My very classy friend Beth had me revisiting some older music, and since I had a Cabal Mass Post deadline looming, I decided it was time to write something a little…classier…than usual. I hope you like it.

Call Me Irresponsible

Call me irresponsible - call me unreliable
Throw in undependable too
Do my foolish alibis bore you
Well I'm not too clever - I just adore you

Call me unpredictable - tell me I'm impractical
Rainbows I'm inclined to pursue
Call me irresponsible - yes I'm unreliable
But it's undeniably true - I'm irresponsibly mad for you

Standing a thousand feet above the streets of Seattle, I was having one of those moments that I knew only happened in movies. It actually crossed my mind that I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn't. If I were dreaming, this whole night would be a let-down. I stared down at the cars, in the same line of vision as my bare toes, and I took a deep breath.

"If you fall backwards, I will catch you," he promised, and I felt his hands hovering next to my hips. I knew I had better things to be thinking about at the moment, but I hadn't heard him inhale in a while, and it occurred to me that he was more nervous than I was. And really, if this took a tragic turn, technically I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. He would.

I chuckled a little, too afraid to laugh and answered, "Please don't use the f-word when I'm two inches and a thousand feet from becoming a pancake."

"Okay," he breathed, sounding eerily like a sigh of relief. If I was making jokes, he knew I wouldn't jump. Deep down, he was completely aware that I wouldn't jump, but with me, he was never totally sure.

"You sound nervous Freddie. You're not the one facing your maker," I said, only sure enough to smile this time.

"I'm just waiting for you to ask me to reenact scenes from Titanic. I may be king of the world, but that is a very small ledge," he said, making jokes for the first time since I'd had this idea.

"No. But another day with a bigger ledge…" I started, willing to strike fear into his heart. "Okay, what's the best way to do this?"

"Do what?" he asked, and I took a little pride knowing the first thing he thought of was jumping. I was just that kind of girl.

"Get down from here," I finished, realizing that this was the scariest part of this plan, a part I should have thought of ahead of time.

"Probably if you took a step forward," he said sarcastically. "But I suggest you let me hold you as you step backwards."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "But you have to promise me that you won't let me fall."

"I promise," he said with a slight patronizing tone. "I will never let you fall."

I shook my head and smiled, and then took a step.

"Sam, I know you were taught how to cross the street, I was there!" he said, trying his best to follow me, but getting caught behind the taxi I had cut off. His apologetic looks to the driver meant nothing, and the man honked anyway.

"But why wait? They'll stop. They'd rather have to wait a few seconds for you to cross, than a few hours to put through the insurance claim when they hit you," I answered, pausing on the curb for him to catch up.

He rolled his eyes at me, before I turned and continued down the sidewalk, always a step ahead of him, "Well you see, most people have this thing called common courtesy. You, on the other hand, have a death wish."

I chuckled as I finally slowed down. We were almost to our destination. Finally he was next to me, and as we walked in step, I looped my arm through his.

He looked down, immediately questioning my meaning, and I just nudged him, "I just don't want to get separated. The street's kind of busy tonight."

"You just better be careful. If somebody spots us, they may assume we're a couple. And then where would we be?" he chuckled, reiterating the joke between us that the people we knew somehow found it inevitable for us to fall in love. It didn't help that we encouraged them with these dates of ours, which to us were just a way for two old friends to hang out, but to people like Carly, were secret dates we used to hide our secret relationship.

"I hope they do! Maybe it will add to your nonexistent reputation!" I spat back, the same insult I'd been using for years, but I was distracted by our location, as it was not where we were supposed to be.

He seemed to notice, and hazarded a, "Sam…"

I sighed, "Fine, pull out your phone. The place is called Gino's. How far away are we?"

His face showed a smug satisfaction at my mistake, but no surprise, as he pulled out his phone and wish only a few swishes of his thumb shook his head, "Good news or bad news?"

I gave him a look, the international sign for, "Out with it dork!"

"Well," he said. "We're only three blocks away, but its three blocks that way," he said, pointing backwards, where we'd just been.

I groaned, the best apology he was going to receive for my mistake, before turning both of us around at once, almost knocking over a couple going in our original direction. He shrugged an apology, but I was only encouraged to pick up the pace again, wanting to get to the club before I missed something.

This time he was determined to keep up, to the point that he was actually a step ahead of me when we got to the door. There was no bouncer, but just an old Italian man who seemed to be there just to monitor the kind of people that would come into this place.

The place had a steady crowd, but not the kind that pressed against the sides of the room like the Secretary of State. This had been my idea, and I hadn't let Freddie argue with me. This place hadn't changed a bit since the late Sixties, and it was this fact that had most of the appeal.

The small band had a strict classics arrangement that played mostly Jazz and Easy Listening songs, rather than the house music of most clubs. The small dance floor was in use by a couple of couples, dancing cheek to cheek rather than ass to groin. Every once in a while, somebody would get up from one of the tables and sing a song. It wasn't karaoke, but it was something very close to it. As of yet, the only man who'd gotten the courage to do a solo was very near Dean Martin as far as voices go.

But he wasn't the only one with enough courage to get up there, and though I hadn't told Freddie yet, the next man on that stage was going to be him whether he liked it or not. But if there was anything I knew, it was that the only courage Freddie ever had was either from stupidity or alcohol, so I asked him to get us drinks while I found a table.

It was easy to find one, but before I sat down, I asked the bandleader if they knew the songs I had in mind, and though he thought the answer was quite obvious, he smiled an affirmation. It was true that a well-painted face could get a girl anywhere.

Freddie brought the drinks to the table, and I let him finish his before I let my finger draw circles the table, I habit I'd gained from old movies, and of which he knew the meaning all too well.

"You're up to something, aren't you?" he asked, forming it as a question, but he knew I was up to something.

"Oh, I don't know," I said, holding out for a while, letting him come to his own conclusions. I sipped at my vodka tonic, knowing that my fearless abandon could only be helped by a strict dosage of vodka.

"Samantha Puckett, out with it," he said, grabbing the glass from my hand.

I traced the length of his arm with my finger flirtatiously, before drawling, "You love Frank Sinatra, don't you?"

"You love Frank Sinatra," he answered, catching my eyes so I stopped moving my finger. "My feelings for him are a little more normal."

"Come on now," I pleaded. "You have a great voice! And this song is a duet!"

"Oh good, then you better do-it alone!" he said, starting to drink from my glass. This was a good sign. It meant he needed more alcohol to go through with it, but that ultimately, he would give.

"But it's my favorite song," I begged. "And you love it. You do."

"What song?" he asked, his face showing amusement. He knew exactly what song, and I told him that. He smiled and gave in with a simple, "Okay."

I ran up to what could be considered a stage and asked the bandleader if he could play the song, my favorite song. Freddie stepped up the mike next to me, and I hoped he remembered all of the words, though I didn't doubt him in the least.

I know I stand in line, until you think you have the time
To spend an evening with me
And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance
You won't be leaving with me
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
And have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid
Like: "I love you"

He pulled me closer, his hand on my waist, and I wondered if he'd had too much to drink. I had no doubt for myself. My stomach was buzzing, and though I hazarded a guess at butterflies, I tried to ignore that particular thought. After making the mistake of watching Freddie's lips form the three most important words, I forgot a few words of the next phrase, and decided it was time to lose focus on everything but the song.

I can see it in your eyes, that you despise the same old lies
You heard the night before
And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true
It never seemed so right before
I practice every day to find some clever lines to say
To make the meaning come through
But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late
And I'm alone with you
The time is right your perfume fills my head, the stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid
Like: "I love you"

The way he said the last three words made my knees shake. He smiled while still holding the note, and I tried to smile back, though I was mostly unsuccessful. A few people clapped, and he did a mock bow before helping me off the stage and back to my seat. He went to the bar and ordered another round, then came back to the table to sit down. By then I still hadn't gathered my wits about me. I downed half of my drink immediately in an attempt to steady myself. He looked at me amusedly, but said nothing on the subject.

"So, the Sinatra fix, was this the same boyfriend that you learned Italian from?" he asked, a grin now fixed to his face.

"No, this one worked as a Sinatra impersonator. Before my mother was done, she'd cheated on him with the rest of the Rat Pack as well," we both snickered. Nothing went over better than a joke at my mother's expense.

"You think it'd be depressing, hearing all these love songs without someone to love," he said, tipping his glass toward the band that was now playing the melody to "Summer Wind".

"Well, I have you, don't I?" someone said, and it took a slow moment for me to realize that it had been me. I set down my drink, deciding that I had ultimately had enough.

He took another sip, looking me over and making me feel uncomfortable under his gaze. It only took a moment before the thoughtful look in his eyes changed to something a little mischievous, and he smirked to complete his look of revelry.

"Now, this, this is my favorite Sinatra song," he said casually, and I noticed the song had changed. This was another of my favorites, one I'd recommended to the bandleader earlier. The song was called, "Call Me Irresponsible".

He stood up and held out his hand, "You're going to dance with me."

"A little demanding, aren't we?" I asked, but I was already halfway out of my seat by the time he rolled his eyes. He led me over to the bit of floor reserved for dancing, taking my hand in his and sidling the other on my waist. I hesitated before letting my hand rest on his shoulder.

After the first verse, it seemed that we were getting closer, though that could have been a combination of my imagination and the drinks. The room seemed to be spinning, and it wasn't because I was tipsy or because I was taking a turn around the floor. It terrified me.

"Hey," he whispered, catching me off-guard without trying, his breath hot on my ear, "Do you know why this is my favorite?"

I shook my head to answer him and he continued huskily, "Because it reminds me of you."

This time I pulled him closer, and he seemed comfortable enough to let me. The words came to my memory, and I said the last two lines in his ear.

Call me irresponsible - yes I'm unreliable
But it's undeniably true - I'm irresponsibly mad for you

We pulled back at the same time, just enough to catch each other's eyes, before he dove in and caught me in a kiss. Not the kind of kiss that happened anymore, but the kind that only happened in movies, the old black and white movies with Hepburn and Tracy where they were so very in love but couldn't let on. Like the kind that Gene Kelly got that forced him to sing in the rain. And too soon it was over.

"Please come back to my apartment," I asked with my first full breath. I don't know where I found the courage, and it was all too likely that what I called courage was the desperate need to feel his lips again.

He nodded, and went back to the table only to retrieve his coat and my purse before coming back toward me, covering my shoulders with his coat rather than his own, and stayed only far enough ahead of me to call a cab.

We sat on different sides of the taxi, each staring out our own window, but in the middle of the torn leather seat his hand covered mine. It seemed like hours before we reached my building, days as the elevator crawled up seven floors.

It was only then that I saw the tie around the door knob and reminded myself that my roommate had someone over, and that I was to make myself scarce for the entire evening. It took only a moment for my eyes to dart between the door of my apartment and the door to the stairs, and I pulled Freddie by the hand toward the latter.

"Sam, what…?" was all he got out, as I threw him a mischievous glance over my shoulder. When we got to the top of the stairs, he repeated the question in full.

"Will you do something for me?" I asked.

He nodded, "Anything at all."

"While I'm feeling invincible, I feel the need to mark something off my bucket list," I said, smiling what I thought was earnestly, but the look he gave me in return wasn't nearly as convincing.

Because he looked terrified at what I could have come up with. And he had reason to be concerned.

That second of falling, that terrifying moment where all rational ideas of, "But it's only an inch, dear," mean absolutely nothing, is the worst feeling in the world. Time and time again, this feeling leads to the cruel thud of pavement, or in my case two strong arms around my waist, holding me so tightly that I hung an inch above the ground.

While forcing my lungs to deflate, I carefully unfolded the hands that held me and turned around, meeting mischievous eyes and an amused smile.

"If I didn't know better Fredward, I'd think you were scared for me," I chided, poking him neatly between the ribs.

"I'm always scared for you," he answered, circling my waist with his arms, exactly where I'd torn them from only a few moments before. I wasn't all that disappointed.

"I wish you'd have been more confident with my life in your hands," I said, letting my hands trail up his arms to his shoulders.

"I was," he answered, smirking. "It's just, I lied to you."

"Oh?" I asked, meeting his smirk with my own.

"Well, you see, I told you I would never let you fall," he said starting to circle to the nonexistent music that was playing only in our heads.

"And?" I asked, though I was almost sure of the lie he'd been caught in.

"Well, I feel I'm going to have to make an exception. Just one," he said, before diving in for another movie perfect Sinatra-in-Take Me Out to the Ballgame kiss. "Because, you see, I fully intend to let you fall for me."

Well I hope you liked it :) All songs were by the fabulous Frank Sinatra. Also, this was my contribution to the Cabal mass post. The rest of the Cabal should have some great stuff as well, and I suggest you read it.

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