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“Somethings are. Besides, that’s for me to decide.” I snipped, pulling a page from Alejandro’s book. I shushed him, allowing the silence to pass as he for once complied, watching me more than the entrance of the alley.
“If you say so.” He said impressed, “It appears you’re right. Today we stay afloat.”
“As if there was any doubt.”
“Another lesson learned,” he eyed me with interest. “Are you sure you’re not a celebrity? You hide like one.” He stood up to turn away, linking his arm in mine. “Maybe my good girl is finally breaking.” His sentiment was both a compliment and an observation. Perhaps he liked both of my sides, the confident girl and the shy one as well. Maybe it was my outfit, an homage to him—dark leather boots, a skirt for easy access—all of which made me feel extra naughty, broken as he said. Maybe a part of me enjoyed this perception, a devious but playful light Alejandro conjured. It was both the potential he saw in me, and the one I saw in myself, which I found exciting. I wanted it to continue, the chasing, the screaming, the breaking of Alejandro’s good girl.
“Wait.” I stopped briefly, pulling his arm. “We’re here for another reason.” I looked passed my shoulder at the dark entrance into the renovation. “It’s my turn to sneak you into a place.”
“Ms. Harrison,” he groaned, “you’re a rebel.” He pinched his thumb along the lobe of my ear, caressing it.
“Maybe you’re just a bad influence.”
“The worst.” His hands found their way around my waist as we stepped inside. Our boots clanked loudly in the gutted warehouse, decorated in graffitied logos of slithering snakes. I ran my hand along the wall, pressing against coarse chips of peeling paint that flaked and fell apart. It was dark, just as we liked, an atmosphere familiar to The Met. There wasn’t much to see, but I was fond of this place, remembering what it once was—a vibrant auditorium, a sanctuary of dreams.
“They used to have fashion shows here,” my eyes stared at a massive, windowed ceiling. The city sky sat above, seeping through the room. “We would come here, back when I attended F.I.T. It’s where I spent most of my internship,” I murmured.
“Internship?” He questioned. “Did you design?”
“No… I watched others though, some of the greats even. Have you ever heard of St. La Vie?” The question provoked a gentle laugh.
“I’m familiar. If I wasn’t already, then I would be now, considering he was all over your walls.” He motioned, signaling how expansive my magazine clippings truly were.
“I’m a fan. I mean I didn’t get to meet him, but he had one of his shows here. I was fortunate enough to attend.” I said shyly.
“A fan? It should be the other way around,” he corrected. “Soon you’ll be much more famous than me.”
I laughed really hard, the idea almost impossible. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Why not?” He asked, “What makes St. La Vie so special?” The question was valid, leaving me unsure of where to begin. He was a brilliant designer, yes, but he was also one of the first ones I truly knew. Mama Meg used to wear one of his dresses all the time, an orange tulle piece with a navy ombré fade. It reminded me of vacation—not the beginning—but rather the end of our stay at the Hamptons. She’d always wear the dress on the car ride home, and I knew instantly how she felt. It was both happy and sad, the colors reminiscent of a sunset fading into the ocean. To me, it embodied a memory. That dress was a postcard, taking the sunset she loved from the Hamptons back home to the city. I loved that dress and, therefore, fell in love with St. La Vie.
“It’s my truest form of cherry cigarettes.” I replied, comparing the feeling Alejandro had while smoking, and how the flavor reminded him of his mother. It was all a soothing thought, a memory like the dress.
“What a feeling that must be. A better one than most.” He seemed happy, possibly from a memory himself, or maybe more sweetly, because I had been here by his side. One wouldn’t have assumed just moments ago he snipped at the revelation of his parents passing. Was this what pained him all along? Perhaps, but the way he smoothed over it, as if nothing happened, made me hesitant to ask. Maybe he was just as guilty as me, living in a fantasy, but if we were to grow, wouldn’t we have to face the things we feared?
“It’s not the only feeling.” I cooed, “This place gets better. I’ll show you.” I reached for his hand, initiating a need to be touched. He reached back, allowing me to lead, taking the first step on an old steel staircase. Alejandro climbed by my side as we made it towards the ceiling, pressing against the flat bar of a metal door. It propped open, screeching loudly as the cool air pushed itself inside.
“It’s not much, but you see a lot,” I quickly prefaced, “It’s one of the darkest parts of the city I’ve ever been.” Hinting at our shelter, the shadows where we’d learned to talk. “It always feels like I’m watching from a different world, floating in space, staring back at the city.” We moved along the graveled top, getting closer to the edge.
“Floating in space,” he repeated my words. “A place to hide.” He almost questioned it as if finding some meaning. Floating into nothing was a familiar sensation, such as the moments when I’d cower inside my sliding closet. Now was kind of like that, but not out of fear, but rather, the exploration of us. The wind brushed through his wavy hair as he stared out into the glimmering city. Bringing him here was an extension of trust, sharing a space where he, too, might feel free.
“Thank you.” He announced, “Sometimes, it feels better to be so far away. If you can’t be with them, then it's best to be away from them. There is no in between.” Alejandro stared at the cascading towers in the distance; each box of light was a window, a story of a life concealed.
“No in between.” I repeated. Maybe what he said was true, especially with Parker. Could I imagine a life without him, a moment we could ever be apart? It’d be difficult, but would it be impossible?
Currently the fantasy of him and I was just that, a true ‘in-between’. If I couldn’t be with him, would it be best if I stayed away, for good? To do so would take courage, maybe something I didn't have, but possibly could learn. Or perhaps, what we could learn, Alejandro and I. Would he be open with me, and could he show me the way to be honest? I wasn’t entirely sure. His eyes expressed a look only in the shadows, that he’d rather die than say the truth.
“Alejandro, what happened earlier? When I asked about your family, I was afraid I’d upset you.” I carefully questioned. I didn't want to pry or be so abrupt, I only wanted what he wanted, a chance to be inside, to see him for who he was. His gaze became more distant, cooled by the chilled wind that picked up around our bodies.
“It’s messy.” He sighed, “Just like my life, there’s a lot of versions of what people think happened.
“Maybe all I care about is your version.” I said softly, sensing his urge to hide.
“My version comes with more questions than I can answer, so instead I’ll ask you, and maybe you can see… Gemma, what will you do when you become famous?” His head craned towards mine.
“What does that have to with your truth?”
“More than you think, a price always has to be paid.”
