Блейк Пирс: A Trace of Vice

Even though Sarah Caldwell was just sixteen, she had a good head on her shoulders and a keen sense of when things felt off. And this felt off.

She almost didn’t go. But when Lanie Joseph, her best friend since elementary school, called and asked her to hang out at the mall this afternoon, she couldn’t think of a convincing reason not to go.

But ever since they met up, Lanie seemed jumpy. Sarah couldn’t understand what about wandering around the Fox Hills Mall could be so anxiety inducing. She noticed that when they were trying on cheap necklaces at Claire’s, Lanie’s hands shook as she tried to fasten the clasp.

The truth was that Sarah didn’t really know what made Lanie nervous anymore. They’d been incredibly close all through elementary school. However, once Sarah’s family had moved from south Culver City to the still working-class but less-dangerous neighborhood of Westchester, they’d slowly drifted apart. The communities were only a few miles apart. But without cars, which neither girl had, or a serious commitment to stay connected, they’d lost touch.

As they tried on makeup at Nordstrom, Sarah stole glances at Lanie in the mirror. Her friend’s light blonde hair was streaked with blue and pink. She already had on so much dark eye makeup that there was really no reason to test anything out at the counter. Her fair skin seemed even paler when contrasted with her multiple tattoos and the black tank top and Daisy Dukes she wore. Amid the intentional body art, Sarah couldn’t help but notice some bruises mixed in.

She looked back at her own reflection and was stunned by the contrast. She knew she was pretty too, but in a more subdued, almost sensible way. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her own makeup was subtle, highlighting her hazel eyes and long lashes. Her olive skin was tattoo free and she wore faded jeans and a cute but far from risqué teal top.

She wondered if she’d stayed in the old neighborhood, would she look like Lanie did now? Almost certainly not. Her parents would never have allowed her to start down that path.

If Lanie had moved to Westchester, would she still look like she was a teen prostitute working a truck stop?

Sarah felt her face turn crimson as she shook the thought from her head. What kind of person was she, to think such awful thoughts about someone she’d played Barbies with as a girl? She turned away, hoping Lanie wouldn’t see the guilt she felt sure was plastered all over her face.

“Let’s get a snack at the food court,” Sarah said, trying to change the dynamic. Lanie nodded and they headed out, leaving the disappointed saleslady behind.

As they sat at a table munching on pretzels, Sarah finally decided to find out what was going on.

“So you know I always love to see you, Lanie. But you sounded so upset when you called and you seem so uneasy…is there something wrong?”

“No. Everything’s cool. I just…my boyfriend is stopping by to say hi and I guess I’m nervous about you meeting him. He’s a little older and we’ve only been together for a few weeks. I kind of feel like I might be losing him and I thought that you could talk me up a little, that if he saw me with my oldest friend, it would make him see me differently?”

“How does he see you now?” Sarah asked, concerned.

Before Lanie could answer, a guy approached their table. Even before the introductions, Sarah knew this must be the boyfriend.

He was tall and super-skinny, with tight jeans and a black T-shirt that set off his own pale skin and multiple tattoos. Sarah noticed that he and Lanie had the same small skull and crossbones image on top of their left wrists.

With his long, black, spiky hair and penetrating dark eyes, he wasn’t so much handsome as beautiful. He reminded Sarah of the lead singers of those hair metal bands from the 1980s her mom always swooned over with names like Skid Row or Motley Row or something Row. He was easily twenty-one.

“Hey, babe,” he said casually and leaned in to give Lanie a surprisingly passionate kiss, at least for a mall food court. “Did you tell her?”

“I didn’t get a chance yet,” Lanie said sheepishly, before turning to Sarah. “Sarah Caldwell, this is my boyfriend, Dean Chisolm. Dean, this is my oldest friend in the world, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah said, nodding politely.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Dean said, taking her hand in his and doing a deep, playfully exaggerated bow. “Lanie talks about you all the time, how she wishes you guys could hang out more. So I’m really glad you could get together today.”

“Me too,” Sarah said, impressed by the unexpected charm of the guy, but wary nonetheless. “What didn’t she get a chance to tell me?”

Dean’s whole face broke into an easy smile that seemed to melt away her suspicions.

“Oh that,” he said. “I’m having some friends over to my place this afternoon and we thought it might be fun for you to join us. Some of them are in bands. One of them needs a new lead singer. Lanie thought you might like to meet them. She says you’re a really good singer.”

Sarah looked at Lanie, who smiled back but said nothing.

“Is that what you want to do?” Sarah asked her.

“It could be fun to try something new,” Lanie said. Her tone was casual but Sarah recognized the look in her eyes, which pleaded for her friend not to say anything to embarrass her in front of her hot new boyfriend.

“Where is it?” Sarah asked.

“Hollywood adjacent,” he said, his eyes glimmering with anticipation. “Let’s head out. It’s gonna be fun.”

Sarah sat in the back seat of Dean’s old Trans Am. The relic was well maintained on the outside but the interior was littered with cigarette butts and rolled up McDonald’s wrappers. Dean and Lanie sat up front. With the loud music, it was impossible to have a conversation. They passed through Hollywood in the direction of Little Armenia.

Sarah looked at her friend in the front passenger seat and wondered whether she was even helping her by coming. Her thoughts drifted back to the mall ladies’ room before they’d left, where Lanie had finally come somewhat clean with her.

“Dean is super passionate,” she’d said as they checked their makeup one last time in the bathroom mirror. “And I’m worried that if I don’t keep up, I’m going to lose him. I mean, he’s so sexy. He could have his pick of girls. And he doesn’t treat me like some teenager. He treats me like a woman.”