Christian James put his head in his hands and sighed. "Why can't I
find any inspiration?!" he thought. It had been eight years since he
written anything. That was when he written his and Satine's story. Since
then he had moved back to London and was struggling with jobs, not one
suited him. Now he was in debt. He was behind three months in his rent and
desperately needed money. He decided to start writing again but there was a
problem. He had NO ideas. When he needed to think he went to a local café.
"Come on! Think of something!" he muttered while tapping his pencil on his
blank notepad.
Sandra exited the crowded café and looked around for a table. She was trying to balance a cup of coffee, a handbag, and a suitcase, which was rather difficult. Finally she spotted an empty seat but a young man was already sitting at it. "Should I ask if I can sit there?" she thought. He didn't look dangerous. He had jet-black hair that fell to his eyes, which a green-gray color. A long black jacket covered his strong body and he seemed to writing something. "Mind as well ask before I drop--," but it was too late. The cup of coffee suddenly fell, right into the young man's lap.
"HOT! HOT!' screamed Christian, jumping up from his chair. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" cried voice. Christian tried to wipe off the burning hot coffee. "Here let me help!" said the voice again. Christian looked up. The voice belonged to a young woman, no older than twenty he guessed. She had dark blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, dark green eyes that shone like emeralds, and pale skin that was covered by a dark blue dress. The coffee started to cool off as the woman tried desperately to wipe the coffee off. "It's okay I mean it was probably just an accident," he mumbled to her when the coffee stopped burning his legs. "Still, I should have been more careful, it's just I'm very clumsy," she tried to explain. Christian gave her small smile. The first smile he has ever given a woman in nine years. She returned it.
Sandra looked down at her feet. Something about the man sent chills up her spine. Not bad chills, good ones actually. "Would you...I mean...you would like to sit down?" the mysterious man. "Sure," she told him and sat down on the chair across from him. They both didn't speak for a while until Sandra decided to strike up a conversation. "So, is this place always crowded?" she asked him. "Most of the time except around about 5:00," he answered. Sandra smiled. This man was kind but there was sadness to his voice. "Um, my name's Sandra Clark," she told him, extending her hand out for a shake. "Christian. Christian James," he said shaking her hand. Sandra's heart skipped a beat. "Ch...Christian James?" she asked in disbelief. "Yes," he told her back. It was Christian James. The same man who wrote her favorite book. "Oh my gosh! You're the writer who wrote A Story About Love?" she asked.
Christian nearly spat out his coffee at the mention of his book. "You...you read my book?' he asked. "Read it? I practically know it by heart!" Sandra exclaimed. Christian felt memories flood over him. Memories that had haunted his dreams for years. Memories of the Moulin Rouge, the Duke, Harold Zidler, and Satine. Now to hear his book being praised made him think of his one true love. "You're my favorite author of all time!" she exclaimed, "I carry your book everywhere I go." Just than she pulled out a worn and tattered book. "See?" she said handing him the small book. Christian looked at it. "Would you mind signing? If it's no trouble I mean..." Sandra asked. "Oh, sure I will," Christian replied and shakily signed it.
"Oh thank you so much," she said reading what he wrote. After she read it, she looked up. Christian was gone. "Where'd he go?' she asked herself. She looked around and finally spotted him walking away. "Mr. James! Wait!" she called after him but it too late. He was gone. Sandra sighed and looked at the inscription. It read:
Dear Sandra,
Thanks so much for the compliment
on my book. I've never had anyone love my
work so much. Hope to see you again.
Signed,
Christian James
Sandra exited the crowded café and looked around for a table. She was trying to balance a cup of coffee, a handbag, and a suitcase, which was rather difficult. Finally she spotted an empty seat but a young man was already sitting at it. "Should I ask if I can sit there?" she thought. He didn't look dangerous. He had jet-black hair that fell to his eyes, which a green-gray color. A long black jacket covered his strong body and he seemed to writing something. "Mind as well ask before I drop--," but it was too late. The cup of coffee suddenly fell, right into the young man's lap.
"HOT! HOT!' screamed Christian, jumping up from his chair. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" cried voice. Christian tried to wipe off the burning hot coffee. "Here let me help!" said the voice again. Christian looked up. The voice belonged to a young woman, no older than twenty he guessed. She had dark blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, dark green eyes that shone like emeralds, and pale skin that was covered by a dark blue dress. The coffee started to cool off as the woman tried desperately to wipe the coffee off. "It's okay I mean it was probably just an accident," he mumbled to her when the coffee stopped burning his legs. "Still, I should have been more careful, it's just I'm very clumsy," she tried to explain. Christian gave her small smile. The first smile he has ever given a woman in nine years. She returned it.
Sandra looked down at her feet. Something about the man sent chills up her spine. Not bad chills, good ones actually. "Would you...I mean...you would like to sit down?" the mysterious man. "Sure," she told him and sat down on the chair across from him. They both didn't speak for a while until Sandra decided to strike up a conversation. "So, is this place always crowded?" she asked him. "Most of the time except around about 5:00," he answered. Sandra smiled. This man was kind but there was sadness to his voice. "Um, my name's Sandra Clark," she told him, extending her hand out for a shake. "Christian. Christian James," he said shaking her hand. Sandra's heart skipped a beat. "Ch...Christian James?" she asked in disbelief. "Yes," he told her back. It was Christian James. The same man who wrote her favorite book. "Oh my gosh! You're the writer who wrote A Story About Love?" she asked.
Christian nearly spat out his coffee at the mention of his book. "You...you read my book?' he asked. "Read it? I practically know it by heart!" Sandra exclaimed. Christian felt memories flood over him. Memories that had haunted his dreams for years. Memories of the Moulin Rouge, the Duke, Harold Zidler, and Satine. Now to hear his book being praised made him think of his one true love. "You're my favorite author of all time!" she exclaimed, "I carry your book everywhere I go." Just than she pulled out a worn and tattered book. "See?" she said handing him the small book. Christian looked at it. "Would you mind signing? If it's no trouble I mean..." Sandra asked. "Oh, sure I will," Christian replied and shakily signed it.
"Oh thank you so much," she said reading what he wrote. After she read it, she looked up. Christian was gone. "Where'd he go?' she asked herself. She looked around and finally spotted him walking away. "Mr. James! Wait!" she called after him but it too late. He was gone. Sandra sighed and looked at the inscription. It read:
Dear Sandra,
Thanks so much for the compliment
on my book. I've never had anyone love my
work so much. Hope to see you again.
Signed,
Christian James
