Heather chuckled to herself as she turned away from the window. People- watching from her apartment was always amusing. In fact, for activities like that, she probably lived in one of the most entertaining cities in the world.
Heading across the living room of her apartment to her bedroom, she glanced down at her watch. 5:15 PM. “Just enough time,” she thought, smiling to herself as she opened her closet door and selected a pair of black jeans and white t-shirt with a purple splatter design across the front.
At 26, Heather Halloway was almost where she wanted to be in life. She was very close to receiving her “fallback degree” (as she liked to call it) in Accounting, from the University of Illinois in Chicago. That meant in another year, she could take the test to become a CPA. After that, she could try to join a firm, or maybe even start one of her very own, and her career would be solid and secure as she had always hoped.
In the meantime, Heather lived in a beautiful two bedroom apartment a few blocks from Michigan Avenue. With lovely hardwood floors and hip, contemporary design, she would never have been able to afford a place like it without the help of her cousin, Tristen.
Actually, she would not have been able to afford it without the help of her Tristen’s father, her Uncle Ned. He owned a chain of pharmaceutical companies in the mid-west. Heather hated the idea of sponging off of relatives, but the idea of living in Chicago was far too tempting to pass up. The only catch was promising her Uncle that she’d keep an eye on his spoiled daughter.
“Make sure she goes to classes, and pulls a C average,” Ned had told Heather.
“That doesn’t seem like enough to pay you back for this apartment,” Heather had said.
“If it was easy,” Ned said with a chuckle, “I’d do it myself.”
The apartment wasn’t a palace, nor was it nearly as nice as most of the apartments on the block, but the cost of living was very high in Chicago, and a college student with a secretarial assistant job would never have been able to afford it on her own.
Tristen and Heather were, essentially, the odd couple. Tristen was 19 and cute with short blonde hair. She spent most of her life being taken care of; becoming a stereotypical “brat”, so tasks like laundry, dusting, and washing dishes were pretty much foreign to her. Heather, on the other hand, was “border line O.C,” (Obsessive Compulsive), as Tristen loved to tell her. Tristen took classes at the U of I also, but was still uncertain of what she really wanted to do with her life. Most of her free time was spent shopping, clubbing, and picking on Heather. The two were close, nonetheless, but while Heather could sometimes be found Friday nights pouring over her Accounting text, Tristen was off at some trendy nightspot till all hours.
Deep down, Heather kind of admired her cousin’s laid back attitude, in a way. It would be nice, at times, to have virtually no inhibitions, be able to party until dawn, and not worry about tomorrow. Heather could never be that way. She was planned, organized, and anything but wild and crazy. Being an accountant was never her dream, but rating very high on the sensibility scale, she knew she had to have something to lean on if her other aspiration didn’t pan out.
One would think that someone who was headed for a lifetime of preparing taxes would know very little about music, nonetheless be an active member of a rock band.
“I am an oxymoron,” Heather thought, carefully lining her green eyes with dark kohl liner. She was the lead singer for a local cover band called “Jeckel and Hynde.” They mainly did Pretender’s covers, thus the “Hynde” in their name paying tribute to The Pretenders’ own lead singer, Chrissie Hynde.
Being the lead singer of Jeckel and Hynde allowed Heather to be dynamic and untamed, which was quite a difference from the sweet, seemingly normal, woman she was day to day.
After smearing her eyelids with some more eyeliner and dark shadow, Heather reached over to where her choppy, black wig hung on a stand near her mirror. Smoothing her flattened, long blonde locks, she pulled the wig on. Adjusting it, and smiling at herself in the mirror, it was nice to be someone else for awhile. A girl who could care less if the Fed was planning on lowering interest rates next Tuesday. Looking in the mirror had always been a hard thing for Heather. Growing up, she had always wanted to consider herself normal, but she learned early on in life that it would always take some extra effort for her to look unique, let alone beautiful. Heather had an “all-American”, average look about her that she tried so hard to avoid. Her long blonde hair, bright green eyes, rosy cheeks and tall, lean figure were a stark contrast to the artsy style people that she loved to hang around with.
She had always enjoyed people who gathered on the fringe of society. They just seemed so much more interesting than the people she knew at work or school. They were the ones who just seemed to have more to talk about, deeper things to discuss. Heather strayed from normality in her creative life and always had to make sure she was different from the crowd. If her looks couldn’t show it with the band, her taste in music, books, and clothing would. Being in Jeckel and Hynde allowed her that expression and escape from her every day life.
“Trev’s here, Heather,” a voice called from the other side of the expansive living room.
Peaking out from her room, Heather watched Tristen greet the bass player of Jeckel and Hynde, Trevor Sandstone, with a kiss.
Trevor, at 27, was essentially the leader of the band. He was tall and lanky with green eyes and black, wire rimmed glasses. Heather met him one day when she was visiting the art gallery near her apartment for a VanGough display. The two talked art, and then music. Trevor and Heather hit it off and immediately became fast friends. They met for lunch often, and after a few weeks of mulling over their mutual music interests, they decided to form the band with the intention of playing Pretenders’ covers, and then inching in originals.
Tristen and Trevor were the current item in the Jeckel and Hynde circle. A very unique item. Although extremely different from each other, it seemed to work. They had only been dating for a few months, but already their influences on each other proved positive, making Heather’s job of keeping her cousin in line just a little easier. Trevor, through Tristen’s prodding, had become more outgoing, and Tristen even admitted to starting to actually enjoy checking out the art museum.
“Just a second,” Heather called out the door, reaching for a black studded belt to fix around her waist. After one last look in the mirror, Heather opened her bedroom door and walked out into the living room.
“Geez, Heather,” Tristen teased, picking up a copy of People magazine she’d been muddling though all afternoon, “can’t you even rehearse without all that stuff on?”
“Hey Trev,” Heather said, rolling her eyes as she passed the two on the couch, heading for the door. “Maybe you’d be better off worrying less about me and more about reminding your boyfriend to shut the door when he comes in,” Heather half-jokingly groaned, shutting the door and leaning on it with folded arms. “I don’t want any more mice in here.”
Pushing the door open from behind Heather, Brad Johansson was the next to arrive, barging his way into the living room.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, taking a deep drink of the beer he popped open in his left hand. “Those taxi drivers sure are slow.”
“Well,” Heather said, raising a disapproving eyebrow and shutting the door once more, “it’s not like you’re in the only vehicle in town.”
“Cool it, babe,” Brad said, planting a quick peck on Heather’s cheek.
“Ugh,” Heather groaned, wiping the side of her face. “You no longer have the authority to touch me.”
“Fine by me,” Brad said, winking at her and greeting Trevor and Tristen on his way to the makeshift bandstand that was set up in front of the huge windows looking out into the city.
Brad was one of Trevor’s best friends from high school, and although they were almost like brothers, they couldn’t have been more different. While Trevor looked like he belonged in a Green Day video, Brad looked like he could have stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. With his tall and lean body, and the tips of his brown, spiky, jelled hair highlighted with blonde, Brad was really the odd man when it came to show night, but he didn’t care. He looked like he would have fit in better with the Backstreet Boys as opposed to a rock band, but he loved to play the drums, and was rather good at it. It also didn’t hurt that with being in a band came the sudden adoration of lots of young women, including Heather.
At first, Heather pushed off Brad’s advances like the plague, but eventually, after a few months of rehearsal, she got to see a sweeter, more charming side of him and soon the two were an item. For nearly five months. That was the first time in Heather’s life that a decent guy was really interested in her. Someone who knew the whole of her. Both the every day Heather, and the Jeckel and Hynde Heather. Unfortunately, the relationship ended after Heather caught Brad getting a little too close to a concert promoter who bared a striking resemblance to Pamela Anderson. Poor, hormonal Brad just couldn’t resist himself, breaking Heather’s heart along the way.
But, as they say, behind every dark cloud, there’s a ray of light. That particular light turned out to be the massive amount of inspiration and creativity that came from Heather’s angst. It was from that time that she wrote some of her most favorite compositions including, “Yeah Right”, “Mr. Pretty Boy Blues”, and “Big Busted Slutty Blonde Women Who Sleep with Musicians and the Young Men Who Love Them.” Well, maybe they were not her best. In fact, Heather was never really as big on writing music as she was performing music. She tried her hand at writing songs, but she just found that they were a bit too wordy. So, listening to her better judgment, and the boos from the crowds, Heather decided to leave the songwriting to the pros, and concentrate on her writing in narrative form.
“What ‘cha reading Tristen,” Brad asked, tightening one of the cymbals on his drum kit.
“People, of course,” Trevor said, teasingly poking Tristen in her side.
“Hey,” Tristen said, holding the magazine up and pointing at the cover, “It’s very intellectual reading!”
“Yeah, Britney Spears plays a stripper in a new movie,” Trevor said, pointing at the cover. “Very educational.”
“Hey, lemmie see that,” Brad said, twirling a drumstick and walking over to the couch. “Britney’s hot.”
Heather snorted and gazed out the window.
“Besides,” Brad said, taking the magazine from Tristen, “stripping is an art form.”
“Yes, and you’re also a big supporter of buying Playboy for the excellent articles,” came a male voice from the doorway.
“Wazzup, Paul,” Brad said, tossing the magazine back to Tristen and greeting the latest arrival.
Heather chose one of her best friends, Preston Sturgensonski, or Paul Lennon. (He had recently changed his name as a tribute to two of his musical heroes.) Preston, or Paul, started playing guitar at the age of six, and fifteen years later he met Heather in a music theory class at the U of I. Paul was quiet, with thoughtful, deep brown eyes and shaggy brown hair, but quite expressive with his music. He was a brilliant writer, and for what he lacked in stature, being only 5’5, he made up for with his immense talent.
“Hey Paulie,” Heather said, as he wrapped her in a hug. Paul had been visiting his parents in Los Angeles for the past two weeks.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, releasing her and setting down his new Fender guitar in case. “I got it while I was in L.A.”
“It’s beautiful, man,” Trevor said as Paul pulled the white and black, sleek electric guitar from it’s case.
After lots of “oohing” and “ahhing”, Heather reminded everybody that it was now 5:45 and they only had an hour and a half to practice for this Friday’s gig at Steppins.
“What happens,” Trevor asked, breaking away from the coveted instrument and walking over to his bass, “we all turn into pumpkins at seven?”
Heather blushed slightly and bent over to adjust the microphone plug in the amp so no one would see her embarrassment.
“It’s Wednesday,” Tristen said, picking up her magazine again.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Brad began in an announcer like voice, playing a quick drum roll as he spoke. “It’s 80’s movie night at The Appleistic.”
Heather could feel her blood boiling. She knew what was coming. They could never miss an opportunity.
“Oh ho, and what could be playing tonight? Hmmm,” Brad pretended to muse.
“Could it be ‘Sable’,” he asked, trying to sound like Dana Carvey’s “Church Lady”.
Trevor took in a quick breath in pretend shock. “Our Heather miss an opportunity to see her lover-boy on the big screen,” he questioned, his mouth agape, his hand over his heart. “Never!”
“Yes,” Brad continued, a sly smile donning his face from ear to ear, “Not only is she secretly the most organized and stable rocker we have known, but she also is a huge fan of Hollywood corporate teen comedies!”
“It’s not corporate comedy,” Heather shouted. “It’s a very intelligent movie.”
“Yeah, well,” Brad said with a cocky laugh, “I bet you wouldn’t have refused that little kiss earlier had it been from Cameron Keley.”
Heather turned another shade of red.
“Knock it off, guys,” Paul said, hooking up his guitar and strumming a chord.
Heather looked at him thankfully. The teasing was all in good fun, but some times, it could really get to her.
Cameron Keley was Heather’s favorite movie star. Her friends adored teasing her about her “healthy obsession” with the actor. First it started with a few DVDs, then a few soundtracks, then soon her bedroom was covered with Keley paraphernalia. From posters to movie props, Heather had quite the collection. She couldn’t help it. It was like at first site.
She had a tendency to do that. Fall in love, or “in like”, with unattainable people. Especially famous ones. You could admire them from afar, daydream as much as you want, but that’s all they are. A daydream. No commitments, no let down’s. They could never get close enough to hurt you.
“Oh, and would you look at this,” Tristen said, holding up the magazine and pointing to a small article with a picture. “Speak of the devil.”
Heather turned with some interest towards Tristen and her magazine, but was cut short when Trevor grabbed his bass and called for attention.
“No time for that,” he said, winking at Heather and nodding at Brad to start off a count.
Stepping up to the microphone, Heather tossed her “hair” behind her shoulders and began to sing, letting the music take over. Letting herself slip away.
“The middle of the road is trying to find me…”
Later that night, Heather stumbled into the apartment, tripping over one of Tristen’s shoes. The movie had been a double feature. Not only had she had the pleasure of seeing Cameron in “Sable”, she also got to see him in one of his later, independent films, “Running Towardward”.
Quietly setting her keys on the glass table top, she flipped on a small lamp next to the couch and sat down for a moment. Glancing at the table, she saw the People magazine still resting on top. Picking it up, she flipped though until she came to the page that Tristen had remarked about earlier in the evening.
“‘Keley and Ryan an item after filming wrapped on “Without a Cloud”, to be released March 2nd , Heather read quietly. “This new romantic comedy/turn of the century farce finds the pair as a mismatched couple off screen as well. Our sources saw them in Paris sipping latte’s at a dimly lit café, followed by a night on the town catching local bands. We don’t think these lovebirds were paying much attention to the music. Ryan is currently in negotiation to play a rather large role in an upcoming major motion picture, while Keley is in Chicago filming his next picture, “A Time for the Past”.’
Heather smoothed the page and ran her finger over the picture. It was a more recent shot, probably taken for a new movie. His hair was a bit messed and he wore a trademark black t-shirt. She closed the magazine and tossed it back to the table.
Sighing, she ran her hands over her tired face and though her hair. It had been a long day. She’d known better than to have been out so late, but after all the studying she’d been doing lately to prepare for that special appointment she had tomorrow, she thought she deserved a night out.
Tomorrow she had an interview at Nyman and Foster, one of the most influential accounting firms in Chicago. It was for an assistant job, but she knew she had to start somewhere. She had prepared all she could, and she knew she would ace the interview, but something inside just felt wrong.
Pushing that feeling down, Heather headed off to bed. The job would be safe, she kept telling herself.
“And when it comes down to it,” she said, as she headed to one of the windows in the living room, “that’s really all that matters.”
Looking out across the street and slightly around the corner, she could see the lights at the outdoor ice skating rink as a few late-nighters skated to a stop and sat on a nearby bench. Without a sound, a soft rain began to fall.
“Rain in January,” Heather thought, smiling to herself as the pair stumbled over each other, running to the safety of a nearby café’. “It’s going to be warmer soon,” she mused, watching papers fly through the streets as the wind began to pick up, and the rain turned to snow.
Part Two...
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