vita

Ginger & Rosa (2012)

  “Making fun of—no, no. I would never do something like that…”    Judas grows serious at the thought for a few moments, but notices that she seems to be carrying on a smile well enough. He runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat somewhat nervously, correcting himself by offering his own smile, and then reaching into his pocket for the small, cheap camera he keeps on him when he decides to sneak out into this world.    “Thank you,” he says, then adds, “Don’t worry about posing. You don’t need to pose. Just—you were looking off to the left a little bit earlier, kind of aimlessly—just do that again. I’m sorry if this seems weird, just… it was… poetic.”  

     "I don't know how well I'll do this -- uh, sorry." She shifts slightly, does her best to recreate whatever picturesque moment she'd just come out of. "-- Is this okay?"

        ❝ just — play along.            i promise, it’ll all            be worth it ! ❞

     "Okay, whatever, fine."      She rests the palm of her hand      flat against the glass. What now.

  “Oh, yes. But what you don’t know is that the lady in the red dress—I think her name’s Leslie—also had an affair with her cousin, and they were almost married. She only married the husband she has now as a rebound after finding out that she was indeed related to her previous lover, and she doesn’t care for him at all. I wish I were joking. I had the misfortune of talking to her a few galas ago, she never shuts up about the soap opera that is her life.”    Esther has become quite bored with secrets only being called secrets to make them more enticing. She’s become quite bored with everything, actually, since she discovered how limiting this whole charade of a lifestyle is—but she has very expensive wine and some diamonds and a very special brooch on her chest, so she supposes that there’s no need to stick her head in the oven just yet.    “Everyone loves a scandal. Sometimes I’m tempted to fake one just to see what would happen, right in front of everyone. But then I come to my senses and drink instead. Some things are not worth the trouble, I don’t think. — Anyway, who are you here with, darling? A lovely date who is neglecting you, or lovely parents that are neglecting you?”

     "A date? No, no, just my parents. I also live here. They said they'd take me to Hawaii if I came down from my room for this." That's a lie, she doesn't really know why she thought it'd be funny -- she did think it'd be an obvious joke, but it does sound an awful lot like her parents to offer.

  “God, I don’t want to think about what would happen if somebody managed. They might have, and my boyfriend paid them off—you never know, honestly. But I don’t think I’d do well in a cave. And neither would Ted—he’s my bunny. He likes light.”    She didn’t ask for your goddamn life story, Neely.   “—Anyway. So far we’re good. I haven’t had one single stalker. Well…” She pauses, taking a moment to contemplate what does and does not count as a stalker these days. There’s a possibility she has been stalked, but in a very subtle way. It’s really hard to tell, considering her job description and the people she’s had to deal with.    Not that she should be talking about that with complete strangers. She lets the subject drop there, running a hand through her hair semi-awkwardly and trying to decide whether she should continue conversing with this girl or just leave her alone. 

     Surely if they spend an hour in a cafe, the hypothetical almost-stalker would get bored and go home. It's awful logic, but she's got nothing better to suggest. Besides, the stranger's piqued her curiosity -- and, you know, Nova's a little worried about her, she can't help it.

            ❝ really quick ——                   could you just put your hand                   on that window over there? i                   need to check something. ❞

     "What." She does so, a little reluctantly.       "Why couldn't you do it."

      I don’t want it. So.

     Uh. Well. Too late.

  “Ah, no. Thankfully not. I mean, maybe I should look for a job here, I’m sure they would appreciate it… Once every two weeks, uh, when I’m supposed to go shopping, I end up spending half an hour organizing things, and then spending another hour stressing over the one thing I know I forgot to add to the list. Or, uh—you weren’t asking… No, I spend most of my time doing other things,” Christian says, finalizing his small speech with a nervous laugh.    He’s an idiot. An idiot with no social skills and too much anxiety. He knows it, knows that it’s very clear to see in the way he flounders with his speech, but she doesn’t seem like she’s got much of a problem with it. There have been other times in which he’s been completely annihilated by whoever he’s talking to, and those times have never been very pleasant. 

     Nova doesn't mind the way he speaks, so much. His excess of words can make up for her lack thereof. She's not great in situations like these, because she feels she's terrible at continuing conversation. He doesn't seem to have that problem at all. 

  “It depends,” Neely replies ever-so-cryptically, still quite in character as the glamorous and untouchable sex freak she supposedly is. She takes a drag of her cigarette and then lets it drop, crushing it beneath a high heel and running a hand through her hair. “I guess you could say that, but the people who know me are a bit of a… cult following.”    Meaning, they have basic knowledge of the porn industry. Otherwise, she’s just a mysterious blonde who somehow gets invited to large events and premieres, and who has occasionally appeared in magazines and gossip columns.    “Sorry about all that, by the way,” she says, softening ever so slightly so that her diva exterior begins to crack. “I just had to get rid of them, otherwise they were going to follow me all the way home. Bad things happen when people like that know where I live, ‘cause then they leak the information, and… well, you know.” 

     "Um, it's cool," She replies with a dismissive wave of her hand, "that's really freaky, though. Like, what if one day someone manages? Like, you can't give them the slip? Dude, maybe you should go into hiding. Or start living underground, like in a cave or something."

  “Me?”   Despite his mental health doing a little better since pretty much running away from home with his not-girlfriend, he still doesn’t quite know how to handle conversations he wasn’t prepared to have. He blinks a few times and looks incredibly lost, then lets the floodgates open by allowing himself to speak.   “I mean, yeah. Of course. Totally. Did you see all that? I was just—see, I have this weird thing where I need to make sure things are perfect and organized, and then—well, I guess you saw. I was just being weird. I’m a weird guy. I mean, I’m not, like, a total freak, not that I know of, but—heh, um…” 

     "No, it's cool. I get it, I guess. I don't think it's that strange." She shrugs, peering toward him curiously. "So do you like, spend all your free time messing around in grocery stores and fixing up their half-assed displays?" 

  The dreams have gotten vivid, and visions demand his attention. Summer is going to come to an end soon, and other things will be reaching their ends, as well. Outside, hands clasped, he closes his eyes and clasps his hands, allows himself to see the ends and the beginnings, what’s already happened, what’s happening, what’s going to happen.    A man was shot dead in Paris and left his wife and children alone. In Russia, an elderly woman who has lived through the ages of fairy tales is singing a lullaby to her grandchild. A preacher man has hanged himself. A child is born, a child who will raise his fist and raise a small nation. A bird has fallen out of the sky, a whale is breaching through the ocean—   — And behind him, a girl with curious eyes. He does not look behind him.   “What’s your name?”

     "Uh, Nova."

  “Excuse me, miss,” Judas says, his voice a little too quiet and his smile a little too unsure despite his attempt at being brave. “I was wondering if I could take your picture. I, uh, see, I’m an artist, and I’d like to try and paint you, maybe, if that doesn’t sound too… strange, so I was just wondering if I could get a photo. As, uh, a reference.”    Speaking to people in the outside world is hard. The tattoo on his neck is beginning to itch and it’s terribly hard trying to act like a normal person when he feels abnormal in every sense of the word.

     "But um, yeah, if you're serious, you can do that. I guess. If you want. I'm cool with it." She runs a hand through her hair, doing her best to fix it. It's a little windy and she didn't bother to do much with it before she left home. "I really suck at posing for photos, um, by the way. Just, like, a heads up." 

    “Don’t move,” the ferret says. “Not an inch. Not a muscle. If you move, you’re going to trigger the bomb I set up. Just stay still and give me ten minutes to disarm it. God-fucking-dammit, you weren’t supposed to walk in just now, someone else was supposed to walk in an hour later.”    He was hired to kill someone. Someone who lives here. But, as insane as the little furry slinky is, he isn’t about to blow up some kid—he’ll just give her the surreal shock that a ferret is talking with absolutely no explanation and have that be his cruel deed of the day. Other than, of course, committing murder in an hour.

     It takes her a while before she realises that there are no cameras in here. She looks toward the creature, eyes narrowing. "What the fuck. You take one shortcut and suddenly there's a talking bomb building weasel in your way. Did I take something."

  These parties were much more fun back when Esther didn’t abhor all the backstabbing, mindless, and corrupt millionaires she’s supposed to call friends, but she supposes it’s well enough to be sitting here on her own and watching the action. Thomas told her to mingle more earlier because she “looks depressing”, but she’d only smiled and politely whispered Mind your own damn business, darling.   Now, she’s taking notice of a younger girl who also seems to be a bit farther away from the action. Turning her gaze toward the young lady, she gave the universal, ever-so-delicate motion for her to come over.    “Are you as bored as I am, dear?”

     "No this is great, I'm loving this party. I mean, it sucks, but I just learnt that the lady in the red dress over there had an affair with her husband's best friend because her husband is doing her sister. It's like reality television." 

  “Yeah, it was fantastic working with James Deen, he’s very talented and knows just how to please me, but we’re actually not secretly going at it with the cameras off, if that’s what you’re asking,” Neely says, doing her best to appease the gossip columnists that she can’t seem to shake. She would have avoided them, but they’d been waiting right outside the studio set of the latest scene she’d just finished shooting, and there was no back exit.    Catching sight of the nearest person ahead, she makes eye contact and waves, running up to her and throwing an arm around her shoulder as if they’re the best of friends. The reporters pause, expectantly looking towards her.   “Oh, I’m sorry. My girl and I have plans, we were going to go see that Guardians of the Galaxy thing—so, we’ll be going now. Bye!” And she steers the poor stranger away.

     She lets the stranger drag her on until they're out of sight and around the corner, which is when she turns to the girl, eyebrows raised. "Are you like, famous or something?" 

  Christian just spent the last twenty minutes meticulously organizing some soup cans at a grocery store he didn’t even work at, only to watch a small child knock them all over. Naturally, this makes him anxious, so he shuts his eyes and counts to ten, telling himself that at least the kid looked cute whilst giving him severe anxiety. (  Also, he should probably just get what’s on the shopping list that Priscilla made for him instead of organizing soup cans anyway.  )

     "You okay, man?"