Not a lot to say about this one... Thank you, again, so much for sticking around. Also, I hereby issue a warning that there's lots of Hans in this one (sorry).
Stay healthy and stay safe, friends... love you all.
Anna is waiting for Hans inside his office first thing in the morning when he storms in beaming from ear to ear.
He bids her a quick but cheerful good morning and she returns the gesture albeit slightly confused. She notices his outfit as he makes his way around his desk: a pristine white shirt tucked inside navy blue suit pants—a well-kept man, really; she can't help the thought. It is there in a flash and is soon substituted by her desire to be more like him in that aspect. It is the easiest way to reflect character after all, and her mother is always raving about character and about how she must look presentable at all times.
Speaking of which, she should call her back. She forgot to yesterday (a taste of her own medicine) but she should really call her today.
"So..." He starts, halting her train of thought. The grin is also suspicious, and his silence as he throws his matching blazer over the back of the La-Z-Boy only heightens Anna's curiosity.
She stares back at him from the chair she's been occupying most mornings for the past few weeks. Her eyebrows lift up in expectancy as a bewildered smile grows across her face.
"So... what?"
How did three weeks go by in the absence of Elsa?
Slowly, Anna would say. Tortuously so; like staring at the wall for a whole Sunday afternoon only to find out you've been staring at it for ten minutes.
She had gone home straight from the airport with a heavy sensation weighing down on her chest that only let go of some of its pressure after she'd said goodbye to Rapunzel at the train station in Queens. She had briefly considered stopping by to see Theo, but it had all been too much. Once she'd sat down inside the train bound for Manhattan she had released tears caused by a longing that fell not in a grieving outpour, but one by one, in a soft cascade down her cheeks before reaching her lap.
Avoiding the eyes of strangers hadn't been easy. Some people glanced her way; some showed her signs of sympathy that she didn't want. Because she was not heartbroken. She just really, really wasn't ready to acknowledge Elsa's absence.
But the trip had been long and somewhere between Brooklyn and Manhattan, a man had silently reached out from where he sat to hand her a tissue with a kind smile. She'd thanked him, self-conscious of the tears that wouldn't stop falling and cursing at her own sensitivity, even if he had paid her no mind after that, giving her the privacy she desperately wanted in an otherwise inconveniently public space.
At home, with eyes dried out of tears, she had thrown herself at her bed. Exhausted, breathing out a sigh long withheld.
In the following weeks Anna got to learn that missing Elsa was the expectation, but the extraction of her girlfriend out of her daily routine was something that she hadn't known how to prepare for. The thought of Elsa not being a train ride away. Of her not showing up at Anna's apartment after a run—or dragging her out for one—with her ponytail tousled, her cheeks reddened and a fool's smile on her face. The fact that she couldn't tell a random joke out loud and have Elsa respond with her soft, ever so timid laugh. That they couldn't spend an evening strolling through the city and end the night in each other's arms.
That Anna had to wake up in an empty bed day after day. That she had to hug her pillow tight while her nose searched for traces of Elsa's scent, only to have it begin to dissipate as the days went by, and to have it disappear completely after a while longer.
They texted every day—a given all along—, exchanging pictures of the sights in front of them. Anna sent her photos of the skyscrapers both knew so well; of the food she managed to cook by herself; of the little things she wrote about Elsa, for Elsa. And her girlfriend... she enjoyed sending pictures of the park she had found near the dorms; of London and its buildings, and its streets, and its gorgeous sights; of the biscuits she was starting to become addicted to. It was a form of contact that did little in making up for the fact that they could only talk for a short period of time during most days, because Anna always got home from work right before Elsa had to sleep.
And what a tease that was. To watch Elsa wear that purple NYU shirt to bed with her blonde hair made up in a braid. That same hair she would often have down as they made love; a hair soft and long, cascading over her shoulder as she moaned her name. The same hair through which Anna's fingers had threaded so many times before.
And what was memory if not love's best weapon?
It all began to turn into a functional type of missing. Anna kept feeling like part of her was not there—nowhere near New York—but life couldn't stop because of that, and every day that passed she found herself reading Elsa's good morning texts and smiling at the new board that was starting to fill up with pictures of their memories together. Every day her thoughts and her memories mingled; a bittersweet taste of missing Elsa and genuinely enjoying her job.
Because work had been immersive right from the beginning. Hans wanted her to be involved in almost everything, not just in arranging meetings and receiving phone calls, but also with the insights of reading somebody's manuscript. She learned what Hans looked for in a writer. What he felt could work in the grand scheme of things and what had to be tossed to the side.
Throughout her first month she learned to write a rejection letter. To tell a stranger in as simple and neutral words as possible that they weren't good enough to be represented by this agency. Or at least, that was what she always thought. Because each time she did that it felt like discarding somebody else's dream.
However, Hans was incredibly open with how he worked and in return Anna had begun to feel comfortable enough to manage everything without pressure. Sure, she soon learned how fast he liked things to be done—too fast sometimes—and he tended to joke about movies Anna had never seen. But Hans was patient with her and most importantly, he was nice. He had the tendency to go down to get coffee with her rather than sending her out to get it, and he made her feel like she could always ask questions when she didn't understand something.
Slowly, too, she got to meet everyone in the office.
Cindy at the front desk was all smiles until you messed with the post-it notes she kept around the frame of her computer. Linden (or Landon or Lyndon) had his office right next to Hans' but he smelled like cigarettes all the time and so Anna only greeted him from afar. Rashida was a senior agent. She was very reserved and her heavy-lidded eyes always made her look like she suspected everyone, but she once smiled at Anna as they crossed paths in the hallway and that had put her at ease. Lauren Hoffman, the head of New York's office, popped in and out of the suite but Anna saw her frequently, and found herself admiring the woman more and more. She was far from bossy but her presence demanded respect whether she was in the room or not.
It had been Elsa to whom Anna had admitted that placing her next to Hans and Lauren made her feel important, and Anna remembered all too well what her girlfriend had said miles and miles away, through a camera that didn't do her justice.
She had told Anna that she didn't need anyone to be important, and it was the unspoken meaning behind the statement more so than her words that had made Anna blush and hide her face behind a pillow. Because Elsa believed in her without a question and that... that was starting to rub off on her.
"Your freckles do this thing when you blush," a sleepy Elsa had said afterwards. "They kind of blend together."
"Is that a bad thing?" Anna had asked.
The blonde had hummed distractedly, blinking slowly while a soft smile appeared on her face. "It is the cutest sight in the whole world."
That had only been two nights ago.
"I'm gonna need you to set up a hotel reservation for two rooms in Los Angeles—" Hans begins, pacing back and forth while Anna rushes to get her planner out of her bag, "—preferably at the Beverly Wilshire but if they have no vacancy you can try any of the Hiltons." He stops in front of his autographed poster of Taxi Driver, observes it for a moment, then turns to look at Anna. "I also need you to call up USC or the Times to make sure they have two tickets reserved instead of one—oh, and this is for next month by the way, the dates I'm not sure, you can check them online." He goes back to pacing. If Anna weren't so absorbed in her own notes she would have been exasperated by it. "If I have any meetings for those dates here, reschedule them. I'll also give you a list of the people I want to see in LA. Try to set up dinners, lunches, drinks at the fucking Marmont, whatever works for them. We need them so we have to be accommodating, right?"
Anna nods without looking. She's scratching over Marmont; she tripped over that stupid M.
"Right." He claps his hands once and rubs them together just as Anna lifts her head up. He is grinning again. "You're coming with me, did I mention that?"
"I—yes? I mean no. No, you didn't."
"Why else would I need two rooms?" He jokes. "Try to do that as quickly as you can because this is kind of last notice for us and I don't want you to have any inconveniences with the booking later on."
"Sure, cap."
He finally settles down in his chair, leaning back with a loud exhale. "This is exciting, isn't it?"
"It is," she grins shyly. It hasn't even hit her yet. "I've never been to Los Angeles."
"I think you'll love it." Hans smiles before he stands up again; his energy renewed. "Let's go get coffee."
And it is like this. He never seems to sit idle for too long.
Once in the elevator, he picks up where he left off. "You know it's not just the city I think you'll love," he says. "We'll be at a book festival half of the time and the other half we'll be in meetings. This will be your first time mingling with people you look up to, including authors like yourself."
Anna tries her absolute best to keep her eagerness in check even as she lets the subtle compliment wash over her. A silly and brief thought flashes through her mind, of just how many times she's felt excitement in this elevator already.
Regardless, she manages to appear somewhat cool when she says, "You know I'm not an author yet."
The elevator stops and opens its doors to the building's lobby.
"Yet being the key word," Hans states as he waves an exuberant hand at the security guard.
"Hear, hear," she grins, stepping through the glass door he's held open for her.
As they walk on a street busy with morning commuters; as they enter the coffee shop around the corner, and wait in line while still chatting about Los Angeles, Anna can't help but think of the easiness with which she's been able to build a professional yet amicable relationship with Hans. It makes her feel even more grateful to have a job from which she can learn while enjoying herself.
She takes nearly all day arranging everything for the trip. She tackles the booking first while Hans goes over his manuscript pile, pausing from time to time to listen to what he reads out loud to her. They discuss the author's work for a few minutes. She gives him her opinion before Hans shows her the perspective of an agent looking for talent. In the end, it's his decision, and she gets back to work as he gets back to reading. She calls USC and is put on hold for nearly twenty minutes, not knowing that she will spend the whole afternoon with its maddening tune stuck in her head. She then schedules a lunch with one agent, and a couple of dinners with one publisher and one author. Though she has a hard time with the latter's secretary because she speaks so... slowly... and can Anna... repeat... the date again?
The day ends gracefully faster than she expects and soon she finds herself waving once more at the security guard on her way out.
She rushes all the way home, checking her phone every other minute; feeling guilty about a time difference that she can't control. The time nears 11 p.m. in London while Anna wishes New York's public transportation wasn't so lousy when she needs it the most. The train makes it to 14th Street with a screeching halt and Anna has to sanely, and politely, push her way out of it before the doors close.
"Excuse me—Sorry—Sorry—Thanks—Excuse me—Sorry (Move please!)"
Precious seconds are wasted dodging a few people on the street, but she still makes it to her apartment in record time even though she stops by her mailbox out of habit (and desperation) to see if Elsa's postcard has finally made it to its destination. It must really be a good day because she finds just what she's been waiting for: a white envelope marked by London's stamp, lightly roughened up after traveling thousands of miles across the Atlantic ocean.
She runs up the stairs two at a time, stopping for a moment upon landing on the third floor so that she doesn't faint, fall backwards and break something. That would be counter productive. She still needs to call Elsa.
The door to her apartment swings open before she discards her shoes and gets rid of her blazer somewhere between her tiny kitchen and the bed. Her laptop is already there, all she has to do is dial Elsa's contact number.
Moments later and a blurry image of her girlfriend will take over her screen. A sight Anna has been looking forward to seeing all day.
"Hi, sweetheart," she says in a tiny voice, still catching her breath.
Elsa's gentle smile takes over her face. She is sitting on her bed wearing Columbia's gray hoodie this time. Her hair is weaved into a braid but she's missed a few tresses that now fall loosely over her forehead. "Hey, you," she responds. "You sound like you ran all the way from work."
"Something like that," Anna mumbles. "Did I wake you up? You look like you were sleeping already. I can call another time if you want—"
The girl's quiet laugh filters through the speakers of her computer. Anna wishes she could hear it in person.
"I was waiting for you to call, silly. This is just my normal face," Elsa jokes.
She bites her lip while she gives herself the time to look at her girlfriend. Elsa's face is bare of makeup and there are faint lines already growing beneath her icy blue eyes. She is tired, Anna can see it as plainly as the sunlight still coming in from the window, but somehow her fatigue is outweighed by delight. A delight of seeing Anna, too. An expression that stands as a mirror of her own: two fools in love.
"I finally got your postcard," she tells her.
Elsa leans closer to the camera's eye. "No way. That took forever."
"I know. Something probably went wrong cause I checked and they usually don't take so long." She is rearranging herself on the bed, lying with her belly flat against the covers, getting comfier. "If you think about it, though, our ancestors had to wait for weeks to be updated about their loved ones."
"Isn't it ironic that the information you read in that postcard will be obsolete because we have technology now?"
"Okay, it is a little anti-climatic," she admits, "but you can't say it's not fun to find something like this in the mail every other week."
"You'll never hear me disagree." Elsa pauses to cover a long yawn before she asks: "How was work?"
Amidst the excitement of seeing Elsa and receiving her postcard Anna had pushed it all to the back of her mind. Now, however, it returns with full force.
"It was good!" She exclaims. "I went to that little coffee shop for lunch that I told you I wanted to try and they did not disappoint. They have these really good paninis that you gotta try when you come back. And Hans and I discussed a few manuscripts again. You should read some of the things people write, it's crazy and so creative and so genius sometimes but also really cringy... And actually, guess where I'll be going next month?" She beams.
Elsa is lost in her for a moment, her expression softened by love. "Where?"
"You're supposed to guess."
A chuckle. "Of course." She considers her answer for a couple of seconds, then: "Chicago."
"Nope."
"Seattle."
"No," she drawls before blurting out, "Los Angeles!"
"What was that about me having to guess?" Elsa smirks.
"You were taking too long."
The blonde laughs, straightening herself against the wall, her blue eyes not as sleepy as they were only a few moments ago. "That's great, baby. What for?"
"A book festival," she nearly squeals. Elation is taking over her again but this time she doesn't feel the need to suppress it. After all, Elsa has been on the receiving end of her reactions for almost a year now. "There'll be lots of people there—all kinds of people—and I'll get to meet many of them and introduce myself and I've always wanted to go to Los Angeles too because it just looks so flashy."
"Flashy."
She nods frantically, feeling her high bun starting to come loose with every movement (it was already loose by the time you flew up the stairs like a maniac). "That's the word, yes. You know with those paparazzis and that sunshine. It's all just one humongous flash coming at you."
Elsa lets out a real laugh this time, and boy how she misses it. "You never cease to amaze me..."
"It comes included in the package, sweetheart."
Her girlfriend facepalms as she shakes her head but Anna can tell there's a smile behind that hand.
"How long will you be there for?" She asks afterwards.
"From the seventeenth til the twentieth. So in about three weeks."
On the screen, Anna watches as Elsa takes a deep breath and smiles endearingly at her. "Look at you turning all bi-coastal on me already."
She rolls her eyes through a smile of her own. "It's just for a couple of days, Elsa." At last, she pulls at the hair tie and lets her copper hair over shoulder. She weaves her fingers through it, untangling the knots as they go.
"Still..."
Her gaze connects with Elsa's before the two regard each other, exchanging with their eyes what words oftentimes fail to disclose; a silent yearning.
"I miss you," Elsa whispers.
"I miss you, too," she whispers back. "Like really, really miss you."
The blonde's shoulders lift up then fall with a deep exhale. "I keep having a hard time sleeping," she confesses.
"Why?"
"I got used to your tiny snores," she mutters before biting her lip.
"That is not nice."
Anna knows this might be accurate but she refuses to consider it.
"You didn't let me finish," Elsa grins. "I also can't sleep because I keep wishing you were lying here with me."
Does this girl always know what to say and when to say it? It seems likely.
"Me too..." She admits. "My pillow's already run out of your smell. I feel like a junkie."
There is a lazy chuckle followed by a yawn. Elsa's hand goes up to rub at the eyes that have been turning increasingly drowsy. Anna looks at the time on her computer. It is 6:22 in New York. 11:22 in London.
"Just tell me how your day went and I'll let you go... I know you're tired."
Elsa sighs deeply. "I wish our conversations could last longer."
"That's what weekends are for," Anna beams, trying to appear more cheerful than she feels.
She accepts this with a hum. Her eyes are so heavy by now that Anna feels a pang of guilt deep inside her conscience. "My day went well," the blonde says. "It's been harder than I thought it would be; this whole research thing. But the professor's assigned us specific roles for the project, which I think is better if you ask me."
"How so?"
Why she has to lower her voice is beyond Anna. "We would have clashed as a group if we all focused on the same thing at the same time."
She bites her lip to keep herself from giggling at Elsa's solemn statement. "That's just your personal issues talking."
"Perhaps," she shrugs. "But don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me." She watches Elsa yawn again and, against her wishes, she mutters the next words: "You should go to sleep, baby."
Regretfully, Elsa nods.
They bid farewell after promising to talk more over the weekend with Anna looking forward to hearing Elsa rant about coronary microvascular dysfunctions and about all the places she's gotten to discover in the past few days. A narrative all on its own, that one. Because Elsa has never described things the way Anna does, not impulsively or with enthusiasm laced in every word, but at a pace that is distinctively hers; detailed and smartly, until Anna came to realize that whereas most people describe what a place looks like, Elsa tends to describe how the place makes her feel.
She closes her laptop and switches her attention to the envelope resting next to it. One of its corners is crumpled while a few dark smudges cover its surface from where it's been passed from hand to hand. On the top left corner there is a stamp with the Big Ben surrounded by a circle and the words GREAT BRITAIN. In the middle, Anna's full name and address written by Elsa's lovely calligraphy. She grins just by looking at it. Her excitement is palpable.
Inside there is a card with a pale orange background. There's the Big Ben's tower again on the right side, fully detailed and straight out of a sepia image. London is typed in a large, squared font that covers half of the postcard while the other half is covered by England's flag.
She studies the image then flips it over, eager to read what her girlfriend has written.
Can a place be gloomy and pretty at the same time?
You would love it here... I went out for a walk today trying to find somewhere I can run
& found a gorgeous place nearby—like a mini Central Park!
Chocolate biscuits will be my doom. They're not too sweet (taste like heaven) & I must say I have a new lover: tea.
Tell coffee I'm sorry.
Wish you were here to run walk with me...
I love, love, love you with all my heart.
-E.
Anna reads it enough times that she could probably recite half of it from memory by the time she places the postcard back inside the envelope, careful that she doesn't rip it by accident.
She falls back on the bed and stares at the ceiling afterwards.
An enamored sigh escapes through her lips before she closes her eyes and allows herself to daydream.
A day before her trip Anna is rushing to get everything inside a suitcase while Kristoff takes over her bed, giving out moral support and commenting on things that help with nothing at all. He's lying with his belly flat against the bed, poking around the cosmetics and products scattered all over the floor; half of which he recognizes while the other half... he really doesn't.
Anna holds up two pairs of heels for him to look at. On her right hand she has a pair of cream colored round pumps and on the other a simple pair of black stilettos. "Should I bring one of these or both?"
Kristoff's eyes go from one to the other, then back. "One?"
She considers the answer for about half a second. "I'll bring both."
He rolls his eyes, picks up two mascaras and opens one. He observes it, and Anna catches him right before he's about to use it on his eyelashes. She snorts. "I would not recommend that. If you're gonna put mascara on you should use a mirror or you'll poke your eye out."
"I'm good, thanks." He closes it and puts the objects back on the floor. "Do you really need all this stuff?"
"You mean the essentials?" She's getting exasperated with herself. Helping Elsa pack wasn't as hard. All she needs to do is put these two sweaters inside—and put her cosmetics back in the bag—and put that same bag in the suitcase—why is she like this?
"What's this?" Kristoff asks.
"That's a tampon."
He drops it, pretending he never picked it up in the first place.
Her phone starts vibrating from somewhere in the room. She grunts. She could have sworn she had it right in her pocket. It is nowhere near her or the suitcase, or even Kristoff on the bed. She gets up rather quickly—something Elsa would not condone—but remains still when the vibration stops.
It resumes once more.
"Fuck," Anna mutters. The sound is so faint she can't tell where it's coming from. There is nothing under the bed (just a sock). She rolls Kristoff off it, but nothing. The bathroom is next and that is where she finds it, sitting on top of the counter, vibrating its way to the edge. And it's the boss. What the— "Fuck" —why is she like this?
"Hi, Hans!"
"Hey." It sounds like there's a smile there. Anna returns to her chaotic excuse of a suitcase. "Are you busy? I need you to send me again the info on Lucas' publisher—you know the one with the weird foreign name—I lost it again and he's on my ass about it."
"Sure. Do you want me to do it?" She sees Kristoff give her a bewildered look, slightly shaking his head no.
"No need but thanks," Hans says. "He's a friend. He prefers if I do it myself."
He hangs up soon after that.
Kristoff is still looking at her weird.
"What?"
"Why doesn't he just text? It's late already."
She looks out the window for some reason. Sure, it is some time in the evening, but does it matter?
"I don't know. He's my boss, it's not like I can just tell him to text instead of call."
Her best friend narrows his eyes. "He's not... like, flirting with you, is he?"
Anna stares at him, skeptical that this is even a serious question, but his brown eyes are unwavering and he's already crossing his arms in defiance. He is serious.
"Of course he's not," she states. "What even makes you think that?"
He shrugs. "Curiosity. I see a lot of movies where the boss hits on the assistant... That and he seriously could have texted you instead."
"I am appalled that you'd assume something like that. I would never cheat on Elsa, Kristoff. With Hans or with anyone. You know me better than that."
They hold each other's eyes for a moment but Anna doesn't have the need, nor the desire, to look away. She means every word she said. She would first quit than put her relationship with Elsa on the line.
Kristoff gives in first. "Okay, okay. You don't have to bite my head off, I'm just looking out for my fellow blondie."
She glares at him before leaning down to pick up the first thing she can throw at him.
The tampon hits him square in the face.
They arrive at Los Angeles some time in the afternoon.
Anna is high on caffeine but Hans doesn't know this because she has learned to stay functional after years of high consumption. There is a chauffeur, courtesy of the hotel, already waiting for them by the time they make it to the exit. She walks right next to Hans as the man leads them outside but hesitates as soon as they approach the black Mercedes they're about to get into. She may have been inside one of these cars before—a memory that is blurry at best and questionable at worst—but one this shiny black? One that smells, and is, impecable? One with a chau-ffeur? Nope, never.
She is nonchalant about it though, even as she thanks the man for putting her suitcase in the car's trunk and even as she settles inside, pretending not to look around because it's just a freaking car (Anna, chill).
However, it is still a curious feeling, to experience a degree of luxury some people live with every day of their lives. And as the Mercedes crawls out of the airport's driveway and merges into the biggest freeway Anna has ever seen in her entire life, she can't help but think of what it would be like to get used to this kind of feeling.
She closes her eyes for a few seconds, her pulse going at it against the tender skin of her neck thanks to that godforsaken American Airline coffee, before she leans against the smooth upholstery of the backseat.
What was that about success?
And was it possible that it could also be as simple as this?
She reopens her eyes to palm trees rushing by; so tall they're reaching up to the skies and so mighty despite the frailty of their trunks. The storms they must endure, she thinks.
Farther away: the forest green hills, covered by residences belonging only to those who can afford them. White; immaculate; unreachable. They scream money, and Anna can hear them from miles away. She also notices the lack of skyscrapers but is unable to grasp the enormity of the city from where she is (from what she is); nothing but a speck. Its extensiveness is overwhelming—exhilarating.
Minutes later, her eyes catch a familiar sight.
"I thought it'd be bigger," she says.
Hans puts his phone down, leans closer to where she sits and follows her eyes. He laughs at what they're both seeing. "That's the first thing everyone says about it."
She tilts her head with a smile. The Hollywood sign stands across the hills. Another beacon of dreams.
Anna watches part of Los Angeles unfold right before her eyes like a movie she had never seen before, and by the time they make it to Beverly Hills she's all but ready to sprint out of the car and explore on her own. They drive down Rodeo Drive next—the 5th Avenue of this city, but richer—and Anna sees not mere store entrances, but designed gates that lead to some of the biggest fashion emporiums in the world.
They stay at the Beverly Wilshire after all. The Mercedes parks smoothly into its driveway right behind a red Lamborghini before a doorman clad in a black suit welcomes them with a polite smile. It reminds Anna of the time she had a minor breakdown right before meeting her parents the day before graduation... Not too long ago. Why did it feel like a lifetime?
Somehow, she doesn't feel out of place this time, even though the hotel is more luxurious than the one her parents had stayed in. The clear tiles on the floor are so polished that they reflect the light of the tiered chandelier hanging from above while the flower arrangement set up on a round table in the middle of the lobby looks as expensive as half of Anna's monthly rent. Perhaps it is that this time it isn't anxiety what she feels, but pure and unfiltered awe.
She goes to check the two of them in with a lady whose name tag reads Lorena. The woman is taller than her, perhaps even taller than Elsa, and it makes her feel like a kid trying to check in for her parents. But the parents are nowhere near, only her boss, somewhere behind her, on a phone call.
Soon, they head for the elevator trailing after a bellhop. On the sixth floor and right outside Anna's room, Hans tells her to "Meet me at the bar in an hour."
"Uh, okay?" She says, opening the door and looking at his retrieving form.
"Celebration drinks," he throws behind his shoulder.
She walks in with a frown, unaware of what they're supposed to be celebrating, but the confusion is short-lived because the hotel room—the cheapest one at that—is taking up all of her attention. It is simple yet elegant, but when she jumps on the bed and sinks right into it, she thinks of how nice it would be to get used to this.
Anna takes a picture of the room. She sends it to Elsa and hesitates for a moment before sending it to her parents as well.
With an hour to spare she wishes she could call her girlfriend but Anna knows better than to interrupt her sleep in the middle of the week. The blonde had only gone to bed after she had told her she'd landed in Los Angeles safely, and that had already been past midnight. So she decides to shower and change her clothes, and even go as far as putting some of her hygiene products on the bathroom's counter before having to go down to the bar.
Hans is already there when she arrives, changed out of his airport clothes and into a light blue button-up shirt and white chinos. White chinos, she thinks, who even wears white chinos anymore?
He greets her with a smile and puts his phone down while Anna sits on the black leather stool next to his at the bar.
"So what are we celebrating?" She asks him.
"Nothing," he grins, beckoning the bartender with a raised up finger. He orders an Old Fashioned before Anna asks if they have Lambrusco. She wants the memory of Elsa to be right here with her somehow, and the wine always reminds Anna of last year's Thanksgiving and of the time the blonde had not too casually asked if they were a couple. The thought brings a smile to her face that spreads wider when he says that they do.
They cheer for the sake of cheering and Anna sips her wine slowly; with precaution, knowing that she will only allow herself one glass because Hans is, after all, still her boss. The thought of them sitting at a bar is already foreign enough. They begin talking about the festival. Hans tells her what to expect from it, as well as what to expect from the people they'll be meeting. She knows she won't get to see all of Los Angeles so Hans takes care of describing some of its most iconic landmarks.
After a while, her phone beeps next to her hand and she goes to check it out of habit. She grins at Elsa's sleepy text: were getting a bed like that when i get back. call me tomorrow if u can. i love you
She doesn't reply yet but puts the phone back down before finding Hans staring at her with curiosity.
"Sorry, that was Elsa."
He nods, sips his Old Fashioned. "You mention her name a lot. Is she your roommate?"
Has she never provided that piece of information before? It seems like she hasn't. She's never felt the need to, not even when she talks about Elsa. She's always thought it was implied but now that the question gives her the opportunity to tell the truth she finds herself hesitating.
She gulps and reaches for the glass of wine that she doesn't lift. Must it still be this hard to say out loud that the person you're in love with is another woman?
"No..." She responds tentatively. "She's my girlfriend."
There is a flash of realization behind his eyes but after that, nothing. No backlash. No mockery.
"Well, that explains a lot."
"What?"
"You talking so much about her," he smiles easily.
Anna blushes. Her shoulders relax where she hadn't known they had tensed. She follows the movement of her fingers as they encircle themselves around the stem of her glass. The wine swirls gently in the bowl, casting a reflection of the warm, lavish lights coming from above the half-full bottles of liquor in front of them.
"So are you in love with her?" Hans asks her.
She lifts up her gaze and finds nothing but curiosity. Go figure, she had not imagined on her way here that she would be sitting with her boss at a bar discussing her love life. She takes another sip of wine.
"I am."
He nods solemnly before finishing off his cocktail. The bartender comes at the smallest of gestures. Hans asks for a second drink.
"Love is good," he muses. "What do people usually say about it? That love can move mountains..."
"Isn't that a song?"
"Right," he chuckles. "Love can also be a dangerous thing for a writer. You know that, don't you?"
Anna frowns. "Not really." She's not interested in knowing, is the real answer.
He gives her a reassuring smile. "You know the love stories that I get sometimes, some are really good and some are so cheesy it makes me want to toss the manuscript to the trashcan."
"You've showed me some of them," she concedes. "But you cannot tell if someone's in love just from a manuscript."
He lets out a laugh. It is sharp and honest; all too open. "You know exactly where I'm going with this, then."
She nods sharply. There is enough trust between them now that she can allow herself to be defiant in her answers and her opinions. "Love—any kind of love—can be a source of inspiration as well, not just for a love story but for any story in general."
"What's your argument?" He asks playfully, grinning against the rim of his lowball glass before taking a swig.
"I don't have one," she says. "I just know."
"Glad you didn't become a lawyer," he teases. It is enough for her to break into a smile. "Look, Anna, just think about it. Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, Anna Karenina for Christ's sake. Those are not cheesy love stories. Leaf through them one more time and tell me it isn't love told through anguish and heartbreak that makes you keep reading."
Anna swallows a gulp of Lambrusco along with her petty arguments. "Okay, fine. You're right. But what's your point here? That people should live a life of heartbreak in order to deliver good work?"
He leans closer, getting into the conversation. "My point is, don't let yourself be swallowed whole by the comfort that is love."
She narrows her eyes.
"I'm not telling you to break up with Elsa," he points out. "You should know what love is, after all. And if she makes you happy, that's even better."
She continues staring at him. It pulls another laugh out of him.
"You're feisty," he mumbles after he's done with his second Old Fashioned. He doesn't order another one. And thank God for that. The man chugs it like it's water.
"So I've been told," she says, finishing her own drink.
Hans asks for the bill and it's brought over to him in a matter of seconds. As he signs it and pulls out a twenty that he drops on the bar, he adds: "All I'm gonna tell you is not to live and breathe for love. You have a life you gotta live."
When he's done he gives her a lopsided smile; his green eyes glinting with an ambition that is starting to become contagious.
"This is the kind of world you belong to, Anna," he says, and bids her goodnight.