November 13, 2010

It’s late night — perhaps indecently late — but this is a 24 hour Starbucks. Leah’s sprawled across one of the red velveteen couches, holding a large drink in the hand she has dangling off the side, the other toying with one of the multiple colourful plastic necklaces she’s wearing. She looks like she’s probably been out clubbing — tall, slender black boots laced up the back of her calf, a knee-length black skirt fitted to her legs, and an oversized purple t-shirt striped with black sequins that hangs off her shoulders. Despite appearances, she’s bright-eyed and her words are clear as she sings along, quite soulfully, to the music playing in the background.

The door opens, and a guy comes into the Starbucks. He has on a leather jacket and jeans, what a totally rad dude. Also sunglasses.

Leah glances over at the newcomer — like she does to everyone that walks in — and continues with her merrymaking. This song is boss.

He gets a drink at the counter, watching Leah from behind his mirrored sunglasses.

Leah sits up as the song ends, and leans back into the couch. She raises her coffee — which is lacking a plastic cap, but quite snugly surrounded by a paper sleeve — and takes a drink. She’s still twirling one of her gaudy, neon-coloured plastic necklaces around a finger.

He sets his coffee down on Leah’s table and sits down opposite her.

Leah grins over at him. “Hey,” she says, warmly. She’s sitting on a couch, so he’s sitting in a soft armchair opposite a low coffee table between them.

He smiles back, and offers a little two-fingered wave. Then, in a profoundly masculine voice: “Only seat in the place worth taking.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “And I’d be lying if I said I was going to keep to myself.”

She laughs brightly. “I love the furniture here. So… shabby chic, right?” Her voice is smooth and even; she’s not intoxicated. “It’s been a good night. I don’t wanna be alone either.”

“Loneliness is a terrible thing,” he says easily. “People… we need other people.”

“Yeah, for sure.” She slings one leg over the other, and leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee and her head on her hand. Her blonde hair is pulled back smoothly, her dark bangs tumbling across her face and nearly hiding her right eye. “Which I guess is why we all congregate at places like this.”

“Must be.” He takes out a package of cigarettes and sets them on the table. “My name’s Holden, what’s yours?”

“Leah. Nice to meet you, Holden. Like Catcher in the Rye, huh?” She looks down at the cigarettes, then up at him. “Shit’ll kill you,” she laughs.

He pauses at the mention of Catcher in the Rye, then chuckles. “Know what else’ll kill you? Living.”

She rolls her eyes, exclaims “Fatalism!”, and then takes a drink from her coffee. “So what kinda living have you been up to on this Friday night, Holden?”

He leans in. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been on a crime spree across the city. Haven’t you heard the sirens?”

She stares at him before breaking down into laughter. “Yeah, sure, and I’ve been snorting coke off a hooker all night.”

“We both look the part, don’t we?” Holden makes a finger gun and blows Leah away in a hail of imaginary bullets.

She falls dramatically over onto the couch, although she’s quite careful to hold her coffee evenly so it doesn’t spill onto the floor. Her eyes are closed when she says, “Well, I dunno, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to wear sunglasses at night if you need to make a quick getaway, right?” She rolls her head to the side, eyelids raising, and grins at him. Her teeth are neat and white, her lips a glossy red.

“My fatal flaw is style. Every rogue’s got to have his downfall, doesn’t he?”

Leah remains prone there on the couch, coffee dangling off to her side — much in the same position she was when Holden entered. “Sure,” she says, clearly playing along. “You’ve gotta look good when you’re breaking the law, right?”

“Otherwise what’s the point? When the cops catch you, take your photo, you want the people at home to say ‘What a devil he is.’ and you want them to be jealous.”

She laughs. “I’ll remember that, if I ever want to cause a scene.” She raises her coffee mug, setting it on her chest, atop the multiple neon-coloured necklaces. “So what kinda crimes have you committed tonight?”

“Robbery, murder, arson, fraud… illegal downloading.”

“Uh huh. Had to get yourself some Cee Lo among all the raping and pillaging, I guess.” Leah sits up again, curving herself into the corner of the couch.

Holden laughs loudly. “Got it on my ipod.”

“Said if I was richer, I’d still be wit’cha…” she sings. “So what, you on a crime spree to impress a girl?” Leah brings her coffee up for a deep sip, and licks whipped cream from her upper lip afterwards.

“Are you impressed?” he asks with a grin.

Leah sounds shockingly earnest when she answers: “Yes.” Nonetheless, her eyes are crinkled with amusement. “I mean, gosh, don’t we all like the bad boys?”

“So they say.”

Quietly, she drinks her coffee. She glances over at the door as someone else enters, then returns her attention to Holden. Her glasses are framed in black, now, and she begins picking at the rim of her coffee mug, unrolling it.

“Why’re you picking at the rim there, Leah?”

She shrugs, still fidgeting with it. “Just something I do. Maybe I’m nervous, being around a criminal and all.” The amusement in her voice would seem to contradict any sort of nerves, though.

“You do that a lot, don’t you though? Not just when you’re around dangerous lunatics.”

She raises her gaze from the mug of the coffee to his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re just talking shit to impress me,” she says bluntly. “I mean, the city’s pretty big, you’ve gotta really stand out, right?” The words sound funny coming from someone who has clearly put effort into being a ‘unique’ individual herself, carefully accessorized to the point where she stands out, but not TOO much, colourful and brilliant.

“I’m not unique,” he says with a sly grin. “Not at all.”

She looks him over. “Holden,” she says, as if tasting his name once more. “Maybe not.” The paper mug presses to her lower lip, and she drinks deeply. “So c’mon. I don’t believe you’re a criminal.” Thoughtfully, she adds, “Or that if you were, you’d just waltz into a coffee house and tell the first pretty girl you see that you are. I mean, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, right?”

He turns slightly, and Leah sees herself reflected in his shades. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. Guess I’m not a very good actor.” He laughs, and takes off his sunglasses and sets them on the table, revealing beautiful green eyes.

She smiles. “See, there we go. No more Corey Hart.” Leah picks up his glasses and sets them on her own face. “Whatcha think?” she asks, pouting out her lips just so.

“I think wearing two pairs of glasses makes you look pretty damn goofy.”

She blushes a furious shade of red and removes his sunglasses. “Fuck,” she pronounces, quite deliberately. “I guess so.” She sets them down on the table between them. Her eyes never stray from his. “It’s late. I’m not thinking straight.”

He smiles and shrugs.

She finishes her coffee and resumes unrolling the rim before she begins working her nails beneath the seam of the cup.

Holden picks up his cigarette pack and looks at the image on it. One of someone’s mouth, gums rotted, barely any teeth left hanging on. It’s a disgusting picture. “Picked this pack up when I was in Toronto. Haven’t been able to bring myself to smoke it. Look at this.” He turns the carton around to let Leah see the picture.

She takes it and examines the picture. “Haven’t been able to make yourself smoke it,” she repeats. “Bet that’s the goal, right?” She flicks one of the decaying, yellowing teeth. “Totally gross. You’d not be the ideal bad boy if you had a smile like that.” She holds the pack out to him again,.

“Shit. Wasn’t all that long ago that they were saying that smoking was good for us.” He scoffs. “I’ll bet you ten years from now they’ll change their mind again.”

“Maybe. But you’ll still taste like death when I — when anyone — kisses you good morning.” She grins and lets the carton fall onto the table.

He shrugs. “I won’t be the one complaining.”

Leah looks at him, evenly. “I guess not.” By now, her paper cup is entirely deconstructed, and she runs her fingertips along the curled piece of cardboard where it rests in her lap.

Holden picks up the cigarette pack and tosses it to Leah. “Here, see if you can’t deconstruct death while you’re at it.”

She catches it and turns the carton over so the picture of rot and decay is turned away from her eyes. “That’s some heavy shit, Holden,” she says, mock-solemnly. “Why don’t you go buy me another coffee?” She pushes a five across the table towards him. “Grande, mocha, with whipped cream.”

“Tout-de-suit, ma chere,” he says, snatching the five up and going to purchase another drink.

She watches him go, smiling, before looking down at the cigarette carton. Her short nails work beneath the plastic wrapping and she methodically begins working it loose.

While he waits for the coffee to be prepared, Holden loops his fingers into his jeans pockets and rocks back and forth.

Leah pulls the crinkly plastic loose; it’s loud, almost too much so, in comparison to the quiet babble of conversation in the coffee house. She crumples it in her hand and sets it atop the table, then looks over at Holden. Her stance is relaxed and calm, but there’s an intensity to her gaze as she takes him in, more interested now that they’ve met than she was when he first walked in and stood at that counter.

He returns, setting the drink down in front of her. “Votre café, madame.”

“Merci,” she replies lightly. She tosses the paper carton on the table, and takes the drink. She breathes across the surface, as if cooling it. “I honestly ought to just sign my paychecks over to this company.” Her grin is a little rueful, but not regretful.

He laughs. “Sounds like a losing game.”

Leah nods her agreement, and takes a sip of the coffee. “Yeah, well, so is drinking this much caffeine at this time of night, unless you’re a -vampire-.” She pronounces the last word with a wiggle of her free fingers. “But I like the nighttime hours.” She considers. “And garlic. Not so much crucifixes, though. Kinda gruesome.”

At the mention of vampires, he scowls.

Leah grins. “More of a werewolf guy?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t like either of ‘em.” Holden’s rather serious expression fades.

She maintains that grin, but something behind her eyes changes. She knows, but doesn’t know if he does.

“See too much of them in the media. Where’s the movie about the Gillyman, that’s what I want to know.”

“Gillyman?” she laughs. “Fucked if I know. The masses want what’s popular, right?”

“Or Igor. There should be a teen romance about Igor.”

She takes another drink. “A hunchback.” she says, bluntly. “Yeah, that wouldn’t go over so well.”

“He Stole My Heart,” Holden says, gesturing expansively.

“Totally not in the way that would appeal to a teenage girl,” she teases.

“I thought girls loved a bad boy? A guy who hacks you up is pretty bad, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s a little too bad.” Leah leans forward, looking at Holden. “He’s gotta be bad enough that you can feel dirty and edgy because you’re with him, but not so bad that you feel like you’re not safe.” She picks up his sunglasses, flicking them open and then closed again.

“Surely not all girls are like that though.” He leans back in the armchair, putting his feet on the table. “Charles Manson has an adoring fan club of women.”

“There are psychos all over the place,” she answers. “Not just behind bars.” She, too, leans back, still holding his sunglasses — which she rests on her knee when she crosses one leg over the other. Once more, she drinks from the paper mug. “But no, not all of them — all of us — are like that. Some of us are a little pickier, right?”

“Of course.”

“So c’mon, Holden,” she looks at him through the steam rising from her cup as she takes another drink, “what about you? Are you looking for a psycho girl? One that would be fantasizing about a man hacking her to bits?”

Holden raises an eyebrow.

She grins.

“Who says I’m looking for anything? Maybe I’m just looking.”

“That,” Leah says, “is exactly what I’m doing.” She tosses his sunglasses onto the table with a soft clatter and once again lies on the couch, resting the coffee on her stomach, looking up at the ceiling.

“Speaking of looking… would you look at the time.” Holden glances at the clock affixed to the wall. “It’s nearly sun up.”

Leah follows his gaze and looks as well, although it’s a little awkward given her position. “Ugh. I’d swear time moves differently in this place.” She turns away from the clock, relaxing. “You gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?”

“I was lying before, I really -am- a vampire. If I stay even a minute longer… POOF!” Suddenly there’s a lighter in Holden’s hand. “I burst into flame.”

She laughs. “Uh huh. You know that’s not really the way it works, right? There’s no blaze of glory.” She pauses. “Plus, you’re totally gonna get kicked out of here if you light that thing up.”

Holden puts it in his pocket. “All right, all right,” he grumbles.

Leah smiles at him and, with surprising grace given the fact that she’s prone, props up her head enough to take a deep drink from her coffee. “I have to say, though, it’s the first time anyone’s tried to get out of a conversation with me by saying they’re a vampire.” There’s laughter behind her words.

He laughs to himself. “I’m almost surprised. You seem like you would keep odd company.”

“You think so?” She grins at him. “And yet here I am, alone in a coffee shop after midnight. Woe is me, right.”

Holden makes a pouty face. “Alone? Yikes, I’m crushed.”

“Oh, shit,” she groans, and sits up. “I was alone, I mean, until I started talking with a dashing, stylish rogue who insisted he went on a crime spree that lit up the entire city… and then had to stop for a coffee with a little blonde artiste.”

“Yeah there we go.”

Leah grins at him. She drinks again. “So how’s it end? Do the cops catch you? Or…” she lets the words drift off, curious.

“I’m a vampire, remember? Cops can’t catch me.”

“So if one were to come in here right now, you’d … what… turn into a bat and flutter away?”

“Yep.” Holden stands up.

Leah clasps her coffee in both hands, looking up at him. “That’d be a trick.”

“The best there is. Well, I’m afraid this is goodbye for now, Leah.” He picks up his sunglasses and puts them on. “I’ll see you again sometime.”

She smiles. “Yeah? Alright. I’ll keep an eye out for bats at my apartment windows.” She inclines her head to him. “G’night, Holden.”

Holden walks towards the door. Right before he leaves he glances back at her. “Goodnight, Miss Sunneborne,” he says, before vanishing into the night.

Immediately she stands and moves to follow him. There’s no reason he should know her last name, and now she’s curious, the look on her face one of bemused interest as she hurries over to the door. She pushes it open and scans the street with a hollered, “Holden? Holden?” but it’s hopeless. He’s gone. She’s frowning slightly when she returns to her coffee.

After Holden leaves, Leah would notice that the pack of cigarettes, or more correctly what was once the pack of cigarettes, is now a pulpy grey liquid.

Leah is surprised when she realizes the pack of cigarettes is no longer what it was. Her fingertips, inquisitive, dip into the pulpy grey mess, testing its viscosity; she wants to know if she recognizes this. It’s a little frightening, though, and there’s no mistaking the frank uncertainty in her wide eyes when she looks over at the doors, as if she’ll conjure Holden back to explain himself by sheer force of will.