Daisy
Lana del Rey played from the speakers. I was in the bathroom, holding my eyes open in that weird pose that one must make to properly apply mascara. There. I was nearly done - just one last step.
I have always loved bold lipstick colors. I’ve never understood the ‘no makeup makeup look’. If I am wearing makeup, I want my goddamn makeup skills to be appreciated.
So, to complement my red dress, I reached for the scarlet lipstick on the counter. I wanted to look unforgettable tonight, to hopefully catch Angela’s eye. To make her regret ignoring me. To make her, maybe, just notice me for one more second.
I understood how this sounded. I knew I sounded like a heartless, selfish, narcissist. But, honestly, I didn’t care.
I noticed the accumulated dust on the mirror, clouding my reflection. I didn’t want to remember it or even think of it, but the slight, hazy tinge in my vision and on my face reminded me of the coke - the dizziness, the clouds, the way it made me feel like an untethered red kite flying in the sky.
It was during small moments like this - during times of excitement, anxiety, or tiny, tiny, blotches in my vision- that I missed it. Even still, sometimes I felt like there was another shadow living in my body; she was my size and right under my skin, a heavier gray, and always always thinking of the coke.
But, thankfully, for many many years, I have been able to ignore her. I still drink, wine and occasionally and within limits, but have banned myself from the drugs. It’s better for me, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
It’s just that right now, I really wanted a line. A small one, maybe, just so soothe the running, fidgeting, background static in my mind. Maybe.
That was when the doorbell rang. This time, I knew who it would be - Billy Dunne. And that was perfectly okay. He was an old friend, an old confidant, an old twin soul. That was it. That was all I wanted him to be, anyway. And that was fine.
That was why it was okay that he was going to the party with me. Not as a date, but as a friend.
Of course, I knew with both of our - ahem, powdery white colorful and spiraling - pasts’, it might not be perfectly safe. However, we were both adults. I trusted him to take the best actions for him and me to take the best actions for my own body. Besides, we could leave anytime.
With these thoughts in the forefront of my mind, I walks to the door and opened it. There he was, in a black suit and red tie. He looked - he looked good, that was for sure. His hair was combed back. Of course, there was the familiar weight in his eyes - because of Camilla - but other than that, he looked okay. The black suit seemed to add extra inches to his height. No, not extra inches exactly (don’t be dirty minded), but a sturdiness to his frame.
I missed that. During the end of our almost-what if-hazy time, he seemed so, so, flimsy. Never here, nor there, nor anywhere grounded. I was like that too. I think. It was better now.
So, with a steadiness to my voice, I spoke. “You look good, Billy.” And I meant it. I think he could tell.
He smiled, looked me over, and seemed happier, too. “I could say the same to you. You looked a lot healthier than earlier. And red really is your color.”
I was glad. I had been feeling better too - gained some healthy weight, finally took care of myself.
But the red on his tie, it could give people the wrong impression - an impression that I didn’t want Angela to get. Not that I wanted to be with her, but I didn’t want her previous suspicion - or to be more accurate, jab - at him about me moving on too fast to be true.
“The red, Billy. It matches with my dress.” I told him.
“Oh, yeah! We’re matching!” he exclaimed, somewhat cluelessly.
“No, that’s not good. People might - they might get the wrong idea about us. You know, especially since we’ll be seen in public for the first time in years.” I explained.
His face froze for a second as if taking it in, faltered for an even shorter millisecond, then regained its composure. “Sure, Daisy,” he said in a softer, fake light-hearted, voice.
So, I walked him to my bedroom (again, don’t be dirty minded) and to my dresser drawer where there were was my collection of random things. Socks, ties, the occasional lace bra, letters. There I found it, a sea green man’s tie.
He took one look at the drawer then quickly averted his eyes. Which didn’t matter too much too much to me, but was still funny.
“Here’s a different colored tie,” I said to him, closing the drawer as he looked back to me.
He looked at it then a slow, suspicious, half-smile came on his face. “Daisy, why do you have a man’s ties in your drawer?”
I rolled my eyes and, this time, was the one embarrassed. “Billy, I’m thirty-three years old. I’ve spent the night,” I said, praying that it explained enough without explaining enough.
“Ah,” he nodded. “So, has there been anyone?”
I shoved him. Of course there have been ones, many ones. Not that I was going to talk about them with Billy Dunne.
“Wouldn't you like to know,” I teased, shoving him. “Actually, many ones.”
He raised one eyebrow in fake surprise before laughing.
“Anyway, go change your tie. I’ll be waiting near the front,” I responded.
I had a feeling this party was going to be memorable, no matter what.