Violette Takes The High Road

Callahan jogged up to the balcony, and pushed aside the glass door to reveal Violette, laying on the ground against the wrought iron fence, petting the terrace cats. "I'm sorry Vi." He started, trying to think of the right things to say, and failing to do so. Her short frame shifted to meet his gaze, eyes misty and hair askew from the wind. Her chest rose and fell, and one by one, each terrace cat leapt gently down onto the awning below, until it was just the two of them. Cal would always swear up and down that she could control the creatures. "It's fine Cali. I really don't know what I expected. I leave for 4 years and I expect them to treat me like they treat everyone else who's replaced me? Hell no." She clearly wanted to be alone, but together. "Guess I'll grab a patch of concrete." Callahan groaned, plopping himself down opposite Violette. She shifted again, only this time to face the quiet hours of midnight in this part of town. The steady flow of water from the dress shop's front fountain, the jingle of chimes emanating from the bistro, and the slight purrs of the terrace cats down below, all made for a serene environment that Callahan never ever wanted to leave: especially if Violette wanted to stay. "I really just don't know what I expected." Callahan sighed, having his weekly realization that she would never see her value. "I don't know Vi, gee, maybe you expected to be treated like you still deserve a seat at the table. Like you're still deserving of having genuine connections with them, and your old ambitions. Maybe," Callahan scooted closer, garnering a slight flutter in breath from her. "You expected normalcy. Which you deserve to be granted. Everything you ever did, was for your own health and safety." Violette rubbed her jaws, feeling a headache settling in. "You know as well as I do that they only ever saw those moves as an act of betrayal or some insane shit, Cali. All of them." Callahan sighed again, this time with a more defiant sense of urgency. "You're a damn icon, and you don't know your worth, but you goddamn sure aren't gonna learn it tonight, so I'll spare you a lecture: if that's truly how they saw your choices, then they don't deserve you." Violette whipped around, eyes darting over Callahan's face, searching for a way to make him understand what she needed to say. "There's nothing to deserve! Not only is my, 'seat at the table' filled, the entire table has reconfigured itself into something I don't fit into." She ran a hand through her tangled hair, grasping a bar with the other. "I can't understand how to make you believe that. There's nothing left for me there, they've moved on. Seeing me is like seeing the spirit that used to haunt you after a years-long absence. I just have to come to terms with that, and move the hell forward." Violette rose slowly, Callahan mimicking her every step. "So let me do a 180 and ask you this instead: what does moving the fuck forward entail? You never speak to them again?" Violette rapped her nearly nonexistent fingernails on the fence irritatedly. "Yes! That's exactly what it looks like. I need to pour my heart and soul into everything I create. I don't have time for fair weather friends." With her head tilted back towards the moon, her hands flew off of the railing as she laughed "I really just don't!" Violette twirled around the terrace, dress unbuttoned, billowing gracefully in the wind. "I just fucking don't! And I'm the world's BEST BULLSHITTER! Any personal plans I've made with any of those jackasses will suddenly be..." She whacked a leaf above them loudly, giggling as flower petals fell into their hands, onto their clothes. "Out of my budgeeet!" Violette trilled wildly. "Or maybe they'll be, ahem," She stood tall, saluting Callahan with a peace sign. "'Not feasible at this time as a small business owner'!" Violette knelt down and flew back up before Callahan could process what she was doing, and before he knew it, she'd launched a gargantuan rock clear into the fountain across the street, the rock landing with a loud, satisfying bloop in the water. "Vi, hold on-" His efforts to stop her mini rampage were futile. She'd already flown down the stairs cackling like she'd just made off with the jeweler's diamonds. "Or maybe I'm getting married to Gabriel Macht!" She flipped open the refrigerator doors, clawing at the cans of what they dubbed 'sacred nectar'. Callahan realized she was crashing down, and just casually procured two wine glasses from the cabinet beside him. "Hit me with our finest brown." Violette obliged, cracking open the cans of Dr. Pepper with a fizz. Callahan slid into a seat at the small kitchen island, smirking. "Hmm, Gabriel Macht? So in this theoretical reality where you've burned all of your bridges, a barely-A-list actor leaves his wife for you?" Violette grinned mischievously, pouring her own glass of sacred nectar next. "Yup, that's exactly right! Because those bridges were built on shaky ground anyway, and I've gotta find some way to get my shows made." Callahan observed her melancholy demeanor change, and elected to not match it. She could deal with reality in the morning; tonight was fantasy land, for better or for worse. "Interesting. So if Gabriel Macht is integral to this scheme, then where do I factor in?" Violette felt herself blush unexpectedly. She also didn't expect to say what she said next: "You're our mailman." Callahan snorted, slamming his glass down before he spilled it. "You'd cheat on Gabriel Macht?! He's a sculpted Greek god excuse of a man. And those damn hands, Vi...don't cheat on him for me! I wouldn't even cheat on him for Andrew Rannells!" Violette sank into a puddle of laughter, Dr. Pepper, and second hand embarrassment. "Holy fuck I'm so, so bisexual. So bisexual." He whispered in-between their wheezing guffaws. "What I love about this entire conversation," Violette choked, waving her glass around like a burnt out suburban mom. "Is those are two, RADICALLY different genres of male." Callahan scoffed and swept his thumb over his mouth. "Yes, but not fundamentally different males. And fundamentals are important!" Violette shrieked and threw her hands to the mercy of the sky. "Oh ever-loving shit, please don't turn into one of those self-proclaimed viva la white guys who thinks he's political because he voted Democrat when he turned 18, 21 years ago." Violette clinked her glass against his, downing the remainder of her soda. "Was that a dig on me? Or a dig on Coldplay?" Violette turned her back for more sacred nectar. "Whichever pisses you off more!" She quipped, in her thick Michael Kovach impression. "Ooh, Kovox! Nice. That's a new one, right?" He sipped calmly as she slammed the fridge doors shut. "Ok now you're legally a dumbass. I've been doing Kovox for years, Cali!" She struggled to pop open another can, sliding it over to a smug Callahan. "I wouldn't know...I've spent the past 21 years voting for your dad." Violette stared down at her watch-less wrist in mock concern. "Oh fuck, look at the time! I must return home to live my dream as Mrs. Macht!" Callahan slid the open can back to her, watching in admiration as she just...drank straight from the can. "It's astounding to me that people act offended when you curse." He pondered, noticing how the light suddenly refracted from her birthstone necklace. Violette looked out at the night sky with a dull chuckle. "Yeah. Like, I say 'fuck' now, why is that a shock? Because I'm supped to be better? Hell no, I'm just as bad as they are. But at least I'll admit the shit outta that." Cal looked at her closely, catching a glimpse of a small, fresh tear, peeking out from her fluffy eyelashes. "Maybe you're not as bad as they are, Vi. Have you ever thought of that?" Violette flipped her hair away from her face dramatically. "Hot shit, you're right! And maybe Justin Herbert will win the Super Bowl this season!" Callahan jumped up, gesturing theatrically to the floor. "Oh, fuckity fuck! And maybe, this shop will renovate itself!" Violette gasped, carrying their glasses over to the middle of the shop. "And maybe, I'll even forfuckingive my sweet mother for not goddamn naming me Vivienne!" He snatched his glass, spinning around her like a happy little bird. Cal was an incredibly welcome presence around her. He always had been, and I hope he always will be, she thought timidly to herself. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before you ever forgive that shitass." Violette flopped down next to a $500 Monstera, Dr. Pepper nearly sloshing out of her poor glass. "Thank you for not just praising my excellent cussing, but for also helping me come up with new, more colorful words for my expanded vocabulary." She raised her glass to him, while he knelt down to join her. "It makes me feel like a human. And less...like a precious doll, up on a pedestal for everyone to see, but never to play with." There it was again, her underlying melancholia. She may be a master bullshitter, but Cal was a master of redirection. "You love dolls, Vi. Creepy, vibrant, dolls." She turned slowly to face him, shutting each eye individually and grinning deviously. "Creepy dolls you say? Does Frankie really keep you up at night?" Cal glanced over at the doll in question and gulped. "Yes actually they do. Why do they have to be falling apart?" Violette gaped, and then Callahan actually felt like a dumbass. "They're Frankenstein's kid, Cali, good god-" Cal fished around for a dignified response, "I can't keep up with all of their insane backstories that are rooted in actual mythology!" Violette giggled into her Dr. Pepper. "So Frankenstein qualifies as 'actual mythology'?" He stuttered, cornered. "Y-yes! Under the official jurisdiction of One Nation Under Coldplay, it qualifies. Justin Herbert also qualifies for our Olympic Program." Violette watched a moth calmly flutter around Cal's muted TV above the counter, and realized she was right where she wanted to be, regardless of how taboo the rest of the world deemed it. "Oh wow, your dystopia has an Olympic Program, huh? Does it have a category for women who can't say they like dolls and sports in the same sentence, because other women will call them pick-me girls?" Callahan clapped and replied with the tone of a used car salesman. "Yes, yes it does! And you've won gold!" Violette smirked, and candidly looked into an invisible camera before loudly proclaiming, "Did you hear that readers at home? I'm highest in my category!" Callahan stopped breathing for half a second, wondering if he should even ask. I guess curiosity kills the terrace cat. "Ok I'll bite, because no sane individual just says shit like that: 'readers at home'? What the fuck?" Violette swirled the precious few droplets left in her glass, looking at him with a questioning gaze. "Aren't we in a book right now? A one shot? I sure thought we were...weird." She rose slowly, smiling warmly at Callahan's dumbfounded expression. He hopped up to join her, but stopped as she made her way to the spare room. "Color me perpetually perplexed, Mrs. Macht!" Cal called after her vanishing silhouette. She returned barely a minute later, heels off, tights off, dress off, adorned in black shorts and an oversized tie dye Kesha T-shirt. "Meh, I don't wanna be Mrs. Macht anymore." She sauntered over to him, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the lovesick feeling in her stomach. Callahan could feel his face flush as she got closer, and couldn't help but think....so, would she wanna be Mrs. Bardwell? Violette snatched her purse off the island, shaking her head as she tried to shake the thought that popped into her head, right back out: ...I wish I could say 'I wanna be Mrs. Bardwell', but...I know I can't. She realized she was standing inches away from his chest, stammering and blushing and needed to say something already. "I wanna be one of those jagoffs that goes to Wal-Mart at-" She moved backwards to check the weird, geometrical clock on the wall. "11:07." Callahan just stared at her like she was insane, before laughing and awkwardly offering to take her. "Wow, so specific. Yeah you're definitely not a pick-me girl or anything..." Violette turned on her heel towards the front door, hoping on a godless prayer that Callahan would never, ever pick up on how she truly felt about him. "I'd rather be a pick-me girl, rather than a girl who never picks anything." Callahan stepped forward, gently unlocking the door for her. "And what exactly are you picking tonight?" She stepped outside into the brisk darkness, moving her hair out of her face against the backdrop of the moon; bead bracelet twinkling like her eyes were. "Since I am the highest in my category, in all that I do...and I did just talk to a bunch of assholes that won't shut up...tonight, I'm takin' the high road: in true Kesha fashion."

"And I ain't losing no sleep."