4
She had made it clear that it wasn't going to be anything fancy; cold cuts on the bread from Mr. Gaudfrey was the extent of her planned dinners. That and a bag of frozen chicken tenders, but that hardly felt appropriate to set before a king. After rummaging through several cupboards she found an orange table clothe and then had managed to borrow two candles from other rooms. It was a simple yet elegant setting; just shy of being goofy. Sarah shook her head at the table.
Outside the wind had picked up. It gave an unearthly howl as it moved through the trees. The cabin creaked. The dead were rising and roaming about this evening.
Sarah went to the radio. Thoughts about soul sucking zombies and ravaged pets ala Pet Cemetery walking about were hardly fitting. At least her imagination was switched on. That had to be a good sign. The display screen glowed blue as she flickered through selections. The music had to be charming, not seductive. She was fairly certain she wasn't ready for seduction. A description that read "The Golden Age" gave her Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday.
Now put your imagination to good use, she told herself facing the room. She needed to change her clothes, but she was unsure of the message she wanted to send. A nice tshirt meant conversation at the table. A simple sweater meant lounging on the couch after dinner. These cause and effect scenarios meant perfect sense in her mind even if they lacked sufficient research. What said: sweep me up into your arms carry me to the bedroom in a masculine display that will render me putty in your hands? Too much imagination, she decided. In the end she wore a tshirt and a cardigan; an outfit that promised conversation and minimal lounging.
At a quarter to seven there was a knock on the door. There would be the flutter of a cape, glitter falling like rain, glimmers of iridescent blues and blacks- Sarah relived that first encounter in her mind as her hand touched the door knob. Instead Jareth appeared, normal. Not that normal wasn't still appealing- well tailored dark slacks, a crisp white shirt paired with a vest all made for a very sharp outfit. The finale element was the only item to be found with any amount of shine: a black paneled front with some sort of red floral design.
"Good evening," he said with a slight bow.
She dropped a whimsical curtsy. "Greetings. Please come in. It's freezing out there. Or are you still in your winter skin?" she asked a tad coyly.
He chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with it until the end of the cold season."
"So your skin literally changes with the seasons?" She closed the door.
He nodded. "Warm in winter, cooler in summer."
This was a new element. Her curiosity got the better of her. "May I?" She raised her hand.
With an obliging smile Jareth took her hand and held the palm to the side of his neck. At first it was the amount of heat that amazed her. With him close by there would be no need of a furnace or a fire. If any lounging did occur she would have to shed her cardigan. She said something in surprise that made him chuckle. It was only then that she realized he was holding her hand in place, quite at ease. He had soft hands.
"Is it ever uncomfortable?" she asked. "Too hot?"
"It's never bothered me."
She cleared her throat and let her hand slide to his shoulder. With a shrug she tried to hide just how delightful the warmth of his skin was. "Well, that is a handy talent," she said taking her hand away. "Let me get us something to drink."
A glass of water. A tall glass of cool water. She cracked the tops of two water bottles and poured their contents into drinking cups. "I did say it was nothing fancy," she remarked as she opened the refrigerator. The cold cuts were laid out on a large plate. The cool air helped clear her mind.
"Trust me anything is better than goblin cooking," he said. "As long as you're not planning on drowning our sandwiches in brown gravy, I'm sure it'll be delicious."
She set out a few condiments. "I've heard rumor of the brown gravy. Hoggle suggested it has more uses than culinary."
Jareth grimaced. "It's best not to know. Allow me." He took the meat from her and set it on the table.
When Sarah approached with their service in hand she saw that the candles were lit. She was certain that she had not done so her self. No, of course she hadn't. She had been distracted with the radio and changing her clothes. Jareth stood smiling holding onto one of the chairs. He seated her and then himself.
"So," he began as they assembled their sandwiches. "You said earlier that the city lacked inspiration for you. Having a bit of writer's block?"
"Try a hefty serving of," she replied with an eye roll. "There's a lot of pressure for me to do just as good if not better than the first time."
"Ah yes, your coming of age romance novel. It was quite good."
"You read it?"
It was his turn to roll his eyes. "We do have books in the Underground. I wanted to know how the Champion of the Labyrinth faired as a story teller. You've got a bit of mustard on your cheek."
Before she could react he reached across with a napkin and dabbed the smear away. Was it just her imagination or was he dropping some very loud hints? Of course what those hints literally meant or even implied were lost on her. Instead she murmured a "Thank you." And then to cover up her awkwardness said, "Well, I'm glad you read it as it will probably the one and only of its kind. A Sarah Williams' one hit wonder."
After a pause where they both ate at their own leisure he looked up at her. "You know, Sarah, have you ever… No, never mind," he said shaking his head.
"What?" she pressed.
"After nine years this is going to sound mildly obsessive, but have you ever thought about writing our story?"
Sarah blinked in surprise. "Our story?"
"Yes. How you came to be in the Underground and all that transpired. After all it does have all of the right elements, the fantasy, the supernatural."
She scrunched her face up in thought. "I would have to makeup the romance bit." It had been an honest observation, at least from her point of view. Considering her age and being totally overwhelmed by what was transpiring Sarah had long since comforted herself by believing she had embellished much of had happened betwixt her and the king.
"I beg your pardon?" he snapped peevishly.
"What? I mean…" Her voice trailed. "I would have to. Romance is part of the subject I write."
He fell back in his chair. "And our story lacked romance?"
"I, I don't know." His tone was all most wounded. "I was so young," she explained. "I didn't want to assume that what I felt was really what was happening. And then after everything, we basically stopped talking to each other."
"I didn't think you wanted to see me."
She looked down at her bread crumb littered plate. "I didn't think you wanted to see me either."
She felt she had opened her mouth and inserted her whole foot. What had been an easy going dinner had now turned tense. This was not how she had pictured them talking.
Jareth pushed away from the table. "It has been lovely evening," he said and stood. "But I believe I have distracted you enough."
She had ruined it. Her chance was yet again slipping through her fingers. She wished she had some excuse such as dessert or coffee to press on him to make him stay. She stood. "Thank you for coming," she said lamely.
Silent she walked him to the front door. Maybe she should start crying, or perhaps begin yelling obscenities about her stupidity. She heard him mumble a goodnight and then the door was shut. Now she could either lean against the wood and feel miserable or she could go clean up the dinner mess and still feel miserable.
She had just decided to ignore either option, and head towards the master bath with all of its bubbles and window views when there was a knock at the door. Opening it she saw Jareth. "I am immortal," he said right away. He looked from the door step then back up to her face. For a moment he seemed to struggle with something and then plunged ahead, "When one lives forever time and age, they become irrelevant. I never saw your age."
She leaned on the door frame. "Ok." This felt like a revelation, like some marvelous soul bearing. She nodded her head. "So what does that mean?"
Again that inward struggle. "It means I was trying to woo a woman when in fact I was holding only a girl."
"Oh."
He eyed her curiously. "Does that make me a pervert?"
She laughed and shook her head. "No. No, it definitely does not make you a pervert. Thank you for explaining it."
"I felt you should know."
"Say, why don't you come back tomorrow and distract me some more? After nine years we have a lot of catching up to do. Who knows, maybe our story isn't finished yet."
