[Note: This is a work in progress. I've kind of hit a block so I thought I woudl share this first draft as is. Comments, as always, are welcome -- ggg]
“Now what are you thinking?” He watched as the words formed on her lips. They were spoken lightly, almost soundlessly;
with just a small amount of, what was it, seduction? No, more a sense of knowing than anything
else. He so wanted to move closer, to
feel her breath on his skin, the touch of her lips on his. But he stopped himself. He couldn’t.
It just wasn’t right.
Julie and Andrew had been
friends now for close to 4 months. They
were introduced through a mutual friend.
A colleague of his; a member of the same gym for her. The friend, Jane, thought they would hit it
off. Not as lovers but as friends. They were two lonely people living in a city
of lonely people, but Jane saw a commonality between them. The commonality of not being common. Two people in need of, well, a friend.
The three met over drinks and
as the conversation turned to movies, Jane felt herself back away. She was never much of a moviegoer but knew
that these two were. Often one or the
other would mention wanting to see a new movie and planning to go it
alone. Well, she thought, why not go
alone, but with each other.
And there were movies. Dramas for her. Science Fiction for him. Comedies for the two of them. They’d have a light dinner beforehand to
discuss expectations and a nice snack after to discuss in more detail. And to plan for the next. And they dated. Not each other, nope, that wouldn’t do. They had diner dates and beach dates and
museum dates, but never movie dates.
That was reserved for their unique friendship.
Three months, two weeks and
four days after their first movie excursion, an independent love story neither
of them were really in the mood to see but both rather enjoyed, was released on
Blu Ray. They decided they needed to get
a copy and watch it together. A nice remembrance
of their friendship so far.
The date was set for Saturday
night, Andrew’s apartment. It seems he
had the bigger television. Andrew would cook
(he so wanted to just order a pizza but Julie insisted they be more
civil). Julie agreed to bring the
dessert. And to balance the home
cooking, something she made from scratch.
He shopped for all the fixings that go with Linguine with Clam sauce
(which amounted to a box of linguine and a jar of sauce) as well as an Italian bread,
garlic butter and frozen, microwavable Brussels sprouts. She bought vanilla ice cream and box of
chocolate chip cookies. Homemade ice
cream sandwiches were her specialty.
Saturday night arrived. Andrew got to his cooking and loaded the disc
into the player while the pasta boiled.
As he watched the trailer for the movie (he wanted to make sure
everything was in working order) he felt compelled to put a candle out on the
coffee table in the den. Seemed to fit the mood of the movie and the
evening. There was a sudden twinge in
his gut. Where did his mind just
go? No time to think about it as the kitchen
timer buzzed. The pasta was ready and
Julie would be there soon. He lit the
candle, almost mindlessly, and moved into the kitchen to finish preparing
dinner.
Julie had made the ice cream
sandwiches the night before. She wanted
to make sure they were fully frozen for the trip to Andrew’s apartment. What to wear, there was the question. She was usually quite casual on their movie
dates. Dates? Was that really the right word? They were more like movie club meetings given
all the discussion before and afterward.
Julie actually joked once that she felt like they were in a sort of book
club but without the wine and they actually see the movies. Tonight was a bit different. She had been to Andrew’s apartment
before. Mostly to watch some old movie
that hadn’t been in movie theatres since before the Home Video market. Usually when it had its “re-mastered” release
on Blu ray. She’d wear jeans and a
sweatshirt and they’d down a few bowls of popcorn (air popped, not microwaved,
they were at the movies for heaven’s sake) with sparkling water or, on some
very rare occasions, a beer.
But tonight seemed to be
different. They were having dinner. Well, they’d had dinner before but always at
a restaurant before or after a film. It
was a celebration of sorts. Their first
really. In the few months they’d known
each other neither had had a birthday nor were there any major holidays. So this was, in a sense, a first for
them. She felt an odd twinge in her
stomach as she took off the jeans she had been wearing and went to her closet
for something different. Twenty minutes,
and three outfits later, she thought she was ready to go. She had chosen a pair of black cotton pants
and a button down blouse decorated in a pink and green floral pattern. She decided to forgo the flat leather sandals
she normally wore for a pair of black open strappy heels. She liked these especially as they showed off
the pedicure she had gotten that morning.
She checked herself in the mirror for what seemed like the tenth time. She fluffed her hair and adjusted her blouse
over her shoulders. She unbuttoned the
third button, opened the shirt a bit more, tilted her head to see herself, and
then re-buttoned the third button. She
frowned, considered changing her blouse again, looked at the the time and
thought better of it. If she left right
now she would only be 10 minutes late.
She turned from the mirror to stare at her phone. She considered calling but opted to wait as
she turned back to the mirror, leaned forward and gritted her teeth in a
strange grimace of a smile to assure she had no lipstick on them. Though there was none she rubbed her teeth
with her right index finger and then ran her tongue across them. “Oh what the hell, time to go.” She spoke the words aloud to no one in
particular.
While the linguine drained in
the colander and the clam sauce warmed on the stove, Andrew placed the plastic package
of Brussels sprouts in the microwave. As
he was setting the timer for the necessary 7 minutes, the phone rang.
“Hey there,” Julie’s voice
was unmistakable. “I’m running a few minutes late. Sorry about that. Did you want me to stop and,” she paused,
considering what she was going to ask, “Uhm, pick up a bottle of wine on my way
over?” She rushed the words to get them out. Why was she suddenly feeling uncomfortable?
Andrew smiled and his
expression cam through the phone. “No,
that’s okay. I’ve actually got a bottle
of ‘White Zinfandel chillin’ on some ice right now.’” They both laughed. It was a line from the movie they were about
to see. He said it in the same faked
southern accent the male lead of the movie faked when he delivered it in the
movie. “Seriously, though,” his voice
softened almost unnoticeably, “I did get a bottle just for this occasion.” He felt a warmth in his cheeks.
“Okay, great! I’m on my way.”
On her way, that gives me
about 10 more minutes. He set the
microwave and turned down the already low flame under the pot of sauce. He made his way to the den to check on the
place settings he had arranged on the coffee table. Where normally they would rest their feet,
there were two placemats. Each in the
shape and design of a movie clapboard.
He had picked these up years ago at a rundown souvenir shop he found
while making his first pilgrimage to Hollywood.
They had remained in a box in the back of his closet, waiting for just
the right moment. A fork, a knife, a
spoon and a wine glass completed the settings.
In the middle of the table sat the candle, just starting to burn down,
and a bucket of ice with an open bottle of wine, wrapped in a towel. The table looked fine. He moved on to the bedroom and especially the
floor length mirror to check himself out.
He had already decided khaki
pants instead of the jeans and a Hawaiian shirt of mostly blues. Earlier that evening he replaced his sneakers
with a more comfortable and slightly better looking pair of off white canvas
shoes, no socks. He breathed into his
hand to check his breath. Just a slight
minty scent from the mouthwash he swished and rinsed three times about an hour
ago. He looked at himself again. Checked and found his zipper was up. Leaned
in and smiled to make sure nothing was on or between his teeth. He picked up a brush from the end table next
to his bed and ran it through his recently groomed hair. He smelled under his arms. Though there was no noticeable odor he went
to the bathroom, which was adjacent to the bedroom, and reapplied deodorant,
sprayed cologne in the air in front of him and walked through it.
The microwave buzzer went
off. He rinsed his hands in the sink and
then returned to the kitchen, looking over the den once again as he passed
through. Everything seemed in
order. His stomach twinged again. Why was he feeling nervous?
He opened the microwave,
almost burned his fingers attempting to pick up the bag of Brussels sprouts and
dropped it on the floor. This, he
realized, is why they suggest waiting 90 seconds before opening the bag. He grabbed a towel off the counter and picked
up the bag which had fortunately not been damaged. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and
was greeted with just enough steam to fog his glasses. As they cleared he saw the sauce, slightly
bubbling. He replaced the lid and turned
the burner off. He reached up to the
cabinet above the counter and removed two plates, placing them on the counter. He thought back to when he first saw the
apartment and his reaction to the kitchen.
What would possess someone to take the doors off the cabinets (all were
open air except for the floor to ceiling pantry)? After living with it for less than a week he
was more impressed than anything else by the design. He took down a bowl and proceeded to empty
the contents of the bag of Brussels sprouts into it. As usual with these things, it seemed to him
that there wasn’t enough for the two f them but he figured they could make
do. As he was taking the butter out of
the refrigerator, the doorbell rang. He
placed the butter next to the Italian bread he had sliced earlier and left on
the wooden chopping board. He wiped his
hands with a towel as he called toward the door, “Give me a second. Be right there.” He checked his zipper again and scanned the
den one more time as he headed to the door.
“Wow!” Andrew couldn’t have stopped the word from
leaving his lips if he tried. He had
never seen Julie looking like this, not even when they first met. He, without thinking of what he was doing, let
his eyes scan her from the top of her head to the tips of her red polished toes. And then back up again.
“Uhm, excuse me,” Julie wasn’t
sure how to react. She held the faux Tupperware
container out to hand to him. “You wanna
take this? It’s cold.”
This broke his trance,
barely. “Sure.” He took it from
her. It was colder than he originally
thought and he almost lost his grip. “Does
this need to go in the freezer? Not sure
I can fit this whole thing.”
“No, it’ll be fine for at
least the next 45 minutes or so. You may
want to put it in the refrigerator if you have room.” She walked past him as he stood seemingly
cemented to the spot, only turning his head to follow her. “Oh, I love the placemats.”
This brought him back to the moment. “Thanks,” he said as he closed the door and
headed to the kitchen,” I got them on my first trip to Hollywood. Some sleazy souvenir place. Got them and a set of glasses with a picture
of the Chinese Theatre on them. Which
broke in my luggage before I got home.”
This last a bit under his breath with just a hint of anger.
“I didn’t know you’ve been to
Hollywood.” She seemed impressed.
“Yep, three times.” This a bit louder as he had his head in the
refrigerator trying to find a place for the dessert.
“Wow, that’s pretty
cool. I’ve always wanted to go. What’s it like?” The refrigerator door closed.
“Much nicer the last two times. The first time I was there it was kinda dirty
but they’ve done a bunch to clean it up.
Please, sit down.” She had been
standing, bending slightly over the table and examining its contents. She sat on the couch that faced the TV and
reached toward the wine bottle.
“You really did go all out.” She turned the bottle to read the label. “’White Zinfandel’” she quoted, raising her
voice and taking on a slightly southern accent, “’I do not understand why they
don’t call it pink’” she covered her mouth and giggled to herself, imitating
the female lead. Andrew smiled as he sat
down on the loveseat perpendicular to the couch Julie occupied.
“Shall I pour?” He took the bottle from Julie’s hand. Their fingers touched for a brief
second. Butterflies attacked his stomach
as he pulled the bottle away, a bit too quickly. “Uh, sorry,” he said for no apparent reason.
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