I Guess I'll Never Get To Call You Mine
DAVID
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I am wearing a black shirt and tie and a pair of skinny jeans. I tried to smile confidently but the David in front of me just looked…well, pretty banged-up and tired. The cut on my forehead hadn’t completely healed yet. My right cheek is still a little swollen. There were deep circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. Geez, I look like some homeless dude. I shook my head. Why did I ever agree to this? I should be out on the streets on my bike or at one of Montréal’s gazillion festivals meeting people while sipping cheap beer. Pete and Tony would probably be wondering why I wasn’t at the bar today.
I checked my watch. It’s five thirty. Ashley had told me to meet up at six. I sighed, grabbed my favorite sweatshirt and mechanically began putting stuff in my pockets—keys, my wallet, a pack of condoms. I hesitated on the last object. It’s not like I needed it but you can never be too safe. If anything happens tonight I am so not ready to be a daddy yet.
I had just left my apartment when a voice said, “You’re not Jeff Stinco!” I turned around to see several kids hanging by and looking disgruntled. The girl at the front looked familiar…it was that kid Aline I met in the park. “I Googled Simple Plan when I got home,” she said. “Guess what I found out? JEFF DOESN’T HAVE HAIR!”
My Gawd she stalked me all the way here to tell me that? “Well I told you I wore a wig!” I yelled back. “Take it off then,” the kid taunted. Another reason why I didn’t want kids, or not yet anyway. Do they have to challenge your authority? Now what is the kid’s name again? It’s Danielle, Denise or something. I know it starts with a D though. “Listen, D-girl, this is a very expensive wig custom-made by, uh, Dior. I won’t let your grubby little hands touch it.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You rock stars are all the same,” she said. “Fans are nothing to you. We’re the ones who put you on top of the charts and you lie to us. FYI, my name is Deanne, pea-brain.” My head throbbed. I so don’t want to deal with this right now. “How’d you find me?” I asked. One of her friends shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. We saw you going to a bar and we said we wanted an autograph from you so we asked the barman where you live.” I made two mental notes in my head. Number one: is to teach that thickheaded barman not to give away a client’s personal address. Number two: get out of here like, RIGHT NOW.
“You’re right, I’m not Jeff Stinco,” I said as-a-matter-of-factly. “I’m really Pierre Bouvier.” Before those kids can register anything that I’ve said I made a run for it, pushing past them and sprinting into the streets. “HEY!” one of them yelled. “COME BACK! YOU’RE NOT PIERRE! HE’S HOTTER THAN YOU ARE!” I rolled my eyes and kept running. I know it’s stupid to run away from a bunch of teenagers, but in a show once a twelve-year-old jumped on stage and nearly strangled me in this death hug. She stalked us back to our hotel and actually mailed herself to our rooms by hiding in a cardboard box with oxygen. When Pierre opened the door only wearing a towel she screamed and passed out. You can never be too careful when it comes to crazy fans. They’ll do anything to sleep with you or destroy you.
Somehow, I’d managed to run into someone headfirst while sprinting. Like, literally. I knocked her into a bush and am now lying in a crumped heap on the ground. I rubbed my head and felt an egg-shaped bump growing. “Argh, sorry,” I said, quickly getting up. “A bunch of kids are after me and—” I blinked and had to laugh. Aline, in a baseball cap and holding a pair of sunglasses, grinned sheepishly up at me. “You too?” she said, as I helped her up. “Then we’d better hurry. A bunch of fans were at my hotel’s lobby clamoring for Randy. Luckily, he decided to go to Miami with the others. I had to put on this, um, disguise to sneak out. I don’t get much attention as Randy, but those girls look scary.” Before I can say anything she put her sunglasses back on, shoved the baseball cap on my head, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me back into the streets like we’re about to die.
“In here!” She shoved me into an alleyway and we both collapsed on the ground, panting for breath. I was covered in sweat and my clothes were quite muddy. Aline’s hair is windblown and a little tangled, her cheeks red from running. She is now trying hard not to laugh. “Sorry, you look funny,” she gasped. “Like you’ve been dragged through a landfill.” “Like you look any better!” I shot out. “Ugh, I’m tired. I think my muscles actually trembled.” Aline grinned. “It’s five fifty five, we’re still not late. I just hope the restaurant people would let us in looking like this.”
We barely got past that snobby-looking butler who apparently didn’t care that Aline and I are in bands and that we’ve got reservations. First, he told Aline to clean up and fix her hair, of which she rolled her eyes but went to the ladies’ to oblige. Then he said I needed to wear something formal in order before I am allowed to dine in here. I looked down at my clothes. “Um, hello? Do you have cataracts in your eyes or something? I’m wearing a shirt and tie for goodness’ sake!” I snapped. “Yes, but in Le Local, are male guests are required to wear a coat,” he said in his clipped accent. “What the hell would I want to wear a coat for? It’s in the middle of the summer!” I said exasperatedly.
“Excusez-moi.” Some old guy in a fancy suit pushed past me to confirm his reservation. I saw the butler looking pointedly at the man’s suit, and then I realized that he meant I need to wear a friggin’ blazer. “Gah, it would have been more helpful if you people tell me that first,” I grumbled. “Well, guess what? I don’t have one. What’re you going to do? Make me go home and fetch one? Geez I don’t think I’ve ever worn a blazer since my sister’s violin recital in eighth grade.” I know I sounded rude but his smooth demeanor starting to grate on my nerves. I blame my ADHD. “We’ll be happy to lend you one, Monsieur. We kept plenty in stock for guests who happen to…forget.” He made a slight emphasis on that last word, like I don’t even qualify to be classified as a guest. I chose to ignore that.
“Come with me this way please, Monsieur. Ah, I see Madame has come to join us.” The butler strode forward to meet Aline. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans when I met her, but I think she must’ve stuffed another outfit in her bag, because she is now wearing a white silk sleeveless dress that shimmered softly in the dim lights. She’d managed to untangle her hair and now wore it in a long braid down her back. She looked good. Like, really good. Aline caught me staring and stuck her tongue out. “What? Never saw a girl in a dress before?” she teased. “You didn’t bring blazer didn’t you? Good thing I Googled this place last night or I would’ve worn my beggar rags. Oh, and take off the baseball cap will you? You look ridiculous.”
After I’d reluctantly donned this oversized sports coat that’s three sizes too big (and smelled like moth balls), Mr. Snooty Butler led us to a private balcony where he’d set up a table with silver sittings and expensive-looking chinaware. The whole place is lit up with candles in hurricane lamps and tropical flowers scented the whole place with an intoxicating smell. Rose petals were not so discreetly scattered on the ground around the table…set for two.
“Okay, what’s the joke?” I said impatiently. “I thought this was supposed to be a dinner for four?” The butler shook his head. “As I am made to understand, this is to be a private dinner for two,” he said. “You can’t be serious!” Aline looked aghast, as if the thought of dining with me is horrifying. Despite me not being exactly happy with this arrangement either, I was a little hurt. “No offense,” Aline said quickly before turning back to the butler. “But our friend told us that this is supposed to be an evening out for four.” “Then perhaps your friend is mistaken,” the butler said smoothly. “Relax, Madame, you have a perfect view of the sunset.”
Minutes later Aline and I are awkwardly seated at the table, being served bread and cheese while soft violin music played in the background. A waiter came forward to pour wine, and Aline was quick to refuse and asked for a Coke and ice instead. She shrugged when I raised an eyebrow. “It’s disgusting, really,” she said simply. “Well, it’s free, so I’m not complaining,” I said, twirling my fingers around the silver candlestick in front of us. “I feel so awkward.” “I know, right? I mean, look at this place!” Aline swept her hand to ‘perfect view of the sunset’ and then to the trio of musicians who stood a little way to the side playing classical tunes.
“It’s so…” She struggled to come up with a word. I sipped a bit of wine. “Perfect?” I suggested. Aline nodded readily. “It’s so perfect I want to hurl,” she laughed. I grinned. She’s right. I mean, the place is beautiful, the view is magnificent, and I don’t doubt the food would be good, but it’s all just so…tasteful it’s more than I can stand.
“All we need to do is order a plate of spaghetti for two like they did in Lady and the Tramp and it’s the perfect setting.” Aline’s smile dimmed. “What did you say?” she said. Okay, not the reaction I was expecting. “What? I watch Disney in my spare time, OK? Guilty pleasure,” I said. “Sorry,” Aline said. “I was a little…distracted. Someone made the same joke to me once by the way.” “It’s a classic,” I shrugged. “Speaking of food, I don’t get half the stuff they described in the menu.” Aline squinted at the laminated sheet in front of her. “Looks like they’ve got spaghetti,” she announced. “Or at least, Grey Owl goat cheese and spaghetti sauce tartlet, confit tomato vinaigrette caramelized onion purée, watercress and smoked almonds.” “What the heck is that?” I said. “Speak English.” She grinned. “I am,” she said. “And that’s only an entrée. It costs thirteen dollars.” I groaned. “Ashley and Chuck better show up really soon, or at least before we pay the bill. Why can’t we just go to McDonald’s?” “It says here they offer customized dishes. You might as well call that bratty butler and ask for the equivalent of a Big Mac.” “Good idea. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” “You’re joking. This is a fancy restaurant, you can’t ask for a hamburger.” “Watch me.”
I snapped my fingers and a waiter glided forward to take my order. “Yo, you do know McDonald’s don’t you?” I asked. After a slight hesitation the waiter nodded. “Oui, Monsieur.” “Okay good. Do you know what a Big Mac is?” I asked. The dude stopped for a moment to think. I sighed. I don’t have time for this. “Whatever just Google it, and then bring me one. I want fries on the side too I’m sure you have that on the menu…” I jabbed my thumb to an item triumphantly. “There it is! Although you folks called it homemade potato wedges, huh? And it’s sold for ten bucks? Oh wow they should make overpricing a crime. Right, and one more thing…” I looked for the dessert page and frowned. “You do have banana splits here don’t you?” I asked. “We have banana bread,” the waiter helpfully. “Served with peanut butter mousse, cookie dough ice cream and chocolate pudding.” “Bingo! I’ll take that,” I grinned. “Please bring the banana bread first, OK?”
I handed him back the menu and the waiter turned to Aline, who looked at the menu doubtfully. “Hurry up! Some of us are dying of starvation here!” I complained. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Aline quickly said. “And gosh, Dave, you eat dessert first?” “What’s wrong with that?” “You’ll be full before your Big Mac arrives.” “Oh that’s not what I’m worried about. If I eat the Big Mac first then I won’t be hungry for that banana bread thing.” She looked like she was about to protest, but settled with, “Good point.” “I’m glad you agree.” “You’re certainly smarter than what the others give you credit for.” “Very funny,” I laughed. Wow, I’m actually having fun with Aline Young. I always thought that she’s more of a shy, serious person who kept mostly to herself. But then I’ve never been completely alone with her before that motorbike incident. I realized that once she opened up a bit she’s really pretty fun to hang out with.
“Food’s here,” Aline announced. The last rays of the setting sun struck the material of her dress, making it shimmer like oil in water. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face as the waiter placed our dishes in front of us. I gulped. “Aw man this looked so good! I bet I can finish this in five seconds!” I grabbed my spoon but Aline slapped my hand lightly away. “Hold it! How about a contest?” she challenged. “The one who finishes last wins.” “What? That’s impossible,” I complained. “These look so good.” Besides, I don’t do silly eating contests. It’s a bit dumb really, but there’s this mischievous childlike quality about Aline not soon in a lot of people. A certain kind of innocence not present in the women I usually hung out with. The packet of condoms still in my pocket rubbed uncomfortably against my thigh.
“Um, do I get a prize if I win?” I asked. She gave me a wicked grin. “A second helping…that you have to pay for by yourself. You do know this dish probably costs around fifty bucks.” I smiled back. “Deal.”
I checked my watch. It’s five thirty. Ashley had told me to meet up at six. I sighed, grabbed my favorite sweatshirt and mechanically began putting stuff in my pockets—keys, my wallet, a pack of condoms. I hesitated on the last object. It’s not like I needed it but you can never be too safe. If anything happens tonight I am so not ready to be a daddy yet.
I had just left my apartment when a voice said, “You’re not Jeff Stinco!” I turned around to see several kids hanging by and looking disgruntled. The girl at the front looked familiar…it was that kid Aline I met in the park. “I Googled Simple Plan when I got home,” she said. “Guess what I found out? JEFF DOESN’T HAVE HAIR!”
My Gawd she stalked me all the way here to tell me that? “Well I told you I wore a wig!” I yelled back. “Take it off then,” the kid taunted. Another reason why I didn’t want kids, or not yet anyway. Do they have to challenge your authority? Now what is the kid’s name again? It’s Danielle, Denise or something. I know it starts with a D though. “Listen, D-girl, this is a very expensive wig custom-made by, uh, Dior. I won’t let your grubby little hands touch it.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You rock stars are all the same,” she said. “Fans are nothing to you. We’re the ones who put you on top of the charts and you lie to us. FYI, my name is Deanne, pea-brain.” My head throbbed. I so don’t want to deal with this right now. “How’d you find me?” I asked. One of her friends shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. We saw you going to a bar and we said we wanted an autograph from you so we asked the barman where you live.” I made two mental notes in my head. Number one: is to teach that thickheaded barman not to give away a client’s personal address. Number two: get out of here like, RIGHT NOW.
“You’re right, I’m not Jeff Stinco,” I said as-a-matter-of-factly. “I’m really Pierre Bouvier.” Before those kids can register anything that I’ve said I made a run for it, pushing past them and sprinting into the streets. “HEY!” one of them yelled. “COME BACK! YOU’RE NOT PIERRE! HE’S HOTTER THAN YOU ARE!” I rolled my eyes and kept running. I know it’s stupid to run away from a bunch of teenagers, but in a show once a twelve-year-old jumped on stage and nearly strangled me in this death hug. She stalked us back to our hotel and actually mailed herself to our rooms by hiding in a cardboard box with oxygen. When Pierre opened the door only wearing a towel she screamed and passed out. You can never be too careful when it comes to crazy fans. They’ll do anything to sleep with you or destroy you.
Somehow, I’d managed to run into someone headfirst while sprinting. Like, literally. I knocked her into a bush and am now lying in a crumped heap on the ground. I rubbed my head and felt an egg-shaped bump growing. “Argh, sorry,” I said, quickly getting up. “A bunch of kids are after me and—” I blinked and had to laugh. Aline, in a baseball cap and holding a pair of sunglasses, grinned sheepishly up at me. “You too?” she said, as I helped her up. “Then we’d better hurry. A bunch of fans were at my hotel’s lobby clamoring for Randy. Luckily, he decided to go to Miami with the others. I had to put on this, um, disguise to sneak out. I don’t get much attention as Randy, but those girls look scary.” Before I can say anything she put her sunglasses back on, shoved the baseball cap on my head, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me back into the streets like we’re about to die.
“In here!” She shoved me into an alleyway and we both collapsed on the ground, panting for breath. I was covered in sweat and my clothes were quite muddy. Aline’s hair is windblown and a little tangled, her cheeks red from running. She is now trying hard not to laugh. “Sorry, you look funny,” she gasped. “Like you’ve been dragged through a landfill.” “Like you look any better!” I shot out. “Ugh, I’m tired. I think my muscles actually trembled.” Aline grinned. “It’s five fifty five, we’re still not late. I just hope the restaurant people would let us in looking like this.”
We barely got past that snobby-looking butler who apparently didn’t care that Aline and I are in bands and that we’ve got reservations. First, he told Aline to clean up and fix her hair, of which she rolled her eyes but went to the ladies’ to oblige. Then he said I needed to wear something formal in order before I am allowed to dine in here. I looked down at my clothes. “Um, hello? Do you have cataracts in your eyes or something? I’m wearing a shirt and tie for goodness’ sake!” I snapped. “Yes, but in Le Local, are male guests are required to wear a coat,” he said in his clipped accent. “What the hell would I want to wear a coat for? It’s in the middle of the summer!” I said exasperatedly.
“Excusez-moi.” Some old guy in a fancy suit pushed past me to confirm his reservation. I saw the butler looking pointedly at the man’s suit, and then I realized that he meant I need to wear a friggin’ blazer. “Gah, it would have been more helpful if you people tell me that first,” I grumbled. “Well, guess what? I don’t have one. What’re you going to do? Make me go home and fetch one? Geez I don’t think I’ve ever worn a blazer since my sister’s violin recital in eighth grade.” I know I sounded rude but his smooth demeanor starting to grate on my nerves. I blame my ADHD. “We’ll be happy to lend you one, Monsieur. We kept plenty in stock for guests who happen to…forget.” He made a slight emphasis on that last word, like I don’t even qualify to be classified as a guest. I chose to ignore that.
“Come with me this way please, Monsieur. Ah, I see Madame has come to join us.” The butler strode forward to meet Aline. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans when I met her, but I think she must’ve stuffed another outfit in her bag, because she is now wearing a white silk sleeveless dress that shimmered softly in the dim lights. She’d managed to untangle her hair and now wore it in a long braid down her back. She looked good. Like, really good. Aline caught me staring and stuck her tongue out. “What? Never saw a girl in a dress before?” she teased. “You didn’t bring blazer didn’t you? Good thing I Googled this place last night or I would’ve worn my beggar rags. Oh, and take off the baseball cap will you? You look ridiculous.”
After I’d reluctantly donned this oversized sports coat that’s three sizes too big (and smelled like moth balls), Mr. Snooty Butler led us to a private balcony where he’d set up a table with silver sittings and expensive-looking chinaware. The whole place is lit up with candles in hurricane lamps and tropical flowers scented the whole place with an intoxicating smell. Rose petals were not so discreetly scattered on the ground around the table…set for two.
“Okay, what’s the joke?” I said impatiently. “I thought this was supposed to be a dinner for four?” The butler shook his head. “As I am made to understand, this is to be a private dinner for two,” he said. “You can’t be serious!” Aline looked aghast, as if the thought of dining with me is horrifying. Despite me not being exactly happy with this arrangement either, I was a little hurt. “No offense,” Aline said quickly before turning back to the butler. “But our friend told us that this is supposed to be an evening out for four.” “Then perhaps your friend is mistaken,” the butler said smoothly. “Relax, Madame, you have a perfect view of the sunset.”
Minutes later Aline and I are awkwardly seated at the table, being served bread and cheese while soft violin music played in the background. A waiter came forward to pour wine, and Aline was quick to refuse and asked for a Coke and ice instead. She shrugged when I raised an eyebrow. “It’s disgusting, really,” she said simply. “Well, it’s free, so I’m not complaining,” I said, twirling my fingers around the silver candlestick in front of us. “I feel so awkward.” “I know, right? I mean, look at this place!” Aline swept her hand to ‘perfect view of the sunset’ and then to the trio of musicians who stood a little way to the side playing classical tunes.
“It’s so…” She struggled to come up with a word. I sipped a bit of wine. “Perfect?” I suggested. Aline nodded readily. “It’s so perfect I want to hurl,” she laughed. I grinned. She’s right. I mean, the place is beautiful, the view is magnificent, and I don’t doubt the food would be good, but it’s all just so…tasteful it’s more than I can stand.
“All we need to do is order a plate of spaghetti for two like they did in Lady and the Tramp and it’s the perfect setting.” Aline’s smile dimmed. “What did you say?” she said. Okay, not the reaction I was expecting. “What? I watch Disney in my spare time, OK? Guilty pleasure,” I said. “Sorry,” Aline said. “I was a little…distracted. Someone made the same joke to me once by the way.” “It’s a classic,” I shrugged. “Speaking of food, I don’t get half the stuff they described in the menu.” Aline squinted at the laminated sheet in front of her. “Looks like they’ve got spaghetti,” she announced. “Or at least, Grey Owl goat cheese and spaghetti sauce tartlet, confit tomato vinaigrette caramelized onion purée, watercress and smoked almonds.” “What the heck is that?” I said. “Speak English.” She grinned. “I am,” she said. “And that’s only an entrée. It costs thirteen dollars.” I groaned. “Ashley and Chuck better show up really soon, or at least before we pay the bill. Why can’t we just go to McDonald’s?” “It says here they offer customized dishes. You might as well call that bratty butler and ask for the equivalent of a Big Mac.” “Good idea. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” “You’re joking. This is a fancy restaurant, you can’t ask for a hamburger.” “Watch me.”
I snapped my fingers and a waiter glided forward to take my order. “Yo, you do know McDonald’s don’t you?” I asked. After a slight hesitation the waiter nodded. “Oui, Monsieur.” “Okay good. Do you know what a Big Mac is?” I asked. The dude stopped for a moment to think. I sighed. I don’t have time for this. “Whatever just Google it, and then bring me one. I want fries on the side too I’m sure you have that on the menu…” I jabbed my thumb to an item triumphantly. “There it is! Although you folks called it homemade potato wedges, huh? And it’s sold for ten bucks? Oh wow they should make overpricing a crime. Right, and one more thing…” I looked for the dessert page and frowned. “You do have banana splits here don’t you?” I asked. “We have banana bread,” the waiter helpfully. “Served with peanut butter mousse, cookie dough ice cream and chocolate pudding.” “Bingo! I’ll take that,” I grinned. “Please bring the banana bread first, OK?”
I handed him back the menu and the waiter turned to Aline, who looked at the menu doubtfully. “Hurry up! Some of us are dying of starvation here!” I complained. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Aline quickly said. “And gosh, Dave, you eat dessert first?” “What’s wrong with that?” “You’ll be full before your Big Mac arrives.” “Oh that’s not what I’m worried about. If I eat the Big Mac first then I won’t be hungry for that banana bread thing.” She looked like she was about to protest, but settled with, “Good point.” “I’m glad you agree.” “You’re certainly smarter than what the others give you credit for.” “Very funny,” I laughed. Wow, I’m actually having fun with Aline Young. I always thought that she’s more of a shy, serious person who kept mostly to herself. But then I’ve never been completely alone with her before that motorbike incident. I realized that once she opened up a bit she’s really pretty fun to hang out with.
“Food’s here,” Aline announced. The last rays of the setting sun struck the material of her dress, making it shimmer like oil in water. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face as the waiter placed our dishes in front of us. I gulped. “Aw man this looked so good! I bet I can finish this in five seconds!” I grabbed my spoon but Aline slapped my hand lightly away. “Hold it! How about a contest?” she challenged. “The one who finishes last wins.” “What? That’s impossible,” I complained. “These look so good.” Besides, I don’t do silly eating contests. It’s a bit dumb really, but there’s this mischievous childlike quality about Aline not soon in a lot of people. A certain kind of innocence not present in the women I usually hung out with. The packet of condoms still in my pocket rubbed uncomfortably against my thigh.
“Um, do I get a prize if I win?” I asked. She gave me a wicked grin. “A second helping…that you have to pay for by yourself. You do know this dish probably costs around fifty bucks.” I smiled back. “Deal.”