By the time Cal and Kim had everything unpacked and arranged just the way Kim wanted it, it was dark outside. Cal had a long ride back home, so he left as soon as he could, but not without some food that Kim had thrown in a plastic bag for him to take with him "so he wouldn't have to worry about stopping for a bite."
Thankfully, neither of them had run-ins with the "Blonde Bitch" during the remains of Kim's unpacking. In fact, Kim dreaded the day they would meet up again.
She was a little lonely after he left. So Kim pulled on her favorite blue flannel pajamas and made herself a big bowl of mac and cheese—her favorite comfort food—and a glass of red wine—a going-away present from her crazy aunt Sonia, sat on her old couch and put on a Nirvana CD. Feeling at ease, she decided to go the extra mile and turn down the lights and lit some scented candles. She put her bowl down and closed her eyes, inhaling the subtle aroma of wax, peaches and vanilla. Kurt Cobain always managed to keep her at peace.
Though it was peaceful for her, she must have disturbed something or someone because she heard knocking at the door.
Angry that she was disturbed, she pulled on her leather slippers and grumbled her way to the front door. Ready to spit in the face of whoever disturbed, she opened up.
Standing in her doorway was a man taller than she was but much shorter than Cal, with shaggy blonde hair, piercing blue eyes from behind glasses too small for his face and a short beard, sloppily trimmed. He wore clothes—baggy jeans and a sweatshirt—that were rumpled. If he wasn't in the building Kim could have easily mistaken him for a homeless person.
"Can I help you?" she asked icily, hoping he wasn't going to ask her for spare change. When he didn't answer, Kim repeated her question.
"Um, hi," he said. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly a couple of times. "Hi. Hi, there."
"Listen, I'm a little busy right now," she said a little hurriedly. "Is there something I can do for you? 'Cause if not, Kurt Cobain waits for no woman, with the exception of Courtney Love, who was a dirty whore anyway."
The man removed his glasses and put them in his pocket. "Um, my name's Logan…uh, Logan Cale. You are?"
This was Logan Cale? The trillion dollar racehorse? "Kim Addams," Kim said her name slowly and clearly. "Is that all you wanted to know?"
"Yes. I mean, no!"
"Well, what is it?" Kim was getting impatient.
"Oh. Oh, well, I live above you and you were kind of playing your music a little loud and well, do you think you could lower it?"
"I might."
"I beg pardon?"
"You tell your little girlfriend Asha to buck up her ideas and buck 'em up fast and then maybe I'll start lowerin' my music."
"My girlfriend?"
"Tiny blonde, frustrating, thinks 'hi' is a fifteen-syllable word? Asha? Or did she just make it up that you're her man?"
"First of all, I'm not anyone's man. Asha's just a friend of mine and—wait a minute," Logan stopped abruptly. "Since when am I sharing my personal life with someone I just met?"
Kim cocked her head to one side. "I just have that kind of personality I guess." She bit her lip until she began to taste copper.
Logan began to stare at Kim until Kim began to nervously shift from foot to foot.
"Would you like to come in for some wine?" she asked, trying to break the tension.
With an awkwardly stiff smile, Logan nodded. "Sure, thanks." He strode in coolly, as if it was he who lived here, not Kim.
Kim closed the door after him. "I hope you like red."
"Red is fine," Logan waved a hand. Like gentleman, he waited for Kim to sit down before he himself sat.
She got a second wine glass out of her kitchen cabinet and then plopped down on the couch with an "oomph!" and popped open the bottle of wine. Carefully, she poured Logan a glass and refilled hers. She lowered her stereo until Kurt Cobain's sexy voice could almost no longer be heard. As she handed him the glass, the question that had been dancing on Logan's tongue ever since he laid eyes on his neighbor popped out:
"Have you ever…been to Wyoming?"
"Wyoming?" Kim giggled. "Um. No, I haven't. Dear God, what brought that up?"
Logan blinked in surprise. "No? Are you sure?"
"Honey, I think I would remember being in Wyoming."
"When were you born?"
"Li'l old me? 2000. I was my parents' millennium baby," Kim laughed. When Logan didn't, she quickly took a gulp of her wine to shut herself up. "I was born in Idaho, though. Stayed there until I couldn't breathe and went to California. To become an actress."
"Ah. Did you make it?"
"Oh yeah," Kim said sardonically. "I bumped ol' Nicole Kidman right off the g.d marquee. I dated Ben Affleck and dumped him for Mehkai Pfeiffer."
"And how did that work out?" Logan forced back a smile.
"Pfft. He left me for some hot chick with much bigger boobs. Britney Spears."
Logan gave a tight-lipped smile.
"I'm just kidding," Kim sighed. "I, uh, I kinda bombed in Hollywood. I did some cheap B movies, one or two snuff films and a…a soft porn." She blushed ever so slightly, but whether it was from she had drunk too much wine or the embarrassment of doing pornography.
"Seriously?" Logan raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
She shrugged. "Girl's gotta make a living."
"So what brings you to Seattle?"
"Besides a maniacal mother and absolutely nothing waiting for me back in Idaho?" Kim blew a few stray curls out of her face. "I hear the life of crime here pays pretty big."
This time Logan laughed. Unbeknownst to Kim, this was the first time he had laughed in nearly a year. Not since…He sighed and tried to forget.
They were silent for a few minutes with nothing but Kurt Cobain whispering from the speakers:
I'll take advantage while, you hang me out to dry.
But I can't see you every night, free.
I standing in your line, I do hope you have the time.
I do pick a number too, I do keep a date with you.
His words sounded almost prophetic. Logan must have noticed too, because his next comment was,
"Interesting taste in music you have."
"Nirvana? Yeah, I guess. Kurt Cobain was my god for a number of years. I had a shrine in my bedroom. I have a weakness for all things B.P."
"B.P.?"
"Before the Pulse. Nirvana, The Wizard of Oz, Tara Reid…"
"I'm familiar with all of the above," Logan explained. "I'm in my thirties."
"No shit?"
"I shit you not. I'm a Yale graduate."
Kim couldn't believe her ears. "Get outta here. When were you born?"
"1988…Hell, I remember when Kurt Cobain died and when Tara Reid was engaged to Carson Daly."
"Wow. I never would have guessed that you were thirty-three. You look twenty-three, twenty-seven tops."
Logan laughed again, "You know that old saying, you're only as old as you feel?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's me," he joked. "Peter Pan syndrome."
"I live by the old mantra, 'act your shoe size'," Kim laughed. She sighed and put her glass down. "So tell me," she said a little more seriously. "Now that we know each other a little better, will you please tell me what stick is shoved up Asha's ass and how do I extract it?"
"Ohh…" Logan put his glass down, too. "Well, she's competitive, Asha is. She doesn't like it when outsiders interfere with her business. She's a little bossy, likes to take charge. Likes to feel big, y'know?"
"So why did she totally bite my head off today? PMS City or what?"
"Or what. I don't get into that. Even with my old girlfriend I didn't—" Logan stopped short. His hand flew to his mouth as if he had bitten his lip and trying to salvage the bleeding.
"You what?" Kim bounced a little on her couch and waited for Logan to finish.
"I…I have to go." Logan got up and started towards the door.
"Wait!" Kim started after him but her socked feet on the wooden floor did not mix well and she slipped and fell. "Logan!"
By the time she scrambled to her feet, he was gone with the slam of the door.
Damn it, she thought. Two down, none to go. Will I ever have friends in this place?