Pulling my luggage behind me, I step out of the building at the Los Angeles International Airport and pull my sunglasses from my nose and shove it into my hair. The weather is nice, warm but not too hot and as I stand there and blink into the sun, I try to remain as calm as possible. Today I'm cashing in on my price, I'm going to meet Callie Torres and it's still hard to believe that I am the lucky girl. If you would ask my parents, I am once again wasting my time on something that is not important for my future. And maybe they are right with this one, maybe it does nothing for my future, but it is important to me. So I came to LA, against my parents' words – mostly against my father's – and I have three days to enjoy the sun, meet Callie Torres and just be myself before I have to go back to being an A+ student at Harvard.
The best thing is that I didn't have to move a finger or organize anything aside from arguing with my parents, really. The day after Callie announced me as the winner, I got a call from a person behind the Ellen Show, a producer, an agent or whatsoever, I don't really care, and they arranged everything for me. They had already booked and paid for my plane tickets, did the same for the hotel and congratulated me, filling me in on all the information in under five minutes. Time is money, I suppose. And now, here I am, at LAX, a huge carry-on next to me because I couldn't decide what to wear. What do you wear when you are about to meet the person you have a major crush on? Especially when that person is an extremely gorgeous looking celebrity?
Stepping further into the sun, I notice an older man – maybe the age of my father – standing in front of a car, in his hands he's holding a sign with my name on it. I smile, I guess I don't need to worry about how I will get to the hotel. It's actually quite nice, having a driver that I don't need to pay for. But at the same time, it makes me a little uncomfortable. Honestly, I think it is something everybody can get used to, but I also believe that it takes away some of your freedom.
"Hi, Arizona Robbins", I introduce myself to the man after walking up to him, showing him my ID card. I mean, I could be someone else, pretending to be me, right? This world is crazy enough. He looks at me, smiles and then nods. He's wearing one of those driver's uniforms, with the hat and everything, even the spotless white gloves and the polished name tag. I can't help but think that I stepped into a modern fairy tale.
"Welcome to LA, Miss Robbins, my name is George, I'll take you to the hotel. Did you have a good flight?", he asks as he takes the carry-on from my hand and heads for the trunk.
What a question?! Of course I had a good flight. Frankly, I had an amazing time flying first class. It was the first time I experienced that, and I have to say, if I could afford it, I would fly first class every time from now on. It's a luxury I can openly admit I wouldn't mind spending my money on. "Thank you, it was quite nice", I reply with a small smile as he opens the door behind the passenger's seat for me and I get into the car. Pulling my sunglasses down again I lean back and exhale. There was no turning back now. Not that I wanted to, but my nerves are getting the better of me and I am probably already beet red.
The ride to the hotel is uneventful. The traffic seems to be half as bad as it is in and around Boston and when I don't focus on the street, I concentrate on the music playing on the radio, thankful for every smallest bit of distraction I can get before I'm going crazy in a car with a stranger. As he stops at one of the red lights, he turns around and grins at me, saying, "Miss Torres told me to tell you she'll meet you at the hotel bar at 7", and then he returns his eyes to the street ahead while mine shoot open.
"At the bar?", I ask, a little confused. I thought this whole meet and greet was arranged by Ellen and the people behind her show. I was wrong, obviously. Glancing at my watch, I almost panic. It's fifteen minutes to six and after my flight I'm in desperate need of a shower and then I need to fix my hair and makeup and... and how am I supposed to do that within an hour or less? Also, I still haven't decided on what to wear, I need more time! Or at least all the time I can get. "Are we close to the hotel?", I ask, praying that we are not too far away anymore.
"Only a few minutes away, ten minutes tops, Miss Robbins", he replies with a chuckle and I am pretty convinced that he can see right through my cool facade and knows that I am a nervous wreck already. But then again, I guess everybody would be anxious if they were in my shoes. "Miss Torres is a wonderful person", George says out of the blue, but other than that, he doesn't say much for the last minutes of the ride. He helps me to get my luggage out of the trunk, practically immediately handing it out to one of the bellboys while my eyes rake up the exterior wall of the hotel. This building is huge and it looks very expensive. For a simple young woman like me, it looks intimidating, maybe even terrifying.
"We should head inside", George rips me out of my thoughts and I nod absentmindedly.
Only when he is already almost through the door, I register that I still haven't moved an inch and literally jump-start my legs to catch up with him. While he talks to the concierge, I don't know where to look first. This hotel is a freaking palace, there's gold and alabaster and marble and all these fine-dressed people pass me on their way. On top of feeling out of my league, I try to figure out his role in all of this. He's definitely not just a driver. Maybe a personal assistant? But from whom?
"Your room is on the third floor, Miss Robbins. Your luggage has been brought up already. Here is your key card and this", George says handing me another card along with the key card, made of thick paper, "has my number on it. Miss Torres wants you to enjoy your stay in LA and she said that whenever you want or need anything, you can call me." That knowing smile is back on his face when he adds, "I told you, she is a wonderful person."
With that, he leaves me alone, dumbfounded and speechless. I must look like an idiot, standing in the middle of the foyer while people walk – some even rush – past me. The beeping noise from the watch attached to my wrist alerts me that it just struck six o'clock. I knew why I didn't get rid of my watch a long time ago. The noise is annoying, but it's also life-saving!
I hurry up the stairs and, not paying any attention to anything inside my room aside from the quick look around and noticing that it looks fancy, I jump into the shower and wash off the smell of airports and the plane. All the while I keep reminding myself to keep breathing steadily, in through my nose and out through my mouth. It's supposed to keep my heart-rate normal, I honestly don't think it's working. But it's the only thing I can do to prevent myself from freaking out – which is almost inevitable.
By 6:55pm I am sitting at the bar, freshly showered and dolled up – just a little bit, squirming nervously on the stool and turning the glass of gin tonic in my hands. I'm usually not a fan of drinking alcohol alone – I rarely drink when I'm out to be honest. But this situation calls for booze to sooth my nerves. I mean, the last time I checked my reflection in the mirror, I looked good. After staring at the contents of my suitcase for at least five minutes, I still wasn't able to make a decision. So I tried on a variety of shirts with another variety of pants. I even tried on a dress I did pack on a last minute decision, but I didn't feel comfortable enough to wear it. In the end, I chose a royal blue polo shirt that brings out my eyes and shows the tiniest hint of cleavage, paired it with my black skinny jeans and my new white converse and I was good to go. Added a light makeup and my natural wavy hair to the mix, I would have been a magnet for women in most of the lady-loving bars in my hometown. But now I am nervous as hell!
"Waiting for a date?", the hazelnut-haired, beautiful waitress asks, smiling brightly at me. Her tone is somewhat flirty even though she asked me if I was waiting for someone and I can't make out whether she's actually trying to flirt with me or if she's simply doing her job. She looks cute though, her uniform is on point, the ponytail neat and the mascara just as light as the rosy lipstick that adores her lips. "What's your name?"
I smile back at her and let go of the glass before I answer politely and with a smile that shows my dimples, "Arizona Robbins. And, yeah, kind of waiting for someone."
"Too bad", she shrugs, winks at me and then leaves to serve the drinks for the man and woman who had just sat down a couple of stools away from me.
I take a glimpse at the clock on the wall, it's five minutes past seven and would this be dinner with my parents, they would have arrived even before me. That comes with the job of a Marine, I guess. My father has always taught us to be on time, at best, be at least five minutes early. Because it shows good manners. My brother and I have inherited that habit from the beginning, we have always been early, even for school. Probably the reason I have never been late to any classes – not even to the ones I didn't like. Hence me sitting here since 6.55pm, even though luck has definitely been on my side this evening. After trying on outfit after outfit, I was running late and when the elevator finally dinged on my floor it was occupied and going up, so I took the stairs and calmed myself before entering the bar, trying to play it cool. And now here I am, waiting.
Supporting my head on my hand, I let my finger glide along the rim of the glass of my drink and try to calm down. Maybe she wouldn't come? But that would be rude and George had already confirmed twice what I thought of her, she was a wonderful person. Callie Torres wouldn't ditch this meet and greet. Maybe she's stuck in a meeting or traffic? If I am being honest, I don't even mind the extra time waiting for her, it gives me a chance to collect myself, get myself together and push every memory of the – sometimes wet – dreams I have about her into the furthest corner of my mind. I shouldn't be thinking those things when I am about to meet her. Not if I don't want to embarrass myself in front of her. No, Arizona, this is bad, I chastise myself.
Too lost in my own thoughts, I barely notice a woman leaning over the counter next to me. "I am looking for an Arizona Robbins, do you know where I can find her?"
That voice. I would recognize this voice everywhere
I turn around to face the source of the voice and gasp instantly. She's really here. She's truly standing right next to me, Callie Torres in the flesh. I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks and my mouth falls open. I'm pretty sure I can find my jaw on the floor -she looks drop-dead gorgeous, even more so when she stands only a few inches away from me. The light wave to her hair, the shimmer in those heavenly dark brown tresses. And that scent that fills my nose. It must be her perfume, it smells amazing. Callie Torres is all around amazing and I find myself captivated once again.
"Right next to you, Miss Torres", the waitress answers, obviously knowing the Latina actress and not the slightest bit fazed by her appearance.
The next thing I know, Callie turns to me and deep, chocolate brown eyes lock on mine. I'm surprised I didn't go into a cardiac shock the moment our eyes meet. Am I still breathing? Did I die? If so, I don't want to leave this place, this must be heaven.
"Arizona Robbins, welcome to LA", she says and holds out her hand, full lips forming into her super dazzling megawatt-smile and I know I am screwed. I will never be able to forget this moment, I will never have eyes for another woman. Never, ever.
I have no idea how I manage to move, but I do take her hand and the contact is electrifying, literally. There is a spark the second we touch and I want to pull back, but she doesn't let go of my hand. We keep staring at each other and I feel like all the words known in my native language have left my brain. I have no idea what to say, or what to do.
Eventually, she pulls back. I don't know how much time has passed but I do know that this was a life-altering moment. If my heartbeat has been fast when she announced the winner, it's pounding at the speed of light right now. I'm surprised nobody looks weird at me, because I am sure that everybody can hear its beating loud and clear. "Whoa", I breathe out, it's the only word I can manage.
"Yeah... wow", she agrees, her voice just as breathy as mine and I can see her swallowing hard.
Neither of us moves or says anything. The world around me has stopped, is nonexistent any more. All I know is that this beautiful woman of my dreams stands right in front of me, her features are invading my imagination, her scent is filling my nose and going straight into my veins. She's sending my senses on a journey I never thoughts possible.
What the hell just happened?
So, what happened? And how will it go from here? Will Arizona get her nerves under control? How will Callie react after the instant spark?
I'd really like to read your thoughts on this one.