Aria
Numb. That’s how Beca would describe herself at this moment. After the initial rush of seeing Chloe Beale outside her door, after the tumult of joy, surprise, fear and yes, even anger, she now felt numb. She felt like she was going into shock so she did the only thing she could think of in the moment. With a hand that she was immensely proud showed nary a tremble, she brought her glass to her mouth and took a large gulp of her sipping bourbon. One of the catering staff appeared as if by magic to help Chloe remove her jacket and whisk it off to the spare bedroom that had become a makeshift coat check for the night.
Burberry Cashmere Trench from two seasons ago, Beca noted. Being married to a fashion designer for four years had definitely honed the brunette’s fashion sense. She could now appreciate a well made garment. The dress that was fully revealed when the trench was removed caused her to finish her bourbon in one swallow.
Silk off the shoulder gown.
Tea length and cinched at the waist.
A vibrant periwinkle with gold threading that looked like stars.
It fit Chloe like a glove.
It fit her just as well as it had done twelve years ago when Beca had helped her pick it out.
It’s your first big industry event, Becs. Are you sure this dress is appropriate? As your plus one I so don’t want to embarrass you in front of your new co-workers.
Beca shook her head, clearing the cobwebs of time gone by and looked at Chloe again.
She could see that the redhead wanted to say something. After all these years, after all the time apart, she still knew Chloe better than any person she’d ever met.
She was shaken out of this reverie by the voice of her ex.
“Come on everyone, let’s get Chloe a drink” Thalia said in a firm voice with just a hint of humour.
Like the former catwalk model, she used to be, the statuesque redhead turned on her six inch heels and started moving to where the bar had been set up for the party. It was three hours until midnight. Still prime drinking time in Thalia’s book.
The partygoers parted as if by magic as Thalia strode forward, Eva behind her and then Chloe and Beca trailing in her wake. The three of them were like ducklings as they followed Thalia to the source of the evening’s liquid refreshment.
As they reached the bar, Thalia turned around sharply and looked at the trio with a mischievous grin. “Shall we play a game? Let’s see if I can guess what our new guest will have to drink”
She made a show of looking Chloe up and down, making a moue with her mouth. A brief shake of the head as she took in some aspect of Chloe’s appearance. Finally, she snapped her fingers and made her pronouncement. “White wine, domestic, not too dry, half glass only.”
Happy with her analysis she turned to the waiting bartender to place the order.
Before she could speak, Beca interrupted her and addressed the woman tending bar.
“She’ll have a Manhattan, no ice in a high ball glass, two cherries”
Two cherries. To share. One for me and one for you, Becs.
A brief look of surprise flitted over Thalia’s immaculately made up face as her eyes moved from Chloe to Beca and back again.
“So, Chloe, where did you say you knew my charming ex wife from?”
Chloe looked nervous. “Umm we went to college together. Barden. We were in an cappella group together.”
Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “Well, well, well”
“Tally, ” Beca spoke, her voice having a slight edge to it.
Thalia continued, the early playfulness her voice once contained nowhere in sight. “Barden, you say. Acapella you say. So you’re her. The ghost that haunted my marriage”
“Thalia” Beca’s voice was sharper now. Eva looked confused and little frightened. Chloe’s eyes were getting larger in her face, betraying the nerves she was obviously feeling.
The taller redhead didn’t turn her head at Beca’s tone, but her eyes moved to lock with the smaller brunette’s.
A wry grin was on her lips when Thalia spoke again: “You do seem to have a type, Beca darling. You know, as a designer I’m always worried about people copying my work, cheapening it by producing shoddy copies. And yet I had no idea that I myself was nothing but a knockoff of the woman my wife wanted to be with”
“Elizabeth, enough!” Beca voice was louder and cut through the crowd like a whiplash. The people closest to the group looked over in shock and reflexively stepped away.
At the use of her legal, birth given name, Thalia went rigid as if struck. Without saying another word to Beca, or sparing a glance in Chloe’s direction, she snapped at her girlfriend. “Eva with me, now”. With that she strode off across the room, Eva tagging along, heading to the point farthest away from Beca Mitchell.
And Chloe Beale.
Chloe was now gripping the drink Beca had ordered for her, her left hand tightly wrapped around the glass, the amber liquid in it rippling as the trembling of the redhead’s hand was transferred to the alcohol within it.
Without being able to stop herself, Beca’s eyes travelled down to that hand.
Looked at one finger in particular.
And there it was. Bare and unadorned. But with an indented band of skin around it, close to the base. The imprint of something that had been present for years but was no longer there, only the impression of its existence still lingering on milky white skin.
Beca would apologise to Thalia later. One of many apologies her ex-wife deserved from her. They’d met at some music industry event. One of the countless ones Beca had endured in her relatively short lived but successful musical career. Thalia was an up and coming model already planning her move from walking the runway to creating the clothes others wore on the runway. Beca was the singer of the moment, the voice the world fed on at that point in time. Ubiquitous and on every list for every party/awards show/festival or gathering that mattered. And countless others that didn’t. Every move tracked, dissected and blasted over every media channel available. She was so in demand, and she was already planning her escape. To say their romance was whirlwind was to undersell it. They met, they bonded and then they cleaved together, seeing in each other something their own life was lacking. Something they needed to navigate the treacherous rapids of modern fame.
It was Beca who first realized the truth of their relationship. Thalia was a rocket, shooting up into the stars. Beca was a meteorite, blazing bright in the sky but falling to earth. Their paths were diverging and eventually they reached a point where they were too far apart from each other. Their divorce was amicable; they both realized their marriage had run its course. Thalia needed to be out in the world, feeding off the energy of the crowd. Beca chose to withdraw into the shelter of academia, seizing the chance to use her fleeting fame to build a refuge in which she could still share her art and her passion for music, but with an audience that was infinitesimally smaller.
They were still each other’s plus ones when needed, and they still shared a warm affection for each other, looking out for each other’s well being. Beca approved of Eva, she was the right fit for her ex. Thalia had given up trying to matchmake for Beca. Instead, she still organized and co-hosted the annual New Year’s Eve party, Beca’s sole social effort of the year.
Beca had always felt guilty because there was a part of her that Thalia never got to see. It was hinted at and the designer caught glimpses of it in the rare moments Beca’s guard slipped down. When some passing moment in life triggered a look on the brunette’s face that hinted at a loss that remained painful even after being endured for years.
Now it stood before after all this time.
At a party co hosted by her recent past, her distant past reappeared.
She stood looking at Chloe Beale.
Stood dressed in the costume of a successful, respected, well off woman of the world.
Surrounded by colleagues and acquaintances who admired her. Maybe even envied her. Hell, she was positive some of them actually aspired to be her.
In her home that showcased her taste, her achievements, her hard work and her talent, she stood.
And it all fell away.
Leaving her feeling empty, scared, anxious.
But also determined, anticipatory and hopeful that this reunion, one she had never expected, was happening at last.
Chloe still played with her glass, not having taken a sip.
Her eyes, the eyes Beca remembered so well, kept sliding to meet Beca’s then darting away skittishly.
Timid Chloe was a new beast for Beca, something that demonstrated how much things between them had changed over their time apart.
Beca opened her mouth and spoke. “How are you here, Chloe? Why are you here, Chloe?”
So, it began.
The die was cast.
Pandora’s box was opened.
And let the chips fall where they may.
What every tortured metaphor you chose to use, it had begun.
It was going to be one hell of a start to the New Year.