Mistral-PG13, Alias-Vaughn
Peregrine (E. Klisiewicz)
Rated PG13 for language and sexual innuendo.
mistral: a cold, dry, northerly wind common in southern France and neighboring regions.
Summary: Vaughn's thoughts on Alice, office Christmas parties, and the meaning of life and death.
We shouldn't be meeting like this, and both of us know it. She even looks slightly sheepish as she smiles shyly and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I know we're flouting protocol, but…"
"It's OK." There's no need to explain feelings that defy explanation. When I got her call, I came right away. Really, no force on Earth can stand in my way when it comes to Syd. I'd do anything for her. Lay down my life, wear an elf's hat, you name it.
"Thanks for coming," she says breathlessly, waiting for the light to send us across the street to the nearby cafe.
Syd is a veritable chameleon. She can do anything and be anything she wants to be. And yet, the real Syd is rather reticent and even…delicate. I know that's not a word most people would associate with her, but I see it all the time. More than meets the eye, that's for sure. That's why I'm having trouble connecting today's version of Sydney with the darkly sensual siren that visited me the other day. I keep staring at her, wondering if I only imagined the way she came on to me. You can call me crazy, and maybe I am. 'Cuz guys aren't supposed to question their good fortune, we're supposed to strike while the iron is hot. But kiss and tell has never been my M.O.
The café is crowded and smoky, but we manage to squeeze through the lunch crowd to a booth near the back. "Coffee," Syd says hoarsely, hands shaking as she offers a tight smile to the harried waitress. She waits for the woman to leave before she levels her gaze on me, two hazelnuts surrounded by a fine haze of freckles. I wonder that I never noticed this before, but then, I've never seen her without makeup. Her skin is so white that it's almost translucent, mesmerizing me with its unearthly beauty. I start to blink when I realize she's spoken.
"What was that?" I cough to hide my embarrassment.
"The reason I called is because I wanted to explain…about the other day." She knots her fingers together and when she sees me watching, her hands disappear into her lap.
So I'm not crazy. "OK," is all I say before sipping at my coffee.
"I don't usually act that way. It was…totally not me, you know?" Syd babbles nervously. Then she stops for a moment to regain her composure and stares at me hard. Like she is trying to figure something out. With a small smile, she continues, "I was at Francie's restaurant, and I guess I drank a few too many glasses of Merlot. So whatever happened…can we just forget it?"
I nod reluctantly. "Sure." She waits for my smile of reassurance and I see her sigh in relief. Like some huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders. If only it were that easy for me, who traffics with forbidden fruit, dying on the vine as I smolder away in frustration, knowing I am short changing the one person who loves me unconditionally. With no strings of any kind.
With that accomplished, Syd gets to her feet and drops some money on the table. "So I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Of course," I reply quietly, faintly disturbed by the way she can dismiss me so casually. Or maybe that's part of her act. Hell, I don't know anymore.
Syd grasps my forearms and smiles tremulously. "Thanks, Vaughn. For everything."
And on that cryptic note, she waltzes down the aisle and out the door. Leaving me with the perpetually confused look that I stole from Hugh Grant. After a few more sighs, I figure it's time to return to my one last hold on reality that awaits me at The Plaza.