Celestine

one // célestine

I am about to order dinner, when a few knocks on my door stop me from making a phone call. I'm not a psychic, and I doubt it's my full French dinner coming to me after I thought about it. I lay the phone down, walk to the door and almost open it, but my manager speaks behind them.

"Tina! It's me!" Alvin knocks again, this one wilder and louder. I scrunch my nose and take a silent step back. "Come on! You can't avoid me all this time. Let's talk."

Talk about wrapping up my acting break and coming back to work? No, thanks.

Holding my breath, I grasp my keys so hard they can't jiggle, pull a thin black jumper of off the hanger and float backwards. I turn the light off in the hall, the living room darkens afterwards. As much as I hate that I have to ditch my dinner for the sake of my inner peace, I can't say I'm not thrilled at the sudden plan change.

"Tina!"

Rushing across the room, I bounce on one leg, slipping on black sneakers, stuff the pockets of my sweatpants with keys, wallet and my phone, and walk out onto the balcony. Closing it from the outside, I jog to the side joined with my only neighbor.

The top floor of my apartment building has only two I'm-rich-in-LA kind of penthouses. My neighbor, Bruce, Usher's doppelganger, owns a multimillion dollar wedding business. He's a good guy, always down to help me, and his apartment is the only one you can get to with an extra elevator, so I grip the railings of my balcony and plant my foot onto it. When my mother told me a story of her climbing the balconies to her neighbors, I thought it was a ridiculous lie. It was not, and she's put this experience in my blood before I was born.

I look only up. It's just seven floors, I tell myself. It could have been worse, maybe even twenty floors and a sudden memory of reading news about someone falling out of the balcony. My hands freeze and my muscles tremble as I cross the ten inch gap from my railing to his. Never letting go of the railing, I plant my foot on his balcony and bring the other in. Only when I'm sure I am standing safely on Bruce's balcony, and there is no way I will fall, I let go of my railing and walk in.

Bruce tears the curtains open a few moments after I knock, his eyes cartoonish and wide. Like he's never seen anyone parkour in his life before. Come on, Bruce, it's LA. It still gives me whiplash how Usher-y his face is. I'd never tell it's physically possible, yet here's Bruce, a breathing proof.

He slides the glass door open. "You did not climb here from your balcony," Bruce says. His voice is way lower than Usher's.

"I need the elevator," I say, smiling as sweetly as I can, hands clasped together.

Bruce leans out of the door and glances at my balcony. "Someone after you?"

"Alvin's at the door. I can't meet him now and I need to get out of here," I say. He raises an amused brow. "Please, Bruce. This is an emergency."

Bruce takes a step back, letting me in, and breaks into a small laugh. "Every day I realize you're more unpredictable than Alaskan weather." I send him a wide grin, jogging to the elevator. "But did you really climb through the balconies?"

"Almost had a heart attack there." I chuckle, stepping into the elevator. "Thanks, Bruce. I owe you for that."

"I'm always here to help, T," he says, waving at me as the elevator closes and takes me to the ground floor.

Before Alvin can catch up I've escaped, I run out of the building. With the hood draped over my head, I blend into the night and into the crowd. If I look busy enough, like all of those people around, no one will recognize me. I don't need recognition now. I need a hideout. And dinner.