“Mom, I’m leaving!” Quinn yelled at her mom as she scurried towards the door, nearly tripping on the maroon tarp lying across the oak floor, grabbing her faded jean jacket from the coat rack next to the white front door and wrapping it around her red princess cut tank top. “Oh, wait,” Quinn whispered to herself, walking back through the dark brown paneled walls of the living room and dining room and into the kitchen, the kitchen humid with the prospect of dinner, the light yellow walls needing a new coat of paint, her mom busy behind the stove, her long curly hair trapped in a black claw clip, her calloused hand gracefully traveling from pot to pot, her gray eyes tired.
“Yeah, Hun?” her mother Sara responded, reaching high into the oak cabinet for some oregano.
“If Matt calls,” Quinn began, sticking her finger in the bubbling pasta sauce to taste her mother’s delicacy, her hand being slapped away genially, “Tell him I’m…”
“Not home?” Sara asked, knowing this wasn’t the first time Quinn had to justify why she was going out without Ethan breathing down her neck.
“No, no,” Quinn replied, backing up a bit and trying to think of a reason she wouldn’t be home on a Friday night, even though he should be at an away Football game until way after she leaves the house, her fingers tapping against the white refrigerator, her eyes falling on the blue linoleum floor, “He wouldn’t believe you and he would come over and…Tell him I went out with Hannah.”
“Who’s Hannah?” Sara asked curiously, stirring the linguini vigorously, her short frame silhouetted by the falling orange sun through the window on the right.
“Someone who doesn’t exist,” Quinn responded casually, tapping her keys against the hip of her Abercrombie khaki flares, feeling guilty that she had to avoid Matt just to have a little fun.
Sara must have picked up on her guilty vibe. “Are things OK between you two, Quinn?” she asked wholeheartedly, whipping her saucy hands on a flower-print dishcloth that hung from the oven door, her head slightly cocked to the side.
“Yeah, fine,” Quinn simply replied, Sara folding her arms in front of her like she was unimpressed with her answer. Quinn felt awkward sometimes around her mother, like she didn’t know what to say, her mother hardly around as her mom is now helping out her friend with a crafts store after her mom found no steady work at a bunch of dead-end jobs. They weren’t struggling much thanks to Dad’s monthy child support checks, but Quinn would give them all back just to hear his voice again. Mom always said that he’d come around, that he was a busy man, but it was no excuse. Quinn thought they were happy, but her mom was always secretive when she mentioned Dad. Hopefully, someday, she’ll find out the truth. “Seriously, Mom. He’s my fiancé. I just don’t want him to get jealous that I’m going to a concert with a guy friend.”
“A guy friend?” Sara responded, a bit surprised, but intrigued, like it was some scandal, like she was 16 again, her small hands rubbing in front of her purple button-down dress shirt like a fly. Quinn’s mom had a tendency to be less mature than her sometimes, but she didn’t mind. “Who would this be?”
“Bye, Mom,” Quinn ignored her question with a smile, her keys dangling behind her from her Strawberry Shortcake lanyard, Quinn prancing across the oak floor and out the white front door, feeling more free than ever.
~*~
When she pulled into the parking lot of the 8X10 Club, she saw Paul obediently waiting for her in front of the club, the sun beginning to set above the club’s horizon, casting a rainbow of colors to cascade into the sky. Quinn briefly checked her natural make-up in her rear-view mirror before stepping out of her sea foam green 1991 Hyundai Accent, her white adidas sneakers scuffing over the gray gravel, Paul’s smile widening from ear to ear as she stepped into the street light, Quinn beginning to feel totally at ease in her element. “Quinn,” Paul greeted, approaching her casually, decked out in black Dickies and a black ‘Level 27’ t-shirt, wrapping his arms snugly but friendlily and unthreatening around her back.
“Paul,” Quinn responded as Paul let go, Quinn giving him an once-over, “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Paul replied, stepping toward the big brown double doors and opening one for her.
“Thank you,” Quinn said politely, scooting inside. The club was lit with Christmas lights and a few spotlights by the stage. A burly bald bouncer stood in front of a turnstile, his eyes little and cold. Quinn began to search through her corduroy pocketbook for her red Paul Frank wallet, but the bouncer recognized Paul and greeted him with a firm handshake.
“Glad to see you back, Pauly,” the bouncer informed him in his deep voice, “Go on in.”
Quinn looked back at Paul as she strutted through the turn style, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Paul responded, escorting her up the stairs to the right to the bar area and taking a seat at a small round brown table with brown stools, Quinn following him. “That was one of the only advantages to being in a band, everyone knows you.”
“That’s the only advantage?” Quinn laughed a little, Paul joining in as her sexual innuendo sunk into his brain, both her and Paul ordering cokes with cherries, on the rocks. Quinn respected that Paul chose not to drink in front of her, that he’s trying to break the typical “rock star” notion someone might have by just being himself.
“So who’s playing tonight?” Quinn asked, leaning back a little and sipping at her coke through a red straw, the club buzzing with laughter and chat.
“A few local bands,” Paul began, shaking his glass so the ice clinked against the side, “Haley’s Comet, Bridge Under Fire, 45 Patterson Drive, and Simple Plan’s the header. They’re from…”
“Canada,” Quinn finished her sentence, watching the roadies put together the first bands’ equipment like ants assembling a new tunnel, her eyes shifting to Paul as she smirked as she chewed on a cherry.
“You know of them?” Paul asked with an unsure smile.
“Of course,” Quinn assured him, turning forward and leaning her elbows on the table, twirling her straw in her glass as she continued, “Their album was released in March. I like it, it’s very catchy. I hope one of their singles is gonna be ‘Meet You There.’ That’s probably my favorite.”
“I’m impressed,” Paul announced with a head nod, raising his glass for a toast. Quinn picked up her glass and with that, their friendship was formed…
~*~
“That was such a great show!” Quinn exclaimed as the applauding and cheering subsided and the crow of people disbursed from the small club, Simple Plan off the stage and the roadies scampering on the stage to dismantle the equipment. “I’m sorry that it’s over.”
“No, it’s not,” Paul smiled, Quinn looking at him with confusion. Paul grabbed her hand and lead her down from the bar swiftly and across the club to a gray door that said “Employees Only.” He knocked on the door and the bouncer from earlier opened, smiled, and opened the door wider, giving them two pink BSPs and Paul a high-five. Quinn was on a cloud as she slapped the BSP on her pant leg, Paul and her continuing down the long, white hall that reminded Quinn of a hospital wing, people darting every which way as it was 5 minutes until curtain at the Grammys and the first act was missing, a familiar face emerging hastily from a dressing room.
“Pierre,” Paul called to him, the Canadian turning around, and joy exploded on his face, Pierre’s black ‘Role Model’ shirt damp with sweat as he approached Paul and Quinn.
“Paul Thomas,” Pierre exclaimed, giving him a light hug, Pierre’s black spikes glistening from the heart he poured out on stage. “How’s it hanging, bro? I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Pretty well. We just got back from Europe,” Paul informed him, Pierre nodding with comprehension, his hands on his hips, Quinn nearly ready to pee her pants with excitement, but she kept it subsided with a cool grin, “I know you gotta head out, but I wanted you to meet my friend who’s a fan.”
Pierre looked to the side and extended his hand to Quinn, his dark eyes sparkling, “Hello Paul’s friend who’s a fan,” Pierre joked, Quinn feeling a cold sweat creep onto her skin.
“It’s a pleasure, Pierre,” Quinn nearly choked on her words, shaking his hand gently, “I’m Quinn.”
“You look more like a QT than a Quinn,” Pierre tried a pick up line, the three of them bursting into laughter at his futile attempt. “How did you enjoy the show, Quinn?”
“It was great,” Quinn informed him, tucking her thumbs nervously into the pockets of her khakis, “It was my first time seeing you guys live. I kicked myself for missing Warped Tour, but it was worth the wait.”
“Well, thank you,” Pierre replied honestly, tapping his cut-off jeans pockets like he was missing something, “I’d love to give you an autograph, but I don’t have a…”
“It’s alright,” Quinn assured him, reaching for his arm to stop his search, “Meeting you was enough, really.”
“You sure?” Pierre asked, narrowing his eyes, Quinn nodding feverishly. “Alrighty then. I gotta get going. The guys are waiting in the bus. It was a pleasure, Quinn.” Quinn almost died as Pierre gave her a bear hug. “I hope I’ll see you at the next show. Pauly, good to see you, man. Call me soon. We have to hang out, maybe some paintball? Maybe you can actually make it to the 2nd round next time.”
“You’re on,” Paul replied with a big smile, Pierre shaking his hand casually.
“Later,” Pierre shouted behind him as he sprinted down the hall.
Quinn just stood there in awe of what happened. Matt would have never taken her to a concert. He always wants to do what he wants to do, no questions asked. Now here was Paul, sweet and cuddly, giving her the best gift imaginable…his unconditional friendship. “Don’t let me get used to this, Paul,” Quinn warned him, gazing up into his beautiful eyes and smiling…
~*~
Quinn didn’t realize how late it was when she stumbled into her blackened house at 1:27AM, her and Paul’s rendezvous at Joe’s Eats after the concert running well after midnight. Quinn felt so good, so rejuvenated, so free as she waltz around the living room to some sorrow-filled string band moaning in her mind. Quinn noticed the white answering machine blinking with messages. Quinn wondered who could have called so late, any friend knowing how deep her mom and Chris sleep. She tossed her pocketbook and keys onto the blue and white pinstriped couch, pulled down the string for the elegant purple lamp, bent down, and pushed the gray ‘play’ button.
“9:23PM…” There was a slight pause. “Heey QT Pie, It’s Matt…” the answering machine played, Quinn rolling her eyes as she fastened her hands onto her hips, the night so enjoyable without one though dedicated to Matt, “…We totally creamed Edgewater today, 49-7. I was hoping you’d be there. Why weren’t you? Well, I’ll try your cell. Call me back when you get this…”
Quinn didn’t have her cell on because she thought the bands deserved her full attention. The bands and Paul…
“10:19PM…Why isn’t you cell on, QT?” Matt asked annoyed. “I though I told you to always have it on. You never listen.”
“10:57PM…I know you’re not hanging out with Hannah like your mom said, you fucking lying bitch,” Matt growled, Quinn’s eyes dialating, Quinn thankful her family was sleeping so they couldn’t hear Matt’s alter ego. “You’re so goddam conniving. You better fucking call me back.”
“11:28PM…Where are you?!” Matt’s voice howled from the answering machine, the bombastic tone of his voice startling Quinn, Quinn sucking in her breath like she received a sock in the stomach, “Look, you fucking slut, if you’re allowed to hang out with whoever you want, so am I. I’m going over to Lorena’s house to fuck her brains out. She’s always up for fun. You have no idea what you’re fucking with, QT Babe. I hope you’re glad. You made me do this…”
Quinn couldn’t stomach anymore. Her eyes blinded with tears and anger, she snatched up the answering machine and smashed it against the wall, the machine warped and plummeting onto the couch in a million pieces. Quinn’s cries choked in her throat as she grabbed her hair and slid down against the couch against the floor, devastating pushing like a clamp on her heart, Quinn never fathoming that Matt was cheating on her. He was so much on her back all the time that she didn’t think he…Quinn’s tears raked like needles against her cheeks, her heart cracking apart into tiny pieces, not knowing how long she could bear with this stifling pain…