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It turns out being an artist blows. If someone had told Janis that it would mean expensive materials, hundreds of rejections, and the fact that she would still need a day job (technically, she was an artist/call-center employee), she…probably would have been an artist anyway. She was stubborn like that. Actually, she probably had been warned and just ignored it.
Being an artist blows, but today the months of bitching and eating ramen so she can afford high-quality paints have all been worth it, because she’s going to be featured in an art show. Which means potential buyers. Which means money.
The gallery owner was laughing, which Janis had figured out meant she had a potential big buyer with her.
“And this is a very interesting new artist,” says the gallery owner. “Jani—“
“Oh, Janis and I are old friends,” a horribly familiar voice cuts in. Janis whips around. There she is. Regina George, in the flesh.
She looks hot as ever, which pisses Janis off. Her hair is still blonde, but shorter and wavy. She’s wearing red lipstick and a red dress that’s simultaneously businesslike and sexy. She’s smiling at Janis, the bitch.
“Janis,” Regina says warmly, like they hadn’t spent years trying to make each other miserable. “It’s so good to see you.” The gallery owner is looking at Janis disapprovingly, and she realizes her mouth is hanging open. She shuts it.
“Regina,” she replies. “You’re here.” She can feel something harsh on the tip of her tongue, but the gallery owner is still standing there. Another downside of being an artist—you can’t just be a bitch to everyone all the time. At least, not until you’ve sold a few pieces and gained some credibility. There are hundreds of other artists waiting to sell their art who won’t call customers “fucking demon-spawn hell-bitches.”
“Well, I’ll just leave you two to catch up, then,” says the gallery owner, and hurries away to the next potential big spender.
“What the hell are you doing here, Regina?” Janis blurts. Regina smirks, and pops a hip.
“I got an invitation, so I thought I’d check out the new talent,” she replies. “I didn’t realize they were letting anybody in.” Her eyes flick past Janis to look at the paintings hanging behind her. She raises her eyebrows. “Interesting.”
Janis’s blood runs cold. Her recent pieces, the ones that got her into the exhibition, are all about her ex. Her ex-girlfriend.
She hasn’t been ashamed all night—she hasn’t felt ashamed of liking girls for years—but one word from Regina George has that old twisty feeling from middle school crawling its way up her spine. Her face grows hot.
Fuck this.
“Got a problem?” she asks. She smiles her biggest, fakest, most aggressive smile. It’s an alarming expression, her customer service smile dialed up to ‘fuck you,’ and it never fails to make her feel a little more in control.
To her surprise, Regina looks startled.
“No?” It’s not a question, more a slightly irritated statement, like Janis has missed something obvious. Janis grinds her teeth together, and Regina rolls her eyes. “I mean, it’s not like it’s a surprise.”
“Right, how could I forget?” It’s getting harder for Janis to keep her cool, and bitter sarcasm leaks into her voice. “The great Regina George and her amazing gaydar, able to tell I was into girls before even I knew.”
“Oh my God, Janis,” Regina snaps. “Get over yourself already. It’s not a problem because I like girls too, and it’s not a surprise because your Facebook picture is you and another girl kissing.”
Janis gapes. She feels offended, but she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because she didn’t know Regina liked girls; maybe it’s because all the self-righteousness that had been pouring through her a moment ago has been suddenly cut off at the source. Maybe it’s something else. But she can’t let Regina get away with the last word.
“Wait, since when have you liked girls?” Regina rolls her eyes again.
“I was captain of the girl’s lacrosse team senior year,” she replies, like that should have made it obvious. Like she hadn’t been dating a college guy at the time. Not that Janis kept track of who Regina dated in high school, it was just that he was always hanging around campus. Another thought strikes Janis.
“Wait, we’re not Facebook friends. How the hell do you know what my picture is?”
And now she has the satisfaction of seeing Regina look uncomfortable for once.
“Look, I-“ There’s a buzz from her purse. “I have to go.” She turns quickly and walks away. Janis can smell traces of her perfume, something sharp and floral.
Despite the unexpected and unwanted blast from the past that was Regina George, the exhibition turns out well. Janis sells a few paintings and collects a few cards. There was champagne, too, and Janis is feeling pretty good by the time she leaves.
Her good mood immediately dissolves when she sees Regina outside the gallery. She’s leaning against a sleek red car, and straightens up when she sees Janis.
“Get in,” Regina says, and opens the door. “I want to talk to you.”
Janis’ first instinct is to flip her the finger and say something like ‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you.’ She bites it back, though. She hates to admit it, but she’s curious about Regina, about what’s changed in the few years since she saw her last. Curious, too, about how Regina’s changed since they were friends. No one was at their best in middle school, and almost no one was at their best in high school. Janis isn't the same person she was back then-- Regina might be different, too.
“Fine,” replies Janis, and slides in. “But only if you buy me a drink.”
She’s expecting Regina to take her to some upscale bar with $20 cocktails, and is surprised when they park across the street from a hole in the wall with a neon sign reading “Sal’s.” Maybe Regina really has changed, if this is where she goes to get drinks. On the other hand, maybe she doesn’t want to be seen with Janis, and figured no one would ever dream of finding Regina here.
Regina walks in and carelessly waves to the bartender, who smiles at her.
“Hey, George,” she calls. A tired looking man in a suit sitting in the back raises his glass in their direction.
“Hey, Emily,” replies Regina. She sits on a stool and crosses her legs. Janis sits next to her, less gracefully.
It’s small, but the bar is tastefully decorated. There aren’t any weird sticky stains on the countertop, and no tears in the leather covering the bar stools. A flat screen TV shows a silent hockey game, and some top 40 song plays quietly and cheerily in the background. Regina looks perfectly at home here, and Janis still doesn’t know what to think of her.
They order, and sit in awkward silence while Emily gets their drinks. Regina asks for a Long Island iced tea, and Janis thinks about getting a glass of their most expensive whiskey before thinking she should probably try not to be petty. She gets a beer, instead.
“I should probably apologize,” Regina says abruptly. “For all the stuff that happened back then.” She flicks a hand.
“Are you going to?”
“Am I going to what?”
“Are you going to actually apologize?” asks Janis. She sips her beer. “Or are you just going to say you should and not actually do it?”
“Fine.” Regina takes a breath. “I’m sorry, Janis.”
“For…?” Janis prompts with a smile. She’s enjoying this. Possibly a little too much. Regina scowls, and Janis smiles wider. Definitely enjoying it too much.
“Sorry I stopped being friends with you and for generally being a huge bitch,” Regina says. She says it quietly, but Emily the bartender must hear her, because she snorts and shoots Regina a smile.
“Whatever,” she mutters, and takes a drink.
“Are you still a huge bitch?” Janis asks. They look at each other over their drinks for a moment. Janis raises her eyebrows; Regina frowns.
“Sometimes,” she admits. “Lacrosse helped some, and I did therapy for a while, but being a bitch just comes naturally, I guess.”
Janis laughs.
“Tell me about it.” She takes another drink. Regina huffs and sets her iced tea on the bar heavily.
“I wasn’t the only one, you know. You enlisted a home schooler to ruin my life, remember?”
Janis feels her face get hot. She opens her mouth, and Regina’s face twists into something ugly and sad, and her defensiveness dissipates.
“Yeah,” sighs Janis. “I was kind of referring to myself there.” They sit in tentative, awkward silence for a few moments.
“So, uh, about my Facebook,” Janis starts. Regina groans and tips her head back.
“Ugh, so stupid.” She stares at the ceiling for a second, then shakes her head and turns to look back at Janis. The light catches on her hair. “My therapist suggested it, after I told her about my birthday, when we stopped being friends.” She looks at Janis as if daring her to say something. Janis lets her speak, surprising them both. “Anyway, she said it might help to look you up, see how you were doing. Maybe reach out. Then I saw your picture, and—“ she breaks off and stares into her drink.
“Yeah?” Janis’ voice is a little husky. She feels light-headed. It might be the beer. It’s probably not the beer. It’s something about seeing Regina look vulnerable, and something about hearing her talk about Janis like she missed her.
“I found out you liked girls,” Regina says lightly. “End of story.”
“And then, what, you just happened to show up at my exhibition?” Janis raises an eyebrow. “Are you stalking me, Regina?”
“Don’t be a freak, Janis. I have better things to do. Obviously, this was a coincidence.”
“Obviously.” Janis smirks, and Regina punches her in the shoulder. It hurts. “Jesus, you’re strong.”
“I like art, ok?” Regina tosses her hair and takes another drink. “And exhibitions are a good place to find one night stands.”
Janis chokes on her beer. She doesn’t take her eyes off Regina as she coughs and wipes her mouth.
“Are you-?” she shakes her head. “Nope. I’m not gonna ask.”
Regina shrugs and finishes her drink. She stretches, arching her back, and Janis finds herself staring. She catches herself, and focuses on her glass instead.
“Well, great talking to you,” says Regina, and hops off her stool. She reaches into her purse and fishes out a bill, which she puts on the counter. “Keep the change, Emily,” she calls, and starts to leave.
“What the fuck? Where are you going?” Janis stands up. Regina keeps throwing her off-balance, and it’s just as obnoxious as it was when they were teenagers.
“Home?” Regina glances back over her shoulder. “We drank; we talked. We’re done, right?”
“No!” Janis stalks over to Regina, scowling. “We’re not.” If anyone is going to cut off this little reunion, it’s going to be her.
“Fine.” Regina shrugs. “I live down the street.” She starts walking again, and Janis keeps pace in irritated silence.
They pass Regina’s car opposite the street, and Regina keeps walking. Janis frowns and tries to think of something to say. She has too much to say, really, and it’s hard to think of what to say first. She chews over ideas, and Regina casually bumps into her. Janis whips her head, ready to tell Regina to watch herself, and catches Regina smiling. Really smiling, like she’s happy or something.
The situation hits Janis like a truck.
“Oh my god.” She stops dead. “We’re going to hook up, aren’t we?”
“That’s the plan,” Regina answers brightly. “Why, don’t you want to?”
Janis really, really does. Sure, Regina had made her life hell, but Janis had seen her get a little better their last years of high school, and she seems like she's a halfway decent person now. Also, she’s really, really hot. Still.
“I’m not going to be a one-night stand,” says Janis, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to be walk of shaming tomorrow.”
“Please, it’s not the walk of shame when it’s with me,” Regina shoots back. She pauses, playing with a piece of her hair. “And...I wasn’t thinking it would be a one-night stand.”
Tonight is full of surprises.
“Well. Good.” Janis uncrosses her arms, then crosses them again. They’re both standing on the sidewalk and not looking at each other. It’s awkward, and Janis is fed up with awkward. “Come on,” she says, grabbing Regina’s hand. Her stomach swoops. “Show me where you live.”
Regina flashes her a smile, no trace of bitchiness or smugness, and leads the way.
“And you better buy one of my pieces,” Janis adds. Regina scoffs.
“As if I’m going to pay money for a painting you did of some other girl. Who do you think I am? Paint me; then we’ll talk.”
“Well then,” Janis says, mind and heart racing. “You better inspire me.”