“Hollywood getting to your head?” Paul’s eyes move up and down Roe.
“It’s for my next role. I’m a marathon runner.”
“Don’t be a stranger. Darla is having number two this fall,” Paul says as he heads for the exit. “And you still haven’t met number one.”
“Ah, man. I didn’t know. Congrats to you both. I’ll get out there soon I promise.” His face is sheepish with genuine regret.
Paul squeezes his bill again before putting his cap back on and waving one last time. Roe stacks his hands on his head and stretches his back. The movie plays on in the background as Roe watches his friend.
Okay, so maybe I’ve made some snap decisions about this guy but now I’m even more intrigued. Maybe I could use this to get on Marty Zebulund’s yacht. I don’t know what the deal with this other drama is, but I’ll find out it if helps my cause.
Finally, Roe drops his hands from his head and makes his way to the exit. He leaves, and I let out a huge breath. I come back Up and stretch out my limbs. Doing yoga in the nude never gets old. Very invigorating. Normally, I get dressed as fast as I can, but I’ve been Under for a while and my vision is still fuzzy. I stretch, arching my back until it cracks and turn side to side to pop it more. I do a few more stretches and grab my stuff. The need to use the hand sanitizing wipes war with my desire to drink the water.
I finish cleaning up and head back down the aisle when the door opens. I drop into a seat, sliding my purse underneath, and go back Under.
It’s Roe. Back with coat unzipped and a water bottle that makes me smack my mouth in envy. I’m beyond ready to go. My ass is sore from these old seats and the vents are massive and blow icy air in this ancient place. More urgent though, is the uncertainty of how much longer I can stay Under. It’s already been such a long day.
My heart hammers as he turns up the row I sit in—not the one he had been in. I sit ramrod straight and utterly still. I hold my legs closer to my body, as though making myself as small as possible might help. He approaches without looking at me. No need to panic. He’s probably enjoying some alone time.
I sit back as he makes his way to the seat two down from mine. My pulse rockets and I slowly move my arms to cover my chest, but the movement causes no reaction. His focus is the film. I would let out a sigh of relief but he’s close enough to hear it. I’m terrified to even move for fear of jostling the molecules of air around him.
His arms cross over his chest and he settles in to watch the film. The action pushes something up from the breast pocket of his shirt. That’s when I remember Zebulund’s business card. The edge of the thick card stock makes a stark line and the top black edge peaks out. Grabbing that card would be risky and stupidly reckless.
Obviously, I’m going to try to get it.
He chugs some of his water and I watch his throat work. He re-caps the water and stretches his arms out. His wingspan is so large his fingertips almost graze me. I have to get that card. I can’t risk getting that close to him… touching him. But if I gently wiggle it out… No, that’s crazy. He’d feel it.
I’m moving toward him. Damn me.
No big deal. I’ll slide the card out and book it. He probably won’t even notice.
Humphrey is on screen talking to Bacall. People were more interesting-looking back then. Roe would have fit right in with Clark Gable and Cary Grant. He has a strong nose and knowing eyes set off by those damn eyebrows. His eyebrows are so distracting at first it takes a minute to see how startlingly handsome he is. His jaw is square with a little divot like a cartoon bodybuilder. His tan looks natural like he just spent the day tilling the earth. He’s got a gentle, borderline weepy look to him that softens his intimidatingly strong form. And I think, if he were inclined to smile, a little dimple might make an appearance.
I sigh.
Part of being invisible all the time is the total loss of social graces. Sometimes even when I’m not Under I feel myself staring too long at people. I’m doing that now. I snap back to reality.
I swallow with difficulty and lift my hand slowly toward him.
Easy does it.
Even with his face totally relaxed he seems deep in thought. I’m still too far away. The chair between us is stuck down so I very quietly and slowly make my way over to kneel on it.
His gaze never wavers from the screen. I jump when he chuckles at one of Bacall’s sassy comebacks. I lean even closer. The man smells like snuggling in bed on a Sunday afternoon. Is that a bottled scent?
The room rocks a little as I focus on my task.
And yet… I lean closer to him.
I’ve never touched anyone before while Under. Though I’ve run into plenty of things and am able to touch stuff, I’ve never touched a person or been touched. I can’t remember the last time I was touched by another person, period. Even hand holding or linking arms, anything but cold isolation. Suddenly, I miss the intimacy so acutely it’s a pain in my chest. My finger hovers inches above the card. I can pluck the corner with my thumb and forefinger if I get this just right.
Roe swallows. I retreat a little. He reaches for the water but decides against it. His Adam’s apple moves up and down. I hadn’t noticed his breathing because mine has increased unwittingly. But now I see. He breathes too quickly. On screen Bacall and Bogart embrace. Maybe that’s why his pulse beats wildly yet gently at his neck, just barely noticeable under his beard scruff coming in. The card teases me as he shifts. I refocus.
My hand moves closer.
A second later his hand snatches mine out of the air like catching a fly ball.
“So, I’ve narrowed it down to two options.” His focus remains forward but he doesn’t let go of me as he speaks. “Either I’m talking to a ghost or I’ve completely lost my mind.” He leans back a little so he can look me right in my eyes. “And I’m not sure which is worse.”
