Chapter 1: Wrong Tune

"Mom, my flight was fine. I checked in and now I'm getting some coffee," I looked around for the voice. "I will take a nap, I don't have any plans for today, but I really need to get used to the five hour time difference," There she was, the only other person in the little café I'd stopped at to get a coffee and try and straighten out a line in a song.

I watched her, hoping she'd take her own coffee and leave, so the place would be absolutely quite and I could work on this in peace. I didn't move, I actually might have forgotten to breath while she was standing at the counter. Her voice carried over to me, where I was peeking around a decorative partition. She ordered a coffee and a blueberry muffin. They were putting the muffin on a plate with a fork, instead of boxing it so she could take it back to where ever she had come from.

"Well, tell Quincy and Liam to shut up, and I'll be fine. K, love you too, bye," She closed her phone and threw it into her purse, a huge newsboy bag, before gathering up her coffee and muffin. I sank back into my chair when she glanced around, then seemingly, she had the same idea as me, she sat in a chair near me and closed off from the rest of the café by the partition. I watched in silence as she opened the newsboy bag she had shoved her phone into and pulled out a notebook. She dug around in the bag until she found a pen and opened the notebook. I was kind of amused when she started to scribble something and then pen didn't make a mark, she mumbled a light curse and scribbled furiously with the pen before giving up and throwing it in the bag again. She dug around until she found another pen. Same problem, she realized, that it was the same pen, she set it to the side and went for another pen. Finally frustrated that she had no other pens she looked around on the little table between us, she spotted my pen. I grabbed the pen before she could take it, she looked up kind of surprised at me. "Oh, hello, I didn't realize someone else was here."

"I was hoping no one else would be here," I tried not to sound disappointed, I was kind of amused by how little she knew about her surroundings, also surprised by her accent, when hearing her direct something at me. America.

"I'm sorry," She frowned and glanced at the pen in my hand. "I'm just trying to get some coffee and a little bit to eat before going back to my hotel and sleeping for a few dozen hours. Can I borrow your pen, please? So I can write something down before I forget it?" I handed her the pen and watched her scribble something in the notebook. She reread what she had written and handed the pen back to me. "Thank you," and she really sounded grateful. She leaned back in her own chair and started sipping her coffee.

After a few minutes I decided it was no use waiting out her sitting there, and started to play my guitar again. I was vaguely aware that she was watching me. "Where are you from?" I asked still focused on playing.

"Boston."

"Hmm," I kept playing. "Here on holiday?"

"Sort of," I focused on my music, the line still wasn't right, it didn't feel right, it matched the words, the lyrics were right, but the tune just felt wrong as I played it. "That's very pretty," She whispered.

"Do you know anyone in London?" I glanced at her. She had crossed her legs and had an elbow resting on one knee holding her chin in her hand. She seemed to snap out of a daze.

"No, not really, I have some family in Bristol. Not real close family, a cousin I've met a few times," She shrugged. "They aren't natives to England or anything. You're native?"

"I grew up locally," I smiled. She let out a little giggle. "What?" She looked more than a little amused.

"Makes you sound like cattle or fruit. Locally grown," She shrugged. "Different vernacular," This time she showed off pretty white teeth when she smiled.

"English."

"Right, I suppose it's the difference between Spanish and Mexican or French and Canadian. English and American."

I chuckled and went back to my guitar. "Where is Boston?"

"You know where New York is? Everyone does, right?"

"I've been to New York," I nodded.

"Ok, well, up the coast. It's a big harbour city. A lot of Navy men and fishing and beer. And fishing for navy men when they drink beer and fall off gang planks," She laughed. "My brothers are in the Navy."

"How many brothers do you have?" I wasn't really interested, I wasn't sure what I was doing, I wanted her to leave, I should have just been ignoring her.

"Two older brothers Quincy and Liam."

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" I realized, hearing her say those names again I didn't even know what to call her.

"Emily. And you?"

"Robert. Emily, that's nice, I would have thought Katie maybe Annie," I glanced at her red hair.

"Emma Leigh, it's two separate words," She laughed. "My mom was a little creative. Robert, that's nice, classic."

"By classic you mean boring?" I tried to look serious and she bought it.

"I, well, no, my mom's ex husband, well, it's not a bad name, it's very popular and," I smiled to cut off her floundering, her face had turned about the same shade as her hair.

"You're fine."

"Oh," She sank back in her chair.

"Emily is popular too," I winked. "My parents lacked originality, my sisters, also older, are Victoria and Elizabeth," I played the line again and stopped. It just wasn't working. And Ginger wasn't leaving, she should have, she should have been back in her hotel or wherever sleeping. Her green eyes had black cirlces around them, she looked liek she hadn't slept in days. "So, how long are you staying in London?"

"About three weeks," She sighed. "I wanted to stay longer, but I have to get back to Boston and get ready for my second year of college. Amazing, I spent twelve years in an overstuffed private school and now I'm spending another seven years in an overstuffed university."

"Just going to do the tourist thing? Carry a camera all over London and take pictures of Palace guards?" I smiled.

"Actually, I'm looking for an apartment. If I can convince my parents that I'd be OK living in London on my own, I want to study here. I'm pre-law, studying in England would be wonderful."

"One of your parents is an attorney?" It was just a guess, it seemed to me that when children grew up with a parent who did something like that, they followed in their parents footsteps.

"My mother, my father is a doctor. I really wanted to be a film director, but," She shrugged.

"My dad's a used car salesman," I laughed. It was a little more than that, but that was the easiest way to say it. She bit her lips together and smiled.

"Let me guess," She looked at my guitar. "You moved out as soon as you could, and you're trying to make it on your art?"

"Something like that," I tapped my hand against the guitar in my lap. "This isn't my art. I'm an actor. This is entertainment."

"Oooh, British acting," She frowned. "I think you just lost me," Then she laughed.

"Why is that?"

She bit her bottom lip. "My favorite book is Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. The movie came out this spring, and really, the guy who plays Arthur Dent is a little flat."

"Oh," I frowned. "The movie is never as good as the book."

"No, and British actors are just," She looked away from me. "You can tell they are acting, can't you? They have no voice inflictions, they are flat and monotone. Maybe it's just the accent," She shrugged. "I have to get back to my hotel, I'm really very tired," She put her notebook back in her bag and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Robert the Actor."

"A pleasure," I shook the hand she offered. "Emma-Leigh," My attempt to write my song in peace was squashed by the afternoon crowd that filed into the café. I took my own notepad and my guitar and headed back to my apartment.

I'd just like to say that I actually really love The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and the guy (whose name I currently can't remember) who played Aruthur Dent played an excellent Arthur Dent. But that's not to say I absolutley loved the books, and the movie really is never as good as the book.

Also, I'm not big on British slang, so while I'd love to go about with Robert sounding British, I'm going to have to work on it.