Six: Metrosexual
We walked by store after store, none of them catching our eyes. Finally he decided we’d walk around Journey’s for a bit. He eagerly scanned all the shoes as we walked.
“You like these?” He held up a pair of men’s grey Puma sneakers.
“They’re okay?”
He wrinkled his nose, “Just okay? I like them…”
I pointed to the navy blue ones on the shelf, “I like those better.”
He picked up the other ones, “Really? If you say so….then I’ll take your word for it…” He flagged down the woman working there and asked for a size 12. Then he picked up a pair of them in girls. “Would you wear these?”
I shrugged, “I usually just get my shoes from a friend of mine. She’s a teacher at my school and her daughter is about my age.”
Taylor picked up the pair of women’s Pumas in a light blue, “You like this color?”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” I said, turning and beginning to continue walking around the store to busy myself.
“What size shoe are you?”
It occurred to me then just what he was trying to do. I refused to be pitied.
“Oh no you don’t,” I grabbed the pair of shoes from him.
“Oh come on! We could have like…matching shoes,” he argued, “Your shoes are dirty. You need new shoes.”
I eyed him.
“It’s not that I don’t like yours! It’s just that…these aren’t even very expensive. I think they’re on sale. Let me buy you them. Or something else. Pick another pair of shoes.”
I shook my head stubbornly, “What did I ask of you? I asked you not to-”
“I’m not pitying you! I’m just trying to buy you a gift…a gift for no reason at all. Like Ray,” he winced in fear that he shouldn’t have said that, but continued talking when I didn’t react, “Gabrielle…let me buy you shoes.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“You can’t take being told no can you?”
“Please!”
I was sick of arguing with him. Taylor knew quite well just how much I refused to be pitied. I hated charity and free hand outs, and there was no reason he needed to buy me 50 dollar shoes. I turned on my heel and walked out of the store as the man came up to him with his box of shoes.
“She’s mad at me because I’m trying to buy her shoes! A girl who doesn’t want me to buy her shoes! What is wrong with this picture?” he gasped at the sales associate and then ran after me. “Gabrielle, will you stop being so dramatic!”
I turned and looked him in the eyes, “You want to see dramatic?!”
“No!” he shouted, and then looked around frantically, “Don’t cause a scene, okay? I don’t need a scene…”
“I won’t cause a scene if you’ll stop trying to throw me a surprise pity party!”
“Okay, okay…” he replied in a hushed voice, “Pity party is cancelled. You’ve scared off all the RSVP’s anyway….” He nodded at the people inside of Journey’s watching us with interest.
“Taylor…”
He simply flashed me a smile. It was so typical of him to make the situation into a joke. He leaned against the railing in the mall and let his grin fade into a shy smile.
“Can I be honest about something?” he asked.
I was afraid to answer. Taylor, like usual, didn’t wait for me to though.
“I think you’re beautiful…but I’m also sort of materialistic. I hate to admit that…but I sort of am. I am surrounded by all this glitz and glamour of Hollywood…and I can’t help but get caught up in it sometimes. But really…I think you’re beautiful. Somehow even though you got dealt a shitty freaking life…you got dealt beautiful genes.”
I blushed, “Alright. I forgive you. You don’t need to butter me up…”
“No, but listen. I guess I sorta…” he bit his lip, “You’re probably going to either make fun of me or storm off on me for saying this…” He paused waiting for me to tell him I wouldn’t, probably.
“Maybe. Go on.”
He looked nervously at the ground as he spoke, “But I guess I sort of wanted to give you…I guess give you a makeover.”
I paused for a second, trying to figure out if he was serious. And then it was just too much for me. I released a loud laugh and looked at him curiously, “Are you serious?”
“See! I knew you’d laugh.”
“Taylor…you’re a BOY.”
“Thank you captain obvi-”
“Boys shouldn’t want to give girls makeovers…that’s just not…natural.”
“Are you implying I’m gay?”
“I don’t know,” I challenged, “Are you?”
“Gabrielle…” he shook his head in frustration, “I just wanted to make your clothes as beautiful are you really are. Is that so wrong?”
“You’re such a metrosexual…”
“Maybe I am!” He threw his hands up, “Or maybe I just don’t think that dirty jeans and DARE t-shirts do you justice.”
I sighed and leaned against the railing next to him. “If I had the money to buy new clothes, I would let you do your whole dopey make over thing.”
“Yes but you see…I’m sort of kind of…loaded,” he said nervously, “Maybe I could buy you new clothes not because you need them, or because I’m pitying you…but because I just think it would be fun to buy.”
I shook my head in disbelief. What a nerd…was all I could think.
“Please, Gab?”
“Didn’t we talk about that nickname thing?”
“Please Gabrielle Carter, please!”
I sighed and looked down at my ratty sneakers. Maybe it couldn’t hurt to let him have his fun….
“Let it be known…” I started, “I was against all of this…”
Taylor jumped up and hugged me.
“You are so gay!” I gasped.
“No I’m not! I’m just a guy with style.”
I eyed his striped, collared shirt tucked into his khakis.
“C’mon. We’re not thinking about my fashion, we’re thinking about yours now. Let’s go back into Journey’s and try on our shoes.”
After we both tried on our Pumas and both pairs fit us well, Taylor insisted that we both wear them out of the store just so we could match. I had to wonder if he was just embarrassed to walk around with me and my practically holey Reeboks.
The next stop was The Gap.
“Taylor…this is like a violation of everything I believe in…” I muttered as he dragged me into the bright store. “This is so preppy and….can’t you just get me new clothes at Wal-Mart?”
He rolled his eyes and pulled me by the wrist over to the woman’s side of the store. He began flipping through shirts on the hangers.
“Can we at least go to the sale section? I would feel a lot more cooperative if we were looking at shirts that weren’t…” I checked one of the tags on a t-shirt, “28 dollars.”
He sighed, “Will you stop bitching then?”
I nodded.
“Alright…fine,” he gave in, this time taking me by the hand and leading me to the back of the store. I was shocked when he took my hand. He didn’t even lace his fingers through mine or anything, but just the idea of him holding my hand through the store was startling. I prayed he wouldn’t see my blushing cheeks.
He didn’t. He was too distracted looking through all the clothes in the sale section.
“How about these?” He held up a pair of khakis.
“They look exactly like the pair you’re wearing, just a bit more preppy.”
He grinned and threw the pair over his forearm, “Precisely.”
After he had collected a few pairs of pants and at least a dozen shirts, he pushed me into the dressing room and sat on the ground outside of it. I know it sounds silly, but I felt awkward standing in my underwear just knowing he was sitting outside the door.
“What are you trying on now?” He’d ask every time I went back into the dressing room.
At one point I came out in a pair of dark jeans and a moderately low cut pink shirt with a tan jacket over it. Taylor had insisted the outfit was not complete without the jacket, which he found in the expensive section of the store.
Taylor literally rose to his feet and gasped when I stepped out of the room.
“Wow! You look…you really look amazing…I am not even joking…” he reached out and took my shoulders, turning me to face the mirror, “Look Gabrielle, just look.”
I looked into the mirror and my eyes automatically went to him. He looked gorgeous standing there next to me with his sandy hair falling into his eyes and his beaming face. I blushed when we made eye contact and then tried to focus on how I looked. The truth is, I looked pretty.
“What do you think?”
“I think…I look nice.”
He grinned even more, happy to see that I approved, “I think you look better than nice. Amazing, don’t you think?”
“Sure, amazing, Taylor.”
“Would you be offended if I said you even look pretty sexy?”
I tried to shoot him my best offended expression in the mirror and retreated back to my changing room.
“Yes!” I gasped.
“No you’re not,” he smiled, taking his spot again on the floor, “You like that I think you look sexy.”
I froze in the middle of taking off the jacket. Was I that that obvious? I had just realized that perhaps I was developing a small crush on the metrosexual pop star outside my changing room, and he was already calling me out about it?
“Every girl wants to look sexy,” he added.
I sighed. Taylor had no clue. If anything, with the way I treated him, he was sure to think I hated him. Taylor was a clueless male just like all of them.
After trying on each and every shirt that Taylor picked out for me, he insisted on buying me five shirts that he approved of, two pairs of pants, and the tan jacket which I protested against, but as usual, he won. He had a way with his whining that always seemed to make me cave.
I reluctantly said goodbye to him after he dropped me off at home and walked into the house with the enormous Gap bag at my side. As luck would had it, my mother, Brad, and Bobby were all sitting in the living room watching the Simpsons.
“What’s in the bag, Gabrielle?” My mom asked me as soon as I walked in the door.
“Just some clothes…” I muttered, tossing my backpack down next to the couch.
“From the Gap?”
“Uhhh…yeah….” There was no way to lie about it. I was caught red handed with new expensive clothing.
“You better not be telling people you need help and you need them to buy you things at that school of yours…” my Mom started. “I’m not!” I shouted back at her, “Of course I’m not. I didn’t ask for these.”
“They just appeared on the doorstep?” Brad chuckled.
“Yes, Brad. They Gap fairy left them there…” I rolled my eyes, hoping to end the conversation there.
“Did your rich boyfriend buy them for you?” Bobby asked.
“Rich boyfriend?”
“He’s loaded, Amy,” Bobby explained, “He has a BMW and everything.”
“Who is this boyfriend of yours Gabrielle…?” My mom probed.
I hated having to lie about Taylor again. I hated having to fabricate a relationship with him that didn’t even exist. I felt like a fake…a pathetic fake.
“His name is Taylor…and I didn’t ask him to buy me clothes. He insisted.”
My mom raised a curious eyebrow, “Does he have a rich, single father…?”
Brad whacked her in the shoulder.
“I’m just kidding. Gabrielle, do you think you could get him to buy you a new microwave…?”
I threw my hand up in disgust, “You are insane, Mom. I’m not asking my boyfriend,” I cringed, “To buy me a new microwave because you’re too lazy to get off of unemployment and to go out there and get a job.”
“Gabrielle!” Brad barked at me as if he could actually tell me what to do.
“She hasn’t had a job in 7 years,” I reasoned with him. Just craving the stillness of my own room, I headed back to my bedroom with the heavy bag. As soon as I got there, I locked the door and took each item of new clothing out of the bag. I ran my fingers along the material of each item and carefully cut the tags off. Then, one by one, I tried them on again and grinned at myself in the mirror.