Day Eight

(Sorry this is being posted late!)


Tammany:

That week was pretty calm. Grace really did fit in as well as it seemed she would that first chaotic weekend. We had yet to discover any dirty little secrets about her; she didn't seem to be a secret druggy (like Amanda had been), she had yet to simply fail to show up one day (like Richard), she hadn't been caught trying to carry out a cash register (like Pauly), and she liked The Princess Bride (unlike Rachel), which meant, as far as I was concerned, that she was a keeper. She wasn't even ruffled by Cale's tendency to jump out from behind random objects and try to scare her. In fact, she usually calmly pointed out some part of him that hadn't been completely hidden. He found this off-putting, and I found it funny beyond belief. Watching a girl half his size calmly informing him that he wasn't scary, and watching Cale wilt, was highly cathartic, even if I wasn't in any particular need of catharsis at that moment.

Grace had become a part of our little group amazingly quickly, and she was dragging Andrew with her. I didn't particularly mind that, of course. He didn't seem to think that I was anything special, though, never really singling me out. I retained a vague sense of hope, however, because from what I'd gathered from (subty, carefully, and above also,  unnoticeably) pumping Grace for information, he didn't have anyone else he was interested in, aside from perhaps his mixing equipment. I was confident that his equipment wouldn't mind sharing him with a non-metallic interest. I hoped.

That Friday, Cale had scored tickets to a concert down at the Oyster, so we were all heading down there. I was less than thrilled that Andrew's apprentice would be making an appearance. From what I'd heard, he was the devil incarnate crossed with a sullen teenager. This was likely exaggerated, but still. Not cool crashing our night.

We all met at my cafe before the concert because it was close, convenient, and because it was way easier than anything else would have been. I was the first one there - unsurprising, because my apartment was above. All I had to do was get dressed in the vintage skirt I'd just bought and come downstairs. It was the best arrangement ever. Mornings were so nice without a commute of more than a flight of steps. I sprawled in one of the comfortable chairs in the little conversation alcove, grabbed my Stephenson book (only fifty pages left!) and awaited the rest.

Cale arrived next, to my complete and utter shock. He showed up in what almost could have been his stage outfit, with eyeliner and everything. "Hot date?" I asked. "Should I be worried about some woman stealing you affections from me?"

He scowled. "You're funny. No, I just wanted to look presentable for a change."

"For an emo-goth concert?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Pull up a chair," I said. "I don't think the others are going to be here anytime soon."

Of course, because the universe loves to prove me wrong, the bell on the door immediately jingled, and three people walked in, looking awkward and out-of-place. There were two men, one of whom was taller and looked like that one hipster dude everyone knows, who has a mustache tattooed on his finger - full on ratty plaid shirt and thick-framed glasses. The other was shorter and looked sort of like a confused punk with parents trying to neaten him up. The woman, who was almost six feet tall without heels on, was movie-star-striking - long brown hair, pale skin, gorgeous. She was dressed like a designer had taken the idea of 'vintage chic' and pushed it to its logical, classy extreme. I wanted to be her, just for a moment.

 But then I pulled myself together. "Can I help you?" I asked, standing up. "I'm sorry, but the cafe is closed right now-"

"I'm Farthing's apprentice," said the punk. "My friends were coming to the concert anyway, so they just came with me here."

"Oh," I said, off-balance. "That's - fine, I guess. Sit down?"

I glanced at Cale to see what he made of these people, only to find that he'd locked eyes with the woman and was apparently staring her down. The two guys sat down at one of the tables, and slowly, not taking her eyes off Cale, the woman followed. It was truly difficult not waving a hand in front of Cale's eyes to see if it would affect him.

Fortunately for my dignity, he pulled his eyes off her and said, with forced calm to me, "So how was your day?"

"Pretty good," I said, normally, "No issues with the shop." Then I leaned in and mouthed, /Who is she?/

He ignored it, and continued making completely stupid small talk with me, while a heated whisper conversation went on at the table. I can honestly say I have never been more in agony from my sense of curiosity than for the ten minutes or so that passed before Grace and Andrew showed up.

When they came in the door, I jumped up to meet them, and said, "Your apprentice is here. He brought friends."

Andrew, who was looking every bit the casual indie gentleman, looked over at their group, and said, "Oh, hey Morgan. I didn't know you were coming."

Cue jealousy.

"I just wanted to see what the scouting scene was like," she said, smiling up at him angelically. I hated her a little. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he said, smiling back. Then, to Grace, Cale and me, he said, "Guys, this is Morgan, my search-and-rescue team from my job. I'd be a body lost amidst the cavernous basements of the office complex if it weren't for her."

"Oh, Scary Lady?" Grace asked, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Morgan raised one elegantly shaped eyebrow. Andrew looked embarrassed. I felt marginally better.

"Maybe," he said, unconvincingly dodging the question. "And this is Nathan," he said, indicating the failed punk. "My apprentice extraordinaire." The punk acknowledged us with a short nod of his head. "And I'm not entirely sure who you are," Andrew said, looking at the hipster. "Sorry."

"This is Jim," Morgan said, "A friend of Nathan's and mine. He's very into the indie music scene."

"Hey," Jim said, smiling around. He was the one person of the three that I thought I might eventually like. The other two were amazing targets for jealousy and simple dislike. I felt bad about that, but that made it no less true.

"If we're all here, should we head out?" Andrew said, bless his unobservant heart. We all concurred.

The walk to the Oyster displayed us and our groupings remarkably well. Cale was in the front, as far from Morgan as he could get while not looking like he was avoiding her. Then there were me and Grace, walking along and talking about nothing in particular. Andrew wavered between walking next to us and trailing back to talk to Morgan, who was just in front of Jim and Nathan, who trailed as far back as they could.

Upon reaching the Oyster, we all sort of piled in on each other at the door while Andrew tried to sort out everyone's tickets. I was in the unenviable position of lone buffer between Cale and Morgan. They were both ignoring each other so thoroughly that I was a little shocked I hadn't frozen solid in the icy atmosphere. Every so often, one of them would glance at the other, sneer or wrinkle their nose, and then look fiercely in another direction. I was beginning to suspect one of them had killed the other's favorite childhood pet or something. What was weird was that I had absolutely no clue what was going on, and I knew just about everything about Cale. If something was bugging him this much, I was pretty sure I'd know about it.

Eventually, we were all allowed entry, and I momentarily forgot about the drama, instead basking in the amazing atmosphere of the Oyster. The place was perfect. An ancient warehouse had been renovated into a performance space and bar, while leaving as much of the original wood and stonework in place as possible, and shoring everything up with salvaged iron girders from a bridge that had been demolished. The light were old gaslamp fixtures that had been retrofitted to hold candle LEDS and sodium lights. The place looked like someone had said, "You know the Industrial Revolution? Let's turn that into a concert venue." Even the smell - Guinness, steel, and wood polish - felt right. I loved it. Watching the faces of the newbies to the place, I knew that at least Andrew got it, and perhaps Jim.

I didn't even bother stopping to grab a table, because table were for wimps and people who hated music. Instead, I used my best elbow-fu skills and managed to jostle all seven of us towards the front, right in the area where we would be super-close to the stage and yet not deafened. Then, I shouted, "I'm getting drinks - any orders?"

Pandemonium. Alright, so I probably should have asked one at a time, and not loud enough that the surrounding people could hear. But still.

Five minutes later, I had five orders and Cale's arm, and we went to go fight the crowd at the bar. I, of course, started quizzing him immediately. "What's with you and Andrew's sort-of-boss?" I said, trying not to sound like an eager gossip monger and failing miserably.

"Nothing," he said, not meeting my eyes. "Absolutely nothing."

"Lies and damned lies," I said. "Truth now."

"We met a couple years ago," he said. "Nothing big. We just didn't get off on the right foot."

"Okay, one, the only people you don't like are idiots and the arrogant. Two, 'getting off on the wrong foot' doesn't translate to 'looking directly at her burns my eyes'. What. Happened?" I rounded on him, doing my best to stare him down when I was looking a good foot upwards.

"Not now, okay?" Cale said, looking around. "Just, not now." He actually sounded upset. Cale was /never/ upset. I dropped it.