When Amanda got back to her apartment late that night, she wasn't surprised
to see the little blue light on her answering machine blinking feverishly.
She pushed the button and listened to her favorite voice.
"Hey, Amanda, honey, it's me.so, pretend I'm one of your crazed Rickmaniac friends and tell me all about your date with Tom. He got you flowers, right?" She grinned and bit her lip as she listened. "Anyway, dearest, I still expect you on my doorstep at eight o' clock sharp tomorrow morning- haha, funny, not eight at night, don't you dare-no matter what time it is. Speaking of-talking to you rarely makes me tired and/or bored, but now it appears to the innocent bystander that I am talking to myself, so farewell." She laughed to herself as she looked at the digital clock on her Mr. Coffee: it was almost eleven. Yep, Alan once again had the best idea at this point.
The next morning she rose at around seven-thirty and struggled out of bed, pulling on her worn-out Express jeans and vintage Good Charlotte concert tee with an exasperated, I-don't-have-time-for-time yawn. She closed the door on her unmade bed and clothes-littered bedroom, barely stopping to run a brush through her thick, longish brown hair. As she briskly jogged up and around the wooden staircase to Alan's quarters she took in the bright blue sky and the crisp eight o' clock air.
He opened the door, also yawning, and took her in very slowly.
"Morning."
"Don't remind me."
He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, and she remembered he was getting old. It made her very sad and she tried to smile for him.
"Well, get in here, then."
She followed him back inside-his apartment was loads cleaner than hers-and closed the door behind them both. Today he wore a gray Ramones t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans with his oldest pair of Nikes. She sat down on his couch and he took the place next to her, scratching the back of his neck.
"So, what about the date? You got my message, right?"
She nodded again. "It was nice."
"He didn't get you anything, then.what did he wear?"
"A blue plaid shirt and a pair of khaki pants."
"Plaid-tsk, tsk."
She smiled weakly at his attempt at an early-morning wisecrack.
"So we've got this premiere in Paris next week."
"Premiere?"
"Yeah. You know.Eliza's Daughter."
"Oh, right. You wearing the usual?"
"Yeah.no penguin, but I'll do the suit thing."
She smiled again. He was always at his most casual, as she was.
"I got you another dress while you were getting ready yesterday."
"Let me see it." She was genuinely interested this time-Alan had great taste.
"OK. Hang on a sec." He stood up and headed down the hall to the closet in his room, and returned a moment later carrying a gorgeous red dress. It was a halter-she liked halters-with a deep v-neck and went almost to the floor.
"You can wear this with those cork platforms, right?"
"Yeah-wow. Thanks."
"No problem, sweetie." His voice cracked. He was like a father to her.
"Hey, Amanda, honey, it's me.so, pretend I'm one of your crazed Rickmaniac friends and tell me all about your date with Tom. He got you flowers, right?" She grinned and bit her lip as she listened. "Anyway, dearest, I still expect you on my doorstep at eight o' clock sharp tomorrow morning- haha, funny, not eight at night, don't you dare-no matter what time it is. Speaking of-talking to you rarely makes me tired and/or bored, but now it appears to the innocent bystander that I am talking to myself, so farewell." She laughed to herself as she looked at the digital clock on her Mr. Coffee: it was almost eleven. Yep, Alan once again had the best idea at this point.
The next morning she rose at around seven-thirty and struggled out of bed, pulling on her worn-out Express jeans and vintage Good Charlotte concert tee with an exasperated, I-don't-have-time-for-time yawn. She closed the door on her unmade bed and clothes-littered bedroom, barely stopping to run a brush through her thick, longish brown hair. As she briskly jogged up and around the wooden staircase to Alan's quarters she took in the bright blue sky and the crisp eight o' clock air.
He opened the door, also yawning, and took her in very slowly.
"Morning."
"Don't remind me."
He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, and she remembered he was getting old. It made her very sad and she tried to smile for him.
"Well, get in here, then."
She followed him back inside-his apartment was loads cleaner than hers-and closed the door behind them both. Today he wore a gray Ramones t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans with his oldest pair of Nikes. She sat down on his couch and he took the place next to her, scratching the back of his neck.
"So, what about the date? You got my message, right?"
She nodded again. "It was nice."
"He didn't get you anything, then.what did he wear?"
"A blue plaid shirt and a pair of khaki pants."
"Plaid-tsk, tsk."
She smiled weakly at his attempt at an early-morning wisecrack.
"So we've got this premiere in Paris next week."
"Premiere?"
"Yeah. You know.Eliza's Daughter."
"Oh, right. You wearing the usual?"
"Yeah.no penguin, but I'll do the suit thing."
She smiled again. He was always at his most casual, as she was.
"I got you another dress while you were getting ready yesterday."
"Let me see it." She was genuinely interested this time-Alan had great taste.
"OK. Hang on a sec." He stood up and headed down the hall to the closet in his room, and returned a moment later carrying a gorgeous red dress. It was a halter-she liked halters-with a deep v-neck and went almost to the floor.
"You can wear this with those cork platforms, right?"
"Yeah-wow. Thanks."
"No problem, sweetie." His voice cracked. He was like a father to her.
