(So happy to finally post another chapter of Dreamer. I haven't really been on here in a month so I"m excited to get your guys' feedback. Hope you like it!!)
A fancy Los Angeles brasserie is brimming with life, and candles flicker on every table in the restaurant. Classical music is playing to set the mood, and vested waiters carry delicious delicacies and weave through the customers.
Cooper Bello, 27, sitting at a window seat at the brasserie, looking up at the rolling hills of the San Fernando Valley. He checks the time on his Rolex, then moves his hands to his chest and fiddles with his blue, Armani tie. He's quite impatient with his boss at his marketing job, and he's also splurging on a ring, for a certain someone who he happened to be waiting for.
Enter Andra McAllen, 25, dressed in a red Versace cocktail dress with black Jimmy Choo stilettos. She squeezes her Chanel clutch a little and then looks around the fancy restaurant, looking for a familiar someone she happened to have on her mind the whole day. When she finally checked out the spots by the window, she spotted who she was looking for. She blushed a little, then ran over and embraced the tall, dark man that happened to be her...
Oh god, not again.
I am dreaming during geometry class. I slowly straighten my head, hoping Mrs. Lewis won't notice anything is amiss. I look up at the chalkboard and pretend to be absorbed in her lecture.
Truth was, only one thing is on my mind. The Bellos had invited us to dinner after our conversation when we were helping them move in. Frankly, my mother is gung ho because she thinks the Bellos could give her business connections. The reason I want to go is to see Cooper.
I know he's seventeen, and I'm just fifteen, and that our age gap is about forty years in teenage time. I'm probably not the type of girl he goes for anyway. Still, there's something about Cooper that I'm drawn to. Maybe it's his eyes, because they are swoon-worthy. Maybe it's his perfect hairstyle. But I'm kidding myself. How can I think, after twenty-four hours, that this attractive human being could be perfect? I know that no one can be perfect.
After copying a few hasty notes into my steno pad about angles, the bell rings and I head to my third period class: art. Usually this class is unbearable. But today, today I think I will be able to stand my ground. I leave Mrs. Lewis' classroom and head towards the art wing.
Miss Rosenburg's classroom is filled with students, clustering around cabinets and fetching their artwork. I don't let them get to me. I quickly grab my newest piece – an enlarged painting of an orchid, and begin working. As I stroke the flower petals with violet colored paint, I'm consumed in thoughts – mostly of Cooper.
* * * * * * * * * *
R-r-r-riiiiiiinnnnnnnnngggggg!
My mom and I are standing on the Bellos' front porch with a Crock-Pot full of beef and carrot stew in tow. I hesitantly push their doorbell again, my hand shaking in anticipation. I pull back a couple feet. I hope to impress the family in my baby blue sundress, white cardigan, and black ballet flats.
It's starting to get dark, and the sun glows behind some maple trees, shedding their bright red leaves due to the fall chill. The sub division seems quiet, almost too quiet. A couple dogs bark in the distance, but nothing else interrupts an almost silent night. I glance at my mother, a brooding figure in a black pantsuit, and decide to focus my attention on the door.
Mrs. Bello, also known as Kathryn, opens the door a few seconds later. Standing in front of me, I begin to notice differences between my mother and her. Mrs. Bello is wearing a flowing, peach dress, with hemp bracelets and necklaces strewn around her. Her smile appears to be natural, and her blonde hair is long and flowing down her back. She stands a little to her right, holding on the door for support.
Mother, however, seems like quite the opposite. Her pan suit, you can tell, was well put together a day before. The real pearls she's wearing aren't strewn around her neck, they're aligned. She's flashing her “Marcia McAllen – Ohio real estate agent” smile again; a forced, tight smile. Her brown bob is perfectly straightened, and she stands ramrod straight.
“Hello,” Kathryn's voice sounds a little like a soft hum. She looks back towards what I'm guessing is the kitchen and yells something that doesn't sound like a hum, “Family? The McAllens are here!”
Immediately, I feel the ground throbbing, and two seconds later, the family appears. David, Nat, Ty, and Cooper all cluster around Kathryn with bowls of food tucked into the crook of their arms. I glance at Cooper for a second – not long enough to seem creepy.
Their makeshift group disinegrates and splits down the middle, obviously inviting us in the house. David waves a hand at us, and I step up from their welcome mat and onto plush, cream carpet.
The Bellos' front living room is decorated with replicas and statues of religious symbols and Spanish style sculptures. Bigger hardwood bookshelves then I saw in garage surround the stucco walls, lined with dusty books. The print on their spines are so faded you can tell they've been well used. Topping off the room are a large, stone fireplace across from the door with picture frames on the mantle, and a modern, orange chandelier that sticks out, in a good way, like a sore thumb.
I follow the family through a narrow hallway and into a marble kitchen, filled with new, black and white appliances that look like they've never been touched. The room would've looked spotless if it weren't for the twenty or so bowls of different foods sitting on the granite counters. Each Bello heads to a different bowl and begins stirring, basting, coating, etc., except for Kathryn, who grabs my mother's Crock Pot and sets it over on a counter near the garbage.
Kathryn places her hands on her hips and, with a twinkle in her eye, takes the top off the Crock Pot and pours the stew in the garbage.
My mother's nostrils flare.
Mrs. Bello turns back to us. “When we have guests over for dinner, we make dinner from scratch with said guests. Who's ready to get their hands dirty?”
