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The Life of a Showgirl was album of the year.
The production– the lyrics– the love, god, the love– it was everything anyone could ever want from a Taylor release. “The Fate of Ophelia” as a lead single? Dottore could already imagine the awards.
Naturally, he was in line for the Target midnight release to get the exclusive vinyl. He hadn't been sure if he wanted to buy it, and then it had sold out online, and he had gotten FOMO, and now here he was.
He was first in line, actually, which he hadn't planned on, but it was fun. Lonely, perhaps.
“Hello,” said Columbina sweetly.
“... Ah. Damselette.”
His friend smiled softly as she joined him in line. There was something unsettling about her, but he still liked her well enough– or had, until recent events. He stood there awkwardly, unsure how to bring that particular incident up.
“Have you listened to the album?” She asked.
“Of course,” he scoffed. “And you, I imagine?”
Taylor needed streams, so he wasn't above grabbing her phone if she said no and immediately playing the album. Columbina couldn't overpower him, probably. On second thought– he didn't think he wanted to find out if she could.
“Yes,” she said to his relief. “Let's say our favorite on three?”
“Sure,” he said with a scoff.
“3… 2… 1…” Columbina counted.
“Actually Romantic,” they both said. Columbia laughed, and he scoffed again. He hated being so predictable.
“You are that type of person, aren't you?”
“Why did you ask Sandrone to ask me if I was gay?”
The third person in line, a girl with blue-tinted pink twintails, choked on her strawberry refresher.
“Hehe,” Columbina said.
“I'm serious.”
“Well– to save you from the fate of Ophelia, you know?”
“Hi guys, thank you so much for waiting!” Said the Target employee. His name, according to the tag on his chest, was Flins, and he seemed very nice but had a deeply unsettling aura. He reminded Dottore somewhat of himself.
“You're here for the Vinyl, yes?”
Dottore nodded.
“Will that look good next to your reverse bear trap?” Columbina questioned, causing the girl third in line to give them another look. Flins, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered by her words.
“Great! Here's your ticket. It's got your line number on it, so feel free to shop around the store until we call you back to the electronics section to make your purchase closer to midnight.”
Dottore received his ticket. The number one was written on it in bold black pen. This pleased him more than he would ever admit to anyone, except perhaps Pantalone for reasons he didn't feel like getting into right now.
Columbina took her ticket too, and quietly followed after him as he made his way into the store.
“Hey!!!” The Starbucks employee immediately greeted. She was a blonde, clearly excitable, with a nametag reading Jahoda. “Want a treat?”
Dottore was not a man who had little treats. He was not frivolous, nor was he simple. He sampled the fruits of the world, sure, but he was above such banal behavior as posting treat hauls to his Instagram story and such.
“Yes,” said Columbina, nodding solemnly, and so they headed over.
“What can I get you guys?” Jahoda asked happily.
“One venti strawberry refresher, just with water– no lemonade,” Dottore said.
“One black coffee,” Columbina said. For a moment, he wanted to kill her. His tough guy reputation– Taylor's best album while he was on the subject– was in tatters. On second thought, though, he did do this to himself. He was the Taylor Swift Life of a Showgirl Target Midnight release party. He was a shell of a man, worthless.
“You worry me when you make that face,” Columbia said. “It usually means you're thinking about harming others.”
“What about myself?”
“That's not really my concern,” she said.
“Then why did you–?”
“Did you see that the Benson Boone Moonbeam Ice Cream cookie is coming back to Crumbl next week?”
“What? No way. They never bring back collabs.”
“Here's your drinks!” Jahoda said, and Dottore realized that in his anger he had somehow unthinkingly paid for the both of them. Whatever. He kind of liked having Columbina owe him a favor.
Besides– if she really was worried about him dying alone and unhappy, didn't that make her a good friend? He really didn't like that thought, and so decided to call this a favor after all.
He sipped his refresher, and began to ponder Benson Boone. That encounter at Crumbl– he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, somehow. The thought of the man unsettled him somewhat.
“He's a nice boy, but his cookie is– not great.”
“How would you know?” Dottore scoffed, haunted by the memory, or dream perhaps, of Benson Booning.
“I texted him,” Columbina said.
“I'm sorry, you what?”
“I have his number,” she said.
She held up her phone. On her screen was a text thread with Benson Boone. She clicked on the contact. Benson Boone. Benson Boone’s phone number. Dottore now knew Benson Boone’s phone number. It had committed itself to his memory.
“How did you get this,” he choked out. Benson Boone. Columbia texting Benson Boone. Benson Boone's number in his memory. The concept of texting Benson Boone.
“When I was in Utah I made connections,” she said. “You know how Mormons fascinate me.”
“He– he's not even Mormon anymore.”
“Ex-Mormons carry the culture within them yet,” she said, a happy lilt to her voice. “Revolution and revolution are the same word. Every rebirth carries within it the seeds of its undoing.”
A voice came over the loudspeaker, crashing through his thoughts and letting him know it was time to head to the back.
“You texted Benson Boone and you never told me?” He questioned as they walked through the store.
“Why do you care?”
They arrived at a new line right beside the Taylor displays, and Columbina settled in behind him.
“Oh,” she said, somehow concerned, “you're not in love with him, are you? That would be problematic.”
“I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH BENSON BOONE!” He practically shouted, causing the rest of the line to give him strange looks. He coughed demurely.
“Good,” Columbina said. “Pantalone would be really upset if you liked someone else.”
Dottore stared at her, slack jawed.
“Are you gonna get the vinyl? I think I will. I like how shiny it is,” Columbina said casually.
“.... I'm getting everything.”
He considered how much Pantalone loved items with good resale value, and how the vinyl sold out online.
“Two copies of everything.”
Columbina smiled enigmatically.