Bombshell to Bum - Chapters 3 and 4

THREE




I was stupid to think I had to investigate Stacey’s room to uncover her buried secrets. We went out for Chinese and she didn’t mention anything about any tango class or whatever it’s called. I didn’t mention anything either, of course, about my concerns. Real friends don’t get all insecure about trite subjects like Latin dancing, of all things.

Now she’s in my room, helping me get ready for my picnic with Justin. I’m deciding between my new Birkenstocks or my classic wedges. I’m dressed in the cutest beach cover-up, a flowy Bohemian wrap top, and matching skirt. I’ve spritzed a bit of Ralph Lauren perfume on my neck, so now Stacey’s just putting the finishing touches on my waterproof mascara.

“There,” she says emphatically, standing back to look at my finished appearance. “You look great. Just don’t be nervous.”

I chuckle shakily. “Why would I be nervous? Just because I’m going to be on a beach in a bikini while my boyfriend of nine months is trying to ask me to get serious and move in with him doesn’t mean I need to get nervous.”

Stacey bites her lip skeptically. “Jenna, maybe he just wanted to surprise you with a romantic date. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to ask you to move in, you know. I just don‘t what you to set yourself up for a letdown.”

“Stacey, honestly. Think about it! Justin’s definitely not the romantic type. This picnic has to signify something important. Trust me.” I play with my curled hair one last time and reach for my bag on the bed.

She sighs. “Well . . .ok. I guess you would know, considering he’s your boyfriend.”

I nod. “Exactly.” Then I glance at the clock. “Shoot! I better go! I’m supposed to meet him by the pier in fifteen minutes! I wonder if he’s got everything set up!”

“Ok, ok! Go! When are you coming home?”

I gasp and clutch Stacey’s arm in a panic. “What if he does want me to move? What are me and you going to do? What if he insists I move in, like, tomorrow?! Our friendship will be ruined! Please don’t get another roomie! I promise I’ll come and visit! We can still make lunch dates and go shopping and. . .Stacey, I’m losing you!”

Luckily, being the calmer one, Stacey hugs me and says, “No worries, Jenna. I just want you to be happy. Do what you want. Now, seriously, you should go. Justin will be waiting. Have fun!”

I sigh finally. “All right. Bye and love you.”







For all the girls out there who don’t think their boyfriends have a sensitive, romantic side - you’re wrong. Justin is probably the most athletic, serious, masculine guy you will ever meet, but this date looks amazing.

“Do you really like it?” he asks carefully.

I smile and am practically in tears. “Justin, it’s. . .it’s beautiful.”

Honestly, the sight is amazing. It’s almost late evening, so the sun is totally perfect, shining over our secluded spot like in a movie. Justin has laid out a blanket, covered with rose petals, surrounded by vanilla candles, and decked out with heated containers of food.

“Oooh, what are we eating?”

Justin laughs and pulls off the lids. “Well, we’ve got tender filet mignon, herb potatoes, and dinner rolls, followed by chocolate fudge mousse. And, of course, the finest of dinner wines,” he says, producing a bottle from behind his back.

I feel a chill run down my spine. It’s perfect. Justin is perfect. People have often compared us to Ken and Barbie, though I feel Justin’s teeth are straighter than Ken’s any day. He’s got naturally tan skin, the smoothest beach blond hair, and ocean blue eyes. We met in psychology class last year and I was immediately attracted to him.

Justin replaces the lids to the food and pulls me closer to him. There we are, sitting together on the beach, the warm breeze blowing my hair as the ocean crashes gently onto the shore. There is surprisingly nobody around. It reminds me of a scene from Alex St. Clair’s Sand In My Toes (A Beach Affair).

As we’re laying there, staring into the sun over the water, Justin leans into my ear. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

I giggle as sexy as possible. “Ok. Let’s talk.”

Surreptitiously, I cross my fingers behind my back. He’s definitely about to pop the big question! I can hardly contain myself!

“We’ve been together for awhile now,” he begins, entwining his fingers around mine and moving closer against me. “You could say things are getting pretty serious, right?”

I can smell the woodsy tones of the Burberry cologne I bought him. I chuckle. “Well, yes. You could say that.”

He takes a breath. “We’re still really young. I mean, we’ve still got so much ahead in college and mostly life.”

I nod along. “Definitely.”

“Jenna,” he says, “I don’t know quite how to put this, but -”

I sit up, compelled by passion, and pull him up to my level. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, throw him down on his back with a bit too much force, and lean over top of him. “Justin,” I say breathlessly, “I’d love to move in with you! Nine months has been too long to wait! Like you said, we’re young! We can be free and just have fun together! Stacey and I have discussed it and she really feels that I should do what I want. My heart is screaming, ‘Move in with him!’ I know you must be nervous, but I’m ready.”

And with that, I lean in to kiss him like I never have before. I have a sudden vision of the two of us writhing in the sand, rolling over top the candles and spilling wine over ourselves while onlookers stand shocked nearby. We won’t pay them any attention, though, because we will be too enthralled with each other to care.

Before my lips can even get close to him, though, he grabs my shoulders and pushes me away like a rabid animal or something. He looks stunned.

“Justin. . .what. . .what’s the matter?” I ask, affronted.

He sits up and crosses his legs. His eyes look pained and his whole body is tense.

“Jenna, I don’t know.” His hands run quickly through his hair. “I guess I’m just having mixed feelings right now. Can you understand that?”

I pat his knee supporting, suddenly overcome by concern. “You can tell me anything, honey. Go on.”

“I guess where I was going with my whole ’we’re young and free’ speech is that I don’t know if I want to be tied down with one person right now.” He pauses. “We’ve been getting really serious, and I don’t know if it’s exactly what I want.”

“What?” I say, pulling further away from him. I’m on my knees, facing him as he sits Indian style with his head in his hands. “What exactly are you saying, Justin? You don’t want me to move in with you? That’s perfectly fine. We can take things slower. We can -”

“No!” he breaks in. A slightly crazed laugh escapes his mouth. “No, Jenna. It’s not that I don’t want you to move in with me, it’s that I don’t want to see you anymore. I feel it would benefit us both if we got a chance to see other things. Other people.”

He’s not breaking up with me. There’s no way. Nuh-uh. Not happening.

He sighs. “Jenna, I. . .I don’t know what else to say.”

My cheeks prickle with humiliation. I should have seen this coming. I try to pull my saddest puppy dog eyes and whine, “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“This is it for me, Jenna.”

I won’t cry. I won’t cry.

Justin stares into the ocean, all tranquil-looking, while I’m biting my lip and holding back tears. I can’t believe we’re over. I’ve never been broken up with before. What are people going to think? How am I going to explain -

“Justine? Justine?”

A high-pitched, feminine voice sounds behind us. I whirl around to see a tall, tan, slender girl prancing towards the two of us. I’ve never seen her before in my life, but I’m instantly shocked. She has long, dark brown hair that blows perfectly in the wind like in a commercial, big brown eyes lined with black makeup, and a blinding white smile. Her pink bikini barely covers her abnormally large chest, and the sheer wrap she’s wearing around her waist barely conceals an equally-small bikini bottom.

She approaches us, and for a minute, my concerns about Justin are forgotten.

“Justine?” she cries, motioning at Justin.

Before I know what’s going on, Justin’s leaping to his feet, whispering something to this stranger. “Not now,” he whispers, barely audible. “Give me ten minutes.”

The girl whimpers in her accent, “But Justine, you tell me eight o’clock sharp.”

He sighs. “Nadia, I-”

“Vat a lovely swimming suit you have!” Nadia suddenly shouts, adoringly gaping at me. “Vat a pretty girl. Who is she?”

I rise to my feet, feeling myself boil with anger. The concerns are back. “Yeah, Justin, why don’t you introduce us properly?”

“Uh, well. . .um. . .Nadia. . .” he stammers, “is a friend of mine.”

Nadia pushes out her lower lip. “Friend? Justine, I thought that vhen you first met me, you wanted to be not just friends. That is vhy you set up this lovely picnic for us, no?”

Honestly. The more she keeps talking, the more inflated her boobs become. I don’t know if it’s just coincidence or if Nadia really is sticking them out there, but it seems to be doing something to Justin.

“Jenna,” he mumbles, turning to me, but not meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry it happened like this.”

I gawk at him and throw my hands in the air. “Happened like what? Like that you tried to get me to believe you were throwing a romantic picnic for me, but instead were planning on ditching me for a well-equipped Russian diva? No problem, Justin. You’re so right. Thanks for saying sorry.”

“Vat is going on?” chimes in Nadia. “Vas it something I did?”

Justin pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Of course not, Nadia.”

Before I even have time to think, I find that my feet have swiftly kicked sand all over the blanket and are now turning to storm away in a dramatic outrage, which isn’t that over exaggerated.

“Have fun with your ditzy bimbo!” I shout angrily, heading towards the path to my car. “You better watch out, Nadia! He’ll make you think he’s in love with you!”

I reach the parking lot with blurred vision, so when I look back to the beach, I can barely see Justin wrap his arm around Nadia as he pours her some wine.


























FOUR




“Stacey?” I call miserably, opening the apartment door. “Stacey, you’re not going to believe what happened tonight!”

I am greeted by silence.

“Stace?”

I sniffle and kick off my shoes by the couch. I look at myself in the hall mirror and wrinkle my nose up in disgust. I look like I feel - horrible.

The door to Stacey’s room is half-open, so I push it and see Stacey laying on her bed, curled up into a ball, and fast asleep. I am debating on whether or not to wake her up when I see that red dress again. This time, it isn’t hanging up in her closet. The dress is on the end of her bed, wrinkled and worn.

“Hm,” I mutter.

On Stacey’s desk, I catch her cell phone flashing, signaling a call coming in. Stacey looks too peaceful to bother, I decide, and reach for her phone.

“Hello?” I say quietly, rushing into the living room.

“Hi, Stacey? Stacey! I can’t hear you very well!”
“Um, no. This is Jenna, her roommate!”

“What was that, Stace?” shouts the unfamiliar voice. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that our lesson next week is cancelled, ok? Mario’s sick!”

“Hello?” I practically scream into the phone. “This isn’t Stacey! This is her roommate!”

Static pierces through the girl’s laughter. “Oops! Um, just tell Stacey that the tango lesson next week is cancelled. You can tell her to call me back whenever. This is Sasha, by the way. Thanks a ton! Bye!”

I don’t remember saying bye. I remember closing the phone, flopping onto the couch, and picking up my own cell phone. Frantically, I dial the number.

“Please be there, please be there,” I pray to myself.

But Mom isn’t home. I try her cell, but it’s turned off.

I used to think the worst feeling in the world was missing a huge sale. Or chipping a newly-manicured nail. That was because I didn’t have anything else to worry about. But now, I realize the worst feeling in the world is being alone.

I don’t have any other best friends. Sure, I’ve got other girls I’m friends with and can talk to, but none that go as far back as me and Stacey. To find out my best friend is meeting new friends and having fun with tango classes while I’m dealing with a workaholic mother and a bad breakup makes my stomach feel like I just swallowed week-old tuna.

“Jenna, you’re home? When did you get back?”

Stacey is standing in the hall, rubbing her eyes and looking at me inquisitively.

“A few minutes ago,” I answer shortly, playing with the frayed hem on the couch pillow. “Don’t ask how the picnic went. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Stacey’s voice suddenly fills with worry. “Oh, Jenna, what happened?”

“Long story short - he broke up with me for some Baywatch reject and I kicked sand all over his picnic before driving home, bawling my eyes out.”

Stacey gasps. “Jenna. . .”

“And then,” I say, my voice faltering, “I come home and your little Latin dress is out and I get a call from this Sasha saying tango’s cancelled for next week. So after finding out that you won’t tell me about your new best friend, let alone your new passion for dance, and then calling my mom and finding she’s not there, like always, I feel like complete crap. That’s what happened.”

So there.

Stacey carefully sits down beside me and sighs. “I didn’t tell you about Sasha because I knew you’d get all jealous and weird. I went into the studio one day just because I thought dancing would give me something to do this summer and we connected. Now we take tango lessons together every week. I didn’t know it was that important to tell you.”

I cross my arms angrily. “Well, it was. It hurt my feelings because I thought you could just tell me anything. I would’ve done tango with you. I could lead, and I wouldn’t step on your feet.”

Stacey snickers. “We don’t dance together. We dance with guys. Duh.”

I sit up suddenly. “What? Then why didn’t you invite me? Huh? I’d give my left arm to dance tango with a Ricky Martin look-alike.”

“Jenna, how could I invite you? If you weren’t out shopping, you were always with Justin. He was like your whole world. I was tired of coming home to an empty apartment and having to eat dinner by myself. I was tired of getting left alone at the coffee shop because you suddenly decided to get sushi with Justin. I wanted to do something for me and to get a chance to meet new people.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve hung out with you more often.”

“Yeah, ok. Was I supposed to tell you during your tanning session, your date with Justin, or your Alex St. Clair honor ceremony?”

It’s coming. I can feel it, but I won’t cry. I’m not.

Oh, damn.

I begin to sob uncontrollably as Stacey puts her arm around me.

“I’m a horrible friend and a horrible person!” I manage to choke out.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I was a little harsh on you,” she says. “There’s been plenty of good times between us. We’re still best friends. Just because I don’t always shop with you and you don’t tango with me doesn’t mean we aren’t close.”

I wipe at my eyes, trying to calm down. “But. . .what am I going to do now? You’ve got Sasha and tango, and I used to have Justin! I’m all alone now! Not even my mom will talk to me!”

I leap off the couch somewhat energetically and break my French-manicured nail on the coffee table. “Great. Now my nail’s ruined,” I groan.

“Jenna!”

“I’m going to bed!”

“Well. . .” Stacey hesitates, “did Sasha say to call her cell?”

Honestly.







I continue on with life the best I can. My job at the boutique means that I have clothes to distract me. I throw away all pictures of Justin, Stacey and I throw a shirt-burning party where we incinerate his favorite hoodie that I stole, and I delete him from all my electronic devices. I see him and his new bimbo around town a couple times, with her chest popping out of her shirt and her lips pouted out like a ditz.

Stacey signs up for ballroom dancing and is gone more and more. I can’t tell her it bothers me, though, because I know she wants space.

Mom works harder and harder on her important, top-secret case and only sends me little greetings on my voicemail.

Alex St. Clair never writes me back. He doesn’t even send me a note of appreciation, even though I slaved away during my winter break to make his shrine.

But then the big day arrives. I wake up at seven o’clock to pick out the outfit I think will most impress Alex. He’s a very fashionable man, so if I’m going to meet him in person, I should try to spiffy up. After an hour of intense deliberation, I decide on my new jeans, that vintage patterned top I bought at a discount from work, and my big Marc Jacobs bag, which I’m sure will make a statement.

I reach under my mattress for the key to unlock Alex St. Clair’s memorial case, where I pull out my special edition of his first book. My favorite part is his picture on the back cover. His teeth are unnaturally white and his hair unnaturally blond. I must admit, he’s quite charming. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say when I see him! It’s almost like meeting royalty!

“Stacey!” I hiss, opening the door to her room. She’s still asleep, but I don’t mind waking her if it’s for Alex. “Stacey, I need to know what to say to him!”

“Huh?” she grumbles, pulling the comforter off her head. “Justin? Say suck on this, you ass.”

I sigh. “No, Alex. Duh. Do I shake his hand, hug him, or bow? Maybe I should curtsy. Would kissing his hand be too much, you think?”

“Jenna,” she says, her voice muffled from the pillow. “He’s not King Alex. Just shake his hand, smile, and act like normal.”

Hmm. Good idea. “Oh. Right, of course.”

“Any time.”

“Sure you don’t want to come?”

“Unless Stephen King is going to make an appearance, then no.”

“All right,” I say finally. “See you -”

I really need to stop spying. Really. I can’t help it sometimes. My eyes are sharp, like a hawk’s. I’m just overly-observant.

I catch a glimpse of a bright pink piece of paper on Stacey’s nightstand. I squint my eyes to read what it says in the dim light. I catch something about Argentina and a summer travel program.

“Stacey?” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “What’s this all about? This Argentina paper?”

This wakes her up. She sits up and sighs. “It’s nothing, really. I just got an invitation from the dance instructor to spend the next two months in Argentina.”

“Are you going?”

“It’s really not that expensive.”

“Are you going?”

“Argentina is so pretty.”

“Are you going?”

“Tango is so much fun. It‘s a part of the culture there.”

“Stacey! Are you going?”

“Sasha is.”

I roll my eyes.

Stacey sighs and flops onto her pillow. “I don’t know, Jenna. It’s a big opportunity. I’ve always wanted to travel. If I went, I’d be back in time before the semester started.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I feel somewhat dejected. “Well, if it’s something you want to do, then you should do it, I suppose.”

Stacey makes a “psh” sound from her pillow. “Oh, please, Jenna. I know you better than that. You’re all worried about it now. You think I’m abandoning you, don’t you?”

I bite my lip. “Stace. . .I just don’t know what I’d do.”

“I know what you need to do now. You need to get going to the mall! Alex is a huge star; the line’s gonna be insane! Don’t stress over it - no worries, okay? We’ll talk when you get back.” She smiles at me, but it feels like she’s just smiling to make me feel less bad.

I nod. “’K, I’ll see you later then. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!”