Another try on writing... if any of you remember reading Lend Me a Blueprint for my Broken Heart w/c I also posted here in GT (wc I never got to finish anyway)... you will enjoy this too.
Chapter I
“Oh my gosh! Donna, is that you?” I quickly walked to the opposite table at the first glimpse of Donna, my high school classmate. I was getting bored inside Antonio’s restaurant, a posh Italian place at the heart of Makati. The place is a little traditional which spells boring to me, the waiters are as greasy as Gollum (especially with their oily hair which I think they greased on purpose) and there’s no celebrity in sight! I was supposed to be waiting for my occasional friend - Jackie. I say occasional, since half the time we’re at each other’s throat. Good thing, Donna’s here. I’ve been praying since forever for us to bump into each other. This is just perfect.
Donna looked at me with eyes as wide as her waist. I knew this would happen. I straightened my red designer suit with the skirt only a couple of inches higher than my knees. I can’t remember the last time I wore jeans. I always believed in the saying when you have it, flaunt it. You can’t blame me then for flaunting my legs everyday, can you?
“Excuse me, do I know you?” She asked with her still bulging eyes.
“It’s me, Cassandra. Edison 2, remember?” I said, referring to our class section. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by her statement. It’s either I’m THAT pretty now or she didn’t know me at all in the first place.
“No way! Candy the nasty?” She bursted in a very loud voice that some of the diners can’t help but look at our direction. Right - those are just some of the “nicknames” they fondly called me back then. Hearing it now though, is almost music to my ears. The April Boy kind of music sort.
I’ll let that pass but I couldn’t help raise an eyebrow, “Correction, it’s Candy Monfiero.”
She looked at me from head to toe but I can’t say whether she’s in awe or in total disbelief. After it dawned on her that it’s really me – Candy the nasty or whatever names they called me back in high school, she jumped on me like a silly kindergarten girl.
“Wow! I can’t believe it’s you. You look so... different,” she stood up and touched my long permed hair. And again she inspected just about everything I have (special attention given to my black Christian Louboutin pumps). I always wear a minimum of 3-inch heels because it makes me taller and thus appear more superior over other people. I looked down at her 5-foot frame and just smiled sweetly.
“Who would have thought? You look just like a model.”
This coming from Donna or should I say our school’s primadonna is a trophy on its own. Does she remember that time she befriended me for a day only to play a prank the next? Or that time they handcuffed me to the door just beside our school’s septic tank? And oh, with a picture to boot. How about those countless times she called me stinky la fea?
“I know. You look different, too,” I said smugly, the look of triumph registered on my face. “You look so... motherly.” I let out a sarcastic laugh and walked slowly to my table but not before looking back at her one last time – her face was oily, hair was super dry beer brought to life and her waist! The buttons of her polo top looks like they’re about to pop anytime soon. This is payback, big time!
“By the way, congratulations! Twins?”
***
“Really? You said that to Donna? Come on!” Jackie finally came after I called her up and warned her that she has to lend me one of her Chanel bags for every minute she’s late. Unfortunately, I got only two. We were on our way to the mall to shop for new outfits for the coming fashion show. I know I’m better than any model out there but no, I’m a PR consultant and therefore it’s my job to look not just good but stunningly beautiful. Jackie on the other hand is working as a stylist for the city’s most glamorous magazine. So she doesn’t have to be as pretty as me as long as she does her clients.
“Why? What’s wrong with telling the truth?” I made a sour face at her while scouring for gowns in my designer friend’s boutique. “I know she’s not pregnant, she doesn’t have that motherly glow that most pregnant girls have. I mean of course you can use Guerlain to get the same glow but she doesn’t have either. But if you saw her tummy – oh my gosh! It does look like she’s carrying a whole basketball team plus the ball in there. It’s just humongous!”
“That’s my point. Why would you say something that’s not true just so you can upset someone you haven’t seen for a long time? I thought you wanted to meet Donna the most out of all your high school classmates?”
“I wanted to meet her the most because I want to show off to her the most, okay?” Jackie believes in the good of everyone and it’s a sad fact that she’s still friends with me. I have to explain my bad intentions to her ALL THE TIME. “And anyone can mistake her for a pregnant lady- a pregnant miserable lady with no money to pay for her lunch.”
She shook her head just as she always does when I say something mean (which is pretty much every second). She has finally chosen a gown for herself – a blue empire-cut while I still harass the staff for a “one-of-a-kind cut, sexy but glamorous red dress”. I just feel like channelling my inner devil (which is pretty much every second, too).
WAIT! I think I finally found the right dress!
“Excuse me,” I grabbed the dress from another customer who just entered the store. How come she saw the dress and I didn’t? Hmpf. She looks nice actually but I still look nicer. And boy, she needs a good pedicure. No - make that a foot spa with exfoliation, level 3 dead skin scraping and paraffin treatment.
“I found this dress first,” she said in a restrained voice.
Aba, sasagot ka pang maldita ka ha. “Well, you may have found it first but I still OWN it. You haven’t paid for it, right? Which means I, couture designer and boutique owner is still the rightful owner of this oh-la-la worthy dress.”
I saw Jackie about to stand on her feet and I’m sure she will try to stop my evil but noble plan. “Miss saleslady, please assist our customer here and give her a twenty percent discount on her next purchase,” referring to Jackie.
Note to self: apologize for Jay Pacho and probably offer him a free press release for the lie I just made and return Jackie’s one Chanel bag.
There, isn’t it a wonderful day? I got my gown, a Chanel bag and my ten year worth of sweet revenge.
