It could happen (2)
Of course I wait. I’ve been waiting my whole life for something I’m beginning to think misplaced my address. A few more seconds don’t matter all that much. Her eyes leave mine for a few minutes while she does the goodbye-talk-to-you later thing on the phone. And then she steps closer to me. I brace myself. I have no idea where this going.
“Hi,” she smiles at me. “I hope I’m not making an absolute ass of myself but…have we met? You look sorta familiar.”
My pulse slows down, and I feel the shutters close over my heart. I take a moment to switch on my alter ego.
“I don’t think so…but I do get that a lot.”
She grows still at the sound of my voice. Why not? Thousands of others react the same way. Thank you, Radio, for fucking up my ability to tell a fan from a potential…someone.
“Hey! You’re Danny…with that show on…”
“Guilty,” I interrupt. Time to get back to my list. But I give her my rehearsed meet-the-fans smile, and wait for the predictable scene to play out. I mentally shake my head at the foolishness of my disappointment. I had unwisely been expecting some sort of cosmic birthday present. Get real.
******
She sure is beautiful though. Maybe we can be friends. Unfortunately, thanks to the magic box, I had also lost my ability to make new friends. Put me in a crowd of people, and I become the night’s entertainment. My mind moves at lightning speed as I carefully craft every sentence to produce the desired reaction: laughter, tears…as many emotional responses as I could. Not that this was required of me. I just couldn’t help it. I have been acting most of my life, and at some point, the line between the real me and my infamous alter ego had gotten somewhat blurry. That was one of her constant complaints. “You say so many wonderful things, but I’m not sure it’s really you!!” With that one sentence, my ex captured the essence of my dilemma. Sad that the one person who even recognized the problem was the one most hurt by it.
I am mentally crossing this woman off my list of possibilities. Reluctantly. You never know. Maybe I should just take what I can get. Let Danny “Why do we have two feet if we can only take one step at a time” take her to bed, if that’s what Madame wants. What’s the difference? But there is a difference. Probably has something to do with the fact that sex was losing its allure. My heart wants to have a say in the matter.
******
“I love your show,” she smiles at me. Love me, I think. I mumble some modest mumbo jumbo. She takes another step toward me with a little mischief in her eye and whispers into my ear. “You know, every time I hear your voice, I get really turned on….” Maybe Danny the DJ will get lucky tonight.
“Do you, now.” I raise an eyebrow.
She laughs…but it’s more than a laugh. I can feel it resonate through me. I want to hear that laugh for the rest of my life. It’s a song that – wonder of wonders – I have never played before. And I want it to play for me. The real me. But how?
“I get really turned on, until I realize how foolish it is. I mean, it’s your job to sound that way, isn’t it?”
There it is. The obvious truth that so many fail to grasp. It’s a job. It pays the bills. That’s not me. Well, not all the time.
“I’m Jill, by the way,” she continues, holding out her hand. I take it. And hold it. I want her to meet plain old me. Flawed and fallen being. Before I can stop myself, honesty takes over.
“You know Jill, I am so glad you said that. It’s nice to meet someone who’s not taken in by the smoke and mirrors.”
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I caress the softness that is her hand. I don’t intend to be misunderstood. Not now. And not by her. She lets me hold her. Well, her hand anyway. And she doesn’t look away…some primal understanding grows in her eyes. At least, that’s what I think.
“Lotion”
“Huh”
“That’s what I came to get. Lotion,” she explains.
My mind struggles to make the connection.
“I didn’t expect…I wasn’t looking…I…” she stammers. Neither was I, Jill. Neither was I. I take a step closer. To her. To the edge.
“Jill.”
She appears more disconcerted at the sound of her name. For once, I am grateful for a voice that allows me to express all I had no words for. But I need to be sure. Take any regular human being with a regular dose of insecurity, and watch that insecurity blossom under the spotlight of the entertainment field. They sometimes call it “artistic temperament”, I believe. I reach into my pocket and draw out my wallet, and release her hand to flip through it. Her hand stays in the air a few more seconds than it should. Reaching for…me? I pull out one of my cards. Just my name and number.
******
I place the card in her hand. She glances briefly at it…and looks back up with a sort of half-smile that for some reason makes me weak, and yet gives me strength. I have no conscious thoughts on the whole butch / femme divide, but I know at this second that I want to be her – and don’t hate me for this – but I want to be her “man”.
Oh rue the close-mindedness of my upbringing. There’s probably a better way to say it…I don’t know. I can’t think. I just know I want her to lean on me; I want to carry her in my arms, lay her gently on my bed…and make love to her for as long as she would let me. I want her needs to become mine. I want to love, honor and protect her. Yes I know love is a two-way street. But right now, all I know is what I want to give. The best of me. All of me.
All this from a smile. I’m in deep, I know. I lost sight of land a long time ago. I was ripe for the taking…I just pray I will not be had.
I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek. Gently. I don’t want her to pull away.
“Call me…if you want to. And I hope you do, Jill…I really hope you do.”
“I…I will.” Please do…please.
And then she turns and walks away. I watch. Can’t help but. She leaves the store without her lotion. Still, I watch. Then she turns to look back at me through the shell of glass that separates us. And smiles.
That, more than anything else, fills me with a sense of hope.
