outfit | #8B008B
Nobody move, there's blood on the floor
And I can't find my heart
Where did it go? Did I leave it in the cold?
So please give it back, 'cause it's not yours to take
It must've fell when I lost my mind
Deep in the cut, drowning in a pain
Somebody help, 'cause I can't find my way
Nobody move, nobody move.
-"Them Changes," Thundercat
And I can't find my heart
Where did it go? Did I leave it in the cold?
So please give it back, 'cause it's not yours to take
It must've fell when I lost my mind
Deep in the cut, drowning in a pain
Somebody help, 'cause I can't find my way
Nobody move, nobody move.
-"Them Changes," Thundercat
"My last question for you, Luba," Gemma said as she slid her index finger down the notebook page to question #5, "is this: if you could go back in time and give your teenage self advice, what would it be?"
Frizzy-haired Luba leaned back in her armchair wearing a tight yellow crop top, a black choker, and brick red lipstick: the farthest thing from proper Hasidic women's attire possible. She had escaped her sect after bearing twins at the age of nineteen, and was now one of the many subjects a part of Gemma's unorthodox documentary.
"If I could go back in time and talk to my teenage self," Luba said, repeating the question like Gemma had instructed, "I'd tell her not to keep her head down. That's what us girls were always told - 'keep your head down.' We couldn't be anything more than modest. Had to keep ourselves covered up, couldn't talk or sing too loud...I think I'd tell her 'it's your story,' y'know? There's a Hebrew saying...'Im ein ani li, mi li?' If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? You need to think for yourself. Live for yourself. It's not arrogance or selfishness. Others can try to force you how to think, but you'll burst at the seams if you keep your true identity hidden. I think I've learned how to do that now."
Luba smiled. A few seconds of peaceful silence until Gemma called 'cut,' and that was that. Emilio cheered, "That's a wrap, everyone!" and the six-man crew packed their equipment into tiny black suitcases. They were out in a matter of minutes.
"Thank you so much for doing this!" Gemma said as she hugged Luba goodbye on the brownstone steps of the woman's residency.
"Of course! Thank you for having me! Let me know when it's done. I want to see the finished product."
"Of course," Gemma traipsed down the steps, adjusted the backpack on her shoulders, then stopped on the sidewalk, remembering something.
"Hey...how do you say that phrase? The Hebrew one? It was beautiful."
Luba gave a proud grin. "Im ein ani li, mi li?"
"Im ein ani li, mi li?" Gemma recited slowly, trying to copy Luba's inflection. The words felt smooth on her tongue.
"You got it. Now you're the one repeating questions. Remember it always."
Luba winked as she strutted back to her door, "Have a good night."
"You too."
A never-ending ride on the L train later, Gemma was back in her Lower East Side townhouse trying on outfits for Jamie Blackburn's last-minute soirée. Jamie Blackburn...that was a name she never expected to hear again, let alone reunite with. She had no idea who else he invited or what kind of party he was hosting. When she asked him over text what kind of attire to wear for his get-together, all he replied was, Like it's the New Years Eve of 1999.
She had no idea how he got her new number in the first place, but was happy to see him again. Who had he grown up to be? Hopefully not a politician, like she imagined. Had he reached out to the other members of their old posse? They ruled their school back then. Some of them she felt excited to meet again, others she would have preferred to leave behind in the pages of her yearbook. But through it all, she wondered...did they still hold grudges? Perhaps Jamie's intentions for this party were good, but he had a bad habit of being more optimistic than reasonable.
Gemma settled on Doc Martens, black jeans, a cami and a sheer top, plated with little gold stars. Not too hoity toity, and not too low-key. She heard the front door creak open downstairs. Austin was home. She quickly put on some gold hoops and grabbed her purse, then bolted down the stairs.
Dinner - vegetable ratatouille - was already on the table. Gemma got used to cooking for the two of them. She didn't mind, really. Most of her film work was irregular, or from home. She had more time on her hands than her fiance did. He was already sitting at the table, talking on the phone with someone. "I clearly explained to him he couldn't cancel the day of, it's policy! Just meet that asshole later, okay?"
Gemma gave him a peck on the cheek. His beard scruff was getting scratchier. "I don't care what you gotta do, just make sure he's learned his lesson. Yeah, like last time. Call me when you get there. Bye."
"Who were you talking to?" Gemma took a seat on the opposite side of the table and shoveled forkfuls of sautéed mushrooms into her mouth.
"Friend of Dad's. Some prick decided to make a very last-minute cancellation. One of our bands was supposed to play at his house party. He already signed the contract, we paid the band's travel expenses, and he replaced them! It's a shitshow. Giovanni and his boys are surprising him tonight."
Suddenly, the mushrooms in Gemma's mouth tasted bland. She knew what kind of "surprise" this was.
"Why can't you just sue him in court? You'd earn the money back and more."
Austin made a half-chuckle, half-scoffing sound: as if to suggest what she said was childlike in reason. "Nah, this guy's practically a Kennedy. Bound to have a good lawyer. We do this tonight, he won't screw anyone else over again."
Gemma shrugged. It was no use bickering with him. What did she know about extortion, intimidation? It wasn't her world. She chewed and swallowed it from her father, Austin, and all the men in her life, and accepted it. She didn't have the power to change anything.
Austin eyed her up and down as she stabbed her fork through more vegetables. "Where you going?" he asked.
"Out," she replied.
"Where?"
"That get-together my high school friend is hosting."
"Looking like that?" his brows rose. "Must be a pretty good friend..."
Gemma dropped her utensil and glared at him, her irises sharper than the prongs of her fork. "I told you, you can come if you want! It's not a problem."
"Gem, did you hear anything I just said? I have to take a call later!"
"Take the call at the party!"
Austin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed. "You know what, I'm not arguing with you. Have fun with your high school friend. Don't come crying to me when you get pregnant."
Gemma snorted. "Like I'd cry to you about that, Lord knows you don't try with me..."
She shuddered as soon as the words came out. A part of her wondered if Austin knew that she knew. He wasn't very good at hiding things, after all. Many long seconds of painful silence passed. Austin rose from his chair and walked up to Gemma, his fingers turned to fists. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the pain bound to come next...
Instead, he grabbed her dinner plate, and threw it right in the trash.
Austin returned to his seat and continued eating his dinner.
"Just go to your goddamn party, Gem," he grumbled.
She could feel tears welling in the back of her eyes. Without saying a word, Gemma rose, shoved her chair into the table, snatched her purse, and slammed the front door as she left.
Fortunately, Jamie's apartment was only seven blocks away from her townhouse. They'd lived near each other for years and never even knew. Thinking about it made the pit in her stomach grow. She could have reconciled with him. She could have visited him after they'd graduated college, could have had him as a friend again. Instead, she'd let someone else fill her loneliness. Someone her father had introduced her to, someone who treated her like trash. Not to say Jamie didn't have asshole-like qualities himself, but getting high with him seemed like a far better alternative to marrying Austin Di Mino. Sometimes, she couldn't believe this was her actual life. As she marched to Jamie's apartment with tears streaming down her face, Gemma vowed to herself that she would go to this party and never come back.
She arrived twenty-five minutes late. Not a faux pas, considering this was a New York City party. However, it was embarrassing thinking about the greetings she'd have to reciprocate while her face looked puffy and her mascara was most likely running. As she used one thumb to ring Jamie's apartment buzzer, she used the other to wipe under her eyes - just in case it was running. Gemma stood on the doorstep for a long while; she wondered if Jamie could even hear the buzzer, what with the rowdy company he usually kept. Before she could change her mind and walk towards the direction of Union Square, Jamie Blackburn opened his front door, catching the back of her head.
"G? Is that you?"
Gemma turned around. After so many years, Jamie Blackburn had maintained his star athlete physique. Most men changed dramatically in their 20's, but Jamie looked just the same as Gemma remembered him from school. Same sandy hair, same muscular forearms. There was just one difference between him now and the old photos she kept of him on her Facebook profile: his eyes. They looked deeper. Matured. They'd seen things, she could tell.
He cradled his lower jaw in his hand. "Hey," Gemma said, noticing his shaking fingers. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Come on in." Well that was a gruff response. This wasn't the Jamie she talked to on the phone a week ago.
"Hey, hey, hey..." Gemma grabbed his wrist before he could stride back inside. He removed his hand from his face. His cheek burned a bright scarlet color. Ouch.
"What's going on?"
Jamie stood in silence. She knew that lost, pouty face of his. It was his "I don't need your help today, thank you," face.
"Okay. Look...I had a rough start to my evening. We're talking while I take a smoke."
He sighed, but obliged with a small nod. Gemma and Jamie leaned against the complex's stone wall as she retrieved a little yellow lighter and a Camel Cigarettes packet from her handbag. She kept all her cloves inside regular old boxes, just in case. She was paranoid like that.
"Can I have one?" Jamie asked.
"This isn't weed," she smirked.
"I don't give a fuck."
She plucked another clove from the packet and handed it over, lit it as it dangled between his perfect white teeth. He took a drag, then coughed. Gemma chuckled under her breath.
"First time?" He puckered his lips and made a face of disgust, as though he'd just sucked on a lemon.
"That's not a fucking Camel either."
"Now lick your lips," she said. He did. Jamie made a quizzical face as the clove's sweet aftertaste danced across his tongue. He gazed at Gemma.
"Jesus Christ, G," he said, "you look well. Like, you're literally glowing. Like a fucking planetarium."
"And you look like a pile of shit," she replied. It surprised her Jamie was one of the few people she could be herself around. Co-hosting parties with him made her immune to his bouts of rage, his ignorant remarks and devilish yet dangerous charm. They'd picked up right where they'd left off.
Jamie took another drag - this time able to hold it in. "This party was a big fucking mistake."
Gemma exhaled. "And why is that? I'm assuming you got that red spot by drunkenly pissing someone off? I mean, who could forget that time Kenny Hewitt slammed you into my dad's bar cart..."
Jamie smiled and rolled his eyes. "Nah, Nate socked me this time," he said. "Camilla's already powdering her nose. Erin and Shane are just being...themselves, and Quinlan threw his multi-million dollar watch at me," he retrieved it from his pants pocket and handed it over to Gemma. "Also I think Soren just groped me."
Gemma inspected the fine jewelery. It was so sleek, it felt like water in her hands. "Nah, this isn't a million dollars. My dad sells this brand. Damn expensive, though. Quinlan's got taste."
"Keep it," Jamie said, pointing his clove down to her left hand, "matches that rock of yours."
Sometimes Gemma forgot she wore an engagement ring. She looked down at her hand. The white sapphire diamond gleamed beautifully in the setting sunlight. Technically, she was a lucky girl to have received such a treasure. She could only imagine how many Wedding Day Pinterest boards it was posted to, how many bridezillas would kill for her ring. Well, they could have it - Gemma would rather throw it into the fiery depths of Mordor.
"Oh this thing?" she said, waving it in Jamie's face, "Doesn't mean shit, man."
For some reason, this made him laugh. He shook his head, and looked at her with an intensity she hadn't seen in years. "You're lucky you're not alone, 'cause you're a stone cold bitch, Gemma Donati."
Blowing smoke in her face, he threw his clove to the ground and stomped it out with his sneaker heel. "Thanks for the cig. Hit the spot and cheered me up." With a new pep in his step, he hopped up his brownstone staircase, looking back at Gemma once he reached the door. "You coming?"
"I'll be there in a few," she said. After hearing about the group members who'd shown, Gemma needed a moment or two to compose herself.
"Okay. When you're ready, just hit the buzzer below mine. He'll let you through," Jamie said. "And Gemma? Remember to smile. It's a beautiful fuckin' day."
Gemma shook her head as he dazzled her with an over-the-top grin. And with that, he disappeared. With another drag from her clove, she inspected Quinlan's watch. Curious, she fastened the beauty to her wrist. Jamie was right: it did match her ring well.