“Oh God, no, sweetheart I’m sorry, you’re going to have to change. Do you even REALIZE what you’ve done? Oh my God.c’mon, let’s goback to the bedroom.”

You roll your eyes, bracing yourself for another torrent of Simon’s fashion and social ‘expertise’. This is far from the first time that he has dragged you back against your will and argument to your closet and rearranged your outfit so as not to go into public endorsing such horrid atrocities as plaid and stripes, or flowers and checkers in the same ensemble. He’d been doing it since you met him back at the LGBT alliance at UCLA, and it didn’t appear he was going to cut you a break now.

“Ugh Simon, not today, I’m late for work” you argue, “I was supposed to be at the caf ten minutes ago! Anyway it doesn’t matterI’ve told you a million times, I’m a *****, it doesn’t matter what I wear, remember?” You arch your eyebrows sarcastically, but he doesn’t fall for your excuse. He rolls his eyes, and lets out a half chuckle, half scoff. 

“Love, you may be a *****, but I’ve got the ***** eye, and if you want to be seen in public with me, you’re gonna have to change.” Simon grabs your arm without hearing another word, even as you open your mouth to speak, and pulls you back into your bedroom soon handing you a button down white shirt and corduroy pants, which apparently, are more acceptable than the faded black cotton tee and tattered jeans you are currently donning. You know better than to continue to argue with Simon, and soon have surrendered to his demands and changed your clothes. Anyway, this is just one of the reasons you love him, he’s like having your own personal Carson Kressley, and as much as you hate to admit it, he has over time, saved you from numerous fashion don’ts.

“Don’t forget, 5:00, Saturday, opening at the Boulevard West Art Gallery. Don’t bother picking an outfit, I’ll do it for you when I come to pick you up.” Simon looks at you over the rims of his Armani sunglasses, raising his eyebrows so as to make his point clear. “I know, I know, I got it. I didn’t forget. I’ll see you then.” You lean over and give Simon a peck on the cheek before opening the door of his silver Saab, which has just pulled up in front of a small brick establishment. You step onto the sidewalk and look up at the fluttering green awning with ‘Caf Muriel’ lettering in white script across it. Sighing deeply you repeat the thought in your head. “This is only until I can get my own place goingsoon, it’ll happen.” With that, you swing open the door and get ready for another day of work. Heading to the back room of the caf, you look down at the floor, praying against the inevitable. But, it’s too late. 

“Hey, hey, hold it! Do you know what time it is? C’mon, I’m not gonna remind you every time, be on time or don’t bother showing up!” You look up, holding your breath and clenching your teeth. A middle aged man with grayish hair and a long face approach you. . “Sorry Muriel, I know I should have called but I, well I, I had to feed my neighbor’s cat and I” .

“Save it, no more excuses, this is your last warning. Now go get your apron, you’ll be serving today. And tell Jenna she can leave, she’s been covering your shift you know.” You sigh again and nod, heading to the back of the building. You grab you apron, throwing it on and tying it behind your waist. Heading over the cashier counter where Jenna is just finishing up a transaction. 

“Hey, Jen, I’m sorry I’m late. Thanks for covering for me, I promise it will be the last time.” Your voice is mumbled and you attempt to avoid all possible eye contact as you slide behind the counter to take over. “Whatever, it’s ok.” Like you, she averts eye contact. 

You can tell from the tone of Jenna’s voice that her response lacks sincerity. She steps away from the register and pushes past you to go to the back room and change before she leaves. Automatically, your jaw tightens and your muscles tense as you feel the momentaneous friction of her body push past yours. You let your eyes trail after her as she walks to the stock room, and you are defenseless to the deep sigh that you exhale as you take in the way her shiny black ponytail sways as she walks, the way it is that her hips move from side to side or the way her t-shirt clings to all the right places, or the way.

You’re suddenly snapped out of your day dream by the impatient customer standing before you who’s still waiting for change. It’s an older woman, and as you hand over the money she tightens her mouth, and gives you a subtly disapproving shake of the head, obviously indicating her opinion of your, ahem, indecent preoccupation. You sigh again, trying to center yourself before Muriel barks at you again. . This is how its been since you and Jenna broke up, and that was nearly a two months ago. The relationship you had had was intense, the feelings overwhelming, and for the six months you were together, you were sure this was the girl for you, the one you would end up with. But again, that was six months ago.

You had met her your last year at UCLA, over a year and a half ago, but had not worked up the balls, so to speak, to ask her out until after you graduated. From the moment you started dating, the chemistry was electric, the connection real, and the *****, well, let’s just say it made you wonder how straight people ever got off. She had even gotten you your job at the caf, which belonged to Muriel Russo, her uncle. Unfortunately, the emotional intensity had always been stronger on your side of the equation, and when you had eagerly suggested getting an apartment together, she had told you things were moving too fast, and that perhaps you should let your relationship, what was the word she used? Oh right, “breathe”, she suggested letting the relationship breathe. Of course, you immediately jumped to jealous suspicion, saying that she had been looking at other women and wanted to date other people the whole time you’d been together. In hindsight, you realize that you had overreacted to the situation and falsely accused her of being unfaithful. But, that’s the power of hindsight, and what’s done is done. Ultimately the argument had escalated, and before long, you were officially broken up.

Such was the situation as it currently existed. You couldn’t quit your job, because those apartment bills weren’t going to pay themselves, and if you ever wanted to start your own restaurant, your savings account was going to need a little more, well, savings. You did your best to avoid the shifts when you knew Jenna would be working, and she did the same with you. Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake those residual feelings that seemed to ignite when you ran into her. From what you could tell, she had moved on, and that thought stung you even more.

Simon had been an invaluable friend during your break-up time, providing you a shoulder to cry on, Chinese food and Haagen Daaz to binge on, and a constant flow of dvd rentals to keep your mind from dipping into depression. Over the time you had known him, he had invited you to oh, probably over fifty gallery exhibitions/ openings/ shows and you had probably been to oh, three. So when he had asked you to go with him to the show at Boulevard West, you couldn’t exactly say no. Let’s face it, you were no art connoisseur, but with all that Simon had done for you recently, it was the least that you could do. And anyway, it was a show focusing on homosexuality in post-modern art (shocking for West Hollywood, you know), but hey, maybe you’d see something that would interest you. Still, that was a week away, and you were only twenty minutes into you shift at Caf Muriel, it was going to be one ***** of a long week.