Incognito, by Greenie

Main
Fan Fiction
Back
Next

Chapter Three- Plastic to Cloth

It's funny how when you really don't want to do something, you always end up doing it.

I didn't want to go look at the apartment, yet there I found myself, signing papers.

I didn't want to accept Elijah's offer to go out for some coffee, yet coffee we had.

I didn't want, really didn't want, to call up Orlando and have him join us, yet here he is, waltzing towards our table with a huge grin.

He's got this walk that you just know exists solely to make the entire female population swoon on spot. Every step flaunts a carefree elegance and a smooth confidence. It carries him like the wind does a feather, makes him look like he's just floating across the floor. It speaks of natural beauty. It screams perfection.

It's telling the gullible teenager hidden inside of me that dreams are the reality.

I'm not listening. I'm betting Orlando practices this walk in front of the mirror every night before he goes to bed. I'm betting he took classes to perfect it. I'm betting the smile he's giving me was part of the package. A special bonus flung in to enhance the shine of vanity.

"Scoot over Jules," He commands, denying me a choice in the matter by pressing his side against mine until I'm at the end of the booth.

Smile, smile, optimism.

"Why of course, Orlando."

He ignores my sarcasm.

"So...how was the apartment?"

I grumble incoherently, stare into my coffee and let Elijah answer for me.

"Perfect!" He exclaims. "A few more papers signed and days passed, and Juliana can move in."

Yep. My defiant reluctance lost the battle to my realization of need.

It's hard to tell yourself you don't need an apartment just to spite someone when you've really got no place to stay.

"Well, well, well."

I'm sure Orlando is grinning like a fool, intolerable satisfaction etched on his face, but I'm too busy frowning down at my coffee to see.

My reflection frowns back at me, wavering a bit when Elijah bangs his knee against the table.

I stare hard, and my face goes,

Shimmer, shimmer.

I glare pensive, poke my cup and the image goes,

Flutter, flutter.

I sigh and watch myself ripple and disappear under the force of my breath.

I think of Newton and his third law*. I ponder my reflection's dissipation into the black swirl and wonder if this reality imitates that of coffee.

It must not because Orlando seems to still see me, is still addressing me in a half teasing, half mocking tone.

"And there you were, saying you didn't need an apartment, so reluctant to go!"

I blow again on the hot liquid and watch as ripples wash peacefully against the cups side and steam wafts out slowly to merge with the air.

No more reflection, yet here I am.

An action of disappearance, yet no reaction to accompany it.

Damn Newton and his deceptions.

I inform Orlando, detached, "Yeah, well, my boyfriend is eager to move into a new place, so..."

Ah, yes. My boyfriend, Brian. Tall, sandy haired Brian whose soft brown eyes always smile and never lie. Sweet, perfect Brian whose only flaw is that he’s trapped behind the steel walls of my mind.

Orlando goes, "Hmmm," And frowns.

Elijah goes, "Boyfriend?" And raises an eyebrow.

I go, "Yeah," And push away my coffee awkwardly.

Elijah brilliantly decides to change the subject.

"So how did it go with Fiona, Orli?"

Ahhh. Now this is something I'm interested in.

Orlando furrows his eyebrows questioningly. "You mean did I get my ass kicked for being late?" Elijah nods in confirmation and Orlando laughs. "A few death threats, but the damage was minimal. She couldn’t do much under the circumstances."

Death threats, damage, circumstances?

I know an abusive relationship when I hear one.

"And..."

Orlando grins, "I guess I've got myself a new project!"

Elijah lets out a whoop.

I frown, "Color me confused."

"Fiona is my agent," Orlando explains. "My meeting this morning was concerning an upcoming movie I was hoping to be apart of, and now am for certain."

I resist the urge to groan.

An actor? How perfect.

I upgrade Orlando's danger level to severe.

If it is his job to convince the world of his lies then surely this façade of perfection takes little to no effort.

I watch him suspiciously as he continues to talk to Elijah excitedly.

The dream transforms, the nightmare revealed.

He is a model sculpted by society, once vulnerable in the hopeful clouds of a dream, soft clay easy to mold, and now cooked into the ideal man whose face must bring in millions when flashed across a page or screen.

He is society's puppet, the propaganda sold to lonely and yearning girls.

He is a lie.

"Don't you agree, Juliana?"

An illusion, a fantasy impossible to reach on that deeper, more personal level.

What you see it what you get, and that is that.

"Juliana?"

He might as well be made of plastic.

"JULES!"

Jules?

I blink, "Eh?"

Orlando is smiling down at me, eyebrows knitted, waving a hand in front of my eyes. "See something you like?" He jokes.

"What?"

I'm feeling like I've just woken up from being on a large dose of antihistamines.

"You've been staring at me for the past five minutes."

Oh...shit.

Smile, smile, optimism.

"I was just thinking of how you remind me of a duck."

Elijah snorts delighted.

"A duck?!" Orlando squeaks indignantly.

"MmmHmmm."

Take that you big plastic hunk!

Elijah's laughter subsides and he says, "Anyways. We were asking, Juliana, what you think about computers?"

Computers? How did they get from movies to computers in five minutes?

"Uh...I don't."

"Oh, come on. Like, dislike, love, hate?"

I'm still having trouble on where this all is coming from. Or why, for that matter, I should even care.

"I guess I like them...I mean-"

Orlando pounds his fist on the table.

"Bloody hell! You've all been brainwashed!"

Uh...

"Computers are the axis of evil!"

Orlando is shaking his head disgusted, opening his mouth to continue his tirade.

I'm wondering, Axis of evil? What has this guy been watching, hours of CNN?

I frown, "Alright, Doubya ."

Elijah giggles, Orlando grins and we continue to debate computers. And then we're talking about music, books, fruit, water, rain, surfing, skydiving, breaking backs, traveling, New Zealand, and Elijah and Orlando are bombarding me with hilarious stories, attempting to conjure the most embarrassment out of the other.

We're talking and laughing and I've lost myself in the naturalness of it all.

I've lost myself in this world of Elijah and Orlando where I'm being introduced to the most amusing, sincere, gentle and interesting people.

And this light feeling fluttering in my stomach, I realize, is happiness. Happiness because we're sitting here talking and laughing like we've been best friends since grade school and I feel like I actually belong.

Happiness that is wrong.

I'm smiling and giggling and having a fabulous time and I'm thinking,

Dear god, save me.

I'm thinking,

Plastic, plastic, plastic.

Lies, lies, lies.

I'm grinding my teeth, tearing napkin after napkin up in shreds, pouring scolding hot coffee down my throat as if my life depended on it.

I'm continuing to flail motionlessly for the nonexistent edge.

I'm ignoring how much I really don't hate this situation at all.

Currently, Elijah is balled over in his booth, just barely able to breathe amidst his uncontrollable laughter and incapable of continuing his telling of a quite amusing story involving Orlando, a tennis ball with a string tied to it, and a large amount of Bacardi.

Orlando just grins, rolling his eyes.

"I hope you drive, because at this point he's not going to be able to walk, let alone get behind the wheel."

My laughter turns sardonic.

Yeah. I drive. I drive like the murderer I am.

I take another gulp of coffee and glance up at Orlando and Elijah who've abruptly fallen into silence.

No more laughter, no more smiles.

They're looking at me, eyes wide in surprise. They're gapping at me, mouths opening and closing soundlessly.

Did I just say that out loud?

The silence swallowing me is enough confirmation.

I resist the urge to throw up, force a smile and laugh.

"I was joking guys. Lighten up."

They continue to stare at me until Elijah lets out a tense and unenthusiastic, "Heh."

I'm imagining a huge anvil and sledge hammer. I'm imagining my head in between the two and the insane fool that has invaded me being pounded out.

"More coffee?"

I practically lurch across the table to hand the waitress my cup.

Orlando and Elijah are still looking at me like I've grown horns.

So much for all that talking and laughing we had going on there.

Goodbye best buddies.

"Well. I should probably get going," Elijah states softly. "Things to do, places to be."

Orlando and I only nod in response and Elijah throws some money down on the table and bids us farewell with a, "It was fun, I'll see you guys later."

So now it's just me and Orlando and that awkward uncomfortable silence I'm getting to know so well.

I try to not think about how Orlando hasn't said a word since my slip up.

I try even harder to disregard the sorrowful stare he is pinning on me.

But I can't.

It's almost as if he is...pitying me.

I don't want, don't need, anyone's pity. Especially his.

"Stop looking at me like that," I command lowly.

He doesn't. He just keeps staring with those eyes, so deep and sincere.

I shift, think more of plastic and lies.

"Let's go," He finally says.

"Go where?"

"I want to show you something."

Oh no. Absolutely not. No chance in Hell.

"Umm..."

"We're going."

No, no, no, no, no.

Am I making myself clear? NO.

Orlando is pulling me up, placing some cash on the table.

My mind is still screaming in protest.

"Uhh...coffee!" I blurt in lame dispute.

"You've already had three cups."

I shake my head vigorously as Orlando drags me out of the cafe. I really don't want to go. Really.

So is it really all that surprising that thirty-five minutes later I'm sitting sulkily in the passenger seat of his parked car in the middle of a deserted road? Is it surprising that I am being pulled out of my seat against my will and brought over to stand before...a tree?

Because that is exactly where I am.

I'm standing here next to Orlando, in the boonies of some suburb, on the side of the road, looking at this random and lonely tree.

The tree is a mangled mess. Its bark is peeling, its wood is rotting, its branches are broken and woven together in a tangle, its roots are sticking hazardously above the ground.

I look at this tree and all I am thinking is destruction and death.

I'm thinking destruction and death and Orlando goes, "This tree saved my life."

I don't respond, I just stare at the tree in front of me in confusion.

Saved his life?

What did he do, suck it of its beauty and youth so that he could have a career?

I finally say, "Oh."

And suddenly he's launching into this deep and heart warming story about how he had lost himself, lost himself in this fake reality of vanity and fame. He's telling me how crazy it drove him, how he hide himself in beautiful women and alcohol. He's showing me how his life was spiraling downward until one night, one stupid drunken night, he got in his car and drove away from it all. Drove away from it all and right into this very tree.

That's when he realized, he tells me, what a fool he was being. How he was throwing it all away. How he didn't have to be so immersed in the celebrity life style. How it was just a matter of willing detachment, of not allowing his work to be his life. He tells me how hitting this tree made him see clear again, just like breaking his back once had told him to live life to its fullest.

But I'm not buying it. I look at him as I would an empty book and I know this is his ploy, how with these few words he expects to sack any woman.

He pulls if off wonderfully, of course. It is all very convincing.

But he is an actor. His livelihood depends on being convincing.

"Sometimes," He says softly, his tone all too implying. "Sometimes these bad things...they happen for a reason. They happen for the better."

And I just snort.

I can really see how killing my sister should have changed my life for the better.

That's sarcasm.

I look at Orlando with a blank expression.

"That's really beautiful," I tell him. "One time I slipped on a rock and broke my wrist. It really set me straight. I made sure I never stepped on one again."

Someone once told me sarcasm is the language of the dead.

I'm wondering where my rotting skin is.

Orlando looks at me blankly, so I add perceptively, "Rocks have feelings too."

I'm expecting anger and frustration, but Orlando just stays silent with an inscrutable expression, staring at me dejectedly before walking stoically back to the car. When he starts it I am almost expecting him to drive off, leave me here with this tree. But he doesn't. Just sits there waiting.

I join him a pensive moment later and he pulls onto the road with an eerie calm.

It's not long until he breaks the tense quiet surrounding us.

"Are you always this cold-hearted?" He asks frigidly, and I shift and look at my set belt.

I don't respond because something weird is happening. Something big is stirring within me, is boiling up rapidly and burning my stomach and throat painfully.

I'm not sure but I think...I think it might be...guilt.

Guilt. Remorse. Regret. Shame.

I'm so overwhelmed with this that I just keep playing with my set belt.

I'm hoping Orlando is going to let me get away with this silence. I'm thinking he will, when after two minutes he says nothing more.

Until suddenly he swerves violently off the road, slams the car to a halt and turns off the engine.

I don't dare move.

He turns, angry eyes boring into me intensely.

"So what the fuck did I do?"

His voice is loud and demanding and makes me feel smaller than a peanut.

"What?" I squeak quietly, shrinking away from him.

"What did I do to make you hate me so much? Was it taking you in from the cold? Was it giving you a place to stay? Finding you an apartment? Trying to be your friend?" There are flames dancing wildly in his eyes. "What?! Why are you so afraid to accept my help?"

I just blink, just sit there gawking at him like a fool.

Am I that transparent?

"Jesus, Juliana. Give me something to go on here."

But I can't. I can only look at him and wonder what the fuck he is thinking.

If I am so much trouble, if I am such a bitch, why is he even bothering?

I know I wouldn't be.

Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be.

I don’t answer his question, just say, "I don't understand why you are doing this," And hope for a better reaction then last time.

Orlando blinks, frowns, "Does it matter?"

I don't reply again because it does matter.

Because most people so willing to help others only do it for one reason.

They're doing it on unknown, dangerous and selfish grounds. They're looking for something in return.

And I have nothing to give.

Orlando must partially understand this because he says, "You can trust me, Juliana. I'm really not such a bad guy."

Before I can stop myself I snort, "You're an actor."

Orlando stares at me shocked, stares at me so hard and so amazed I'm half expecting his eyes to pop out and his chin to hit the floor.

He blurts out, "Shit. I'm such a fucking idiot."

Eh?

His eyes narrow at me accusingly.

"I saw you and I thought...I thought maybe you were different. But I was wrong. I'm a fucking idiot," He repeats, his voice bitter, disappointed.

Different?

I swallow, not really sure I want to know what he is talking about.

Yet something inside of me is speaking out, is stuttering, "W-what?"

"You're just as shallow as the rest of them. You saw my career and you didn’t look any further. You just stopped, and now all you see is an actor."

Orlando is so disgusted and sorrow-filled that it tears my heart out.

If only he knew how wrong he is.

If only he knew how I saw beyond his career, how I looked into his eyes and caught that glimpse of sincerity and warmth there and immediately backed up in fear.

If only he knew that his being an actor just provided me with an excuse to build a wall of lies and run.

If only I knew what the hell I am running from.

Orlando starts up the car again, says softly, defeated, "I just wish people could at least try."

Guilt. Remorse. Regret. Shame.

It all washes over me with one hundred times its original force.

My harsh judgment was just meant as armor. Never to upset him. At least not to this extent.

I'm thinking maybe it wouldn't hurt to just give him a chance.

I'm realizing I can stay safe and not bring others pain at the same time.

I'm deciding to, at the very least, downgrade his danger; plastic to cloth and lies to white ones.

I'm whispering, "Okay Orli, I will try."

He looks at me blankly, face remaining stoic but loosening his grip on the wheel.

I tell him, "You're not the idiot."

He frowns and turns his attention back to the road.

I'm finding this all very weird because I've just meet this guy less than twenty-four hours ago, haven't even gotten to really know him, and yet we've just had an argument concerning who we truly are, deep beneath our skin.

I'm thinking that we're going about this in reverse.

But I'm beginning to understand that is doesn't matter.

Orli's nodding in acceptance now, glancing over briefly to give me a small smile.

I return it, say, "And I guess...I guess, you can call me Jules. If you really must insist."

His face splits into a wide grin.

I remember that gangly old, dying tree.

I remember screeching tires and shattering glass.

I remember life lost.

I tell myself, over and over,

Just try. It's the least you can do.

Just try.