My PD Encounter: Part 2
Since the lovely HILS so kindly (note sarcasm) tagged me, I have decided (since I'm not a huge fan of the memes) to weave them into my PD encounter this week. So, do me a favor, leave me a fucking comment, will ya? It will make all this damn creativity I've decided to dish out worthwhile. You'll see the "key" in the comments. To see how our story ended last Monday, click here. Enjoy!
I smile at him. His hand feels warm on mine. At home.
"I've really been trying to quit," I reply. "Obviously, I'm not doing so well..." I laugh uncomfortably. Embarrassed at my admission of failure, desperately trying to think of something else to say.
"We all have our vices," he says, knowingly. He squeezes my hand and then takes it back. He can't talk without it. I like that.
"It's not our place to judge - chances are we're doing something just as bad or even worse... So, your secret is safe with me... Kristen... right?"
I look down like I had just seen my dead father. Am I wearing a fucking name tag? Jesus, how the hell does he know my name? "Yes, that's right," I reply, curiously, trying to catch my breath.
He senses my shock. Am I that obvious? "I saw you at the fundraiser last night. You know, The Children's Advocacy Group? It's something I'm passionate about. Children should never be hungry or victims of violence." He says it in a catchy, yet meaningful sort of way. Like a public service announcement from the heart.
I smile. "Nicely done." "Now I know why you make the big bucks..." I laugh and relax. Breathe.
"You want to get out of here?," he asks. "Perhaps a coffee... or since we're in LA, a soy mocha or honey lemon green tea?" He smiles at me. "And, we'll drink them in the car so we can smoke."
"Sounds very chic, yet still refreshingly high school," I reply. He gets me. I like it. "I'm in."
We leave our drinks and head out the back. I obsess in my mind as we walk out. What the hell is my hair doing right now? I could really use some gum, mint, SOMETHING. Shit, how will I get a hold of Jayne and MaMa? I could practically talk myself right out of this. Then I realize, he's holding my hand. How did I get here?
We're sitting close - his arm around me. He tells his driver to take us somewhere... I can't even understand him. All I can focus on is that I'm sitting here, with him, alone. It's good.
He looks at me. "My mom was sick last year- heart trouble, angina and clogged arteries, or something." He laughs. "You wouldn't know I play a doctor, would you?" "Anyway, she always told me that you have to take chances in life. You can't just sit back and watch opportunities pass you by." "She also told me not to smoke and live close to home... I figure one out of three ain't bad..."
I chuckle. "I always thought that I wasn't good enough. Then I realized, I'm the only one who really matters. You can't live your life trying to prove yourself to other people." It's quiet and still. What the hell am I saying? I should have just kept to safe stuff, like knitting or music or computers or even the fucking internet. Or maybe I should talk about sports now? Yes SPORTS...
"We all want a little recognition. In some way or another. It makes us human. I like your confidence," he adds. "You wear it well - just like your fancy bag." He points to it in a mocking sort of way.
I nudge him playfully and respond accordingly. "Shit, you gotta have a fancy purse in LA... Where else can I carry my coke, diet pills, and Kaballah water in a discreet, yet fashionable manner?"
He grabs me. Kisses my cheek. Softly. "Where have you been all my life?" he sighs, half serious, half joking. He leans back in. The kiss is longer. More passionate. Less joking.
We don't talk. I lay my head on his shoulder. It's surreal. Like a fucking Saturday night chick flick, but way better. I'm in it. I can hear the cheezy violin music in the background. I'm not sure where this is headed, but I feel like it's the right direction.
Enjoy. And, remember, the key is in the comments. My tags are in the text (*ahem Jayne and MaMa). Until next Monday...
