am i more than you bargained for? : margaux strauss.

[Noir City]

[ strauss : part II ]

I didn't know what I was doing here. It had been awhile since I had taken my last New York cab, we're talking somewhere along the lines of twenty, twenty-five years. It wasn't hard finding her place -- it was cradling ground zero, those wounds still struggling to heal, to mend. The doorbell titled "Alixandrie"... I knew it was her. That was when a roughly handsome (there was a desperate need for a good shave) man pushed the door open, almost straight into my rib. His dark eyes carelessly washed over me as he lugged out two suitcases, one in each hand.

"Pardon," I said, my throat went dry. My smile faltered as I stepped back, pushing myself against the face of the building.

"You've traveled so much, I thought you would be better at it than this." I thought he was talking to me, but right when I was to respond (most likely with another pardon), I heard a female voice from inside the building.

"We're fashionably late!" Sure enough, Margaux trotted down the steps and in what seemed like an instant with a train case. She didn't sound nearly as French as she did a couple years back, America was slowly wearing down on her. She was wrapped in different layers of black. Stiletto boots. The man had already waved down a cab, stuffing the suitcases in the trunk. Margaux gave him come-hither eyes, and he responded with a half-amused glint in his gaze before she pulled him close by the front of his shirt. "You aren't mad, are you, Charlie?" She was like a child, canting her head. The fellow she called Charlie kissed her forehead and said, "Not if we get on that plane to London." Within seconds they were slamming doors and the cab took off without a second thought.

. . . . .

"Who was that man?" Margaux murmured as she tried to get a glimpse through the back window, but her coat was stiff and complicated the task. He was a shadow against the brick.

"Who cares." Charlie yawned against the window.

"I do."

"He was lurking. A peeping tom that has been watching you get dressed, and my personal favorite -- undressed." A smirk.

"I'm being serious!" She swatted at his shoulder, still attempting to look behind her although it was clearly too late. "He looks like someone I know. I just can't place him." She had barely gotten a glance. But she knew. You always know things like that. It's an eerie feeling.

Charlie absently rubbed the back of his neck."It's probably for your own good you can't remember." It was less comforting than she had hoped.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ February 23, 2006 09:51 PM: Message edited by: fishhook grief (i'll catch you) ]</font>

[Noir City]

The letter. It had all started with a Dear Margaux letter, and I would've torn it up into pieces... but I was curious. And you know what they say about curiosity. He wanted to talk. Why do people always like to lighten the mood, and say, "I'd love to just sit down and get a cup of coffee, and talk." And then it always further into "We'll catch-up." On the last nineteen years of my life? Do we plan on spending all day, not to mention spending some big bucks on coffee. We'll leave so wired we won't sleep for a century.

There was no number. Just a place and a time. I couldn't sleep the night before. I wanted to look my best and be alert, but I couldn't sleep. At least not well. I wore a lot of black, left my hair down, and we sat in a corner table so small that it was hard to fit the two cups of coffee, a couple croissants cold on a white plates. The hotel lobby was cold, airy with marble floors. The small cafe was tenderly chilled, a slightly better climate. "I got you a a an almond croissant. You always liked those when you were, uh, little, and I thought you would, uh, you would still... like them," He stuttered. Eye contact failed towards the end, and I thought he would perhaps vomit.

"No. I try to stay away from sugar. Have to watch my weight." But I still broke off a piece, careful not to get powdered sugar all over the place -- that shit is like a spreading plague. It'll get everywhere and anywhere if you give it an opportunity.

He began to protest, but any man would know this was not a negotiable argument. Women will always be this way. Obsessed with measurements and appearance. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming."

"Your welcome."

"First off, I'd like to apologize for--"

"I don't want an apology. It's not going to take back the last couple decades you weren't around. So save it."

"But that time you came to the apartment and I told you..." He looked exhausted, trailing off, reliving that moment he saw the world shatter in her eyes.

"Save it."

They both had fallen quiet for an awkward minute or two.

"Maybe I should go." She broke the silence first.

"No. No. Lets start over. Tell me about yourself."

She didn't know where to begin.

He continued. "I... saw you awhile ago, before you left on your trip. I saw you with a man."

"Charlie."

"Ah, yes, Charlie. Does he treat you well?"

"Sometimes."

"He loves you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"You'd like to think so?"

"I have trust issues. Although I can't imagine why." Sarcasm.

"I know this is difficult. I know that you hate me and that you probably regret coming here."

Her face said it all.

[Noir City]

[ journal entry ]

Men are the most untrustworthy THINGS this world has ever seen. I'm paranoid to death. Charlie is exactly the same, which is probably the biggest problem. I think I'm pregnant. I know. I know. Fucking girls always say that shit to scare their man, and here I am saying it. But I... don't think I'm bluffing. I should go to a free clinic. Or something. Life becomes disgusting when you realize you're knocked up and don't have any insurance. I'm not going to tell Charlie unless I'm completely positive. I'm not going to tell him until I can't possibly keep it a secret anymore.

[Noir City]

[ between father and daughter ]


"Come back to San Francisco. We'd be happy to help you with the baby. You can stay with us and--"

"And what? Never see him again?"

"He's bad news, Margaux."

"He's the one person who has never given up on me."

That got his attention. "Don't stay with him just because--"

"I love him."

"Exactly."

"I have to stay. You don't understand. Things will work out. You'll see. We're going to move out of the city. I think that'll be best. Buy a home. We'll be fine."

"Your mother was once that optimistic."

"I'm hanging up."

[Noir City]

I dreamt about the ex, like it was some kind of forbidden fruit on nights when you leave the window open. Desperate for autumn to come early. When I say ex-boyfriend, I mean James. I wouldn't consider Charlie my ex on the sole evidence that I still love him. Nothing makes sense around here anymore. Between sheets, somewhere in this dream where James is someone completely different for me. We're drinking carbonated high fructose corn syrup, we're in an elevator, walking up uneven hills. There's no consistency here. And then I wake up, and it's not Charlie or James that is next to me.

No, it's Luther Smith.

[Noir City]

"You look like you're about to pop."

She was in no mood to talk about the anti-christ baking in her uterus, little fists more of an annoyance than a wondrous awareness of this little living being inside of her. She ignored the sales woman, and walked straight past her. She eyed the tiered sash-tie dress in black, fingers struggling with the hangers until she pulled out a size two. She held it in front of her, and nearly sobbed right in the store before making it to the register.

"Is this a gift?"

"I'm not going to be fat forever," she snapped, sliding her credit card on the counter. This was not one of Margaux's better days. In fact, the past a month or so had been complete hell. She had found herself grossly addicted to sticky caramel and milk, and not to mention barbeque pork. And she started to receive gifts in the mail from her father, who was completely unaware that this baby was to be given to a very wealthy family right here in New York twenty-four hours after coming into this world.

[Noir City]

"You look really young, you know."

Her valid passport was already sitting on the plastic platform, sliding her debit card through, clicking around with the black pen. He's scanning her two buck Chuck [wine], 2004 Mondavi Cab, triple distilled vodka, sparkling pomegranate juice.

"I just had my twenty-fourth birthday." She doesn't offer a smile, she's interrupted, actually. Some woman who knows her from a past job that she'd rather forget.

"Margaux! Is that you?"

Fuck Christmas. Fuck people buying things during Christmas time. She briefly looks over at the contents of my basket, and she doesn't feel too much shame.

"Oh, hi. How've you been?" It's empty. Whatever. She's moving on (deciding whether she needs cashback or not), and the woman shuffles a little bit, says a couple words frozen, and they've brushed each other off.

"What I would do to be twenty-four again."

"What?" She's wondering why he's still talking. Shouldn't he shut the fuck up and bag her shit?

"Your twenties are the time to get in trouble. When you get in your thirties you have to think about retirement. Enjoy your twenties. Get in trouble."

She thought it was a little to late for such a suggestion. "I will, thanks." She pauses before the mumble slips out. "I hate the holidays."

"Excuse me?"

"I hate running into people I know." She hates explaining herself, too.

He chuckles. "They're probably thinking about how you used to be such a sweet girl..."

"And now I'm such a lush."

"At least you got good taste in booze."

And then they shared a moment before she thanked him and left.