Simple Things

Jake doesn't care that she's not perfect. He cares about the Simple Things. Credit of title goes to Miguel's SimpleThings

I Don't Need A Model.

Jake, like every tortured soul before him, sits down on an uncomfortable stool as he watches Trixie model yet another dress. The material swishes around her as she twirls for a dramatic effect.

"Think this dress looks good?" Trixie asks him.

Jake could care less.

They had a party to go to; it's a get together between friends and acquaintances, nothing special. Though it's a casual setting, Trixie insisted on looking her best. She wanted to buy the perfect outfit, wear the perfect makeup, and leave a lasting impression for any possible Denzel's that might show up. Since Spud bailed and there were no female friends to give an honest opinion, Jake was the only option.

Jake sighs as she frowns over every imagined imperfection. He mutters out an empty compliment about her while eyeing his watch. The party starts jumping in two hours. Will she hurry her ass up and pick a dress already?

Trixie stares at her reflection in the mirror.

"You think so?" She asks, "This dress shows off my back-rolls."

"Trix," Jake sighed, "You look fine."

"I don't want to look fine. I want to look sexy. I want to look perfect. I want to look like a model. But with more ass."

"Model?"

"Yeah. Models that own a photograph. Models that get the celebrity boyfriends and turn heads when they walk in the room." She turns to face him.

"I'm happy with my looks, but there are some days I want to turn heads. To be treated like a beautiful model, surrounded by men fighting tooth and nail to be with me. Like Rose."

Jake stands up, face filled with disbelief. Is she comparing herself to Rose?

Trixie looks away from Jake and looks at herself in the mirror again.

"You'll never be like Rose." Jake says.

"You'll never be like her, or those models in the magazines. Look at you," he stands behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"You're better than those models. You got everything those models wish they had. Any man who could turn you down ain't a real man at all. Rose," he trails off.

"Rose is beautiful, but you should never compare yourself to anyone, especially her. You know that. And whatever you wear, you'll shut it down. You know you make the Mack Daddy cry something terrible when you walk in a room wearing them jeans with that Chanel perfume I like." He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck.

"You're wearing it right now."

They make it to the party within the next hour. They talk, they commerce, and they dance. Trixie broke out some moves that many couldn't keep up with, no matter how hard they tried. Three AM hit and it was time for the party to die down and for everyone to go home. But when everybody left, two people remained.

There, in the kitchen, is Jake and Trixie. Trixie is lying back in a chair, sighing with content as Jake massages her calf. He smiles at her.

"Well, Ms. Model, how's it feel to pull a muscle wearing those high heels dancing?"

"Shut up."