Saporosity: The Story of Luke and Lana Read online

  Maybe it's the ridiculous fur shawl she's wearing over her left shoulders. It's like, 60 degrees outside. Maybe I should give her a quick weather update. I’m sure she’d appreciate the heads up; I can’t be the only one that thinks her wardrobe choice is foolish. She turns to me and places her jewel coated fingers on her slender hip.

  "Peggy is one of my oldest friends. I would ask you what you were thinking but clearly you weren't," she snaps this time, causing me to flinch back against the cool couch cushions.

  Her words are quick and cold and it makes me feel about an inch tall. I have no doubts that making feel small is her goal at the moment. Goal achieved, well done, mother, well done.

  Her words finally catch up in my foggy brain, causing me to frown. Did she say her friend? Peggy is not her friend. In fact, I've heard my mother say far worse things about her than I did tonight.

  And technically I didn't say anything bad about Peggy. I said a few minuscule things about Emily, but I'm pretty sure it's best not to point that out at this particular moment.

  My mother narrows her eyes at me as if she can hear the internal conversation that’s going on in my head. It wouldn’t surprise me if she could. Witchy woman.

  She always clears her throat but never fully raises her voice. It would be preposterous to show that much emotion. Her light blue eyes that match mine level on me, waiting for an explanation.

  I never know when she actually wants me to respond or keep quiet so I usually keep quiet out of self-preservation. She continues to stare at me with a raised eyebrow. Apparently this is one of those rare times she expects an answer. I clear my throat and square my shoulders confidently, even though I feel anything but.

  "I didn't realize I had offended her," I lie.

  She knows it's a lie. She knows I know she knows it's a lie. But I keep my head raised, trying to focus on her blurry form.

  "You are 25 years old, Lana. When are you going to quit acting like a petulant little child?"

  I don't say anything. She doesn't really want an answer; I know it this time by the way she dismissively waves her hand toward me before looking away. She breathes deeply out of her nostrils before placing the perfectly composed mask back onto her face, a skill she has mastered over the years.

  "You will apologize to her." I squint at her trying to picture what she'd look like with half black, half white hair and that godawful red lipstick.

  She’s got the maniacal smile down. I begin to smile and immediately look down at my hands that are neatly folded in my lap until my face is composed.

  She begins to walk back and forth again. I wish she'd just stand still; she's making me dizzy. Oh please don’t let me throw up right now.

  I shake my head and try to focus on her. Maybe I can get her a dog named Pongo for her Birthday this year. Or what's the name of the girl Dalmatian? Patch is the cute little puppy. I think there is one named Lucky, too. And Sneezy. Oh wait, wrong Disney movie. The mama dog, what is her name? It's right on the tip of my tongue. Ugh, this is going to drive me nuts.

  "Alana Harrington, did you hear me?"

  Perdy! That's it. Pongo and Perdy. One of the greatest love stories of all time if you ask me. Any female that would stay with her man after giving birth to 100 of his offspring is a saint in my book. A fool but a saint. I glance at my mom who is now looking at me expectantly. I missed her last question. I take a 50/50 guess at the correct answer and shake my head no.

  Her nose flairs with agitation. Wrong answer. I begin to giggle, imagining steam exciting her nostrils. Her face is horrifying but I'm just too drunk to fully comprehend the danger of the situation.

  “Sorry,” I mumble through drunken laughter. Please tell me I did not just snort. Her jaw ticks, causing the laughter to die out just as quickly as it came. I swallow loudly.

  "We will discuss this tomorrow," she says with finality before storming off, the click clack of her heels echoing in her wake. I slump into the couch and close my eyes.

  I need some water. And an aspirin. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow to discover this never happened. Even in my drunken state I know it’s wishful thinking. I slowly open my eyes and take a deep breath. I push forward to stand on unsteady legs before falling back into the couch with a thud, laughing on the way down. I know I'm going to regret this in the morning, but tonight? Tonight it's too funny to care.

  THREE

  "So how much trouble did you get into Saturday night?" Calvin asks as we exit the business building on campus.

  We both just finished our MBA at Columbia. His studies in Finance, mine in Public Relations. We had to drop off the last of our graduation paperwork to the processing office before the upcoming ceremony.

  Some people get nostalgic about finishing school. Not me. I was ready to be done after my Bachelor's degree but my father was very adamant about me receiving my MBA. I’m not sure if it was more for my future or for his appearance.

  "It could have been worse," I say with a shrug. He glances at me and shakes his head.

  "That bad, huh?" I give him a small smile. He knows me well.

  "Let's just say my mother didn't quite find the humor in it. Nor did she appreciate the fact that I was drunk when she laid into me," I say with a more genuine smile this time. We cross the street and head toward Grounded Out, the coffee shop Misty works at.

  "I'm sorry," he says, sincerely.

  I glance up at him. Calvin is tall, lean, and an impeccable dresser, though I know for a fact that he doesn’t buy any of his clothes himself. He has strawberry blonde hair and pale skin with the lightest green eyes I've ever seen. They're almost translucent. He's very good looking and very smart, but more than that, he's very genuine.

  "It's not your fault." He pulls open the door and we walk in, stepping up in line.

  "Sometimes I think she's the worst one of them all," he says with distaste. No argument there. If my mother's social circle were to be compared to a circus, which is not entirely off base, she would be the ringleader of the group.

  "Yea, well, Vivian Harrington is a force that I don't particularly enjoy coming up against," I say. He shudders at the thought of it. Misty smiles and waves when she sees us in line.

  "So what's the deal with you two? Are you guys serious? And why was the party the first time I was meeting her?" I fire off my questions as we take a step toward the counter, waiting for our turn to order. He rubs the back of his neck before stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his designer jeans.

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know to which?" He shrugs.

  "I don't know," he says, again and I laugh. He glances down at me.

  "You loooove her." He chuckles, uncomfortably.

  "I really like her," he says.

  "But?" He sighs.

  "She's a little intimidated by my...upbringing." I nod, completely understanding his situation. According to our parents, you don't date outside of the pretentious gene pool. The horror, the scandal. It's all very taboo.

  "Has she met your parents yet?" They're currently in L.A. on business so they weren't at the party this past weekend, which was probably a good thing for Misty. It's also probably why Calvin picked that party to bring her to.

  "God, no." I laugh.

  "She's going to have to get over it. You both are."

  "Easier said than done." True. I know it's true.

  "Just tell them all off," I say, loudly, causing the lady in front of us to turn around and scowl at my outburst. I give her a big smile and she turns back around with a huff. I roll my eyes and look back at Calvin who is shaking his head.

  "I wish I was more like you," he says with a tired sigh.

  "No, no you don't," I say with a laugh. "It may be funny, but this thing gets me into so much trouble," I say, pointing toward my mouth. He smirks.

  "I'm sure it does." I narrow my eyes at his insinuation.

  "Don't be a creep, it doesn’t suit you," I say with a smack to his chest. He chuckles and shakes his head.
We take another step forward in line.

  "So I ran into Carter on campus yesterday."

  "I'm sorry," I say with a smile.

  "He asked about you." I laugh.

  "I'm sure he did."

  "He wanted to know if you were seeing someone."

  "Yes, because that would be the only possible reason for turning him down over and over and over again." Calvin laughs.

  "I told him you might swing the other way but haven't confirmed it yet."

  "You did not." He laughs harder.

  "I did. I thought it'd get him off your back." I think about it for a moment.

  "Did it work?" He shakes his head.

  "I think it may have made it worse." I groan.

  I like to compare Carter to James Spader in Pretty in Pink. You know, Steff something or other. The one that wears those atrocious blazers with his feathered back hair. And honestly, who names their son Steff? You're just setting them up to be a pompous ass for his entire life.

  "Thanks a lot," I grumble as we step up to the counter.

  "Hi, guys," Misty says in a somewhat reserved tone. I say hello and Calvin just stares at her with a creepy smile. I look at him with a raised eyebrow and he shoots me a dirty look, causing me to laugh.

  "What can I get you?"

  "I'll just get a large dark roast," Calvin says, quietly. It makes me laugh that he chokes down coffee every morning just so he can see her.

  "And I will get... a white chocolate mocha. Iced please. Large. Oh, and a blueberry muffin. Wait, I don't want it iced. Just regular. All on one ticket, Calvin's paying," I say, waving toward him.

  He rolls his eyes but hands over his credit card. I smile at him sweetly as she begins to make our drinks.

  "Do you have a break soon? You can come sit with us for a minute." Misty glances up at Calvin then me.

  "I ugh, no, I don't think so," she says, quietly. I glance at Calvin who just looks down at his shoes.

  "Come on, we can reminisce about all the wonderful people you met this past weekend." She smirks at me and I give her an encouraging smile.

  “Please?”

  "Yea, okay. I'll join you guys in a minute," she says, handing us our coffee and my muffin.

  We take a seat at the corner table next to the window. It’s the best spot to people watch.

  "Way to be subtle," Calvin says as we take our seats.

  "What?" He rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his coffee then winces at the taste.

  "You know you could order hot chocolate or something."

  "Men don't drink hot chocolate."

  I laugh so hard that little bits of muffin fly out of my mouth and onto the table in front of us.

  "What does that even mean?" I ask as I brush the crumbs away and continue to laugh.

  “First of all, gross” he says, motioning toward the table.

  “Secondly, I don’t mind the taste once I get used to it,” he lies.

  "You're an idiot," I say to him as he stares at Misty with a longing look in his eyes.

  "Why, because I don't want to order a hot chocolate?" He doesn’t look away from her as he responds.

  "No, because you keep staring at her like a stalker." He sighs dramatically before looking back at me.

  "She's kind of been avoiding me for the past couple of days."

  "So apologize to her for taking her to that crappy party. Why did you take her anyway?" He shrugs.

  "I don't know. I figured if we're going to be together we're going to have to face the issue at some point."

  I nod, silently agreeing with him. Before I can say anything else Misty walks up to us and sits down next to him. It's silent for a few minutes, Calvin staring at Misty, Misty staring at my coffee, me staring between the two of them as I peel off pieces of my muffin before popping them in my mouth. It’s like watching the most awkward movie. I glance down at my watchless wrist.

  "Well, I've got to go," I say, standing up, abruptly. Calvin looks at me curiously.

  "I have that appointment."

  "What appointment?" Calvin counters.

  "I don't know, make one up," I say as I grab my coffee.

  "It was nice seeing you, Misty. Please don't be too hard on him. We can't help where we come from." I smile at her and she smiles back.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I raise my drink up to Calvin before I push my chair in and head toward the door.

  I step out of the coffee shop, not sure which way to go because I really don't have an appointment. Or anywhere to be for that matter. I decide a walk through Central Park sounds like what I need right about now. It's only a fifteen-minute jaunt and the fall air feels good, crisp but not too cold. Not yet, anyway.

  I finish my coffee and toss it in the trash once I hit the park. I should really walk a bit to try to work off some of the calories I just consumed, but I almost warm to the idea of gaining weight just to piss off my mom.

  Maybe I am as evil as her. I shake my head at the comparison and continue to walk. I only stroll for five minutes before I get bored and sit down on a bench. My attention span is slightly better than a toddler at best.

  I really do need to start looking for a job. It’s just hard when I don’t know exactly what I want to do. I can’t believe Calvin already has something lined up, but then again I can believe it because it’s Calvin.

  I turn and watch two people who look to be on a first date. They look so nervous. He's embarrassed, she's shy, it's all just too adorable. I love that new stage. The stage when everyone’s on their best behavior before it all goes to hell. He says something that makes her giggle and blush and I gush just a little.

  I wish I was more shy sometimes. I'm just known for being loud and most likely obnoxious. Filters, that's what my mother says I have lacked since birth. 'You come across as trashy and classless, Lana. You need to put some filters on that mouth of yours. It's embarrassing to me and your father.'

  Irritated by thoughts that are consumed by her I abruptly stand and begin to walk again, this time heading back north toward my loft.

  Sometimes I wonder if I blurt things out just to get a reaction. Just to see her perfectly smooth face crinkle with discomfort. Like a teenager lashing out for attention. Does that make me any better than her? Who knows. Before I can cross the street to leave the park I feel a hand on my arm.

  "Excuse me, miss?"

  I turn and look at the middle aged guy with a bad comb over. His eyes are wide and hopeful as he clutches his worn stocking cap to his chest nervously. He's my height, around five foot six so I'm eye level with him.

  "Yes?" I ask, taking a step back.

  "I couldn't help but notice you."

  "Um, okay," I say, taking another step back. He laughs and it creeps me out. Maybe he's not all there upstairs. I glance around, hoping to see someone searching for their lost, crazy father but come up empty handed.

  "I meant to say, I couldn't help but notice you're alone." Holy red flags. I shake my head.

  "Oh. Um."

  "You're awful pretty." Oh jeese.

  "Would you mind some company?" Eeks, abort, abort.

  “No, thank you.” I smile and take another small step away from him.

  “But you’re alone.” Thank you for the observation, Sherlock.

  "I'm actually meeting my boyfriend," I blurt out with a smile.

  "Oh," he says with a furrowed brow. I take another small step back but keep my face bright with a smile.

  "But you were alone this entire time." What? Oh my, has this guy been watching me?

  "No, sorry," I say as I turn and begin to speed walk in the opposite direction.

  Subtlety didn’t seem to work, running should. He jogs to catch up with me. I glance over my shoulder and he's reaching toward me again. I turn around before he can touch me.

  "Look, mister, I'm kind of late for...something. It was nice meeting you," I say before turning and walking away quickly. At least I'm getting some cardio in.

  "Miss. Excuse me. Wait a minute." br />
  I don't wait. I keep doing this awkward walk jog thing, hoping this guy gets the hint to leave me alone. I feel like a hardcore mall walker. All I’m missing is a neon sweat suit and matching fanny pack that holds my Walkman. I feel his hand on my arm again and it's really starting to irritate me now. He spins me around and I pull out of his grasp roughly.

  "Please stop following me."

  “I’m not following you.” I raise an eyebrow to this tiny crazy man.

  “Oh really? What do you call this?” I say, motioning between us.

  "I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee." This guy has lost his marbles.