Page 16 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“Gabriel, my love,” Simone singsonged as she breezed through the shop on six-inch spikey-heeled boots that looked like torture devices.

She kissed Gabriel on the cheek and patted it with her palm.

Last week, Simone came to Monks to watch Gabriel perform and was now a devout groupie. “My god. That ethereal voice. It’s like a religious experience,” she’d said, fanning herself. High praise from a former punk rocker.

Now, Simone looked him up and down. He wore his usual boots and denim with an army jacket that was three sizes too big and made him look like a homeless waif.

“When are you going to let me be your stylist?” she asked.

“I’m holding out until Cleo makes me a shirt.”

Simone spun to face me and threw her arms up in the air. “Why haven’t you made this poor boy a shirt yet?”

Gabriel smirked. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat and bag from under the black lacquer counter. “I’m not a fashion designer.”

“You’re an artist,” Simone said, rolling her eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. Weallknow.”

Xavi pursed his lips and nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“But how many times do I have to tell you that fashion design is art? And you, my dear, are talented.” She turned to Gabriel. “I told her to design a capsule collection and I’d sell it in the boutique. Tell her it’s a wonderful opportunity. Too good to pass up.”

“What makes you think she’d even listen to me?” Gabriel asked.

“Look at that face.” She patted his cheek again. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Save your breath,” I told Gabriel as we pushed through the front door onto the street. “I don’t tell you what to do with your songwriting or your music.”

He laughed like that was a good joke. I gave him a look. “What? I don’t.”

Gabriel grabbed my elbow and steered me in the opposite direction. “It’s just as fast to walk.”

Debatable but Gabrielloathedthe subway. It made him claustrophobic. Last week, he told me about a dream he had. The train crashed in the middle of the tunnel, and he had to claw his way out of the debris and severed limbs. To make matters worse, the whole vivid nightmare was set to Muzak. So in addition to excavating bodies, he was driven to madness by the vapid, dehumanizing music that “turns people into zombies and makes a mockery of the art form.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, setting off at a brisk pace. “You just give methe look.”

“I don’t give you any look.” I tightened the belt of my leopard print coat and flipped up the collar to ward off the October chill. “Why did you pick me up anyway? I thought I was going to meet you there.”

“Annika told me Hairy Harry cancelled. She asked me to pick you up.”

“His name is Hank and he’s not all that hairy.” He wasn’t all that great either. Turns out you had to kiss a lot of frogs before finding your true love.

The only reason I invited Hank was to avoid being alone with Gabriel. Plans thwarted once again.

“I need to buy Annika some flowers.” I stopped in front of a florist with a Mad Hatter-themed window display. It was wildly expensive, but the owner was one of our customers, so with any luck she’d give me a generous discount.

“I was going to get her flowers too…” He cleared his throat and gave me a sheepish look.

I sighed. “Yeah, I’m broke too.”

“I thought you got a raise.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to pay off my student loans and last week I went to buy one book and came home with a dozen, and then I went on that sushi kick and that doesn’t come cheap...” Honestly, I had no idea where my money went. It just slipped through my fingers like water.

“If you designed some clothes?—”

“If you kept your songs down to a reasonable five minutes?—”

“Make me a shirt for my birthday, Cleo.”