Across The Room...

[Maid of Marvels]

I rested my head against Marcus' chest, suddenly feeling the weight of things I'd been carrying around for far too long begin to lift. It was amazing, really. We'd only known each other for a few short hours, yet it felt like forever.

In a way, I supposed it wasn't much different than going into a bar, meeting someone and then ending up in a bed somewhere -- only better. We, at least, knew each others' names and, I felt, we had a good sense of what we were each about. And there was so much more to learn. Right now I wanted that more than anything I'd wanted in a very long time, and I believed Marcus wanted the same.

Of course there was that chance he'd renege on going for the test, but I knew that I would not. If nothing else, meeting Marcus Rayven had helped me to start taking steps in a forward direction again. A good thing. A very good thing.

Raising my head, I looked into his eyes and smiled. "I'm so very glad we met, Marcus Rayven."

He grinned back and pressed his lips to my forehead, murmuring "Me, too, Aimee Belfiore. Me, too."

I couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to just stay here in his arms. Just he and I, in our own little sanctuary of sorts. But I knew we shouldn't. As comfortable as we were, I realized we needed to keep moving. Forward, most certainly -- taking our own brand of baby steps -- but moving all the same.

"Do you like old movies?" I asked, hoping that the answer would be yes even though it seemed I had flipped us back out into left field once again.

I grinned as he looked at me in a puzzled sort of way. "Come on," I said pulling the pillow out from between us and tossing it aside. "Let's go."

 

[stalwartone]

My mouth was having a rough night. On the plus side, I had had a great meal, and quite a bit of great conversation, plus the kiss. On the down side, I had doubtlessly chipped teeth from snapping my gaping mouth closed, burned my tongue on hot cider, scraped my throat when she had asked me that question, and gnawed my cheek raw from fighting my laugh reflex. This relationship could definitely have possibilities, providing I didn't break out laughing during one of her sudden mood shifts. The jump from the talk to old movies was a sudden shift, but hardly a surprising one, given this woman. I just had to learn to look for signs that might signal her upcoming jumps.

She took on the no-nonsense approach, hauling me from the room at a sudden breakneck speed. I barely had time to toss the doorcard on the nightstand, and was suddenly chasing her down the hallway.

We hit the street, and suddenly remembered the storm. Luckily, as I mentioned before, chef whites are thick and designed to protect their wearer from kitchen dangers. I held my coat above us and we kept close as we made our way to the venerable Orpheum theater.

I'd been to the Orpheum before, but had always been looking at it's sideline. Another of the city's attempts at fighting reconstruction, it had started life as a vaudeville theater, then evolved into a copy of a movie palace. The American love of multiplexes damaged it's customer base, as well as it's show lists, driving it to close in the late eighties. Someone did spot it and recognize it's potential, but their money ran far short of their dreams, and the expenses of keeping it open meant that they had to make certain choices. The utility issues were brought up to code, but nothing else was immediately dealt with. The customer base was almost exclusively movie buffs and film students, which allowed them to run inexpensive films, but they were obviously still barely paying the electrical and water bills.

Then, someone in the theater revival movement came up with an idea. Fronting enough money for a partial rebuild, they installed a partial kitchen and converted the grand entryway into a walk-through dining room. It meant that couples could get a babysitter and have a dinner and movie date in a single location. While hardly a threat to the hotel that I was doing my work study at, they had gotten a following in the young parents crowd.

Now, the Orpheum was a tarnished lady, no two ways about it. Her seats were worn, electrical cables were stretched up the aisles and down the hall, the curtain had multiple patches across it's length and breadth, and the side alcoves were open and covered with old playbills and reminders to workers. The full light of the theater was overly cruel, revealing her flaws, including the fixtures that didn't work, the torn carpet of the aisles, and the sections of rough wooden floor where seat rows had been removed. However, she had a full balcony, art deco lighting, full decorative support columns, stained glass in the ceiling, murals around the walls, and several imps, gods, muses, and gargoyles lurking around the far sections of the room. When the lights dimmed, you could easily be transported back to the twenties and thirties.

We got our tickets, moved through the dining room while shaking out the sodden chef coat, and paused at the concession stand for a small popcorn and a couple of drinks. I lead the way down the side aisle, and paused to look the seats over. I didn't want to sit among the couple of giggling teenagers groping themselves in the back row, but the neck strain from the front row could always be murder. I pointed to a couple of seats near the aisle, right near the mural with a couple that looked distressingly like Dillenger and his traitorous girl friend.

The lights dimmed, the curtain slowly shimmied open, and the movie came to life. Once more the magic of the motion picture enveloped us, and I leaned back, slipping a hand around Aimee's shoulder, feeling her settle closer to me. I had no idea about what movie we were about to see, but I couldn't think of a better place to be.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

It began with the image of a man floating face down in a swimming pool, and Aimee was immediately on the edge of her seat. "Sunset Boulevard. Classic Holden and Gloria Swanson is to die for," she whispered quickly, not wanting Marcus to miss any of the opening narration. "Have you seen it?" Now that was a dumb question, she thought to herself. Who hadn't seen it?

To her credit, Aimee did try to stay quiet throughout, but there were so many interesting things about the film that she just couldn't help adding an aside here and there. Maybe she just wanted Marcus to know that she knew about "stuff" or perhaps she was just hoping to hear his voice again, even if it was only a polite "uh huh".

"That used to be a Getty mansion. His wife got it and Paramount put the swimming pool in for her as payment to film there."

"You know," Aimee said just after the scene where Norma had undergone a major makeover. "I can't even imagine Mae West in this part. Thank heavens she turned it down. So did Mary Pickford and Pola Negri. Montgomery Clift was supposed to play Joe, but he backed out just before filming. Can you believe they offered it to Fred MacMurray before Holden?"

"Oooh... that movie was Queen Kelly, filmed in 1929 and directed by Max -- Von Stroheim," she quipped when Joe and Norma were watching one of "her" early flicks.

"Stage 18 is "The Star Trek Stage" now. All of the flicks and some of the shows were shot there."

"This flick was voted the 12th greatest film of the 100 Greatest American Movies of All Time by the AFI."

"What was number one?"

"Citizen Kane. Followed by Casablanca and The Godfather."

One thing was for certain though, and that was Aimee didn't want their evening to end. But of course it would -- and sooner than she realized. Norma was already sweeping down the staircase in a half-crazed, macabre depiction of Salome... "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille."

Aimee sighed, not getting up until every one of the credits had scrolled up the screen. "I'm really not a movie geek, you know. I mean I don't have the words memorized to the films I like or anything. I just like some of the trivia about them. It sort of makes them even more interesting. At least in my opinion." Marcus almost had to have her pegged for a real nut case... and it didn't seem to be getting any better as the evening progressed. She sighed again. Gods, she didn't want it to end.

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus stifled the laugh that threatened to burst from him. They were getting more than a few glares thrown their way throughout the movie, but he didn't care. Her running commentary was sort of refreshing, even if he couldn't always tell if she was even remotely paying attention to the show.

He couldn't claim any level of knowledge about the movie triva, since his movie interests tended to be a bit later, and slightly more eccentric. Mostly older sci-fi, and more of a cult level following.

He lost track of the film's plot, but then, he was seriously distracted by the proximity to Aimee. Her presence was intoxicating, and he allowed himself to fall under her spell. The world around shrank down to just the immediate space around them.

He knew it seemed juvenile, but he couldn't find a reason to consider any distance from her, and he didn't care if the others were annoyed by the whispering between them. Or, from their seats, anyway. He really wasn't doing much answering, just listening to her. And it really felt right. Even her jumps from thought to thought without warning were charming.

He was surprised when the lights came back on, and people began gathering themselves and leaving. He'd been caught up in their date, and had lost track of time. Still, it had been worth it.

However, a thought crossed his mind, and he glanced at the watch tied to his belt. It was later than he had thought, and he still had laundry and sleep before class ahead of him. Part of him considered skipping tomorrow, but he knew better, and swallowed that impulse.

"Well," he said as he stood and offered her his arm, "I hate to say it, but perhaps we should consider heading for home." He hated the thought of separating from her, but they would be seeing each other again, and they could always..

"Umm, I just realized. Could I get your phone number?" He realized how silly it sounded, but he really couldn't cut loose with what he wanted to say, could he? They'd already agreed that they were going to be adult about this relationship, and not just act like sixteen year olds.

They started for the back of the theater, and he smiled at her. "I suppose I'm assuming that you do want to get together again?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Did she want it to end? No!! Aimee never wanted it to end, she thought as she looked up into Marcus' eyes. But they had had that "talk" and she knew that she needed to go for the test -- that they both should go -- just for peace of mind. As he'd said, this could be the worst of the trials they would go through together. She had to agree -- even if she didn't feel that way right at this moment.

"My number... " she rummaged in her pack for paper and a pen, saying it out loud as she wrote. "555-8204. I live in the Village. I'll write my address too, k?" Not waiting for his reply, she scrawled that out as well and added her full name below that.

Okay, okay. There was always the chance she would never hear from him again, but she wanted to believe -- needed to believe -- that she would. Aimee half considered giving Marcus Caroline and Thomas' address and number as well (just to be on the safe side) but then reconsidered. That might seem a bit much even for her. Besides, he'd have to go through "the drill" with her parents sooner or later and couldn't think why she would subject him to that torture more than once.

What if he didn't call? What if... What if you get run over by a train? What if a semi drives over the top of your car? What if there's a nuclear war? What if he gets mugged and shot? Or hit by a bus? Or his plane crashes?

And there was the worst "what if" of all... What if she didn't get to say out loud what her heart had been telling her since the first moment she had seen him?

Of course Aimee realized at that moment that she had gone stark raving mad. Did it show? What if it did? He surely wouldn't phone up a crazy woman. Would he? She could almost imagine the conversation now... "So, what color is your straight jacket today? I'm sort of partial to the paisley one myself."

"Aimee? Are you all right?" The sound of Marcus' voice broke through her demented reverie like a rainbow arcing across the sky after a storm, both a gift and a promise.

"I have a car," she said in response.

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus

Aimee sort of glazed out in the middle of writing out her information, and she seemed to pause, her pen in mid-stroke. Her lips seemed to move for a moment, but no sound came out. He feared that she might be having some sort of seizure, but he stared for a longer moment, noting no other signs of neural disruption.

Apparently, this was just an Aimee thing. Like the sudden conversation switches. It didn't seem to be fatal or dangerous, just sudden. Well, he was going to have time to get used to it. Heck, she'd likely find thngs about him that she found.. odd. If she already hadn't.

He finally leaned in, and put his eyes at a direct level with hers, their noses almost touching.

"Aimee? Are you all right?"

She moved, suddenly snapped from her reverie, her breath rushing in audibly, her eyes remembering to blink, and her pen making an indecipherable scrawl upon the page.

"I have a car." She replied, her embarrassment visible. He found himself to be the one stunned for a moment, his eyes blinking as he tried to make sense of it.

"Okay, you're one up on me, then." He tried to put an easy lilt to his voice, but settled for keeping himself from choking. The comment from her was pretty much the last thing he would have expected her saying. "May I walk you to it?" He took the paper from her hand, and slipped it into his pocket.

He once more proferred his arm, and walked out to the street, her presence once more buoying his spirits farther than he thought they could have risen. Several times during the walk, he glanced down to check that his feet were actually still on the ground, still propelling him in the manner approved for mankind, and not some heavenly form of flight.

He thought for a moment of the old comment about love making fools of people, and he decided that he fully understood the true meaning of that. It wasn't just an impulse to do stupid things in order to impress a person, it also had to with losing a certain amount of control.

Could that be what was affecting Aimee? Was her series of disjointed commentaries and random thought patterns a symptom of something else?

Come on, he told himself, we just met today. She couldn't possibly have fallen completely in love in the few hours we've known each other.

He ignored the fact that his own feelings were so in turmoil about her, that he could easily believe that he had fallen for her. Well, ignored it for a moment. He knew he was in love with her. At the very least, he was in love with the idea of being in love with her.

He laughed to himself, considering the course his day had taken. A few hours ago, he'd been on his way home. A simple stop for a drink, and everything had changed. He'd spotted her sitting thre, and everything had changed.

She'd trusted him. Amazingly enough, she'd trusted a stranger. Odd enough to hear of in the more sedate and smaller communities, but in the city?

She'd accepted his recommendation for dinner, she'd accepted his suggestion for visiting the room, and she'd trusted him. A hell of a lot more most women would do, and far more than what women spoke of wanting to be able to do.

He realized that he'd sort of drifted away, himself, and, more importantly, he hadn't given her the return part of her trust. He managed an almost subtle dig into his back pocket, and found his wallet. A finger dipped into the outer slit designed for exactly this sort of thng.

"Here." He passed the card over, trying to ignore the bent corner on it, and the slight curve that suggested it had been riding there for a bit. "There's my card. Ignore the ugly design on it, that was from class."

It was true, unfortunately, that the card was ugly. He'd been forced to present a business card for one of his classes, and had been forced to wait in the tiny computer lab for one of the few working machines. Politeness had been a mistake then, since he ended up allowing another classmate to run long on preparing hers, and he'd ended up having to rush the job so the next person could get to theirs.

He'd managed the important info on it - name, phone number, address, a ficticious restaurant and position, and plenty of space on the reverse for a "gimme", a memnonic to keep people thinking of his name, possibly by offering a complimentary something at the restaurant.

But then, he'd needed to add in more, some form of background or border, or some such. Something to make it stand out. With limited time to peruse the clip art sections, he'd been forced to choose something that no one else would have considered - a caricarature of a chef juggling blades and food with a silly look upon his face. Plus, he'd misread the coding, and had it printed in a garish orange, with a rolling silver border.

Well, at least he'd made a memorable card.

"I know it sounds like a line, but is there a good time for me to call?"

Lord, would she even take the card? Would she want him to call her? Would she prefer to call him? Heck, this day and age had wreaked havok with dating propriety.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

A good time to call? Aimee worked out of her loft, one of the perks of writing free-lance. Aside for an occasional foray to the local library in search of reference materials and meetings with editors, her time was her own, most of what she needed to write literally at her fingertips and only a keystroke away on the computer.

After Martin, when she'd decided to bust loose from the grindstone of the white collar world she'd tried to hide in, Aimee had tossed her machine, her cel and a few other gadgets that she had at one time deemed indispensable. If someone needed to reach her and she was out? Well, they could just call back at another time. It had seemed, at the time, a perfectly logical plan. But now?

"I don't have a machine," she replied apologetically. Maybe she could go to the all-night Wally World on the way home and pick up an answer machine and she found herself wondering if they sold cel phones, too. "I haven't needed one for yonks," she added. "I know everyone has them. I used to... "

Not wanting to get back into that whole Martin scene and her life before yet again, Aimee sighed. "Any time is good, Marcus. If I'm home, I'll answer. If not... " Visions of Caroline and Thomas finding her mummified remains parked beside the telephone, her hand poised over the receiver in a grotesque death grip flittered through her mind. "Died waiting for a phone call from that chef guy, looks like. She should have called him first. I told her to call him first." "Yes, dear" her father would have replied. "I know you did, but she never was very spontaneous. Now that she's gone, it would be okay for you to admit that she was a changeling. What's done is done... "

"I'd really like to... "

Aimee blinked. It sounded like Thomas was standing right there, but he couldn't be. She blinked again.

"Aimee? I said I would really like to phone you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind?" Aimee smiled up into Marcus' eyes. "I could give you Caroline and Thomas' number, too, if you like? Caroline doesn't mind taking messages. She loves it, in fact. Helps her keep tabs." Seeing the puzzled look on his face, she thought she might have finally gone overboard -- even if she had considered it a moment or two ago. "My parents," she added by way of explanation. "Just kidding."

He seemed relieved -- or something -- and they both laughed to break the tension. "Come on," she said. "I imagine you have a long day tomorrow. I have a bit of writing to do. Deadline coming up. But I'll be around."

Would he call? Would he... not? The questions ran through her head like a mantra, the litany recited while pulling petals off a daisy. Aimee was almost surprised when he finally announced that they had arrived at his place. Had she missed stoplights? Obviously, she'd not had an accident. What in the world was wrong with her? Indeed. What had happened to her world period?

"Ohhh... " she said quietly, the disappointment clear in her eyes and in her voice. "Well, I guess we are."

 

[stalwartone]

The car ride was entirely too short, although Marcus was rather concerned about Aimee's sudden leaps in her attention during her time behind the wheel. Her penchant for taking off on a flight of mental fancy worried him, but she didn't seem to have any trouble listening to him, or driving the car to his place. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done when he pointed out that they were at his place.

"Ohhh... Well, I guess we are."

Her face and tone matched his, but he knew that if he didn't get out of the car and go inside, he'd cave in and break his promises to her. With a dark heart, he put his hand on the door handle, and applied a bit of tension.

"My class tomorrow ends at three. Figure half an hour walk home. Call you about three thirty?"

"O..o..okay." Her reply was lacking in confidence, and he realized that he wasn't the only one with concerns about keeping to their promises.

"Really, I'll call." He offered his most sincere smile, then leaned over and gave in to a small amount of temptation, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then, before he could break any further promises, he popped the door and got out, waving to her as he closed it, and stepped slowly to his door.

The place that he called his was hardly the castle that the old saying proclaimed, but it was his, and while it was more expensive than a group apartment or a dormitory existence, it was more private than the others, and he didn't have to argue about who had made what mess. Plus, he'd been able to make some modifications to the place that a landlord wouldn't approve of. The kitchen had been rebuilt, naturally, but some other goodies had been put in. First to be voted off the island had been the little motel-style corner shower, and a full shower/tub combo had been put in it's place. A luxury, no doubt, but his time in service had taught him that a good soak could really fix the worst of his aches and pains at the end of the day.

The wiring had all been redone, and he'd paid out for some better quality telecomm systems and heavier gauge electrical systems, as well as a decent climate control system. He was still debating some of the decor, but he hadn't watched enough of the home improvement shows to convince him to redo the woodwork.

A bachelor's pad, definitely. The living room was aimed specifically at the television and stereo system, and his collection of movies and music were arrayed around the remote controls, and his sofa was carefully bunched to his preferred positioning. Blankets and pillows were there for when he chose to simply exist on the sofa, and an end table had been modified to hide a dorm fridge so that he didn't have to move far when he needed a drink.

Now he stood and took it all in. It was a testament to his personal demand to not get involved again. Hell, build a toilet into one of the chairs, and he'd be able to sit for hours on end without a care in the world.

Sad.

Was he truly recognizing his existence, or was he just trying to make a decision about Aimee? He'd achieved a certain level of comfort in his life, and been quite happy with that lifestyle.

What now?

He settled for tossing his clothes into the laundry, checked his uniform for the next day, and went to bed, Aimee in his mind for a long time before sleep finally overtook him.

The next day was difficult. Sleep hadn't pulled her face from his mind, and his instructors had to repeatedly regain his attention during class. The sauce and gravy class was a near disaster, as he kept misreading the product, and having to restart. One instructor decided to press for another run of garnish prep, and he nearly cut himself several times making radish roses and lemon loops.

Luckily, it finally ended, and he was allowed to leave. His return to home was a rush, and he worried a few people that he nearly ran into as he raced down the streets. A wicked thought suggested that he stop in at the coffee shop and see if she was possibly there, but her swallowed it, and made his way home.

Once there, he tried to keep himself from seeming overly eager by running his laundry and attempting to peruse his notes, but he gave it up. No use, none of it was holding the draw that he knew would clear his mind.

The number pad on the phone responded rather slowly to his mind, and he finally got the ringing tones that he was hoping for.

"Aimee? It's Marcus." He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was something that he couldn't ignore here. Her hair, her glasses, those eyes...

He was fixating again. A fierce determination took him, and he pushed himself back to the call.

What to say? They'd talked last night, and not that much had happened in his life since they had parted.

"Umm, see, I did call, like I promised."

Yeah, that was really brilliant sounding.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Aimee had spent the day writing, though it had been a task to keep focussed -- images of Marcus and their time together last night kept interfering with her work. She realized that she must have come off as manic, bordering on psychotic even, and she didn't understand what had made her act that way. In retrospect, it was more than a bit mortifying and she couldn't blame him if he ran for the hills. In fact, she'd picked up the phone more than once to leave him a message giving him an easy out. She had way too much baggage to even consider a relationship, and what if --

The jangling of the phone startled her from yet another pipe dream. It was probably Caroline and Aimee wasn't in the mood, but she knew if she didn't answer, her mother would just continue to call until all hours. Realizing it was better to just get it over with, she picked up the phone on the eighth ring.

"Hello?"

"Aimee? It's Marcus."

"Umm, see, I did call, like I promised."

Great. He phoned because he was afraid not to. Like if he hadn't she'd plant herself outside his place like some deranged stalker. How did she answer to that? Make things right? They'd spent hours together and she'd made a complete fool of herself. She'd best put an end to it right now. Let him off the hook.

"Hi," she said quietly, her heart drumming in her chest. Why did just the sound of his voice make her forget everything else? "I... "

At a loss for words, Aimee didn't know what to say and was certain that anything that fell from her lips would only reinforce his opinion that she was nothing more than a nutcase.

"Are you there?"

She could hear the concern in his voice -- maybe he was worried she'd just show up with a gun or a knife now. She avoided the temptation not to answer and just hang up, but couldn't.

"I'm here," she finally replied. "I didn't expect you to call, frankly. I was just a bit put off. I made a fool of myself last night and I need to apologize and hope there's no harm done. I did have a wonderful time. Truly. You're a special man, Marcus Rayven. I'm very glad to have known you... even for a little while."

Aimee started to hang up without saying another word, but something held her. Kept her from cutting herself off from him completely even though she knew it was for the best.

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus

You're a special man, Marcus Rayven. I'm very glad to have known you... even for a little while."

Marcus felt that strange flutter cross through his chest, that momentary fear that he'd done something terrible, that he'd made a mistake. Her tone of voice had shifted. He could almost hear something moving on the other end, the phone starting to drift away.

"Aimee!" He'd put a bit more force in his voice than he'd expected to, a brief return to the energy needed to be heard through a bustling kitchen, or a confused field exercise. He regretted it, immediately, more for using that tone than for the reasoning behind it. But she did have a tendency to let her mind drift, to jump subjects and thought processes so fast that he needed a play guide to follow her. Now, she was just writing it all off?

"Sorry. I'm sorry, but, please, listen. I'd like to get together. To do something with you, to share some time with you. I know I'm bad at the finer points of relationships, but I'd like to give this a try, if you're willing."

He felt that he was babbling also, but maybe that was what was needed. Maybe she needed someone to tripfire words and ideas just as quickly in order to get and hold her attention.

"Look, I know I'm a bit ham-handed at conversations or saying exactly the right thing that a woman likes to hear. But I did have a great time with you, and I'd like to continue, if you'd let me. Of course, if I did something really wrong, I'd like to know, if for no other reason than to apologize."

He listened for a moment, hearing little on the other end, but noting that it wasn't a dial tone. Either he was talking to her, or the phone had been set down, and her room was getting a nice airing with his own babble.

"Please."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Marcus was brilliant... how could he even think he'd fallen short conversationally or otherwise? If anything, it had been her. But there she went again, seeming all passive-aggressive when it was really just... terror. Maybe she should just explain, or would that make it worse -- and if he did understand, what then?

"Still here, Marcus," she said finally. "I must seem like a total whack job to you. Frankly, I'm not sounding real sane to my own self. I l... like you. I like you a lot."

She paused, listening to the silence on the other end of the line, suddenly realizing how he must have felt a few minutes ago.

"Go ahead," he said softly. "Say it... "

"Say what?"

"But. I like you, but... "

"No. No. You misunderstand. I really really like you. I'm afraid is all. Okay, not afraid. I'm terrified."

"Of what? Of me?" Marcus sounded both hurt and a bit angry.

"No, Marcus. Of myself. I haven't been in any relationship since... " Aimee paused, sorry that she'd brought him up again. "I'm sorry. It's not you. Honest. It's me. Just... me. I'd like to make it up to you some way, but I don't know how."

"How about something easy? Are you busy tonight?"

"Well... I was going to do some laundry."

"Uh huh. And tomorrow it will be washing your hair. The next day it will be walking the dog... "

"I don't have a dog," she giggled making a spur of the moment decision. "Would you like to come over?"

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus

"Would you like to come over?"

He'd been about to fire off a tease about what sort of pets she did keep when the words penetrated his brain.

Would he? Of course he would. He desperately wanted to be back with her, to at least be in her presence. To watch her remarkable eyes, to notice the way she moved, to hear the way she spoke, even if it was to ramble and jump from subject to subject. To just be near her.

Of course, the little snoop in him also wanted to see what her personal space was like. Was she a neatnik? Compulsive to the point of cozies for dispensers? Someone who had specific little rules for how the stapler sat on her desk, how the ice cubes were put in her drink, how the toilet paper roll was set? Or was she a bit of a slob? Someone frenzied and disordered, keeping a system for order that only they themselves understood?

What music did she keep? And in what form? Did she go for the Top 40 scene, with the latest pop stars calling and crying about their lost loves, CDs and music files prepped on a perfectly set sound system? Or perhaps an oldies fan, stacks of actual albums and cassette tapes stored carefully. Or a mix-master, making their own perfect little tapes or discs.

No, he shook his head, thinking over what he knew of her. She appreciated older art forms, probably some movie soundtracks, and a series of specific artists. Some recognizable names, some obscure. All listened to from start to finish, not skipping over or repeating a given song over and over. Lovingly maintained. Probably backed up several times, CDs for having a secure copy, but the original album for it's realistic sound. For the memories of a time or place when she had listened to it.

Lord, he was really starting to feel like he was back in his teens. The thought of being in her presence was really an overpowering lure.

"I'd love to. I'll need an address." He paused, trying put his thoughts into words more coherent than that. "Directions also, probably." He wrote down the directions, then ran through the mental map of the area. Close, actually. A little better section than his, but then, she wasn't trying to make her life work within the little world defined by the school. Still, not so far away that he was going to have to worry about trying for a taxi or a bus. "So, I'd offer to help you with your laundry, but I'd sound like I was snooping into your unmentionables."

Idiot! Quit trying to play teenager! Talk to her like an adult human being, you moron!

He bit the urge to recall her comment from the day before, then went back to speaking. "Can I bring anything over? Coffee, wine, some dinner?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"Dinner?" Aimee fought down the panic that started to rise at the thought of cooking something for a man who was making a career of it. It wasn't like she was totally helpless in the kitchen, but... "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, I haven't. You?"

"Umm... no. We'll figure something out and I'll get a load of wash in in the meantime. I have coffee, though. I'm out of tea. Wine, too," she faltered and began again. "I mean I have wine. A bottle of Shiraz. It's... "

"Australian, yes. So, do you want me to bring anything?"

"No, no. Just yourself. See you soon?"

Marcus assented and they both hung up. Cripes! What was she going to feed him?

Walking into the kitchenette, Aimee opened the fridge. A head of romaine and a container of cottage cheese graced one shelf; milk, non-dairy creamer and a can of coffee another. She added the bottle of wine to chill and peered into the freezer, which was no better. The lone, foil-wrapped package only held jewelry she didn't want stolen in case someone broke in.

Mother Hubbard's cupboards were no better. Cheerios, Frosted Mini Wheats, peanut butter and a loaf of bread were the only other things she had on hand aside from condiments. She had meant to go shopping. Honest. And now there wasn't any time. Seemed like lately it didn't just rain, it poured. Sighing, she held her hands up hoping for manna.

Aimee had just transferred a load to the dryer when the buzzer from downstairs alerted her to Marcus' arrival. "Come on up," she said. "Third level."

Rushing into the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and tried to do something with her hair that wouldn't make it look like she'd stuck her finger in a socket. Damn! She should have let the laundry sit and done something about her appearance instead.

"Hello?"

Too late. Too late, Aimee sighed walking out into the main room just as Marcus slid back the cage on the lift and walked into her living room.

"Welcome. I should have... changed," she sputtered helplessly, holding her arms out to display her ensemble which consisted of an oversized tee, a pair of jeans and toe socks. At least she was clean.

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus

Walking on air time. Sure, just come on over. Don't bring anything, just yourself.

Right.

The first invitation to someone's private space, and you don't bring something? Okay, polite from her end, but hardly what you did. Marcus knew this, and didn't even think about completely following those instructions.

First, a quick change. Cook whites may have been suitable for a chance meeting, but now? No, not a chance. Of course, if she was making noises about laundry, well, he was hardly one to talk. He'd put off more than enough in that area.

Dammit, got to get my mind on things. You put off laundry, you put off your own shopping, and you damn near got written up in class for letting your mind wander. What's wrong, you suddenly in...

He paused, shaking his head. Say it, he told himself. Just say it.

..in love?

Too early. Too soon. Good grief, we just met.

Yes, and took her not only to a movie, but to a hotel room. Maybe for nothing illicit, but when was the last time you took a woman to a hotel room, and on a first date, at that?

Hardly a first date.

Dinner, conversation, watching the weather, a movie. Sounds like a date.

"Eyes front, boy. You've got places to be." Sternly silencing the voice in his head, Marcus moved to his bedroom, and sorted through the few remaining clothes that didn't scream "bachelor without a care" or "Laundry day was some time ago". Dark jeans, a denim shirt. Nothing fancy, but not an old sweatshirt and the shorts he had worn while painting the kitchen. Heck, he was almost human looking, after he had shaved.

The next step, of course, was to bypass the "don't bring anything" comment. Not that he'd go overboard, but he would have to bring something.

The perks of living in a university city.. With only a slight deviation from the most direct route, Marcus was able to slip into "Kiosk Row". Portable shops lined the streets around the university, offering multiple impulse items and foodstuffs for the busy students on the go. From ponchos to hot dogs, "exotic" coffee drinks to cell phone accessories, anything was quickly available, if you knew where to look. Two quick stops, followed by a visit to a specialty shop that he knew of netted flowers, hmmus and pita bread, and a cheese and grape pack.

He did feel good that he only felt the need to recheck the address once before he found the place, and he felt the same thrill as he heard her voice over the speaker box.

He felt relieved when he found the old style elevator, and rode it to the third floor. Apparently, one of those older buildings, remodeled into a series of larger living spaces. It reaffirmed his feelings about her, his impression that she wasn't a stuffy accountant trying to cover herself in the appearance of a flower child.

Aimee appeared, the picture of glorious chaos. She stammered something about her wardrobe, obviously distressed and worried about his impressions.

Right. Like she could actually look wrong.

"Don't worry about it, you look great. Really." He stopped, realizing how it must sound. "I decided to bring a couple of things besides myself. Just to go with the wine. And, I hope you like zinnias."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Aimee's face lit up as she smiled. "I love zinnia's!" she exclaimed, reaching out to take them from Marcus and hoping that he could hear the truth in her voice. "I'm not much of a roses person," she shrugged. "Oh, they're nice and they smell good, but there are so many others that get a bad rap behind the popularity of their status in the florists' windows. Carnations, for instance. Even daisies."

Aimee felt herself blushing, once again feeling awkward at having rambled. Something she had sworn she wouldn't do. Trying to hide her discomfort, she smiled shyly and quickly turned toward the kitchen. "I'll just put them in some water, okay? Make yourself at home."

Setting the flowers on the countertop, she hunted around for something to put them in. Aimee wasn't one for fancies, and her favorite "vase" was, in fact, a plastic turquoise urinal that she'd picked up at a flea market years ago. Gods, she groaned, knowing that there wasn't anything at all more "suitable" or "normal". Well, worst was that he'd be shocked, best that he'd be amused.

Turning on the tap, she filled the urinal with tepid water, adding some sugar and began to cut the stems under its flow.

"Can I help?"

Aimee jumped when she heard his voice, feeling an urgency to explain the urinal he was eyeing on the counter. "It's a... "

"Urinal," Marcus nodded. "Yes, I've seen them before."

"Umm... Well... It has a good base and it's a pretty color and... "

He chuckled. "You use it to put flowers in?"

"Uh huh. Doesn't everyone?" she giggled nervously. "Don't worry. I have real glasses."

Gesturing with her chin toward the cupboard on the far side of the tiny kitchenette, she turned back to what she was doing as Marcus obliged. "The wine's in the fridge. And Marcus?"

"Yes, Aimee?"

"I'm really glad you're here. Thank you for coming."