A Gift

The fireplace was going.

It had been chilly since the sun rose that morning. Warmth spread through the house now, though. She sat in front of the fireplace, thinking, cup gripped gently in two hands. The chair was a dark wood, the cushion blue. A matching one sat adjacent. On it was a small purse, items spilling out.

The lipstick tube shone in the light of the fire, golden like the flames. She smiled as she remembered watching her smear it on.

“This will never do...” Lana had murmured, rubbing it off and starting again.

She reached up and ghosted the makeup on her own face. It was heavy, but she didn't mind. It matched her dress.

She studied the dress now. Long and purple, her favorite color. Small heels, though she wasn't a big fan. She longed for her Uggs. Or maybe some colorful ankle socks.

But “neither are appropriate for the red carpet” Lana pointed out, and both had smiled.

She knew that. But still.

Part of her wished to be elsewhere. Like at home perhaps, with no pants on and her Mac on her lap, scrolling down her Tumblr dashboard while music played from her TV.

“Scrolling down what?” Lana had asked.

“Nothing!” she replied quickly, spread out on the bed, and the two cracked a smile.

“Which one?”

Lana held up two dresses then. One red, one black. She, of course, told her to wear the black. Lana looked good in anything black, especially if it was leather. This dress wasn't, but it was something she constantly liked to point out. It made Lana laugh, though she never seemed to disagree.

They had gone and gotten their hair and nails and toes done. She enjoyed it, it was relaxing. She hated all the fuss of it though.

“But I have no one else,” Lana had pouted. It was that damn pout that got her. And the promise of free food. The goodybag full of items she could never afford helped a bit, too.

So she said she'd go. And she knew they'd pose on the red carpet together, and she'd stand in the back while Lana answered questions for the reporters, and laugh along with everything that was funny (or not).

And then when they were back in the car the real fun would begin. They'd make fun of nothing and everything. The guest list, the dresses, the hair, the bad tans that stuck out like a sore thumb in the winter.

And Lana would sip some expensive alcohol which she would politely decline.

And they'd catch up. Lana would talk about her latest projects, and what it was like to film wherever.

And then she would tell Lana about all the crazy people she'd have to talk to at work, and Lana would be nearly crying on the floor of the car by the end of the story.

“That's ridiculous!” Lana would howl between tears, throwing her free hand about as the limo took a sharp turn, nearly knocking her over, her drink sloshing about.

And she knew. And Lana would laugh even harder as she continued, talking about the ridiculous people she worked with.

“Ate only the chicken off the pizza? What the hell, who does that?!”

“I know, right?!”

And then they'd laugh some more.

And when the limo pulled up in front of the town house, they'd get out and take turns showering after dragging off their shoes. And through the wall she would hear Lana on the phone with her publicist, and then she'd dump her goodybag on the bed while the conversation continued on in the other room, rifling through the crap and figuring what she could re-gift. Hey, don't blame her.

“My sister would like this...” she'd mutter as she picked something up, examining it. (And yeah, let's all hope I would.)

And then they'd sit in the kitchen while Lana made some fancy desert and promised to cook chicken tomorrow night (“I know it's your favorite!”) and they'd laugh some more until there was nothing left to say.

And then a peaceful quiet would settle over inside until some sirens went on blaring outside. One, two, three cop cars would go racing down the street, their lights playing on the windows.

And then as Lana would pour herself one more drink, they'd both say goodnight and head upstairs.

She'd climb into her bed and read the annoying text messages her sisters sent, and she'd check Facebook and tell herself how much she really hated half these people.

But it was too early to sleep so she'd go on Tumblr. And maybe, just maybe she'd check the Lana Parrilla tag, just because. And maybe she'd find a picture or two of herself to like, maybe reblog, because score. Who didn't want that? She wasn't famous, no one would ever know.

And then she'd be startled and drop her phone as Lana crept in, robe wrapped tightly around herself and complain she couldn't sleep, that she didn't want to.

So she'd smile and Lana would laugh, her tall glass in her hand, and she'd climb into the bed alongside her and they'd settle for some B-List movie to watch and laugh at how ridiculous it all was.

And then that would bring up more memories they forgot to share earlier and they'd go on and on and on.

Until, finally, Lana fell asleep because she was exhausted. And maybe with her head titled toward her, she did snore a bit loud. And yeah, it kinda pissed her off.

But eventually Lana would stop. Or she'd creep off into some other room and sleep.

“I can't believe you left me last night!” Lana would complain, and then she'd pout.

“You snore.”

“Do not!”

“You definitely do.”

“Well, sometimes you talk in your sleep!”

“No I do not!”

“Do so!”

“Prove it then!” she'd say with a smile. And Lana would laugh and pout because she couldn't.

And then the day would officially start after they'd laugh and have breakfast. And maybe they'd go shopping, or to the movies. And Lana would take her to exclusive places in New York no one else she knew could get into.

And it would stay like that for a few days, until Lana had to leave again. Off to some place to film some thing. But she'd see her home safe before she left. It was what friends like her did.

And she'd be sad to leave Lana. And Lana would be sad, but knew it was time to get serious. And they'd text back and forth when they could, and promise to meet up again. And then the cycle would start all over again when Lana would pout because she needed her, really needed her, and no one else would come.

But that's what friends like her did, Lana would always point out with a smile. That perfect smile behind those perfect red lips. And she would agree, because she's a good friend and she could flaunt that.

Besides, she wanted to see certain parts of the world, and Lana promised to take her.

But it was always the beginning like this, though. That was the thing she hated the most. As she'd sit here, there, anywhere, with Lana fluttering about.

She wasn't this type of person, not really. She didn't like the hair and makeup, really, and the dress she couldn't afford, and the shoes that made her want to tip over when the pointy heels hit a crack. And the flash of the cameras that made her blind, and sort of wish she'd stayed home, while Lana flashed her million dollar perfect smile.

But then her sister would send her pictures and articles of her and Lana together, and she'd be the first to admit she looked good. And her jealous sister would agree. And she'd give her sister the goodybag because she knew of the whining she'd hear later on if she didn't.

So it wasn't all too bad.

And the limo outside would hum as Lana ran around the house screaming for her purse.

“It's in here!” she'd call to her.

And Lana would bang her head on the door frame a few times, and call five minutes until they leave, because she needed one more drink. Maybe two.

And the fire would crackle. And she'd sip from her tea cup, the tray with matching cups and pot sitting on the table not too far from the chairs.

And then Lana would appear and scoop up her purse, shoving everything inside and asking if she was ready to go.

And she'd say yes and watch Lana head for the door.

And she'd stand up, careful not to trip on her dress, and make for the tray, and carefully set the cup down. And then she'd grab her wristlet and head for the door.

And the fire would still go, but it would be okay because Lana's neighbor would swear to come watch the house like she normally does, and would be over soon to put the fire out.

And the light from the flames would reach back, over the chairs, throughout the room Lana so much loved to sit in.

And it might hit the tray and it's pot and matching cups.

One might have a stain from Lana's lips, the one she had been drinking from earlier.

And one might still have a bit of tea left inside.

That was the one she had been careful with earlier, before heading out behind Lana. Not only because she wanted to, but because she had to.

The set had been a gift from an old friend.

And one cup was chipped already.