
“How many people would be in this club?”
“Are you asking for my number?”
“I already have your number’s how we got here. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” He says it like a challenge.
“Well I chose not to.” I say knowing my boundaries. “So why do you wear number ten? Was that the age you lost your virginity/ had your first drink/ stopped selling lemonade by the road?” I like to think hockey players have a special relationship with their numbers.
“Lost my virginity?! At 10? I don’t know what happens in the big city of Vancouver but in Kenora we don’t do that.”
I giggle and Tyler rolls his eyes, jealous that he’s not in on the joke. “You know I didn’t always wear number 10 right?”
“No,” There he goes again, just assuming everyone knows everything.
“I used to wear 18 in Philly.” Mike says
18 and 17 are pretty close I wonder why Milan wears number 17. Was that the number of women he’s slept with? No wait he wore 27 because that was the number of girls he has slept with or so he told me when I asked during a particularly boring chemistry class. If he wasn’t joking I guess it must’ve progressed from there up to 62. My god that’s a huge number. I mean, if my assumptions are true.
“Is that your height in decimeters?” I ask him.
“That’s 180 centimeters right?”
“Yup” I assume Mike is somewhere close to six feet.
“How much is that in imperial?” I see he has been Americanized already.
“5’11” I say doing the calculation surprisingly fast. That was basically all we did in Chemistry 11, conversions.
“Actually yeah it is.” See, I am not crazy. I just see things that other people don’t. “But that’s not why I wore number 18”
“Yeah I guess that would’ve been a pretty stupid reason to wear that number.” I admit.
“Honestly Ambrosia, sometimes a number is just a number.”
I frown but don’t give up on number 17. So what was our senior year of high school…
I make a list of things that happened between June 7, 2005-2006 on my note pad.
“The plane’s about the land” Mike says as I hear some noise in the background
“Have fun in Sweden” I say with the best intentions.
“I will,” and I can already see the smirk on his face.
I groan “Not too much fun” We don’t need him bringing back a Scandinavian string of herpes.