Bound To Fall

There is a clear, crisp blue sky hanging over the sprawling city. The sun hung brightly at the very center, hitting the grey cemented ground below with rippling waves of heat. I peer outside from my second level bird’s eye view, watching the people in their mid-spring neon clothes. Some which I actually recognize as clothes that my own boutique stocks. I wish I could be outside roaming about with an iced coffee and my very own lovely pair of neon-green cut off jeans.

I throw myself into a vivid fantasy. I see myself strolling down the sidewalk, occasionally feeling the sun’s rays burn against my skin as I walk down the street that’s spotted dark and light with shadows of buildings and trees. I’m almost to the café that’s just a half block away from the boutique when I feel a balled up pair of pantyhose whack the back of my head.

“I am not doing the tedious on my own, come back to reality, deal Alice, let Wonderland be. At least until we finish stocking the floor,” Talia, my business partner, co-owner of Flair our clothing boutique, and my very best friend on the face of this earth snaps at me with a belligerent smile.

“Fine, fine, alright,” I sigh and amble towards where she is and resume the drudgery of hanging up the new arrivals.

When I’m bored, and all else fails to captivate my attention, I can’t help but to backtrack to my absolute favorite topic of choice.

“Okay, so all I am saying here is that had Mourhino seen the light and played Benzema and Higuaín off each other in a balanced, equal partnership Real Madrid would be eight points clear of the others this time last season, Talia.”

She starts to giggle as we continue to sift longingly through the latest batch of Aqua clothes we’re scanning and hanging.

“Well, maybe you should send Mourhino an email or something, you know, to get these pointers to actually reach him, Rom.”

I feel my face brighten at the suggestion, “And then he’ll show up here to announce he absolutely needs me at his side as an assistant coach. Then we can actually afford to own these clothes rather than just supplying them to the WAGs of Madrid.”

Reflexively, our gazes both wander over towards the Wall of WAGs we’ve got set up just before the register. Everyone shops here. My favorite though, hands down, is Mamen Sanz. She is Raúl González’s very lovely other half. She still places orders online, and occasionally sneaks away from Gelsenkirchen to pay us a visit in person.

“Which reminds me, Nagore is coming in for a final fitting this week for the inky purple D&G number,” Talia tacks on fondly.

“The evening gown, right?” I question.

She nods, “The very same.”

If it wasn’t for my existence, Talia would have found a best friend in Nagore - of that I am absolutely certain.

“Personally I would rather hitch a footballer to buy me all the clothes, the jewels, and the cars,” Talia resumes our conversation as we both return our focus to stocking the floor with the newest shipment of clothes before we hit the midday melee mark.

For some reason, the shop is absolutely dead until twelve. Afterwards though, it turns to chaos and we’re barely managing to get everyone everything they want. Of course I prefer the chaos to the quiet we’re reveling in at the moment. I mean, come on, you can only revel for so long until you completely lose it.

At Talia’s words, I shoot her a narrowed glance and say nothing else.

She shrugs - unrepentant.

I backtrack with a longing sigh, “All I really want to see is Gonzalo Higuaín get the credit and playing time that he deserves, and pairing him up with Benzema at the front with Ronaldo and Di María flanking as wingers would be a phenomenal attack.”

“You think he deserves it, Romy. I am going with the ‘why fix something that isn’t actually broken’ approach in such matters.”

I snort, shoving a silk sleeve through the hanger a tad too carelessly, “They-who-must-not-be-named slacked off from their usual streak of perfection this season. I think that has more to do with your stance on that matter than Real Madrid’s actual lineup.”

“Anyway, you want to hold a strategy talk, that’s what my brother is there for. You want to talk about which one looks the best without a shirt on, come back to me then,” Talia speaks through a giggle.

I can’t help laughing in return.

“Still, I like Higuaín. He’s a player that’s holding onto a lot of unused talent and potential,” I state, “He does a lot for his country, and I want to see him do that much with his club too.”

“Sounds to me like you want to explore all of sweet Pipita’s unused talent and potential,” Talia returns with a wriggle to her brows.

“He’s one of the cuter ones, yes,” I concede, my cheeks flaring.

“Damn right he is, but still, I would take Granero.”

I snort, “Too bad no one’s giving you a Granero to take.”

She laughs, though putting effort into not sounding too amused, “Ha-bloody-ha, Romy. Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time with Tonio, he’s beginning to rub off on you - you sound just like him.”

“Sane?” I venture with wide eyes.

Her lips twitch as she bites down on her smile, “I’m going to the back and scan the new miu-mius into the system before you burst anymore of my bubbles.”

She disappears with a whish of the translucent lilac curtains separating the backroom from the immaculate front.

“The kid has talent; do you remember he scored two hat tricks back to back last October? He scored a set for club against Espanyol, the other for country against Chile!” I call raising my voice just to be sure Talia hears me.

I hear her laughing in response, “That kid just happens to be two years older than you, Rom.”

“Oh, shut up, that is beside the point. You know to me all these footballers are stuck as teens that don’t need to grow up,” I remark.

“Yeah, at least not until they retire,” Talia agrees.

“Turn on the sound system while you’re back there!”

Seconds later, my ears are met with the first verse of JLO’s latest song, ‘Dance Again.’ I shrug to myself and start to sing tonelessly under my breath, occasionally glancing at the register to be sure that there are no impatient customers waiting to get their purchases rung up. By now, I had finished with Aqua’s spring line and moved on to Alive & Olivia.

It wasn’t until the sixth glance-around when I spot a person in a plain dark grey short sleeve shirt with black horizontal stripes and black fitted jeans. A black baseball cap is on his head and sunglasses in his back pocket.

All in all, he is a certified hottie from the back. It’s not very often we get male, certified hotties in here. I check my reflection in the nearest mirror, thankful that I had bothered to get up twenty minutes earlier than usual to curl my hair into loose, cascading waves.

“Good morning,” I begin brightly, my voice barely going past the music and the clacking of my heels, “Sorry to keep you waiting, we’ve been going through our inventory this morning and-”

My cheery, perky tone falters as I glance up at him from the register. I feel my smile twist to a grimace.

The first customer of the day just so happens to be Gonzalo Higuaín in the flesh. And to my everlasting horror, he appears to be absurdly amused by something. He’s got the widest smirk wrapped around his expression so tightly there wouldn‘t be much anyone could say to wipe it off. He doesn’t even feign a glance at a phone. He’s not even attempting to pretend as if he hadn’t heard something.

Okay, I quickly begin to think in terms of damage control. I have no clue how long he had been here. Mostly likely not very long though right? Oh dear God I really hope not.

“So, you find what you needed alright?” My voice sounds strangled. I clear my throat, feigning a sore throat.

He nods, “I did, thanks.”

He hands over the necklace he had picked out. It’s one of the prettier ones from House of Harlow. It’s a delicate heart studded with tiny red crystal stones strung on a thin gold chain with a gold arrow on the side.

It’s actually the design that I own except mine is in silver.

“Just the necklace?” I ask, forcing along a demure smile, “We have a lovely pair of earrings to accent the delicate heart pendant design.”

“I’ll wait to see what kind of reaction I get from the necklace, first, and then I‘ll think about accenting it.”

Curiosity spurns me to ask if the necklace is for someone special, like a secret girlfriend, but I decide against it. I find, I really would rather not know.

I scan the tag, glancing up at him without moving my head, to find him watching me as he pulls a card out of his pocket. Quickly, I duck my head back down to remove the price tag, leaving the brand tag on though.

“Do you gift wrap?”

The smirk has not left his face. Not even for a second since I had come to ring up the necklace he had picked out - which happens to be an exact replica of one of my own favorite necklaces, and yes I have not gotten past that quite yet. There’s a twinkle in his light brown eyes accenting the smirk.

I can’t seem to discern content from cocky.

“Of course,” I return a second too late, “What color would you like the paper?”

“Blue or white, if available.”

Of course.

“Hmm, how about blue with a white butterfly on top,” I suggest.

“Sounds good to me, you’re the expert.”

He’s quiet as he watches me wrap the present. I try not to look at him, but I can’t help peeking up anyway. First he’s glancing about the store, then with the next peek I see his eyes resting excessively long on the Wall of Wags. He sweeps over the collage of what I am sure are familiar faces. Finally with the final peek I see him watching me. Reflexively, my eyes instantly duck down.

Usually when a man steps into this boutique to buy a present, I press hard for details. In any case, it rarely ever happens, maybe that’s partly to blame for spurring my curiosity so much. With Gonzalo, I just can’t bring myself to ask. I found I really don’t want to know who the pretty girl with all the right connections that Gonzalo is buying this for. I don’t want to know.

“All done,” I grin brightly, relinquishing the wrapped present to him.

“Thanks,” He beams his eyes on the wrapped present, then his eyes dart up to meet mine, his grin widens, “For everything.”

My head tilts, my lips purse together, as I mull over his words in my head.

“You know what they say about eavesdroppers, don’t you?” I eventually manage to drawl out, attempting to not sound mortified.

His smile spreads, he nods towards me, “Tell me.”

“Listen long enough; you’re bound to hear something you don’t like.”

He gives a deep chuckle, “That obvious, huh?”

“All that you’re missing is a sign in flashing neon lights.”

I don’t know how it is I’m holding this conversation with one of my favorite footballers so evenly. I feel my eye contact is steady with his own. My movements had been steady and firm as I had wrapped up the gift to the no-name pretty girl in his life. Inside though, it is a whole other story completely. I’m still trying to figure just how much he had heard.

“It’s nice to be reminded of last October,” He reminisces with a crooked grin.

“Oh God,” I groan, my façade of unabashed clam obliterated.

He laughs, “Don’t get in a huff, I’m saying thank you for your kind words.”

“I’d really rather that you didn’t,” I respond, miffed.

He’s still smiling, “I’ll be in a good humor all day long because of this.”

I nod, my eyes narrowed, “Huh, wish I can say the same.”

“Still, thank you for all that you said before,” He reaffirms, emphasizing the words of gratitude and laughing as he sees me flinch.

I nod. He nods in return. He gives a wave which I return with my own. It’s only slightly awkward now. I mean if I put Gonzalo Higuaín in a good mood, things have pretty much come full circle, no?

“Gonzalo, listen, I just want you to know that I meant it - all of it. There are hundreds and thousands, if not millions of fans out there that think exactly like me. All of us out there are rooting for you and for Real Madrid.”

Then I shrug and give him my own smile. Not demure, not polite, most definitely not a professional smile. It was friendly.

“There, now you’ve heard absolutely everything that I have to say about you.”
My words come out in a jumbled mumble.

“I’ll see you.”

I smile and when his back is to me and he disappears into the bright sunshine, I can’t help whispering, “No, you probably won’t.”

I hear a shrill squeak of excited joy ripping apart the calmness from the Adele song that was playing.

“Romy, oh my God, that was, Romy that was totally, oh my GOD!”

I shake off the melancholy and think about the moment that I lived in rather than lose myself to the trappings of Wonderland.

“Do you think-”

“He heard it all!”

“What did he say? What was he doing here? Was he by himself?”

I smile, giggling, albeit breathlessly, “He said thank you. He was here, alone, buying his girlfriend a necklace.”

Talia’s face falls, as she mouths, “His girlfriend? You asked him?”

“No, I couldn’t bring myself to, but it was kind of obvious.”

Talia narrows her eyes, “Don’t be idiotic. You really can’t know that for sure, Romy.”

“He didn’t even ask me my name.”

I can see from her expression that she doesn’t really know what to say to that. I don’t even want her to try to spin it in a lighter perspective.

She smiles and pokes my shoulder, “But still, nice work, bet your stomach was full of butterflies.”

I chuckle, “Only a few today.”

The entire work day spun completely around my moment with Gonzalo Higuaín. Talia would demand details out of me, and then she would go ahead and demand details of the details, pushing me to remember exactly how the smirk spread all over his face, and the twinkle that was in his eyes. I was only far too happy to comply with her orders to rehash my conversation.

This was really my very first run-in with a footballer. I mean, sure we see the WAGs all the time, and yeah they talk about their significant others on a regular basis, but it’s not like the girls ever bring them to the store in person.

“So he is gorgeous, huh?”

I gaze longingly at the television. Talia and I closed up shop, and found ourselves at a nearby Italian restaurant waiting on her brother before we order dinner. Real Madrid is about to kick off against Sevilla, and Gonzalo is on the bench. The camera pans over to the benched players, and he’s there. The very same boy I saw just a few hours earlier.

“Yeah, he is, Tal. Would it be so horrible if I were to admit to you that right now I want nothing more than to just have him come back again?”