Shallow, It's All Shallow

While Iris was out making some final preparations for the investigation, Claire and Amelie were out again, and Amelie had learned that Claire's intake was rising again. There was the usual offloading of blame and promises of recovery, all of which Amelie had dealt with in the past weeks, and that she beginning to be more than a little annoyed by. She wished there were a way by which she might simply ignore her mentor, that she could escape her own feminine feelings of obligation to care for others who did not care for her.

While they were walking Claire detected a woman trying to approach her from behind before her mouth opened; she turned at unnatural rate, as did Amelie.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm not a host. I must have frightened you. Is that you, Claire? Claire?" said the woman. She had black hair and a small nose; she was rather pretty. "Do you recognize me?"

Claire frowned. "No, I don't."

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't. It's amazing what they can do these days. A little nip-and-tuck, a rhinoplasty, a little bit around my eyes... I've had more work done on me than most highways in America. What about my collarbones? Do you recognize me now?"

Claire did not really feel like examining her, and she knew the longer this woman stayed the more Amelie would ask her questions about whoever the fuck this was. She wondered if she was being hit on. Maybe if she went off with this woman she would be able to get a drink... "Just tell me."

"Rebecca. Rebecca Marchone. We dated in highschool. Remember?"

Claire almost imperceptibly grimaced. "Ok. Well, it was nice seeing you, but-"

"Are you out on investigation right now? I'd love to have some lunch if it wouldn't take you away from what you're doing."

"No, I guess it wouldn't."

Claire did not remember much of Rebecca, though she noted the ring on her finger. She thought that perhaps she was about to walk into a polyamorous bisexual couple asking her for a threesome, but she gave into this essence on the supposition it might beget her alcohol away from Amelie.

She said goodbye to Amelie and went off with Rebecca, who continued to gush over the work she had had done to herself. She seemed to appear more like Claire's memory of her than herself, tugging at that vague net of associative memory in Claire. She was beautiful yet it disturbed Claire; she could not understand why she had decided to do this.

"You got married?" said Claire.

"Yes, my husband is here on business. I was going out for a little shopping before I saw you." She laughed. "Was that your girlfriend with you?"

At the mention of husband Claire felt a twinge; she did not like bisexual women because she believed they would always shack up with men. To Claire's mind lesbianism was merely an identity bisexuals temporarily adopted; thus she was allowed to still view herself as a sort of martyr in being a lesbian who would never date the easy way. In a certain way, she took gross pleasure that she had found a method of disdain for this ex-girlfriend of her's.

"No, she's my protege." said Claire.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I just assumed... she's very pretty. And you were always rather attractive, Claire, so I suppose I thought that -- maybe that you had found someone similar in that department."

They were soon seated at the first diner they found, and as Claire looked to the menu, she wondered how much alcohol she could order without it being suspicious.

"Still, I was always the uglier one, wasn't I?" Rebecca smiled. "But that's why God invented plastic surgery and ketamine."

"Yeah, another Hollywood tranquilizer'll be the last one you need." muttered Claire. "It's just shallow. It's shallow."

"How is it shallow?"

"You fritter away thousands of dollars on surgery, and for what?"

"Well, yes, Claire, I wasn't blessed in the looks department like you were. But when physical appearance is one of the few powers women have in this world, what do you expect?" She smiled. "And besides, if you think that's shallow, you should see the shallow man I'm with. He's a regional manager where he works, and he makes enough to provide for the both of us. Enough that we can take a vacation out at his cabin, play a little pool, smoke a little, have some fun... and that's what life is about, isn't it? An examined life isn't necessarily what you should want."

Claire laughed at her. "Must be nice to be so fortunate."

"I won't deny that, but weren't you also lucky to have been born a host? Gosh, you know, I really am a little jealous of you. I think it must be fun being a student and having a life of little restriction. You won't deal with discrimination, that's for certain; someone will always be willing to hire you. And from what I hear, professional hosts are usually paid six figures."

"You don't know a thing about being a student."

"I'm sure it's dangerous, but don't you enjoy being one? Even being surrounded by lesbians must certainly be nice. Why, even my husband says things that-"

"No, you don't understand a thing about being a student. That's all you're revealing right now, that you don't understand shit."

Rebecca frowned. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Claire. You seem a little high-strung. Has something been stressing you out?"

"What do you know?"

"Know about what?"

"About what's gotten into me."

"I don't. That's exactly my point, Claire. We used to be so sweet with each other, and yet now it seems behind those eyes of your's is the visage of a brute... you were a little gullible before, but I thought that perhaps the years would have softened you."

"What, you wanna ask me about my problems? You wanna tell me about how being a student is so great and your husband's money you keep sucking away at?"

"I'd just like to get a little bit of insight into why you're acting this way. I don't feel I've offended you, but if I have, I'm sorry. I'd like to talk about it so I can remedy it."

"God, fuck this." Claire stood up and knocked (despite that it was bolted) the table over. She started to walk out.

"Claire, I-"

"Stop calling me Claire, bitch. Maybe we messed around a few times years ago, but I don't fucking know you and I don't care to. I thought maybe we'd have a nice conversation, but instead you wanna just go on about your life to me? All the cock you've sucked? Nah, fuck you. I don't give a fuck about your shallow life and I don't care to."

Claire walked out, and outside she felt Rebecca approach her again, then rush up beside her. "Claire, I really feel we- I haven't even told you why I approached you in the first place. Will you just take this, please?" She handed Claire a slip of paper with a phone number on it. "Please, I can apologize better over the phone and we can-"

"Nah, fuck you. I got my own problems and you shouldn't be associating with me anyway. I'm not a good person and I'm not a good student. God, what rotten luck do I got? Fucking you, Amelie, and Olivia, all three of you. That butch girl is the only one I can fuckin' stand. My whole life's been shit for two years and it's 'cuz every time I put myself out there, I run into snooty bitches like you who've got these houses standin' on hills that look like heaven from where I've been living."

"But wouldn't you like to reconcile? A renewed connection?"

"What the fuck do I need connection for? What do you know about me, huh? You go down on me once or twice and now you think you've got this whole access to some shuttered world in me? Knock it off."

"But within that there's that sweet pretty girl I knew. It feels like something's infected you."

"Infected? Nothing's infected me."

"But-"

"Get the hell away from me. I'm not gonna warn you twice."

Claire's feet kept their motion until the sidewalk could be surmised only by herself. She was annoyed, but decided that this presented the opportunity to go buy alcohol without Amelie knowing. Eventually she was unsure why she had reacted like she had; she was not quite sure how Rebecca had caused this anger and shame in her. But from where she was standing Rebecca's circumstances had seemed high upon that hill; she felt that luck had placed her in the position to leverage her talents into romantic & financial success, and that her life had movement while Claire's did not.

Time would remedy Claire's memory, however, weathering away such innocuous moments until they were small in her recall, even as she was only understandable through such rejection.