Two – Strangers in the Night
The first time he saw her, he didn't even notice. She blended in and it wasn't until the lights caught her glass as she lifted it that he took notice of her. Even then, he felt she blended in with the surroundings. A nondescript person in nondescript clothes drinking a nondescript drink.
She was alone, and he saw her watching everything. The bartender, the people dancing, those seated at tables, those at the bar. It struck him as odd, for in his experience one went to a bar to enjoy oneself, not to watch others enjoying life.
And yet, he watched her watch everyone else.
It was pity, he supposed, that made him send a drink over to her. Nothing fancy – another glass of red wine. He wasn't sure why he made the overture but he kept his gaze on her until the new drink was brought over, and couldn't look away when she turned her inquisitive eyes on him.
"What was her name?"
Pulled from his memories, Antonio blinked. "Whose name?" he asked. But a quick glance in Seth's direction and he knew exactly who his friend was talking about. "Elaine."
"Old-fashioned." Seth had turned down the music.
"Yes, but it suits her." He pictured her in the hotel bar, with her hair pulled back. No makeup. That hideous sweater on her shoulders. He couldn't remember jewelry, aside from the brooch. Her legs had been crossed, her elbows close to her sides, one hand resting in her lap. "When I went over…"
"What?" Seth pressed after a moment.
"I wasn't thinking about getting her in bed. She looked lonely."
"May I?"
Her hand shook slightly as she motioned to the empty chair.
He sat, saw the surprise on her face. Her cheeks darkened and she looked down.
"Oh." She looked around, gaze lingering on the door. Was she planning her escape? Then she peered at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Thanks for the drink."
"You're welcome." He took a sip of the drink he'd brought with him, then swirled the liquor in the glass. "I'm Antonio."
Her lips moved. When they puckered slightly he realized she was mouthing his name. "Elaine."
"I've never met an Elaine before. And in case you've never met an Antonio, I have to warn you. We're all corny, and very unoriginal."
"Really? Every Antonio in the world?" Her smile was brighter now.
"Every one of us," he promised. "I'll prove it by asking the oldest opening line in the book." Leaning forward slightly, he lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "Do you come here often?"
"Dude. I get that it was probably the first time you've gotten laid in…months…but c'mon," Seth laughed, once again dragging Antonio from his recollection. "You'll never see her again. Or did you get her number for the next time we're in town?"
"No." His tone was bitter. He was bitter about that annoying fact. "She left before I could take care of that little detail."
"Holy shit," Seth breathed, stretching first one arm then the other above his head. "She ditched?"
Groaning, for the last thing he wanted to talk about was his obvious lack of finesse, Antonio looked out the window at the passing landscape. "I left the room for a minute and when I got back she was gone."
"Ouch."
"I wouldn't have minded, but…" Antonio shrugged. He wasn't sure if he should elaborate. He wasn't sure if he could, because he doubted there were any words proper to how he had felt upon finding his bed empty.
"But what?" Seth was tilting his head from one side to the next. "Alright if we stop for a piss break?"
"Sure." He stretched a little, the hours of sitting in the car starting to take a toll on him after a night of little sleep. "And… I can't explain it. It wasn't the usual thing. She wasn't tipsy from too many drinks and desperate to fuck a wrestler. We talked for a while."
"What's she do?" His friend asked. It wasn't a test question, to verify for himself that Antonio had indeed talked to the woman.
"She's a writer." That had been surprising, yet at the same time it hadn't. It had explained why she seemed to be watching everyone in the room. "Her newest novel came out recently, so she was on a little getaway to celebrate."
"Yeah? Cool." Seth appeared to be impressed. "What kind of stuff does she write?"
"I…" Antonio faltered, struggling to recall. He was sure that if she'd mentioned the genre he would remember. In fact, thinking of how she'd practically glowed while discussing her career, he wanted to buy and read the book. Surely someone so passionate about their creation would produce first-class content. "I don't know."
"Well it shouldn't be too hard to find out. Google her." Seth leaned forward while merging onto the exit ramp. "Did she tell you her last name?"
"No," Antonio sighed. He hadn't mentioned his, either. Despite the differences, their night had been like others. Secrets, expectations, fulfilments.
"Well there can't be that many writers named Elaine. Or, hell, that many people named Elaine. Except for the character on Seinfeld, I've never heard of an Elaine." Seth braked at the stop sign, then followed the street to an intersection with an impressive array of gas stations.
"Elaine was also in Arthurian legend. The Lady of Shalott," Antonio elaborated.
"The what?" Seth chose the nearest station, a chain familiar to both of them after so many road trips.
"'And sometimes through the mirror blue / The knights come riding two and two: / She hath no loyal knight and true, / The Lady of Shalott," he quoted softly once the car was parked. "Tennyson?"
"Sorry, I'm a product of the American public school system," Seth reminded. "It's all I can do to remember that two plus two is three and dinosaurs became extinct because cavemen hunted them all."
"One of these days, my friend, I am going to force you to read good literature." Antonio climbed out and stretched. "Who knows? If you start discussing Arthurian legend you might get lucky."
"Arthurian… King Arthur, right? The Knights of the Round Table and all that?"
"There's hope for you yet," Antonio laughed.
"So this Elaine chick from Shalott, what was her deal? Did she hook up with a knight?" Seth locked the car and headed inside with Antonio, both men moving fast to escape the chill.
"She was cursed. She wasn't allowed to look at the real world, only at shadows in a mirror. One day she saw Lancelot ride by, and left her loom." They stepped inside, greeted by the aroma of greasy pizza, reheated hot dogs, and coffee. "She put herself in a boat to Camelot and died before she got there."
"Oh that's not depressing at all," Seth muttered. He motioned to the sign for the restrooms then clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm sure your Elaine won't kill herself over you."
Although she had only been gone for three days, she noted many changes as soon as she got home.
First, the leaves on the trees around her small house were starting to change. When she'd left they'd still been a vibrant green, but now traces of yellow were creeping in. All too soon the leaves would be a riot of color covering her lawn, and then gone until spring came around.
Second, her neighbor had mowed her lawn as he'd said he would. He'd even swept the grass clippings from the steps and slatestone walk. He'd also collected her mail. She would go over later to get it, she told herself, thinking he would enjoy one of the jars of apple preserves she'd purchased at the farmer's market before coming home.
Third, her cat was miffed at her. She entered the house, calling to him, but he didn't come to her as he always did. When she found him upstairs in the bedroom, sitting on the windowsill, she crossed to pet him, only to grasp air as he hopped down and stalked away.
"Horace," she sighed, following him down to the kitchen. His water bowl wasn't empty but his food dish was. The pudgy ginger released a plaintive meow when he sat down in front of it. He didn't even look at her, doing his utmost to make her feel guilty. Knowing that the quickest route to forgiveness was a hearty meal, she opened a can of his favorite food and left him to eat in peace while she unpacked.
After three days and two nights in the busy city, her home seemed smaller. Quieter. And yet, once she'd started a load of laundry, put away the rest of her things, and sank onto the couch, she felt the tension ease from her body. As much as she enjoyed the occasional trips, she was always grateful when she got home.
Home, to her quiet little town, where everyone knew her. To her little house, just big enough for one plus a cat, with the neighbors close enough to walk to but distant enough to not be a bother.
The phone began to ring just when she'd decided that it was time to head to the neighbor's for her mail. Thinking of her cell phone, which had died right in the middle of a difficult level of Angry Birds while she was on the plane, she pushed off the couch and headed for the spare bedroom. She'd converted it into an office shortly after the publication of her first book. Though she rarely used it for writing, it came in handy for the business end of her work.
Plucking the receiver off the base, she sank into her computer chair. "Hello?"
"Elaine! I finally caught you! Where have you been?"
She smiled at the sound of her agent's voice. Tamara had been her biggest fan and cheerleader for the past two years. She had become more friend than agent, their business dealings seemingly an afterthought nine times out of ten. "I told you I was taking a little vacation, Tam."
"Yes, but you didn't say you were going to ignore calls and texts and emails."
"It was just three days. I survived." Elaine could picture Tamara, crisp and businesslike in one of her many designer suits, rolling her eyes at the thought of turning off technology for a few days.
"Elaine, sweetie, it's the twenty-first century, you can't do that nowadays. I know your characters can, but they're stuck in the Dark Ages before good things like indoor plumbing and tampons came along. Now," she said, her tone reverting to the one she reserved for business meetings and contract negotiations, "I've got some good news for you."
"Oh?" What could be better than the news she'd received the week before? A new release debuting on a national paper's bestseller list was probably the best news Elaine could have received.
"Elaine, darling, you've moved up in the world. Your recent contract is still all the buzz in the historical romance world. The book is moving up on the bestseller list. You're practically a shoe-in for the next RITA, and Captain Hewlett is on every blog's top-ten-hottest-heroes list that's out there. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he made the move from page to screen within the next year or two."
Grinning like a fool, Elaine still rolled her eyes at the last statement. Tamara had said the same thing about every book she'd written. But that was what cheerleaders were supposed to do, wasn't it? "It's all thanks to you, Tam—"
"Bullshit. I do my damned best for all my clients, but if they present me with crap there's nothing I can do. Like Mama always said: If you polish a turd, it's still a turd. Hang on, El…" Tamara murmured to someone, probably her harried assistant, then came back with alacrity. "Right, where was I? Oh, the big news! You, my dear, are going on a media tour!"
"I am?"
"Of course you are."
"But—"
"I've made all the arrangements already. It's nothing major. Two weeks of your time, and there are plenty of days off to dash home and feed that fat cat of yours. I'm faxing you the itinerary now. Quite a few appearances are in your state for local stations. A few book podcasts, an interview for GMA's new web series on writers…"
Her fax machine came to life and began to churn out the first page. "Tam—"
"I've also got you lined up for some interviews. The publisher is covering all of your travel costs, all you have to do is pack. I'm sending Kim to keep you straight."
The fax machine was on its third page now, and the tiny screen indicated there were several more to go. "Tamara…"
"Oh, I've got a meeting in five minutes and I just broke a nail!" Tamara cursed under her breath. "Gotta run, sweetie. Follow Kim's pointers, but be yourself. I'll check in with you in a few days!"
The usual ending – lips smacking in a kiss – and the line went dead.
Groaning, Elaine replaced the receiver and began pulling pages off the fax machine. As she sorted them into order, Horace entered the office with a yowl. Seconds later his large head was bumping against her ankles. A feline signal that she was forgiven and he still loved her. Sitting back, she clicked her tongue, sighing when he jumped into her lap and began to knead her stomach, which was already beginning to knot with anxiety.
She had become a writer for two reasons. One: writing was her life's blood. Creating a symphony of words on paper was euphoric to her. The fact that others enjoyed her writings enough that she could do it for a living was just the cherry on the top.
Two: Being a writer meant that, if she wanted, she could hide away from the world for sometimes months on end. Her stress levels when dealing with new people were sometimes off the charts. Up until now she'd been allowed the luxury of doing the bulk of interviews via email. Or, at the worst, over the phone. But it was easy to be at ease over the phone, when she could curl up on the couch in her pajamas and watch her favorite movie with closed captioning.
It had taken her three glasses of wine before she'd felt comfortable enough to just talk to him. Then two more before she'd drummed up the courage to dance. Which in turn had made her heady enough to suggest…
God only knew how much liquor it would take before she'd be comfortable enough to go on television.