Sun & Moon

Patrick Kane was very sweet and was a smart guy. Catalina would give him that. When Chicago PD showed up to take police reports and statements, he was extremely cooperative and took full blame for the accident. Catalina also informed them that she was not pressing charges, fully aware that Patrick was going to pay the bills and that she trusted him to do so. They seemed to think it was awfully nice of her, but Catalina knew a few things they didn’t.

What Catalina knew was that he had the money to pay. She also knew that making a big deal out of the accident was going to make her job infinitely harder. She had, somehow, ended up being in a crises that she normally would have to take care of. Strange to think that one of the few first things she would have to do in crisis relations for the Blackhawks would be to fix her own accident if there was coverage on it, or if it was turned into a big deal.

Erin was not happy throughout the entire business. She often tossed Patrick a soft scowl, not mean enough to make him upset, but definitely strong enough to exert her displeasure at her roommate nearly being taken out. Catalina was thankful for Erin’s silent agreement to not address who Patrick was or what Catalina did for a living.

A CAT-scan, large bottle of pain meds and several signed papers later, Catalina was told that she could be released. She had minor stitches, a small concussion and bruised arms. Patrick had only hit her doing fifteen around the corner, enough to knock her backwards and smack her head on the pavement. If she hadn’t of fallen, she probably would have been perfectly fine.

Catalina glanced at the glass. Erin was talking outside to the nurse, being given instructions to wake Catalina up every few hours when she fell asleep to ensure that nothing was wrong. Patrick stayed the entire time she was seen, apologizing countless times and assuring her that everything would be taken care of. She rarely met someone who felt the need to be there from start to end of an accident.

“You can go, you know?” Catalina had just come out of the bathroom. Erin had brought her jeans and a tank top to change into. He was sitting in the same chair that he had been in when Catalina woke up. Patrick looked at her, baby-blue eyes distant and lost in thought. “Erin is just going to drive me home, make sure no maniacs mow me down.”

His face contorted in shame. “I know, I’m so sorry-"

“Tranquillo,” she laughed, giving him an honest smile. He looked confused. “Calm down. I was joking with you. I am alive and in good health. I probably deserved to get hit that hard at some point in my life.”

“What do you mean? I find you nice enough.”

“Most men do.”

He opened and closed his mouth, perplexed by Catalina’s forwardness. Erin retraced her steps back into the door then, catching Catalina’s attention. “We can go,” she cast her eyes at Patrick. “Thank you for staying,” Erin said slowly. “It was very kind of you to ensure she was alright.”

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Patrick stood from the seat. “I hurt her, I wanted to make sure she was okay.” He looked at Catalina. For the first time since they had been in the room, his eyes traveled over her body, as if it had just occurred to him that she had full curves and smooth skin. He licked his lips, not for the first time that day. “And you’ve got my number and information for everything, right?”

Catalina nodded once. “I do.”

Patrick shoved his hands in his pocket. “If you ever need anything else…”

Catalina raised her brow. “I’ll let you know if I ever feel the need for a cup of coffee and someone to accompany me.” He smirked at her then, a different kind of smirk. It was a charming one that lit his eyes, the kind that boys used when they flirted. “Until then, I’ll call you with insurance stuff.”

“Don’t be afraid to call often. Or late.”

Erin looked appalled. Catalina grinned and left the room with her roommate, carrying her things in her hand. When they were far enough down the tiled hallway, Erin threw Catalina a look. “First of all, flirting in a hospital room is freaky and don’t ever do that again. Second of all, you’re going to see him when you start work, aren’t you? I mean you work individually with them sometimes.”

“Flirting is okay anywhere. And yes, I requested to meet one on one with each of them to discuss new publicity policy and just so I get to know them. If I’m going to be covering their asses for anything stupid they do, I want to know them on a personal level.” Catalina stopped to sign release forms before continuing with Erin through glass sliding doors. “Knowing them on a personal level means I can rip them a new asshole when they get in a bar fight on the weekend.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

Catalina made a sound. It was dark outside. She had been in the hospital most of the day. Erin’s car was in the garage so they walked together. Catalina’s head still hurt and her body was sore like she had worked out at the gym for hours. “It did in Miami. I don’t do any of their press though, so that’s good. They only see me when they get in trouble.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re enough trouble as it is.” They got into Erin’s car, starting it and buckling seatbelts. Erin hadn’t budged until Catalina sat securely in the seat, looking impatiently at her. “The Catalina I knew when we went to Florida State is nothing short of a hurricane.”

“That Catalina is still in full effect. Just, you know, outside of the office. I feel like such a hard ass on clients sometimes but I have to be, which I really don’t like.”

It was true. Catalina had been nothing sort of a storm when attending Florida State University. She was a whirlwind of energy, bouncing between guys and leaving them before they could ask her what her name was. She did crazy things like streaking across campus because someone told her to, or up and going on a car trip to the woods to explore. She was like wind slipping through everyone’s fingers and she still was.

Graduating with a degree in public relations made her separate herself, though. She had to be strict and harsh in the public relations world, making sure that her client always got the best connections or that whatever she needed publicity for was getting the best she could offer.

Catalina’s particular field was crisis relations. Not every firm, company or client had a separation between public relations or media relations or crisis relations, but she found that sports did have that divide. Sports teams, depending on the sport and size, were specified fields where she could chose where she wanted to be an excel in that position. Her skill was twisting coverage on stories that could otherwise be damaging, and it was getting certain people in line.

Though most positions didn’t require much one on one time with clients, hers did. Catalina needed to know her clients, what made them tick, what was believable and what the media would believe. She had to know who was the most likely to fuck up, or who was more like to help out in time of bad publicity. Catalina’s job was to make the bad boys good in a sense, and her no tolerance and sharp sea-green eyes often did the job.

Back at the apartment, Catalina sighed in relief. The apartment was technically two floors and all open floor plan save for the two bedrooms that existed within it. Catalina’s realtor had found it a few weeks after Catalina had contacted her about finding a place to live, one large, spacious and that could easily fit two people. Catalina then spent a month convincing Erin to move in, all expenses paid. One because Catalina knew that Erin was an easy roommate, having lived together in college. The second reason was because between Catalina’s father’s business flourishing, and how much she made working with the Dolphins and how much she was about to make working for Chicago, she could afford it.

Sitting comfortably in six figures was absolutely fine with Catalina. She graduated top of her class, interned with one of the best companies in the East Coast and, worked with the Miami Dolphins all by the age of twenty-five, nearly unheard of. It wasn’t through extreme intelligence or even divine skill. Catalina was lucky, and she was grateful for her luck every day, knowing it could run out.

The loft style apartment was huge. It was different than anything Catalina had ever lived in when she was in Miami or going to school in Tallahassee. This one was industrialized, with dark, woody-colors and a mix between modern and rustic additions. It was full furnished, only a few different things brought in by Erin and Catalina. Erin had contribute all kitchenware, her own bedroom furniture and certain parts of the living room that gave her own flavor to the home.

“I need a beer,” Catalina crumbled, tossing her stuff on the small table next to the door. Erin shut the door behind them, making a sound that roughly translated to ‘funny but no.’ Catalina made a grumpy noise but trailed to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and taking out a carton of chocolate milk, screwing off the cap.

“If you think you’re about to drink out of that without a cup like a savage, I’m going to hurt you.” Catalina paused, mouth half open before nodded and grabbing a cup, setting it down on the counter and filling it. “It’s like having a child, I swear.”

“I’m in pain, let me be a child.”

“You’re twenty-five, Cat.”

“I’m like an adult, but not a real adult.”

“I honestly have no idea how you manage to have such a fast-paced and serious work ethic.” Erin shook her brown hair, walking towards her side of the apartment, ignoring the living room that was sunk into a lower part of the floor with a large, mini second-floor high above it, containing Catalina’s desk area. “Seriously, you have two sides to you and it’s creepy.”

“Only if I use it to murder people.”



Catalina and Erin stood next to each other, both of their hands on their hips. Catalina was chewing on her lip, head cocked to the right while Erin squinted her eyes, twisting her lips as she took on a thoughtful look. They were standing in front of the blackboard wall in the kitchen, chalk waiting for them to draw or write whatever it was they felt like writing.

Against the brick wall of the small kitchen was a portion of paint that created a chalkboard. There was a wooden shelf against it, serving as a small bar with countless bottles of gin, rum and other dark liquors. Catalina and Erin combined drank enough dark liquor to cause the strongest drinker to quiver in fear, something about amber liquid and bad decisions sort of a motif between the friends.

“It should be a cute message,” Erin said finally, nodding to herself. She was skilled in art- at least, Catalina thought so. Catalina couldn’t draw a geometrical stick figure much less draw on a white board that was 4x 4. “A warm message, something happy.”

“Draw a giant penis.” Erin looked disgusted. Catalina shrugged. “Everyone like’s penis. Guys admire their own and everyone wants a large one, right? I mean it’s literally like the world revolves around dick.”

“I ask myself again,” Erin muttered, using a wooden stool to crawl up onto the bar space. “How do you have a job that pays six figures.”

“I got lucky.”

“Divine intervention.”

“Call it what you will.” Absently, Catalina touched the back of her head. She could still feel the small stitches there, thin thread woven into her skin to seal the cut. She was thankful they hadn’t shaved part of her head to get to it. She very much admired her long black hair. “I’ve got some stuff to look over before I start work this week, I’ll be upstairs.”

Chalk in hand, Erin looked at Catalina and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, your little study is literally right there, I can talk to you if I need to. You say it like you’re going somewhere.”

“Maybe I’ll put up a wall.”

Erin had begun to draw. “Not likely.”

The desk space was Catalina’s favorite part about the apartment. It was just eleven steps up and twelve feet over the living room. It only had two walls, one made up of all window where her desk and computer was set up against, and the other a brick wall, covered by a giant painting. The other two sides of the square platform were open to the apartment, dangerous only if she wandered up there while intoxicated.

A bookshelf and a hammock lined the space across from the desk, a plush carpet covering a portion of the dark, teak floor. Catalina shoved a surfboard behind the hammock, something that she knew wasn’t exactly a big thing in Chicago but that she had still insisted on having. Surfing wasn’t as popular in Florida as it was in California, but she had made something of a hobby out of it when she could.

For the next four hours, Catalina answered emails, tied up lose ends with the Miami Dolphins and focused on transferring all of her things to Chicago. Addresses, phone lines, services, whatever she could think of that she hadn’t already. Her inbox was filled to the brim with messages and she answered them all, firing one after the other before answering phone calls to make sure that her bank accounts were rolling over to knew locations and that everything was set for her to live out her life in a new city.

Downstairs Erin worked on the board. Whenever she was done, she occupied herself in Catalina’s hammock, reading children’s books to decide what it was that she wanted to give her students. Her orange puffball of a cat found it’s way onto the hammock, Catalina curling her nose at it, not fond of the orange beast that like to scratch her if she came near it.

Silence enveloped the apartment. Music played from Catalina’s iPod somewhere in the house but it wasn’t loud enough to disturb either one of them. Her email went off again, making her click over to open it up and look at it, a smile instantly lighting her tan face.

“Hey come look at this,” Catalina grinned. Erin languidly got out of the hammock, careful as it swung. It was dangerously close to the edge, something she made a face at when she first saw it. “Dad sent this to me.”

It was a picture of Catalina’s dad at the first of many different restaurants he had opened, Lelas. On the red colored wall was a large picture frame that had a picture of Catalina and Erin both hugging and smile, their teeth white and wide with their eyes filled with happiness. Her father was pointing at the picture with one hand and giving a thumbs up with the other.

Under the picture was a gold plaque that said, ‘Famous Sisters Ate Here’ which made both of them laugh. At the bottom of the email, her dad had typed out a response that Catalina read out loud. “No one will know you’re not actually famous. I just needed pretty faces on the wall.”

“Your dad is a trip,” Erin giggled.

Catalina smiled fondly. “Yeah, he is.”