Just a Monumental Summer: Girl on the train (5 page)

Maybe he thinks he is invincible. Maybe he thinks we, the people, still love him. Either way, he is wrong. He is about to fall, and communism is about to be eradicated with or without “imperialist forces” from other foreign countries
.

              Romania used to take pride in its architecture. Official buildings, universities, opera houses, and theaters were impressive pieces of art. But mostly a matter of national pride. Talent, design, style, and space contributed in abundance to their construction. The Summer Theatre was an open-air theater that used its inclined hillsides for its terraced seating; the place was small but looked pretentious. The semicircular rows of stone benches were nestled into an open area with an impressive view. The acoustics were perfect; softly spoken words could be heard in the top rows. My distant ear could catch even the hushed words of someone speaking casually several tiers up and far to one side.

I found a good spot from the backstage area and tried to watch. Four guys were sitting on chairs, AA meeting-style. One guy stood in the middle of the circle, interviewing them as if he were a reporter.

              “Why are you dressed in pajamas?” asked the guy playing the reporter. The reporter guy was wearing a casual look, while his interviewee was a thirtysomething, long-haired, bearded man, dressed in pink-and-yellow pajamas with a green teacup print.

              “My father used to tell me people judge someone by the way they dress. They look at you and judge you,” the pajama guy said, looking proudly at his outfit.

The reporter took a guess, spreading his hands in a perplexed gesture. “So you always wear it to let people think you are a child, or a…”

“No. The pajamas would make them think I’m a dreamer. That I have a dream. Like King Martin Luther.”

“I think it’s Martin Luther King Jr.,” the reporter corrected him, trying to suppress his genuine laugh. The audience responded with soft, short giggles. The charm of live comedy. All improvised. Sometimes they would surprise themselves.

“Exactly. The King Martin. And Luther,” the other guy said in an obvious “duh” tone. Laughter rippled lightly from the audience and lingered a few seconds longer. “And you are wrong. A King is not a junior. He is a senior.” Laughter.

“So, why the tie?” asked the reporter. “You want people to think you work in an office?” The reporter still obviously repressed laughter.

“No! This is silly. I want to
mandipulate
people into thinking…”

“Wait, you want to manipulat
e
people?” The reporter interrupted him to stress the importance of the moment.

“That’s what I just said, to
mandipulate
people. Why do you keep interrupting me?” the other guy said, waving his hands in the air. He said it in such a silly way that the audience began laughing again. I noticed that the actor playing the reporter had to keep his own lips from quirking. I had heard of comic actors that tried to make the other actors laugh. It was some kind of a game to them. They were having “private competitions” to see who could make the other crack up first in the middle of a live scene.

“Oh, excuse me. So you want to
mandipulate
people into thinking…what?”

“That I want to rule the world. I read somewhere that people in suits are ruling the world. I am a dreamer. And I would like to rule the world. That’s my dream,” he said with exaggerated pride.

The audience began to clap and cheered loudly.

“This is a big dream,” the reporter said after he let the audience finish clapping.

“Oh, maybe. But if it’s not possible, I can rule an organization, or a club, or something like that.”

“But why not simply wear a suit? I mean, it would be easier and more appropriate,” the reporter said, intoning a lack of understanding.

“Really, Comrade Reporter? I told you, people are biased,” the pajama man said, as if not understanding why the reporter couldn’t figure it out. “They would think my dream is to work in an office.”

“And you don’t want to work in an office?”

Pajama man lifted his hands and grunted in exasperation. “No, I can’t! How can you rule the world while you have an office job? So stupid.”

The audience rewarded the comic troupe with more laughter.

The reporter moved to another candidate: a slim guy, casually dressed and smoking a cigarette.

“What is your name?” the reporter asked.

“My name is Perfect,” the man replied with a silly and exaggeratedly prideful grin. Then he blew smoke into the reporter’s face.

“Did you just say your name is Perfect?”

“Yes. My father insisted I should be called that.”

“Why?” The reporter’s brow furrowed; he obviously didn’t understand this peculiarity either.

“Because he thought that would help me in school. If the teacher is supposed to ask me a question and I don’t know the answer, my teacher would say, ‘Ok. Sit down, Perfect.’"

They were the comedy group Crazy Nerds. There were five on stage, but their number changed: over time, new members joined and the old ones left the group. Their jokes were different from the humor you would see on TV. The Summer Theatre was the best place for them to perform. Students loved them. Old generation didn’t get their jokes. The young generation had a taste for their bizarre humor. I loved them.

I wished I could stay and listen more, but the backstage area had become crowded and loud, and I had to leave.

It was the first time I had sat behind the scenes. I watched the band start to prepare for their live performance.

Did Vladi change his hair color?

 He was accompanied by Alin and a skinny, honey-blond girl about my age. I approached them happily.

“Hey, Alin, we’re next.” Teo winked at me while taking a bite from a big fried meatball covered in a greasy napkin. Jony ignored me; next to him, a blond girl with short hair possessively touched his arm while talking to him. I couldn’t help noticing Jony’s biceps. He was wearing a beige tank top and loose, dark jeans. No tattoos, no jewelry to be seen.

The blond girl, who was talking with Vladi, approached me. She was friendly and smiling. “Hey, come and join me. You must be Mona. I am Geta, Vladi’s girlfriend.”

Suddenly, it made sense to me. Geta was the feminine version of Vladi. The more feminine version of him. You could have sworn they were brother and sister.

I was amazed by her romantic hairstyle: ribbon-shaped, large curls, parted in the middle, cascaded over her shoulders. The honey-blond color was enhanced to full brilliance by discreet platinum highlights. Her dark-blue-and-black makeup emphasized her dark blue eyes. She wore a short, tight-fitting, spandex silver dress. The dress molded her perfect body and her hardly noticeable breasts. Her extremely high-heeled shoes complemented her long, beautiful legs.

“Nice to meet you. It’s so cool. You must be proud: your friend is in a rock band. Your life must be so exciting,” I said.

“You will get bored after a while. If you continue to stay with Alin, you’ll see,” she replied frankly. Then her tone and smile turned conspiratorial. “He is single; in case you want to know.”

I liked her, and I couldn’t help but smile back; she was genuine and warm. I had been scared she would be an arrogant bitch. I would be, if my boyfriend were in a rock band about to become famous.

Someone got some chairs for us. It was Silent Delusion’s turn to perform. The announcer introduced them with impressive words as announcers do to build up audience anticipation. My heart was beating fast. I just knew Alin was going to be stupendous.

And he was. The band was amazing, and the audience seemed to love them. But Alin’s singing and his playing seemed to reach across the audience provoking claps and praises.

It seemed like a dream to watch them perform and be part of their entourage. After their show, a lot of girls were blocking their exit, trying to talk with all the band members. The band took their time with the girls. I have to admit a pang of jealousy struck me when I saw a petite young blonde, obviously trying to press a little close to Alin and he didn’t push her back.
He has to let his little girly groupies think he’s at least a little interested in them. He can’t insult his growing fan-base.
Still I didn’t like the peck on the check the groupie gave him. It was no small relief when he began wading through the crowd of adorers to leave. I then noticed Jony seemed to connect with another girl: a tall brunette with big tits.

My tits are better,
I thought. What was wrong with me?

“Does it not bother you? All these girls trying to get their attraction?” I asked Geta while I sadly noticed Jony leaving with the curvy girl.
Why do I care about Jony?

“Oh, the groupies?” Geta laughed, showing her great teeth. “I was one of them. They just want to have fun. I am always with him, so no way he can slip.” She was confident. I wanted to ask her how she had managed to become Vladi’s girlfriend.
She must be good in bed,
I was thinking

Alin and Teo approached us, grinning like a couple of proud teenagers.

I threw my arms around Alin, forgetting myself in all the excitement. “Alin, it was so cool!” I said. I was excited and happy for him.

“Wait to see us after the Festival,” Teo said, beaming with pride. “We will win first prize, and we will get the contract that will get us on TV and outside the borders.”

“Yes, but only if Black Vinyl will retire,” Alin said more soberly and then whispered into my ear, “Teo is delusional.”

Vladi joined us. "What about Black Vinyl? Fuck them!” he said in an arrogant voice, while kissing Geta.

“You know them. They’re everywhere because they have connections with the guys ‘up there’. They were the first group in the country who ever get to own an electronic keyboard. This is how they started. With a keyboard; their golden ticket. They have the best timing.” Geta added bitterly.

“But I like Black Vinyl.” Oops. Again, I’d opened my mouth without thinking. All eyes were fixed on me, and I was ready for someone to punch me. Teo stopped gathering his things and gave Vladi a look like:
Can you believe this girl?

Luckily, Alin saved me. “That’s why I like her. She speaks her mind! C’mon, guys. Let’s clean up. We’re done here.” The show wasn’t over. Black Vinyl was about to perform, being the last group to appear.

Geta asked me if I would join them at the disco. Before I could reply, Alin answered for me: “Of course, we’re going. We need to celebrate. I may have another song!” 

The announcement made them happy. Alin delivered me an accomplice’s smile and took my hand, and we left. I was happy and felt at ease.

Finally, I got to see the famous, fancy Sky Disco. The perfect quality of its equipment and the music hosted by the best DJ in the country made it the most desirable summertime attraction in the country. The entrance price was expensive but somehow, the place managed to maintain its full capacity, night after night. While driving there, we could hear the loud music from far away. It was a big building accented by colorful lights on all sides that played with illumination and shadow against every feature of its surface to wondrous effect. When we parked the car, a huge crowd bustling to get inside was blocking the entrance.

Once inside, it was dark and loud. Then I realized everyone’s teeth were extremely white. Later I found out it was a new trend, the phosphorescent lights. We made our way to the back, slowly pushing through the mob. We finally found an isolated corner with a couple of tables and comfortable chairs, surprisingly not taken. It must have been a private lounge.

A statuesque girl, dressed in a relaxed, shimmering black dress, was sipping a fancy cocktail and looking at the dancing crowd.
A goddess!
I thought, intimidated by her perfectly formed features. She saw us coming, of course, and from the look in her eyes I knew she and Alin were no strangers to each other.
Bitch is trouble,
I told myself.

An elegant, long, black cashmere shawl thrown with purposeful negligence around her shoulders. Her long, thick, silky, auburn hair was swept into an elaborate, elegant bun and perfectly cut bangs. The hair was styled toward the back in sleek layers of overlapping bands of hair with a different pattern on each side. Her dramatic bangs obscured her eyes in a Cleopatra style. She was wearing extremely large earrings.

Am I the only one in here who doesn’t have her own personal hairstylist?
I asked myself, having Geta in my mind.

“I was waiting for you. You didn’t call.” Her eyes glared accusingly toward Alin while ignoring me. I didn’t like her. I knew that much immediately, even though I didn’t know anything about her. She spoke with a pretentious tiredness in her voice. She seemed rigid and cold, intimidating and well-practiced at manipulation. Her large earrings seemed quite inappropriate, but then again, I did not qualify as an objective observer at that particular moment.

She was the opposite of me. The girl I always wanted to be. The way she breathed class and style was perfect: her manner of talk and dress, her perfect makeup. Suddenly, I felt cheap; and I knew I had too much makeup on. She looked at her watch, a gold one, and said, “Can’t stay. I need to drive to Bucuresti first thing in the morning.”

Of course, the bitch has her own car.
I hated her.

              "I have a show to attend, Alin. I only came to take care of Victor’s issue; you know he gets always in trouble. I hate that I have to fix things for him,” she explained angrily.

Alin finally introduced me. “Ema, this is Mona.”

I tried to offer her my hand, but because Alin was sitting between us, I looked ridiculous; no way I could reach her hand unless my arm became extendable. I immediately pulled my hand back, hoping Alin hadn’t noticed. I didn’t care about what she thought; I knew she hated me.

She pretended she’d just noticed my presence. “Hi, nice to meet you”—which of course meant,
I don’t like you, and you don’t matter.
“I am his best friend. We’ve known each other for ages”—which translated as,
He’s mine, bitch, even if you sleep with him.
Yep, my instinct was right! She was trouble. And I knew Alin had loved her, or worse: maybe Alin still loved her.

“By the way, my name is Emma, with double ‘M,’” she told me while admiring her nails.

Really?
I tried not to laugh.
Well, girl, there is no difference with one or two. Is still pronounced the same.

She tried to impress me. No Romanian name had a double letter in it.

Can I call you Ema with one ‘M’? I asked with exaggerated sarcasm.

“What did Victor do this time?” Alin was trying to change the subject, quickly.

C’mon Alin, why are you totally ignoring my incredible funny remark
.

Ema didn’t ignore my sarcasm; I saw the look she gave me and I was sure she already killed me like three times. In her mind. 

I tried to move closer to Alin, so I’d be able to hear better. Even in the separate lounge, the music was still loud. 

“Mirela is pregnant. He is causing only trouble. A moron!” Ema concluded, shaking her head in disgust. “And of course, he is in love again.” Her voice was condescending. 

I’ve got you, bitch. You are not happy. You can’t be happy if you despise love.

“So, what do you do now?” Alin asked while he reached for my hand and kissed it. In front of her. He kissed it, and she saw it.

Take that, bitch! 
I thought triumphantly.
Guess we both know where you stand.

“I gotta go.” She kissed him on his cheek, as if trying to mark her territory in front of me. She took her glass with her and left the lounge with an ostentatious walk, like she was doing a catwalk in a fashion show. Later, I found out she was indeed a fashion model, but that was not an excuse to walk like that when people were watching. By people, I mean me.

Vladi and Geta, followed by a bunch of people, entered the lounge.

“Was it Ema?” Geta asked. She looked at me, sending me a secret warning. I looked back at her, signaling,
I know.

These unspoken messages are lost on a man’s eyes; but women know all the important codes and can say a lot to one another without speaking a word.

Alin grabbed my hand, and he raised his voice, trying to conquer the noise. “Let’s go on the terrace. It’s nice out there.”

It wasn’t nice, due to the billions of mosquitos dancing all around, but who cared?  I needed to speak with him in private.

“Who is she? Did you sleep with her? Do you love her?” My voice reached an annoyingly high frequency after each phrase came from my mind and out of my mouth. 

Alin was smiling again.

“And stop using this smile with me. You know I hate it,” I concluded, reaching for air.

“Do you? I didn’t know you hated my smile. You didn’t tell me.” That smile, along with his insufferably boyish charm, quelled my anger almost immediately.

“Of course I do, because I can’t resist it. And you know it. That’s why you always parade this smile on your face. Like a weapon.” I wasn’t upset anymore. I wanted to be mad at him for
not
letting me be angry anymore, but I just couldn’t.

“This is good, baby. Because I am a sucker for your laugh. When you laugh, the whole world is laughing with you.” Alin tried to derail my attention.

“Don’t change the subject. Please, Alin, I have to know,” I insisted.

Alin tried to explain. “She is a good friend. I was first a friend of her brother, Victor.”

“Oh, the idiot! So Her Majesty is not perfect, it seems. She has a moron brother. She is human," I said with sarcasm.

He grinned at me. “Yes, he does stupid stuff sometimes—I guess most of the time—but he is a good guy. We had our first performing contract in Costinesti seven years ago—it’s how we met. Ema was a spoiled teenager. I practically lived in their house. His parents are like my family, and she was like a sister to me,” he concluded.

Nice way to describe incest.
I thought of throwing it in his face. But I bit my tongue and tried to limit my sarcastic comments. “She
was
like a sister?” I asked, puzzled.

“We had a thing; it didn’t work. We stayed friends,” he explained, pretending it was no big deal.

I wondered who had rejected whom? I had a feeling he wouldn’t tell me more. I knew Geta would tell me more. I’d had enough drama for the moment, anyway.

“Damn, Alin, it’s not my right to ask you. It’s your life. I am not your girlfriend. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” I apologized. I was blaming him. He overwhelmed me; he’d asked me to be with him without telling me about Ema. But I’d lost my temper, and I had to fix things.

“No, it’s ok. I like when you care. You look so sexy when you’re jealous,” he said with that irritating, and completely adorable, smile.

“I’m not jealous. I don’t know who you are, and I am trying to figure it out. Today you asked me to be your girlfriend. To move in with you, and now I realize you have some unfinished business. I know something is going on,” Bitterness was coating my words.

“I still want you to be my girl. I like you, I can’t get you out of my mind, and you make me so horny. It’s like you put a spell on me,” he said while he grabbed my butt.

He kissed me. I felt warm. I turned my head around, trying to see if we were alone. I kissed him. I wasn’t in the mood—too early to have sex again—but I knew I had to get it out of
his
system.

“And really? Ema, with the double ‘M.’ It’s so freaking ridiculous. One ‘M’ is not enough? She needs two of them? Some don’t even have one. Violeta, for example: there is no ‘M’ in it. And I don’t hear complains about that.” I had to have the last word. But Alin laughed, admitting sometimes she was too pretentious.

He agreed with me and kissed me back. We sneaked around the corner and had a quickie.

Afterward, we went inside. We joined the band and had fun. Later, in the morning, Jony came back alone. No curvy brunette. He had a weird look. The
too much to drink
look. Then, we went to the beach to watch the sunrise. The beach was surprisingly crowded, lots of sleeping tents, and students gathered around the fire. Someone had the idea to go into the water. A good occasion to show my perfect body. Jony was lying in the sand, watching us and watching me. He looked sober this time. I knew he noticed me. I flaunted my kiss with Alin on his face.

I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I wanted to make Jony jealous. Why did I want to do that? Maybe, in a previous life, I must simply have been a bitch!