So.
There she was.
I’ll never forget it- at least in this life.
I stared hard at the poster. It was of Taylor. She was sitting on a white bench in NYC. Her white striped short shorts presented her legs almost 3 dimensionally, and her shoes were formal heels with white kitten ears. Her white top snuggled her upper body. The buildings, in the distance, seemed almost like a canvas being held aloft by the white sky above them.
This was the poster that announced Taylor’s 1989 album. It was the one that sent her fans into the frenzy 6 months ago.
Yes, I had a few of the posters themselves. Of course I did. They are quite rare, but I got a few copies from a seller in Taiwan who clearly didn’t grasp their significance.
I looked at the poster and pondered. “Now?” I thought to myself. I didn’t know. Maybe… maybe not. I could get Taylor if I wanted- my magic was more than powerful enough- but I just wasn’t sure if now was the right time. Why, though? What was I waiting for?
The bright whiteness of Taylor’s skin really contrasted against the dull grayness of the buildings behind her. She really stood out… which was the point.
Too many people didn’t understand what Taylor was doing with 1989, I thought. See, the point is that she’s something of an outsider there, or at least she was at the time. This is the reason why Welcome to New York sounds so touristy. It isn’t meant to be authentic.
It’s meant to be me, I thought. She wrote that album as though it would be written from my perspective, didn’t she?
I sighed. That… isn’t the right thing to do. It isn’t honest. But of course there’s no other way. It’s just the way things are, especially these days. These days, there’s nothing else they could do, especially in Taylor’s case, since I’ve been controlling her mind so, so much in the last few years. So much more than the others. I’ve made her a star, whether she wanted to be one or not. I wonder… does she ever want to be herself again? The old Taylor? Does she miss her?
Sometimes I do.
As my thoughts drifted again towards Taylor, my new phone gave me a small song. Someone texted me! I grabbed the phone and eagerly looked at it. It was…
It was nobody. It was the phone company, telling me that my monthly bill was due. Whatever. I put the phone and poster away, and lay in bed, thinking of nothing.
——————–
After a small nap, I looked out my window. It was cloudy. Not overcast- against the bright blue of the sky, the cloud covering was a fluffy, empty white- but you still couldn’t see much of the sun regardless. It looked oppressive. Nothing much to see there, I thought.
So depressing was the scene outside that I took a look at the window itself, which last week I had painted a bright white color. My paint job was good, but it did look a bit amateurish. It clearly wasn’t done by a professional. My thoughts turned to the perfect white sills of Taylor’s Rhode Island home. That was a beautiful, beautiful house. Maybe someday I’ll see it again.
But maybe not. Probably not.
I drifted back to sleep.
——————–
The house phone woke me up. I was too groggy to move. I squinted hard at the white plastic block in the distance that was my phone. I could kind of make out that the call was from Albany. Who do I know in Albany? Nobody. I’ll just let the machine get it.
Whoever it was didn’t leave a message, but they called again. And again. And AGAIN. I was curious and concerned.
I dragged myself out of bed and answered the phone.
“Mr. Jacobsen?”
“Um, hi.” I was still half asleep. I tried to wake myself up by curling the white phone cord with my fingers.
“Is this Tom?”
“Um, yeah.”
There was a pause. “How are you?”
“I’m OK. Sorry, I just woke up.” I glanced at the phone. Somebody named Joshua Harrington. The hell? Who was this person? Did this have to do with my cell bill? “I’m sorry but who is this and why are you calling?”
“You just woke up? It’s like three in the afternoon! I mean, I know you keep an odd schedule but that’s insane!!!” He laughed. I didn’t. He resumed after an awkward pause. “Um, it’s Josh. I need to ask you a favor. You’re the only one that can help me.”
What? Who IS this person? Is this someone from college? From work?
I bit my lip. “Who are you again?”
Another pause, this one longer. “Awwww… You forgot already?” A sigh. “Did what we have mean so little to you?”
I was in no mood for this, whatever it was. “Look, whoever you are, we didn’t have anything.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. After all, you DID give me the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten.”
Um. WHAT? I nearly dropped the phone. What the hell was this person’s problem? Should I call the police?
And then… I thought for a second. His voice did sound a little familiar… and he had a prominent lisp. Was he gay? His name is Joshua, and now that I think about it, something tells me that I have met someone recently with that name. But who…? Oh my GOD! This is Taylor’s dancer! The one from the wedding!
I stopped curling the cord. I felt it get limp in my fingers. “Oh… hi. Joshua.”
“Call me Josh. Hey. Look, I need your help. You’re Taylor’s biggest fan, right?”
“Kind of…”
“Great. Here’s the thing. We need your help with some ideas about Taylor’s new tour. We figure that if anyone could help us, it would be you.”
“Um, OK.” I guess that made sense. I’ve seen her in concert twice before and know her better than anyone. So yeah, I could help. “I can help, but I’ve never choreographed anything before…”
“We have people to take care of that…” His voice trailed a bit. “Tom, to be honest, Taylor is stressing out majorly with this new tour. That’s really why we need you. We need to know how to make things easier for her.”
“What do you mean, stressing?”
“Well, she’s a little stressed out… she has a lot to deal with, you know? You can help with that.”
“Yes, definitely! Listen, I still have Taylor’s number from a year ago. I’d just like to verify it with you before I call her.”
“Oh…” He stopped. “About that.” He cleared his throat. “Please don’t let Taylor know you’re doing this.”
What? “Why?”
“Because she made us promise not to talk to you directly. Taylor would fire me if she found out I was doing this.”
Wow, really? “But why? What you’re asking seems reasonable.”
“Oh honey, I don’t know. It’s just what Taylor wants. She’s the boss.”
Honey? Whatever. “Right… so what’s in it for me?”
“Well, we can pay you of course. And you’ll help Taylor.”
“I don’t care about Taylor.” I snapped. “How much?”
“I talked about this with my manager. He said that we could pay you a couple thousand for a week’s work as a contractor.”
Good, that was more than I was making in my real job. Maybe this was a good idea. “Ok… but Taylor won’t care if she bumps into me?”
“We could just do it long distance. Over the phone and the internet.”
That would be a good precaution, but I didn’t like it. I’m a perfectionist. When I do things I want to do them right.
“I don’t know. It would help to see things, I think. I mean, with my own eyes.”
“Yeah, I know. Could you fly down here? Maybe just for a weekend? We could get you down here before rehearsals start. That way there would be no chance of you meeting Taylor.”
“Sure, just pick the weekend.”
“Ok, I’ll have my manager set something up. I don’t know exactly when he’ll want you here.” He stopped. “Tom… there’s no hard feelings, right?”
“Hard feelings?” I thought for a second. “About what? Nothing happened between us. We just talked. That’s it. We were having a nice conversation when Taylor interrupted us.”
“Oh honey, that’s rude.”
Honey, again? And his overly prominent lisp was really starting to bug me. “It’s what it is, Josh.”
“Hmmmm?? And what do you mean by that?”
I wasn’t sure why, but Josh just wasn’t who I wanted to talk to right now. Well, actually, I did know. I just didn’t want to say it. Josh wasn’t simply a bisexual; he was clearly, and I mean clearly, gay.
Somehow, Josh seemed to think of me as being like him, when I definitely am not. In fact I resented the implication that I was.
Yes, I have a very strong feminine side. Everyone by now knows the story. In addition to my hetero, world dominating lady killer side, I’m no stranger to things like gender bending, same sex attraction and the like. I do talk with a lisp, too. And I have the mannerisms. I mean, it’s obvious. Everyone who converses with me picks up on “that side” of me within a few minutes.
But Josh is something different entirely. His feminine nature isn’t a “side”. It’s who he is to the core. He’s 100% gay, and I, as a staunch old-fashioned conservative, wasn’t comfortable with that. I certainly wasn’t used to it. His personality reminded me of the drag queen I talked to in Chicago that summer, and I wasn’t sure of how to deal with that stuff.
“Well,” He chirped. “Maybe we should talk later. I need to go… Niiiice talking to yoooou, hun.”
Ok, I’m not like him. Not even close.
“Yeah, nice talking to you too.”
“Bye.”
“BYE.” I slammed the phone down unexpectedly hard. Whatever. This was a bad idea and I knew that it was. Taylor’s world wasn’t my world. It definitely wasn’t my world. But I’m just so gullible.
As I stood there looking down at the phone, I was surprised at what I saw when my glance turned to my hand. My knuckles were pure white. Evidently, I had held the receiver much too tensely.
Hm. Should I do this? I should. This is for Taylor. I’d do anything to help her. And the money wouldn’t hurt.
And… I’m curious. Don’t I own this culture? I want to see it up close, maybe.
An hour later, Josh’s manager texted me with instructions. I was on my way. For better or worse.
——————–
The flight to Albany was just that. It was nothing special. This time I counted clouds. One, ten, a hundred… it reminded me of counting sheep. Eventually, everything- the white of the clouds, the white of the plane and the white noise of its engines, lulled me to sleep. It was a short flight for me.
When I came to, everyone was standing up. I guess the flight had landed. I left the plane with them, gathered my luggage and eventually found my cab, a white sedan that must have been a converted police car. As I entered, I stole a glance at the driver. Was it… ?!?!
No, it wasn’t. This driver was an immigrant, probably from Pakistan, judging from his color and the name on his nameplate. With my dreams of seeing a familiar, hoary old white man in a green uniform dashed, I exchanged pleasantries with the driver, tossed my bags in and prepared for a long, boring cab ride.
I checked my watch. Taylor’s team was right now arriving at the auditorium.
I talked to Josh last week on the phone. According to him, right now things were still in the brainstorming stage. They weren’t ready for rehearsals, so Taylor shouldn’t show up there for two or three weeks at least. This would give me, him, and others there some time to talk. I should be long gone by the time she enters the equation.
I found it odd that Taylor was this time rehearsing in Albany. For all her previous tours, she rehearsed in Nashville. As a loyal Swifty, I of course have some memorabilia from some of her rehearsals there, including a set of guitar picks she once handed out after a session.
Maybe her moving the rehearsals outside of Nashville is an important symbolic move for her. Or maybe it’s just a matter of convenience.
We’ll see once I’m there. Since the auditorium was on the way to the hotel I’m booked at tonight, I determined that I should just stop there first.
I yawned. Well, all of this was starting to bore me. The cars outside my widows were becoming white blurs as they sped by. This cabbie obeyed the speed limit at all times, regardless of how ridiculous it was. I sighed, closed my eyes, and let the powerful white of the sun bathe my eyelids as I dozed. I felt warm.
——————–
I came to about twenty minutes from the auditorium. Since we still had a ways to go, I decided to strike up a conversation with the cabbie. Judging from his young age and curious accent, he was a recent immigrant- very new to the US. Good, I thought. You know… this was a perfect opportunity to talk about race. I never get to talk about that with Americans, because they’re psychotic and extremely weird about it. After a few softball questions about the weather to get things rolling, I glanced at his nameplate and started.
“Atif, I have a question.”
“Yes Tom.”
“What do you think about white people?”
“Oh, I like white people in America.” He started. “You’re nice and have a good country.”
Good. He hadn’t, yet, absorbed the insanity that is the American Liberal Racial Dialogue. So he could still talk about this stuff like a rational human. “Thanks. I mean, like, what do you think about us, you know, in general?”
“I like white people a lot. Before I came to America, I was in Germany for a year.”
Well, that explains his accent. He was an Asian, speaking English with a German accent! WTF!? I stifled a laugh at that. “Really? Do you know any German?”
“A little. Basic things… nothing too much.” He stopped. “I like white countries. Everything here seems to, uh, work on time. On a schedule. The traffic. I grew up in Pakistan. In Pakistan, nobody follows the traffic rules.” He glanced up at a green light. “And everything in indoors… you don’t have to be out in the sun all the time. Everything is clean here. And when you tell people in Pakistan you’re in America, they feel impressed. It’s reputation. You tell people you’re a cab driver in Pakistan and no one cares. You tell them you’re a cab driver in America and they see you different just because it’s America.” He smiled.
“You speak English well for a recent immigrant.”
“I watch a lot of American TV growing up.”
Of course. My friends at work. It was interesting that he identified “white people” as being “American”. This is how it is, of course, Al Sharpton’s antics notwithstanding.
“I like how in white places you don’t have to hear gunshots. I live in Pakistan by Afghanistan and I hear gunshots all the time… at night. Everyone stays away where they come from but you always hear them. I don’t know who is shooting at who but it always happens at night. I hate that. You can’t do anything. That doesn’t happen in the US.”
At least, not in the white places, of course. I pressed him further. I was curious. “What do you think about blacks in America? Mostly I don’t think they’re very smart.”
“They’re not.” He laughed. “I don’t like blacks. I never pick them up. They mug people. They’re angry. They steal from people. One stole my wallet once.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Black neighborhoods…” He shook his head. “I don’t go there. I don’t go there.”
“Agreed.” So much for the Rainbow Coalition, I thought. I paused for a second, trying to think of a new tangent. “What do you think of the Taliban?” I asked blankly.
He was a bit surprised at that question, but the look on my face said that I was harmless. “The Taliban can be good or bad… there’s good people and bad in the Taliban. I think they were better when I was growing up. I remember a Christian white person came to Pakistan once, and I know the Taliban helped him get a hotel in Afghanistan.”
Interesting. I was fascinated. “So, you think they’re different now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about them since I moved West. My family doesn’t say about them when we talk.” He sighed. “Sometimes when I was young, the Taliban was strong, and then the guns stopped shooting. Sometimes you would even forget what the guns sounded like. But now, you hear them every night. That’s what my friends say. That’s why I went to Germany.”
I nodded. This conversation was getting too heavy, I thought.
“Where are you going?” He asked.
“To see Taylor Swift. I work with her.”
“Really?” He perked up. Pop culture, as always, provides the needed escape. “What do you do?”
I said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m a dancer.”
“Oh, I see!!” He laughed, as if picking up on something.
Damn. Whatever. I didn’t care.
We spent the rest of the ride chatting about the TV shows he watched growing up. It was interesting. You never think much about that, growing up here- about how American TV is shown worldwide, everywhere. It’s interesting. It’s so interesting to talk about that I almost didn’t want the cab to reach the auditorium… but it did.
I got out, grabbed my things and paid Atif. I gave him a nice, healthy tip, in spite of my reservations. He was nice, a good driver and I learned much from him, but I couldn’t help but think that he was taking a job away from a jobless American. Because he was.
I nodded and smiled at him as he drove away. His white cab became a toy in the distance.
——————–
I looked up at the auditorium. It was medium sized building, white on the outside with a big entrance. Now that I’m here, it was time for business. This was serious. I straightened my posture as I walked up to the building. The glass doors reflected my image as they opened for me. I walked in, bags in hand.
Inside, Josh was standing there, waiting for me in… a white tuxedo? His powdered face was contorted in a menacing grimace. He was pissed.
“Hi, so glad you could make it!!! Now come here.” Before I could take in my surroundings or even say as much as say hi in return, he grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side, near a huge, blank white wall. “Tom, what are you doing? Why didn’t you turn your phone on?”
My phone? But it was on! I took it out of my pocket and turned it on. Nothing. The battery was dead. Oops. “My battery is dead. Not sure what happened. Sorry.”
“You need to leave, now!” He hissed at me quietly and angrily.
I was stunned. Then… I looked up and saw the center of everyone else’s attention. In the middle of a group of white tuxedoed dancers, stood a tall blonde girl, with a white skirt and a white T, urgently barking orders to everyone else. Even though her back was turned to me, she reminded me of Taylor Swift on her 1989 poster.
Uh oh.
I turned to Josh. “I’m not going to just leave! I don’t even know where I am!”
“Josh! Josh! Where ARE you!?!?” The girl yelled. “We need you for this number!!”
“Duck!” Josh whispered. I hunched over. He turned to face Taylor. “I’ll be right over!”
“Who are you talking to? We need to get this done TODAY!”
“I know, sorry Taylor!”
Taylor turned to face her other dancers. Josh quickly spun to face me. “Go upstairs and into the dressing room! NOW!!!”
I raced upstairs before Taylor could see me. I saw an opened room with outfits inside and hurried in. I closed the door behind me and quickly sat on the one chair that didn’t have clothes draped over it.
*Whew*. Wow. Yep, this had been a mistake. Of course.
After a few blissful moments of nothing, I took in my surroundings. The room was filled with white. White tuxedos, white makeup, white shoes, and white lights. The very bright fluorescent lighting at the makeup stations was striking, and it was made more so because it reflected so much off the white walls. It was cool and different. I plugged my phone into an outlet and took a picture.
Then the door opened. In walked two young women, one brunette I’d seen somewhere before, and one blonde I hadn’t.
They were both surprised to see me in the dressing room. “Excuse me, who are you?” asked the blonde.
Should I tell her my real name? I looked at the brunette. It was… it was Danielle Haim!!! Shit!!
I couldn’t tell her who I was! She would tell Taylor! I stopped, my mind for once empty of ideas. What do I do?
Danielle focused on me. “I… know you, don’t I?”
“We’ve met once or twice.” Which we had, of course. Telepathically.
“What’s your name again?”
Good question. Should I lie? Of course I should. “Bill.” What was my last name? Clinton? “Bill Williams.” Good job, Tom. Bill Bill.
“You’re late.” The blonde said. “Taylor’s gonna fire you if she sees that you were two hours late.”
She was?
“Taylor’s not going to be happy.” Danielle said. “She’s already really stressed today, and you showing up late is going to make everything so much worse for everyone if she finds out.”
The blonde cleaned off the chair nearest the door. “If we get you ready quick, we can sneak you in without her noticing. But you owe me for this.”
Get me ready? They thought I was a dancer?!?! I looked at the empty chair, dread welling up inside of me. I should tell the truth. But what happens to Josh? Won’t Taylor fire him if she finds out?
What I could do is get all dressed up, leave the room, and then make a break for it when the blonde and Danielle aren’t looking. That would work. I’ll need to take my bags with me when I leave the room, but I’m sure I could figure out how to do that.
So I sat down in the chair.
The blonde quickly got to work putting makeup on me. This… was strange. I didn’t like it. I felt weird. Very, very weird. The harsh bright white lights felt pretty intense. Almost like I was in some kind of interrogation.
She slathered on the white foundation and quickly traced my eyes with eyeliner. All I could think of was please don’t poke me in the eye. She didn’t of course, and then came the powder. It irritated my allergies and I sneezed when she put it on.
“Bless you!” She said. “Sorry. I’m just trying to get you ready as quickly as I can.”
“It’s OK. Allergies. Thanks…”
It took all of ten minutes. “There! What do you think?”
I dunno. “I look great, thanks!”
“It’s super quick and dirty, but I think you’ll be OK for awhile.”
Danielle was standing beside the blonde, holding a white tuxedo like costume. It turns out the tuxes weren’t real tuxes, now that I looked at one more closely.
I tried it on and it fit. It was a little snug- I’ve no six pack- but I guess it fit. The blonde scrutinized me. She pinched my abs, and found a shallow layer of fat.
“You need to take care of this.” She said.
“Sorry! I’ll be in amazing shape in time for the tour, I promise.”
She scrutinized me again. Her eyes met mine. “I trust you. Something tells me I should, even though you really don’t seem like you would be a good dancer.” She rolled her eyes. “And, you show up late.”
“Beginner’s nerves.” I said confidently. “I’ll handle it.” I smiled. “Thank you both.” Shit, now how was I going to get out of this?
They practically pushed me out the door. I’ll need to find some way of getting my bags later, I guess.
As we left the room, my eyes scanned the building. There was security posted by every door, I guess to protect Taylor. Uh oh. No way to make a break for it, is there?
The three of us stood at the railing by the staircase, watching the troupe rehearse with Taylor. It was fascinating and I thought I should take it all in. After all, it was the last thing I would see before I died of embarrassment.
The troupe and Taylor were performing Blank Space in front of a massive white screen that filled up with their silhouettes as they performed. They were doing a routine very similar to the one they did at the Brit Awards. It was really cool to see in person. There was one part where the dancers spun Taylor around, and the image of her spinning was quite striking on the huge white screen behind her.
After two successful rehearsals, Taylor left for a drink of water. Then the blonde and Danielle saw their opportunity and near pushed me downstairs, down those white steps muddied with years of wear.
I snuck up behind the other dancers, but I eyed the exits nevertheless. Nope. The security guards would get me for sure.
So I just stood there. I think I’ll wing it. That, or maybe I can find some way to die really quick. Either way, really.
I could just feel the blood draining from my face. Underneath the white makeup and powder, I’ll bet I looked like death.
“Alright!” Taylor walked over to us and clapped her hands. “Let’s do this one more time!”
Oh my GOD.
The other dancers all got in their positions. Maybe if I can just kind of improvise, nobody will notice. I mean, that’s pretty much my only option, anyways.
So the rehearsal started, and I got along OK by doing the robot in the background. At least, I was until the spinning started. After a few spins, Taylor was spun, to my extreme horror, in my direction.
I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to imitate the other dancers. I grabbed her shoulders and tried to spin her back towards the middle, only to get her feet tangled up in mine. She fell, backwards, into my arms. Uh oh.
Not knowing what else to do, I panicked and kissed her. She’s going to find out who I am in about 3 seconds anyways, so maybe I’ll try to make this a romantic moment.
I kissed her. Hard. On the lips. With everything I had. She initially tried to force me off, and then… didn’t.
She grabbed my shoulders, stood up, and kissed me back.
We separated and looked at each other, our still bodies not reacting to the music pounding around us.
Everyone else was just staring.
“Hi. Taylor.”
“Hi… Tom.”
——————–
Taylor and I sat on the edge of the empty stage, our legs dangling off of it. The song had stopped and everyone else had taken a break. The white screen behind us was still there, an obelisk for what was coming.
“So…” She was still surprised. She clearly didn’t know what to say. “Um… where did you come from?”
“It’s a long story.” I started. “Weird but good. And long.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled. “I’m not upset. I’ve come to expect this kind of thing with you.” She looked at me. “To be honest, I would have been disappointed had you not somehow worked your way into the middle of all this.”
“Someone… hired me to help you. With the tour. Ideas and such, I mean. But I wasn’t supposed to meet you.”
She gazed at me quizzically. “Then why…?”
“It’s a long story. I got trapped in the dressing room upstairs and kind of didn’t have a choice but to join the dancers.”
She came to a realization. “Oh… Josh. He was talking to you, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, but please don’t get upset with him. I came here of my own accord.”
“I’ll have a word with him later. I need to see what he says…” She laughed. “Boy, did you fuck up!”
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re certainly happier. Everyone says that you’ve been stressing lately and really, I was hired to fix that.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yup. I mean, I get why, but you can’t let it get in the way of things. Truthfully, some people close to you are walking on eggshells, but you don’t see it for some reason, and they feel they can’t say what they want to say because… because you’re the most famous and powerful celebrity in the world right now. I don’t know. I guess that what I’m saying is that you need to remember that others are always going to be very intimidated to say anything critical to you sometimes because of your fame and money. You need to regulate yourself…”
She looked away. “I guess.” That definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She didn’t want to be reminded that she wasn’t normal… and never would be again. Kind of like me- sometimes, I don’t like to be reminded of that, either.
I looked down at her soft legs, which were kicking out from her tight white skirt. She was beautiful. A perfect woman, from my perspective. I loved her so much and felt so protective of her sometimes… and now, I needed to help her.
“I think that that’s why nobody wanted you to see me. It’s because they didn’t know how you’d react, maybe.”
She paused. I let her think for a moment. “I do stress, sometimes.”
“That’s fine. Lord knows I do, too. Just talk about what you’re feeling and don’t let it get in the way of making things better for you, I guess.”
“Thanks Tom… I’ll think about what you said.” She kissed me on the cheek. “You’re not ready, are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Fine. Let’s talk tour.”
——————–
Taylor, a few of her associates and I gathered and brainstormed in the dressing room upstairs. Both Taylor and I had fun. It was a relief. I was able to contribute well. Good. Even though I didn’t know the basics of touring, I was able to give some general ideas that were well received.
In particular, I was able to help out with her song choices. She already had that mostly figured out- she was thinking about the tour before she even released her album- but there were a few choices she was having trouble making. In the end, I made those for her. She liked my opinions.
After a couple of hours, we all took a break. Taylor, in particular, needed some time to recharge from her dancing that morning. So we just chilled for a while.
In the downtime, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. In the corner of the dressing room, under a bright white florescent light, there was a huge stack of shiny magazines.
I walked over and leafed through them. Every one of them had Taylor on the cover.
“What’s this, Taylor?”
One of her assistants, a gay, balding makeup artist in a white T and with a magnolia tattooed on his arm, chimed in. “Oh, those are my magazines.” He said. “Fashion and music magazines. I keep them in case I need to review looks.”
“For her tour?”
“For whatever. I use them for inspiration.” He shrugged and waved his arm around. “I mean, why re-invent the wheel?”
Made sense.
Near the bottom of the stack, there was one magazine that I thought must have been put in there inadvertently; it was covered by Malala Yousafzai. It was Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in the World issue.
“Why is this in here?”
“Oh, Taylor was nominated for Person of the Year.” He was proud. “But it’s a good thing she didn’t win. Sorry, Tay.” He touched her arm. She laughed. We all did.
“That is good. You know, the world needs more girls like Malala.” Taylor said, blushing. “She’s strong. She’s an inspiration. It’s so inspiring to read about her and what she’s overcome. I think every girl should look up to her.”
What she said was truth, I thought. It was horrible what happened to her, and she is inspiring. But maybe, I thought, I should start a conversation about something else, perhaps about what the cab driver had told me earlier about the Taliban, and how not all of them were so bad, and why some people that lived in that area admired them.
I almost did. I thought about it. I thought about what the response would be if I just asked everyone here about what they thought of the Taliban, overall. I mean, what about their good points? I mean, didn’t some people in the Taliban condemn the shooting, too?
Then I remembered who I was talking to, and who I was in the room with. These were hardcore liberals; all of them. And not just that, these were liberals of the white, urban, Obama Cool-Aid type; the kind that may not have been confronted with any real questioning of their ideas in person for years, if ever. The kind would be absolutely horrified at any part of my conversation with Atif.
I decided that I wasn’t going to be the one to break the ice.
I straightened the stack and we continued talking about the tour.
——————–
The meeting ended as well as it could have. There was a lot more work to do on Taylor’s end, and her team had tons of things to prepare for. I did my job, though. Taylor seemed more ready, and much more relaxed, than she had been.
The situation had improved so much from my perspective that things were arranged for me to go home the next morning.
Good. I got the week’s pay, plus a nice bonus, for an afternoon of work. And the memories from this would last a lifetime.
Taylor escorted me to the auditorium’s door after the meeting. Her hair, once perfectly arranged, had fallen into a mess, and her once white clothes were dirty and mussed from the day’s work.
Behind her, the enormous white screen seemed as imposing as ever.
We said goodbye to each other, but we both knew that it wasn’t time yet for that.
I dropped my bags, grabbed her shoulders, and kissed her as hard as I could. Much harder than I should have, in fact, because it felt like something wasn’t right… something had been left undone, somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Whatever it was would need to wait for next time, I guess.
“Mmmm…” Taylor forcefully sighed as our soft lips collided over and over into each other. She was so hot. Of course she typically is, but she is just so much more so in person, and never more so than when she is in a stage outfit. I felt a strong urge to grab her legs but stopped at the last moment. Again, this time… that wouldn’t be right.
I pulled away from her. I left her confused and twirling her hair.
“I need to get going…” If I was to reach my hotel before sundown, I would need to go now.
“I know. I need to leave too. I have a talk show appearance in New York tonight.”
“Oh, you do? I didn’t know! Am I keeping you?”
“No, you’re not. It’s OK. In fact I might be able to catch a quick nap before I leave.” She yawned. She was clearly very, very tired. This had been such a long day for her. It was so obvious. As she stood there, I found myself wishing I could give her some of my energy. For some reason, I wasn’t feeling tired at all.
“Tay, just know that whatever happens, I will support you. I love you. I’ll always be your foundation. Always.”
“I know. I will always love you, Tom.” She yawned again, deeper than before. We kissed. This time, I did grab one of her legs, but only for a few seconds. I didn’t want to tempt myself. This life… wasn’t fulfilling for either one of us in some ways. But in other strange ways it just felt so, so right. Neither one of us truly knew what to do sometimes.
But that’s life.
Our eyes were closed so hard. From the bright fluorescents above, they filled up with white.
This time, she tried to pull away from me.
To her surprise, I didn’t let her. I only kissed her harder, and in doing so, I flooded her body with my energy. I filled up her every cell.
She was bursting with energy when I finally let her break the kiss.
“Wowww! This…” She stammered. She was in awe.
“My parting gift to you, Tay. I love you so much. Good luck tonight, honey.”
I pulled her forward and turned to kiss her on the cheek. When I did so, I noticed a yellow cab was pulling up to the front of the building. This must be for me, I thought.
I grabbed my bags and left the building. As I did so, I caught Taylor’s image in between the white reflections on the glass doors. She was smiling.
That was all I needed.