Dreams, Dreams

Chapter Eighteen: When a Stranger Calls

Joe

I got into our apartment that always smelled like pasta sauce. Even when no one was cooking. It always had a knick of smelling like pasta sauce.

I saw my mother on the couch, looking at the TV. And the TV wasn't even on. I got by her side, kissed her on the cheek, and stroked her back. My mother, from time to time, always seemed to daze out, stare at nothing, and dwell her thoughts in depression. She never got the fact out of head that she lost Vincent, when it was all on the fact that his breathing was irregular and had what the doctors said a heart attack, when really there was some other name for it, but I never really quite understood it, so they ended up using heart attack. But my mother didn't believe them - she always seemed to blame it on herself.

Despite the fact that it's been eight years already. I was only nine when I heard that I wasn't going to be a big brother after all - and it kills me, knowing that I still felt the disappointment today.

"Mom, you alright?" I asked her gently. "Dad might need you in the kitchen." My dad was the cook in the family, unlike what other people think where women were the chefs in the family. Actually, my family was the complete opposite - my dad liked to shop, my mom waited in the car. She wasn't a real 'girly-girl' as some people would put it. And my dad loved Macy's. The men's department, of course.

She patted my wrist in assurance. "I'm fine, Vincent." she said. I wasn't befuddled. My mom would call me Vincent, because she really wanted a son named Vincent. Joe . . . Joe was my father's idea. She sighed deeply. "Your father needs me?"

"Yeah, there was a boom of eighteen orders today. You should get downstairs." I didn't want to exhaust my mother, but keeping her busy would keep her mind away from the whole thing that happened . . . eight years ago.

"I'll get there . . . so, how was school, I heard there was a fire?" she looked at me with her warm eyes and smiled, knowing I was alright.

"Yeah, just a little spark in the garbage can . . . mom, can I ask you something?" I ask, her hands on my right one. She nods, telling me to go on. "I . . . kind of have this problem," I start carefully, not wanting to give everything away. "See, there's this girl in my school, and well, she doesn't really like me that much - I mean, not like like like 'I think you're ugly' kind of hate, but like, 'I think you're a jerk' kind of hate."

"And do you like this girl?"

"Well . . . yeah. But she's in love with this total jerk whose only using her, but she wouldn't believe me if I told her. What should I do?" I finally ask.

She smiled. "Would this girl be Emma DeNoire?"

I shot up in my seat. "How did you know?" My mom always seemed to know things - it was kinda scary.

"Well, firstly, I never heard of a girl who would hate my Vincent," she said pinching my cheek. " . . . Besides Emma. I still remember what you did at her eighth birthday party." she paused, knowing that it was a day after Vincent died. "And, who is this man that's using her?"

I groaned. "The most random guy - that actor, James Scott."

She laughed. "I heard he was in the building."

"Mrs. DeLa Rosa?"

She nodded. "She's still hugging her flower pot." she smiled. "And he's using her?"

"Yeah, he only wants it for his image," I played with the yarn that was left on the couch. "But, I know she likes me better than that actor guy, but she just hates me, you know?"

She patted my wrist. "I know. . . . But, I think you should tell her. Even if she doesn't believe you."

"She'd never believe me." I said. "It's kind of stupid, really. How I found out."

She didn't seem to ask how I found out. "Well, just try. Anyways, what you did at her party was centuries ago. I'm sure she'll forget it and forgive you."

I didn't say the fact that the fire at school today knocked her out. So, forgetting about what happened at her party may be a little hard. I didn't say it because I didn't want to stress her out with all my problems, and allowed her to go downstairs to help my dad.

I sat in front of my computer and just stared at it. Maybe staring into heavy machinery when it wasn't on was some sort of remedy for people to forget about their problems. I don't know.

Suddenly someone was knocking - pounding, even - on the door, so I ran to answer it.

It was Mrs. DeLa Rosa who was holding a phone in her hand and was practically dancing to it. "It's James! It's James! He called me!"

I nodded at her . . . um, phone call achievement. "That's great, Mrs. D." I said, even though I couldn't care less.

She held the phone in front of me like it was a trophy. "He wants to talk to you! James Scott! Talk - to YOU!" she exclaimed.

I took the phone and looked at her questionably. I spoke into it. "Hello?"

"Hey . . . this is Joe, right?" I heard a voice say. James.

Mrs. DeLa Rosa was jumping at my threshold leaning on every word I was saying. "Yeah?" I asked, wondering what the hell he would want.

"This is James," he said, like I was some stupid idiot. "We met on the roof, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember . . . what do want?"

"I just wanted to discuss about, you know. The thing you happened to know."

I just continued to act clueless. "And what would this thing be?"

"Look, Joe. I don't want to be enemies here. We both know you and I share something in common. And that's caring for Emma. . . . So, you know we both wouldn't want to hurt her."

"I wouldn't," I looked at Mrs. DeLa Rosa who was grinning like crazy. "I don't know about you."

He sighed. "Look, Joe. I care about Emma, okay, I really do. But my agent . . . he just thinks I'm using Emma, and apparently, so do you. But the thing is I really like her, okay? Maybe even more . . . but I'm just clearing that up for you."

I smiled at Mrs. DeLa Rosa who might have her face stuck like that if she keeps grinning. "You need to clear that up for me, or you just want me to think that you actually like her?" I nodded at Mrs. D, letting her know how lovely I think James was and that made her grin even more. If that were possible.

He sighed yet again. "Don't embarrass yourself, Joe. Especially after what you did at Emma's birthday party."

I glared at the receiver. "How did you know?"

He laughed. "I guess great minds dream a like, huh?" Bastard. "Anyways, I got to get ready for the Wrap Party tomorrow. Sorry you couldn't come. I could only invite one guest, so I had to invite Emma, and she said that she would 'love to.' Did she ever say that to you, hm, Joe?"

I clenched my fist. "I heard there'll be photographers there. That must be convenient for you, hm, James?"

"Oh yeah." he said. "I can't wait to make out with Emma in front of them."

I clenched my fist even tighter. "What makes you think you'll get away with this, James? You're going to hurt a teenage girl, here."

"What makes me think I'll get away with this?” he said asking himself. ”Easy. Just one look into the mirror, and I know I'll get away with this. I'm going to be the best actor I could be . . . tomorrow night. Sweet dreams, Joe." then I heard the phone click.

"ERRR!!" I banged the phone on the wall pretending it was James head, and then belatedly realized that it was Mrs. DeLa Rosa's phone. She looked at me horrified. I smiled at her sweetly and carefully handed her the phone back. "Thanks." I nodded at her.

She took the phone carefully and then looked at me, scared to death. "Um . . . I'm going to go and watch Batman, now." She said referring to that James Scott movie. She then scurried out the door. I kicked the wall, hoping it were James' balls.

That jerk was going down.

&

author'snote: if you haven't voted in the poll, please do! Who do you think Emma should end up with? results coming soon!