Cerise leans over the cafe's counter to give C.B.'s hand a shake. He being behind it and her standing in front of it, but Cerise's shake is brief, cut short by the woman taking a step back and lifting a triumphant finger in the air. "Ah-/ha/. I /knew/ it. You are the infamous fugitive author."
Her triumph at her own cleverness is short lived and followed with a self-mollification. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. It's just that the way you answered my question at Franklyn's thing gave me a nagging suspicion and I did some research and ... I always liked getting A's on papers."
C.B. lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. "The very same," he says, his tone flat and sardonic. He shrugs and adds, "I didn't think it was /that/ hard to figure out." He listens to Cerise explain herself, those brows raising again as he says, "Mmm hmmm. Well. I think Kip still carries my books at his store -- maybe -- so it wouldn't've been too hard for you to put two and two together. On one way or another. So congratulations." He takes a sip of his "coffee." "A-fucking-plus-plus. How /is/ dear ol' Kip's store doing, anyway? Is he still as annoying as ever?"
"Oh my god, I know, right?"
In strides Lala, chitter-chattering on her cellphone. Is she supposed to be doing that here? Isn't this a cellphone-free zone? At the rate she's going, it will be a Lala-free zone soon if she's not careful. She's wearing a white t-shirt that has 'LAST CLEAN SHIRT' printed in bold block letters across the chest, a blue Walmart vest, black skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Shabby but likely stupidly, ridiculously, expensively so -- the big-box store vest, of course, excluded.
The blonde laughs at something said on the other end of the line and then holds the phone away from her ear, giving a cheerful shout at the device. "Hugs and kisses, you silly bitch!" Bloop! She ends the call, stuffs the gadget into her jacket pocket and gets into line at the counter behind Cerise.
Oh wait, no.
Lala pulls her phone out again and starts texting furiously. Ticka-tacka-tic! But, overhearing what the other woman says, she needs to stick her nose into the conversation. It's a genetic necessity, man. Butting-in is in her booones. "You should grab a selfie with him, FYI."
"Yeah, it's doing fine. Kip's a nice guy. That woman who always hangs out with your girlfriend, Amanda, seems to like him OK. What's your issue with him anyway?" Unsurprisingly, the caustic attitude brings a frown to Cerise's lips, and she straightens, almost immediately defensive of her new employee.
When Lala comes up behind her, Cerise steps to the side, waving her forward towards the counter, "You go ahead, I'm not ready to order yet." She mumbles while keeping a sharp watch on C.B. and almost entirely ignoring Lala until that last bit registers with her. Then her head swivels around in confusion, "Wait what?"
C.B. stands up a little on the stool, brows raising and blue eyes going wide as Lala enters in talking on the damn phone. "Get off the phone!" he yells at her, though not at the top of his voice -- which is LOUD -- but then she is off the phone, and he can stop yelling. For now. Then he rolls his eyes and remarks, "Great, /you/ again. No talking on the phone in here, okay? Do I make myself fucking clear? It's our ONE RULE."
He snorts, scowling, and then stares back over at Cerise. Although...did he just flush at the reference to his girlfriend? He doesn't correct her, but he does look a touch embarassed. Then he says, "Kip kinda hates me. I'm not saying he doesn't have reasons, but..." Shrug. "Anyway, better for everyone if I stay the hell out of there. He carries too much Romance for my taste, as it is."
Giiiiiiiirlfriend? Lala's face positively LIGHTS UP when she hears that word. In reference to CB. Oh, the wheels! They are a'turning. As such, she's much too busy thinking and scheming to pay much mind to being yelled at -- lots of people yell at her for lots of different reasons: she's used to it.
"You have a lady friend, Charles Bronson?" she asks, her grin stretching from ear to ear. The blonde might have some guesses but she's new in town; she doesn't know everyone yet so it really could be anyone. And she hasn't gotten the full gossip rundown from her cousin sooooo.... "Anyone I know, Charlie Brown?"
She winks.
She waggles her eyebrows.
She turns to Cerise.
"I'm helping Mr. Alexander work on his brand and developing a presence for him on social media is a step in the right direction," she explains, giving her hair a casual flip. "Now, he can't have his own profiles because that would be sooooo off-message. I mean, what a sell-out, right? But if other people take pictures with him, especially with him looking like that," -- she gestures to the grumpy author. "..it gets him out there passively while still allowing him to be his gloriously cantankerous self." She bites her smile, leans against the counter and coos sweetly at CB. "Can I have a coffee, Charles Barkley? Just black is fine. Thank yoooou."
Cerise's eyes close ever so slightly as she peers at Lala, suspicion and dislike oozing out of that gaze automatically. It's marked in its difference from the friendly demeanor she was showing in the face of the otherwise grumpy C.B. only seconds before. "Seriously? Social media presence? I really doubt that a guy like C.B. here has authorized that." Cerise gives her head an emphatic shake and lifts a hand as she checks off authors with fingers. "Did Marcel Proust need a social media presence? No. Did Harper Lee? No. Faulkner? No. Dickinson? No. Salinger? Of course not! Having to bow before the mob is a signal that the author's work lacks depth and thought and is merely going for the most eyeballs possible. Such works do /not/ last the ages!"
C.B.? He's still pretty red in the face. And looking increasingly more irritated the more Lala talks. "Lala," he says, very patiently -- for him -- "it's just C.B. Okay?" Rapidly reaching the end of his rope. "By the way, /nobody/ hired you to work on my fucking 'brand.' I told you, Caryn thinks me having no brand is having a brand. You dig?" He still goes over to pour her a cup of coffee from the carafe -- but he pauses when Cerise actually backs up what he just said! And then some. In fact, a little light comes into his eyes, something almost like admiration. He outright smiles, gesturing to the other woman. "THANK you. Jesus. I mean, yeah, I'm sure Shakespeare and Dickins and Twain might've been all over something like social media, but so what? I never said I was a fucking populist!"
Now, Lala benefitted from a primo education. However, she didn't pay attention for much of that time. So when Cerise starts spitting out names of authors, she just looks at her blankly. "They sound old," she says after a small, glorious moment of silence. "..and pre-social media. Besides," -- and her bright blue eyes dance over to CB now, the young woman tapping the tip of her nose. "You are more than just an author; you are a revolutionary. If you were /just/ in the business of writing books, sure, fine. I wouldn't agree with it but whatever. If you want to miss out on a powerful marketing tool, that would be your choice. But if you want to inspire people to rise up, wake up? You need to /reach/ them and relying on word of mouth is going to get you nowhere fast."
She leans a hip against the counter as she nibbles on an already well-nibbled fingernail. Thinking! You know, more turning gears. "Of course, you can also rely on stunts to boost your signal -- throwing molotovs into the police station definitely got your name out there. But!" She starts counting out on her fingers. "One: that gains you notoriety but does little to actually spread your message; people just fixate on the salaciousness of your action without paying attention to the intent behind it. Two: if you keep doing shit like that, you will end up in prison. Three: if you act /too/ crazy, you push people away rather than draw them to you."
The blonde gazes between the pair of them, Cerise and CB, and then cocks her head. "So, who's your girlfriend?" Whoa! That was a conversational left-turn.
"I really can't approve of violent resistance." Cerise bends over the counter, offering this as an aside to C.B. in a low murmur. The entire time, her eyes stay on Lala, right up until the point where she's straigtening up again. "Be that as it may, if you force inauthenticity on an authentic movement, you'll turn off those who might actually believe in the movement and /do/ something and you'll only end up attracting people who like the noise, but want none of the substance. I mean, you did pay attention to what happened in Standing Rock, right?" Cerise just lets the question of the girlfriend hang there unanswered for C.B. to handle.
C.B. is just...flabbergasted. He stands there with a look of utter horror and confusion on his face. When Lala is done with her 'advice,' he finally says -- surprisingly quietly -- "No one actually /reads/ the news, do they?" He shakes his head, eyes wide, muttering to himself, "Un-fucking-believable."
C.B. Alexander may be a reactive kind of guy, but it is possible to stun the reactions right out of him. Apparently.
He completely ignores Lala's girlfriend question, though he does smack the coffee mug down on the counter in front of her. It sloshes a little. Then he just glances at Cerise, sighs deeply, and runs his hand over his eyes. "Happy Labor Day," he mutters, voice muffled by his hand.
"Standing Rock, yeah, that was awful," Lala replies in an airy way that kinda implies that she maybe possibly might not have any idea what Standing Rock is. A concert perhaps? Was there a stampede? That would totally blow! Poor people. Although, who knows! Maybe she does have a clue. Maybe she knows exactly what happened. She does look almost grave.
That all goes away though when CB gives her her coffee and that dazzling smile of hers returns. Bright! Twinkling! Accompanied by another wink! "Thanks, sweetcheeks," she says warmly, lifting the mug to her lips, blowing across the surface and taking a sip. The Garreau glances around and then blinks at Sir Grumpalot. "You got Apple Pay here?"
No, Lala. /No/. Geez louise.
Since he's not answering her question and Cerise seems to be In the Know(tm), the blonde turns her attention on her. "So!" Grin! Shoulder wiggle! "Who's his lady-pal? My heart is breaking over here. I thought he and I had something special. I mean," -- she sighs and cases a longing look over her shoulder at him. "..that night we shared was so special to me. You cad!"
With a heavy sigh, Cerise tugs open the slightly worn designer purse on her shoulder and draws out a wallet. Bills are neatly organized with all her ones, fives, tens, etc together. She takes out a ten and slaps it down on the counter. Maybe she thinks this will get Lala out the door quicker. "I was joking when I said that. Everytime I've seen C.B. he's been with this one woman, but that doesn't equal dating and I know absolutely nothing about his love life."
"What the hell is Apple Pay?" What, Mr. Luddite here didn't get the memo? And was he really talking about Standing Rock, when he mentioned the news? Almost certainly not, but he doesn't seem eager to clarify that he wasn't hopping on Cerise's conversational bandwagon there. Then he just snorts at Lala, like he's trying /really really hard/ not to get worked up. "Is it just impossible for Garreaus not to lie and exaggerate? Cut it out, Lala!"
He rubs his head, shaking it, then eyes the ten that Cerise has just put on the counter. "What's this for?" he asks her, blinking. "Did you want something?" Cerise has yet to order anything at all. Now the two women are talking about C.B. like he doesn't exist, and he quickly moves away from them to go refill his coffee mug with cheap bourbon before they can start asking him more questions about his love life.
When Cerise gives her vague answer in regard to CB's love life, Lala sets down her coffee for a moment to rubs her hands together. "Ah!" she very nearly chirps. Chirps! "So I still have a chance then. Excellent." She curls a smile at the man currently having a grump-fit behind the count and she leans toward him. "I will dump Mason in a second if you say the word." Poor Mason! But she's just kidding, right? Riiiight.
Turning back to Cerise, she suddenly sticks out a hand toward the woman. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot to introduce myself. Lala Garreau. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?" Honestly! She seems genuinely pleased to make this new acquaintance, even if she's being super-duper annoying. A nod back at the Alexander fellow -- who is probably muttering to himself by this point if she's done her job right -- "And don't listen to him. We are the best of friends. I just like to tease him. He likes to yell at me. It's a delightfully abusive cycle that I wouldn't change for anything in this world. Are you paying for my coffee? You're just the sweetest!"
Cerise lifts the five-dollar bill between two fingers and flashes it in the vague direction of C.B. "Whatever she needs Apple Pay for - this will cover it." While she's waiting for C.B. to get something for LaLa, she turns back to the other woman, and flashes a smile that is smaller than what she might give someone else, but is not outwardly hostile at least. "Cerise Hodgson, and you don't have to worry about any mix-ups. I've already figured out that it's impossible to tell his friends from his enemies."
C.B. wanders back with his bourbon right about the time that Lala is calling them the best of friends. "Lala? You're delusional. This is only, what, the second or third time we've met? And I'm an expert on delusional, okay?" He glances over at Cerise, eyes wide, shaking his head. Then he takes Cerise's money, making change and putting most of it in the tip jar. "You're not wrong about that," he tells Cerise, "but that doesn't make a person I've barely met my friend." It's not the first time this has happened to C.B., really. Maybe he just invites it.
Oh it's going to happen. It was just a matter of time. Lala scoots in close to Cerise and whips out her phone, grabbing a quick selfie of the two of them together. Gah! LALA. Jeebus. This is the reason -- one of many -- why some people dislike you. Stepping away and back to her coffee, she fires up Instagram.
"Don't listen to him," she tells the woman as she starts to write up a caption for their picture. "He likes to goad me. And while it is true that our friendship is still fresh, sometimes you just know, yannow?" The blonde looks at Cerise and then over at CB, crinkling up her nose cutely. "/Yannow/? I'm telling you, CB. Someday you are going to wonder how you ever got on without me."
Turning her phone so Cerise can see, she shows her the Instagram post she's about to make. There's the picture of them. The caption: 'Making new friends wut-wut!'. And oh, that hashtags. Hashtags are important, y'all. #cat22 #newpals #coffeeislyfe #nofilter
Siiiiiiiigh.
Cerise's eyes go wide when Lala just whips out that phone. She quickly steps out of the way, and then runs her hand through her dark hair. "Yeah. Well. I'm certain that his feelings will be constant if nothing else." It's a weak response and Cerise seems to know it, letting her gaze drift away. When she looks back there's a flash of a smile before she steps away. "Well! It was nice to meet you C.B." After a pause, she tacks on, "Lala." Then the book storeclerk is heading back out the door again.
C.B. squints over at Lala, shaking his head. "Boundaries," he deadpans. "You need them." A girl with short green hair, shaved in the back, sticks her head out through the pass-through. "C.B., you got a call. I think it's your agent?" C.B. sighs and mutters something about how at least Caryn's not calling him on his cell. He lifts and drops a hand to Cerise as she heads out, then makes a symbol at Lala: his index and thumb forming a circle over one eye, which he moves quickly away from his face as he heads towards the back. "Be seeing you." He parts the curtain and is gone, quickly replaced Lisa, a short Asian girl with pigtails, who does her best not to read the work C.B.'s left behind on the typewriter.
CB heads through the curtain to the back room.
Cerise is leaving. CB is already gone. All of Lala's playthings have left her. "Well, nuts," the dippy blonde mutters and then ambles over to park her butt on a love seat. "See you around," she hollars -- although it is not entirely clear if she is shouting at Cerise or CB.
Maybe both!
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