Thanks be to SassyKassie for once again making sure my t's are crossed and my i's are dotted. She's one of the best there is.
Special thanks to my girl, Laureate04, because without her - this wouldn't get written. She puts up with my constant insecurities and endless questions. You are the best writing partner to have.
Chapter 4
BPOV
6:10 am
I knew I shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee. I run to the bathroom and shuffle back to bed. I’m tired but I have like ten million things going on in my head that won’t let me sleep.
That couple last night was just nauseating. All lovey dovey and crap. Ugh! If that’s what being in love is like...they can keep it.
Should I wear those jeans Jake made me buy that fit me like a second skin or a pair of my comfy Levi’s? The black blouse or the red one? Should I wear my boots or my converse? This being-a-girl shit is for the birds!!!
I should call Leah. I haven’t seen her in a bit. Maybe she’ll meet me for dinner before the show?
I grab my cell and scroll through for her number. I hope it’s the correct one. She’s always changing it because she can’t remember shit. It’s early, but Leah doesn’t ever seem to sleep.
“Yeah?”
“Leah? It’s Bella.”
“Hey, girlfriend! What up?”
Leah’s a trip and a half. Besides having the memory of a goldfish, she’s crazier than Annie Wilkes from Misery. The last time we got together, she pulled three fire alarms in Macy’s while screaming at the top of her lungs, “Down with Diddy! Martha is the anti-christ!” and then ditched me. Thank God Jake was working that day. He walked over and explained Leah was a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. The cops were ready to haul me away when they got a hold of the security footage of the two of us shopping. She told me a week later that she was having boyfriend issues that day. What did I tell ya? Love makes people do the craziest fucking stuff.
“I’m headed up your way tonight. You want to meet at that Thai place you like?”
“What you doin’ up here? Is it that informercial dude?” I hear her take a deep drag off her Marlboro Silver.
“ Infomercial? You really need to look into some of that gingko biloba shit,” I laugh. “He’s a motivational speaker.”
“Hmmm...” she ponders. After a moment, she laughs, “Sure thing, Swan. I’ll run right out and get me some. What time does your motivational guy go on?”
“Show starts at seven. How about we meet up at half past a hand?” That’s five-thirty for those who don’t speak Leah.
“My Thai it is,” she says and hangs up. Not even a goodbye. That’s how Leah works.
Should I wear my hair up? Straighten it? Go au naturel?
I should pack a bag, just in case. I reserved a room at the Marriott in the event I didn’t want to drive home. Free bed. Schwing!!!
8:17 am
Jeez, I really need to get some sleep. If I don’t, I’ll either pass out on the way there or during the show. I get up again and make myself a sandwich. Yeah, I know it’s eight in the morning, but to normal people it’s like...I don’t know...seven at night? That’s the life of someone who works the graveyard shift. I plod back to my bed with Edward Cullen’s newest book, “Being Your Own Person.”
After a couple chapters, I realize that I need to make some changes. I need to grab the proverbial bull by the horns and be myself. I need to stop putting all my issues on Charlie and Renee. Even Leah, for that matter. Maybe Bree’s right? I should quit the vampire life and get out in the real world.
I read a few more chapters and my eyes finally start to droop.
4:56 pm
What the hell is that noise? Jesus! If Jake’s here meditating again with his indian music, I’ll kill him. I sit up and pick up my iPhone to check the time. The tinkling noise is coming from it. I look at the time and scream.
“I’m fuckin’ late! Son. Of. A. Whore’s. Uncle!!!”
Throwing the covers off, I hit last number dialed.
“Yeah, you’ve reached Leah. So what! Leave a damn message! Peace!”
“Lee, I’m not gonna make it. We’ll meet soon. Ciao!” I quickly end the call and turn on the shower. I do a cursory job of scrubbing, buffing and rinsing. It’ll have to do. I dry myself and lather on some lotion. I always lotion, late or not.
I rummage through my closet and find a few pairs of jeans. I shimmy my ass into the expensive pair and decide they are too restricting. It takes a few minutes to get them off. Now I know what Jon Bon Jovi goes through with those damned leather pants of his. I slip into a pair of my favorites and flip through my shirts. Cutesy floral? Striped V-neck? Black peasant? Red one it is, because the black one has the huge deodorant stain on the shoulder. Fucking Jake. I can’t decide which shoes to wear.
The red boots? Nah, too matchy matchy. The black ones? Not if I want to continue to use my ankles. Damn four inch heels. Converse? New black ones or the old beat up grey ones? The grey ones have seen better days. Time to bury them in Charlie’s backyard. I’ll need to call Jake. He always performs the last rites. It’s fun to see my way-out-of-the-closet friend dressed as a priest. Black ones it is.
I have no more time so I slip a hair tie around my wrist and go with my natural waves. I throw my makeup bag in my backpack and hit the road.
My Honda Civic, “Miley” (because she’s got about two hundred thousand on her) groans as I push her to top speed on the highway. I’m not concerned with a ticket. Chief Charlie would take care of it. Edward’s cd, “Keys to being the best customer service representative” plays, drowning out the poor girl’s protests. The man’s voice is dreamy and puts me in a trance. Miley, seemingly equipped with a homing beacon, takes me toward the Wells Fargo Center.
I park her in the lot of the Marriott and head into the lobby. Emily, one of my former co-workers, is manning the front desk.
“Bella Swan, fancy seeing you here! You staying with us again?” The petite brunette smirks while looking up my reservation.
Even though I haven’t seen her in about six months, I remember not to stare at her scar. Her husband, Sam, had a terrible reaction to vicodin after some oral surgery one night. She ended up with a scar running down the side of her face.
“You know,” she whispers and motions me forward with her finger. “That motivational dude of yours is staying here too.” She winks at me.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but that may sway my decision,” I smile at her. “Since I’m not sure, can I leave my bag in the office? What time will you be off?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’m here until two-thirty. Our night manager’s wife had a baby this morning, so we’re all picking up the slack.” Emily takes my bag and places it in the office. “You better get going. I hear the show starts at seven and it’s already quarter past six.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you later.” I wave and make my way out front. Traffic doesn’t look too bad as I hail a cab. It only takes a minute or two for one to pull up.
“Wells Fargo Center, Broad Street entrance, please.” I ask the cabbie as I slip on my seatbelt. I’ve been in a fair number of these death machines. These guys drive like they’re in the Daytona 500, weaving in and out of traffic going about 180.
Twenty minutes later, I feel like I drank a Monster. My heart is beating so fast, I almost feel the need to find a defibrillator to knock it back into sinus rhythm. I throw a twenty at the driver and slam the door. Let’s hope I don’t get “Amun” on the way back to the hotel!
After purchasing another copy of his book, because you never know if you’ll get the chance to get an autograph, I find my seat in the 101 section. I’m center stage, sixth row back. I’m gonna get some great shots with my phone of my philosophical guru. I look around a bit, seems like he’s doing this show in the ‘round’. He’s got freedom to face all sides of the crowd. It’s packed too. I scan through the chapters I read this morning while waiting for the show to start.
Around seven-fifteen, the local Weather Forecaster for NBC10, Dave Floren steps out and introduces Edward.
“Good evening. Is everyone ready to be motivated?” Dave asks. The crowd around me goes crazy.
Yeah, buddy. Get off the stage. I’m not here to see you. Maybe go read those weather charts and tell me it’s gonna snow tomorrow like you did last July.
This guy is an idiot. He came to speak while I was at Rutgers. He couldn’t forecast himself out of a paper bag. He literally told us last July that we were going to get 6 inches of snow.
In July.
It was 101 friggin’ degrees.
Ass-wipe.
“It’s a beautiful night here in Philly, I hope you’ll be inspired to go outside and enjoy it! Ladies and gentleman, your speaker for the evening, Edward Cullen!”
I sit up in my seat a little, trying to get a glimpse of his tousled hair as he makes his way on-stage. He’s dressed in dark jeans, a blue button down and a dark grey suit coat. Edward gives his signature wave and smiles at the crowd. I watch as Dave and he shake hands. He takes a drink of water from a bottle and sets it back on the stool in the middle of the stage.
I almost can’t contain my excitement when he picks up the microphone. I’m mesmerized as he talks. I catch the topic, “Being Your Own Person.” I feel like we’re on the same fucking channel.
I nod my head at everything he says.
Then it dawns on me just what he’s saying...something’s not right. I listen a little harder and things aren’t really making sense.
“Of course, we know, that all our wants and desires are shaped by those around us - but wanting to emulate others or avoid all association with others, dependent on the situation is key.”
Uh... our needs are based on who we do or don’t associate with? I hang with Jake, but that doesn’t mean I need to be butt-fucked. There is no stopping in the red zone.
“Because ‘yourself’ is something only you can truly know, you must sometimes use self examination to look at where you want to find yourself.”
Seriously, dude? What? My mind is having a hard time wrapping around that one.
I’ve seen this man numerous times on the east coast. I have all his dvds. Something ain’t right in Denmark tonight. I watch as he paces the stage as if he’s a lion in a cage. The microphone keeps switching back and forth between his hands.
He talks about career changes and how you learn from your professors and other students and that this is beneficial to whatever you choose to do, but...
“You cannot let those around you influence your love of your work.”
He’s contradicting himself. Edward pulls at his hair a few times, causing it to become an even more riotous mess.
“Being your own person means being able to be yourself - no matter where you are - but you must always be yourself in a way that fits the situation. To work with others, whether at a job or in a social situation, you want to tailor your social skills to the occasion.”
Edward, Edward, Edward...what is going on with you, man?
He just told me to be myself no matter what, but that I need change myself based on who I’m with or what I’m doing. Now, I understand if, let’s say, you swear a lot, you might want to put the kabosh on that shit when you’re working or at a fucking baptism or some shit. That’s not at all what he just said. That’s nothing like what I read in the book this morning.
I listen to him talk in a circle for the better part of an hour. My mind cannot grasp anything he said. It’s a jumbled mess of contradictions.
The man thanks us for coming and waves as he walks off the stage. I watch him, shaking my head. Everyone has an off day. Jasper Whitlock, Edward’s Manager, walks on stage as I grab my bag and book.
“Ladies and gentleman, again, thank you so much for coming tonight. Unfortunately, there will not be any autograph signings this evening. Please drive safely and remember to Be your Best Self.”
I sigh disappointedly and toss the book into my bag. “So much for that.”
People all around me talk excitedly about Edward’s message tonight. I can only shake my head in disbelief. Really people?!!? Are you that stupid? He told us to be ourselves and then told us to conform to society!!!
“Yo! Watch where you’re goin’, Bitch!” some goombah yells at me as I push through the crowd.
The excited mood I came in with left the building when Edward told me I needed to surround myself with people I wanted to be like to truly be my own person.
I want to be a weather forecaster but I’m not going to hang out with that douche bag from NBC10. I’m pretty sure he got his degree from a friggin’ cracker jack box. I didn’t bust my ass to tell people we’d get 6 inches of snow in July.
Squeezing my ass through a large grouping of primping women, I make it out to the front of the arena. The street is lined with cabs. These guys are going to make a killing. I slip into the third one and see my driver is a fairly normal looking blonde guy. The name on his license tells me he is Garrett.
“Where might we be takin’ ye this evening?” he asks in an Irish lilt.
“Marriott, please,” I answer scrolling through the texts I missed from Jake.
Bitch, get ur ass here! Bree’s found 3 hotties and 1 has ur name tattooed on his luv muscle! ~ J
I can tell Jakey’s been drinking because the messages get raunchier and raunchier as time goes by. I decide to respond to his first one and call it a night.
Tatt’d Luv muscle?!?! Sounds like he’s ur type, sweets! me = hotel. Call u l8tr. xx - B I hit enter and relax into the seat.
“Miss? We’ve arrived. Might you want to be getting out?” Garrett asks smiling at me from the rearview mirror.
“Oh, yes,” I sigh. “Thanks.” I hand him a twenty while I pull the door handle. It swings open quickly causing my body to jerk out. “What the frick?”
Some nut fuck in a three piece suit has his hand on the door frame, but he’s staring at the bleach blonde with size triple e tits at his side. One wrong move and she’ll knock his eye out with the right one.
“Jimmy! You practically dragged this little one right out the cab!” Bimbette laughs. Her voice sounds like she’s smoked a few hundred camels today. “I’m sorry, sugah!” She slips her hand under my arm to help me up. She reaches in with her red nailed claw, grabs my purse and tosses it at me. The two slide past into the seat as I stand on the curb watching them in confusion before Garrett pulls away.
This night can’t get any weirder. I decide a few drinks at the hotel bar are in order and make my way to the front desk.
Emily quickly gets me my bag and the key to my room. Once I’ve texted both Bree and Jake that I’m staying, I pull my hair up and wash my face. Grabbing my license, money, room key and my second copy of Edward’s book, I head down to the bar.
Ten minutes later, I’m seated in a tall stool, sipping a tanqueray and tonic. I open the book and scan the pages looking for anything that might even resemble what Edward said this evening. The longer I sit here, I am absolutely positive something is wrong. There’s nothing that sounds remotely like tonight’s show. I sigh to myself and pick up where I left this morning, getting lost in the message.
Someone moves onto the barstool next to me, his right leg pumps up and down nervously.
“Hey. Can I get a Heineken?” The voice asks. My brain registers a familiarity. A green bottle slides across the width of the bar. “Thanks.”
I glance to my left and the shock of bronze hair makes my breath stutter. No...It can’t fucking be him! I try to remain nonchalant as I turn to get a better view of him. I’m met with a pair of the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen.
“You’re...” I stammer. “You...fuck...um...are you?” I flip the cover of the book over and point at it.
“Yes,” he smiles tightly.
“Wow.”
“Great,” he moans next to me.
“I was just at the Wells Fargo,” I say and swallow thickly. “Is everything alright?”
“What?!?” he asks, staring at me.
“Um...I’m a fan. I’ve been to a lot of your shows and,” I take a sip of courage from my drink, “you seemed off tonight.” I shrug.
“Yeah, not a good night. I’m Edward,” he says offering me his hand. “But you already know that.” He laughs.
“Bella.”
Out of my vision’s periphery, I see a curvy blonde making her way over. “Edward!” She says as she gets closer. The man sighs next to me.
“Can I sign that for you?” He smiles softly and points at the book. I nod and push it toward him. He pulls a black sharpie out of his pocket and opens the book.
“Edward! Let’s go. You have a flight to catch early in the morning,” the blonde says as she skids to a stop and glares at me.
“Yeah, just a minute, Rose. I’m signing this for Bella.” He smiles and pushes the book back toward me. “It was nice to meet you, Bella. Have a nice night,” he says and stands up. Rose huffs and turns toward the elevators. He follows for a moment and then turns and looks back at me, giving a little wave with two fingers. I know my mouth is hanging open.
After the elevator doors close, blocking him from view, I open the book.
Bella,
Thanks for being my biggest fan.
You’re beautiful just the way you are!
Edward Cullen x
I stare at the page for what seems like forever. The bartender clears his throat and tells me he’s closing up for the night. I place a ten on the bar and gather my things. I grip the book tightly as I make my way back to my room.
A/N: I would like to thank all our readers for waiting so patiently for this update. As some of you know, both Laureate04 and I are writing solo stories of our own. Sometimes, RL gets in the way too.
As we said before, we cannot make a promise of regular postings, but we hope you stick with us.
We appreciate each and every one of you!! Remember, reviews give us...a little motivation.
Fic Rec: If you are interested, here are two stories we believe you SHOULD read...
Both are by the utterly fabulous TongueTwied...
Harvard Can Wait http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7745971/1/Harvard-Can-Wait
Harvard Can Wait, no longer... http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8725927/1/Harvard-Can-Wait-no-longer
Give her some love...because well..she's just one of the best!!!
~ Naughty
