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Ann's POV-Meet the Press
I silently stuck the note inside his "Words-a romantic comedy" booklet. I smiled. He'll know where to look...
Slipping out into the hallway, I thought about him again, to the night where I taught him "beautiful"...
Stop Ann. Don't...you promised Jack and yourself...no more...fresh start...
A teardrop ran down my face. As I wiped away more tears, I came to a stop in front of the hall mirror.
I was Ann Darrow, one who was loved by many, but in the mirror, I was the small girl that relied on Manny...that believed love was doomed...
Disgusted of my thoughts, I quickly left the apartment.
I flashbacked to when I was stealing the apple...the first time I met Carl Denham. I was so grateful...but sometimes on the ship, I found myself wishing that I would've gotten caught instead.
I stared at the local shops. "Extra! Extra! Giant gorilla from Skull Island slain in New York! Extra! Extra!" I heard behind me.
A little boy was standing next to a stack of freshly-printed newspapers. My heart tore into pieces again. I wanted to slap the boy...hurt him...make him feel my misery inside...
I stuck my hands into my pockets. You made a promise...don't let it get to you...
I found myself steering into BG's Sandwiches.
"What would ya like hon?" the smoking waitress asked.
"Uh...coffee. Please." I looked up and gave her a weak smile.
"Kids..." she muttered and walked away.
When the coffee came around, I could smell the aroma, not only of coffee, but of Jack. How many times do writers drink coffee? I thought to myself. Smiling of this thought, I took a sip out of my cup.
"'Scuse me miss, but are you Ann Darrow?"
Startled, I turned towards the man next to me. "Yes. Why?"
"Hello! I'm Burt Andreas of The New York Times. I was wondering if I can ask you of few questions about King Kong-" the chubby man blabbed on.
I froze. Did he just mention...
"-and we'll finish up this interview around two o'clock today, if that's alright with you." Burt gave me a wink.
My eyebrows furrowed. "Mr. Andreas-"
"Call me Burt."
"Burt, I'm sorry but this topic isn't comfortable for me. I mean, this was a devastating loss..."
"For New York? Or for your love life?"
"Burt please. I don't feel like talking about him-"
"You do realize I'm giving you up to ten grand for this?" Burt spat.
I shuddered. What would Jack think? I thought.
"Outrageous! Burt, I told you to leave us alone!" Arms of comfort reached around me as the voice angrily shot back the response.
"Jack..." I breathed of relief.
"Look, Mr. Driscoll. Ten grand is a lot for these times in New York. I'm just doing my job-" Burt raised his hands up, signaling: I'm not looking for trouble...
"Interrogating people to the means of beyond what we can live through? Can't you respect our privacy? How would you like it if I barged in on your wife's death or your children's starvation-"
"I hope you know what you're talking about Jack. And I hope God knows too." Burt picked up his things around in the cafe and stormed out into the cloudy day.
"Jack, you didn't have to be so harsh...but thank you." I gave him a peck on the cheek.
His angry look washed off into a blush. "Don't mention it." he muttered, "I don't which is worse; actors or journalists. Actors see only mirrors and journalists see only fame."
He led me back to the bustling streets. His hand warmed up my feelings. It was strong and tender at the same time.
"Jack, what do you say we go out for a movie?" I asked.
Please R&R!