Author’s Note: I was requested a while ago to write
an Aeris/Sephiroth fanfic. While I cringed at the time, the challenge of doing
what I believed had no basis in the game or in the imagination wouldn’t let me go.
So I set to work trying to figure out how in the world I would get those two
romantically entangled. This is the only way I could come up with.
If you like this story, I hope you’ll read my others:
FF4) Rydia: Daughter of Mist; FF6) Terra, Ace of Diamonds, Adventures of
Youth, Shadows of the Past, Heart of the Veldt; FF7) Helping Hands, A Rose by
Any Other Name; FF8) Bookworms and… Booya!
Enjoy! Mint
*
"Amy–"
"No."
Amy turned the page of her novel and adjusted her feet on the flower-print couch as she took another sip of her coffee.
"But–"
"No."
Amy curled a lock of wavy, light brunette hair around a finger, absently nibbling on her lower lip as she read. She was comfortably dressed in gray sweats and a pale pink T-shirt that said ‘N.Y.U’ on the front left quadrant. She wore white crewsocks with pink toes and heels and had her house-slippers beside her on the floor. Amy was the picture of repose. Her roommate on the other hand tapped her fingernails on the bar counter of the kitchenette in their small apartment. She changed her hazel eyes back to the newspaper, picked it up to get a closer look, and slapped it down before turning and facing the occupant of the couch.
"Amy, it’s a movie!"
Amy’s green eyes lifted briefly from the novel, it was quite thick, and met the hazel ones of her roommate. "I told you I wasn’t going to go to another one of those – whatever you want to call them – again."
The roommate frowned. "I’m sorry about the last one. I didn’t know. I swear."
Amy lowered her eyes back to the book and took another sip of coffee. "I accept that, I guess, but I’m not going to another one. I’m not meant to be–"
"Don’t be silly," the roommate scoffed. "Of course you are! And this could be it. Really."
"That’s what you said last time, Renee."
Renee rolled her eyes and lifted her hands into the air. "This is the last time. I promise," she finally said.
Amy lifted her eyes, gauged her roommate’s serious and pleading expression, and then lowered her eyes back to her book. "Let me finish my coffee."
"Yes!" And Renee disappeared into one of the small bedrooms to change.
Amy sighed and turned the page.
*
When the girls saw the long line of people, they knew their chance was slim to none. Renee, however, refused to be daunted and pressed onward, going so far as to even bully her way through and into the office. Amy had given up protesting a long time ago. Instead, she allowed herself to be dragged along, apologizing to those pushed aside.
Finally, Renee had the location she wanted and they settled to wait.
"This is so exciting," Renee said, smiling.
Amy sighed as she looked around the office. Excitement had worn off weeks ago. Now she only wanted to go home. Her real home in Illinois. New York City didn’t fascinate her anymore… Amy arched an eyebrow when she thought she heard raised voices come from the inner office. Renee tugged on her arm and Amy absently stepped forward. The mumbles and voices were heard again, but she couldn’t make them out. It was definitely an argument, but… Another tug, another step. Amy gave a startled jolt and a blink when the door of the inner office slammed open and a tall, athletic figure of a man with long white hair and a startling profile strode from beyond. He halted at the threshold of the office and turned, a hand lifting to point an accusing and threatening finger at the man within.
"If you truly want me in this production, then you will rethink your decision regarding her," the man with the white hair said in a crisp English accent. "I refuse to work with the trollop."
"Harrison," the other man said, arms outstretched, "she’s the only one that can handle the role."
"Bah!" ‘Harrison’ gestured behind him without looking. "I wager I could find at least five young women more apt to the role than Fiona."
"I still say an inexperienced actor can’t handle it."
"And a woman with the morals of a Madam can’t be expected to portray innocence," Harrison countered harshly.
The man pressed his lips together in a thin line as a blood vessel suddenly appeared on his forehead. "Harrison—"
"If I don’t have the final say on the cast, Max," Harrison threatened in a low tone, "then I walk. This is your last warning." He turned sharply and headed toward the exit of the main office, navigating his way through the dozens of occupants.
Amy watched his escape with wide eyes. "It’s Garret Harrison," she whispered to Renee.
"Who?"
"Sir Garret Harrison. From the Royal Shakespeare Company." Amy sent Renee an annoyed glare. "Don’t you know anyone outside of People or The Enquirer?"
"From where?"
Amy placed her hands on her hips. "Oh for pete’s sake."
Renee’s eyes went up over Amy’s head, and her mouth dropped slightly open. Amy arched an eyebrow and then cast a careful glance over her shoulder. ‘Sir Garret Harrison’ was standing directly behind her.
Amy flushed and turned full around. "Oh. I’m sorry," she told him. "Am I in your way?"
Mr. Harrison didn’t respond. The scowl didn’t vanish from his face, either. He only motioned to her folder and asked, "May I?"
Amy looked down at her hands that held her portfolio, measly though it was, and handed it to him. "Of course," she said calmly.
Mr. Harrison opened the folder and briefly glanced through it, occasionally raising his eyes to scrutinize her face and seemingly how she carried herself. Then he slapped the folder closed, stalked to the man still standing in the doorway of the inner office, and smacked the folder against his chest.
"Her."
"What? Harrison, you can’t–"
"Don’t push me, Max," Mr. Harrison said in a dangerous voice. "It’s her or I wash my hands of this picture."
Then he strode from the room. All eyes focused on Max as he scowled after Mr. Harrison. Finally, Max moved those hard silver eyes to Amy. "Congratulations, young lady. You’re now Aeris Gainsborough."
Renee squealed. Amy just blinked.
The sets were huge. Amy could tell
immediately that the movie must have been on the scale of Gone With the Wind
or Titanic. Several lots
specifically set aside for special effects had hinted at that. When she’d received a copy of the shooting
schedule, she’d seen even more proof.
Special effects and cinematics were going to carry the movie.
Amy stopped and turned a full circle as she took in the sights of cables,
lights, scaffolds, cameras, people, sets, and so many other things. "Oh my," she whispered under her
breath. And she felt that was an
understatement.
"This is Mark. He will be playing
the role of ‘Cloud’. You’ll be doing
most of your scenes with him."
Amy flushed and hurried to catch up with the director. She came up to a man with blonde hair, blue
eyes, and an athletic build. She smiled
and extended a hand. "How do you
do? My name’s Amy Burke. Nice to meet you."
"Mark Frasier. Hi." He looked to the director. "And we’ve got to do something about that
name. ‘Cloud’? You’ve got to be shitting me."
The director ignored him. "You’ll
meet ‘Tifa’ later. Her role will be
played by Vanessa Heron."
Amy’s eyes widened as she looked to the director. "The Vanessa Heron?
From Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables?"
Mark chuckled and put a fist on his hip.
"Hey. Where’s my
wide-eyed look of wonder?"
The director laughed. "You think
your action flicks’ll rate you one of those?"
The director shook his head.
"Come on, Miss Burke-- Oh, never mind.
Here comes Harrison."
Amy turned. Sir Garret Harrison’s
stunning good looks were hardened with an intense expression, and his blue eyes
were angry and annoyed.
"Is he always in a bad mood?" Mark asked.
"Only recently," the director muttered.
"A woman."
"Ah."
Amy took a slight step forward.
"Good morning, sir," she said with a genuine smile.
Mr. Harrison halted and faced Amy.
"Miss Burke, it isn’t necessary for you to bow, scrape, and smile. You have the role. Now do your best in the performance of it."
Amy’s smile vanished as she blinked in shock. Before she could say anything, Mr. Harrison moved forward to
stand opposite Mark and the director.
"Where is Vanessa?"
"She had issues with her wardrobe and went to take it up with--"
"Blast," he hissed. "Am I to be
surrounded by amateurs and infantile prima donna’s?"
The director’s face hardened.
"Harrison, don’t be a damn ass.
We’ve got a hell of a good cast here, even with your questionable
contribution of Miss Burke. The last
thing we need is your attitude. Suck it
up."
Mr. Harrison said nothing in response to that. He only turned and addressed Mark and Amy. "As you may or may not realize, my name is
Garret Harrison. I am both the
Executive Producer and the character named Sephiroth. I do not answer to ‘Lord’, ‘Sir Harrison’, ‘dude’, ‘boss-man’, or
any variations of the kind. You will
either call me ‘sir’ or ‘Garret’ or ‘Mr. Harrison’ or simply ‘Harrison’." He sent Amy and Mark both an intense
frown. "I have certain expectations of
my cast and crew, and they are as follows: 1) No parties on days of or days
before your scenes are scheduled to shoot; 2) No fraternizing outside
rehearsals of scenes; 3) No drugs, alcohol, or other substances allowed on
premises or near your person during the shooting schedule. If you are even suspected, you will be
dismissed and a replacement found; 4) No tardy arrivals and no missed
days. If you are scheduled, you are
here; 5) Scripts will be memorized when shooting commences. Understood?
Good. Then we will see you
bright and early in two weeks."
He turned to go. Amy followed after
him. "Mr. Harrison?"
Mr. Harrison sent an annoyed frown her direction. "What is it?"
"I hoped I could meet with you regarding my role."
He halted and fully faced her. "The
interpretation of the role, Miss Burke, is your responsibility."
Amy nodded. "I realize that, but
you’ve so much more experience on stage.
I hoped you could let me know if what I’m wanting to portray is coming
across."
He regarded her with what Amy could only call suspicion. Before she had a chance to say anything, he
‘put her in her place’. "Miss Burke, as
I told you before, I will not tolerate obvious attempts to gain my favor. They only irritate me."
"I’m not," Amy protested.
But he’d turned to stride from the building. Amy frowned and put her hands on her hips. Then she smiled and gave a shake of her
head. I suppose it did come across a
little more pathetic than I wanted.
I’ll have to work on that.
And Amy decided to consider their conversation Lesson number one.
"Miss Burke? Shall we?"
Amy turned back to the two men and sent them an apologetic smile as she
approached. "I’m sorry." She motioned over her shoulder. "I suppose I deserved that. I always come across as a brown-noser. I don’t mean to."
Mark laughed as he and the director walked on either side of Amy. The director sent Amy a reassuring smile,
brief as it was. "If you have any
questions about anything, Miss Burke, I would suggest you don’t go to Mr.
Harrison directly. He doesn’t have the
patience."
Mark gave her arm a nudge. Amy
changed her focus to the young man with the pretty blue eyes. "I’ll help with your lines and stuff. I’ve been in loads of movies."
"Mark," the director warned.
"Thank you," Amy told him, "but I’m sure I’ll be okay."
Mark shrugged with a slight smirk as he looked away. "Just wanted to help."
The director scoffed. Amy hid a
smile with a clearing of her throat.
"And I appreciate it," she said, serious enough to be truthful. "But I think I’ve been in enough off-Broadway
performances to get the job done well enough."
"Off-Broadway, huh?" Mark asked as he examined her profile. "Hmm.
I did commercials for condoms and cereal before landing my first big
break."
Amy laughed. "What a combination!"
Mark chuckled. "Yeah. Tell me about it." He glanced back over at her.
"This is supposed to be one of the best movies of the year. What are you going to do with your fame and
fortune?"
Amy continued to smile. "Fame and
fortune is overrated. I’m going to go
back home."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "And do
what?"
"Teach drama at the local highschool."
"Hmm. Sounds… fun."
Amy chuckled. "For me, yes. For you?
Not so much."
Mark smiled. "I think you and me are
going to get along great, Amy."
The director rolled his eyes. "Since
when did you and a skirt not get along great?"
Amy laughed. Mark smirked. The director shook his head.
*
Amy adjusted her hold on the bulky script as she attempted to turn the
page. She looked at her watch in
between juggles and moaned. The bus was
late. I’m going to miss the
transfer, and then I’ll have to walk.
Amy sighed with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Oh well.
More time to read and study.
She didn’t have that many lines to memorize, but there was one scene
that had her very nervous.
There was a honk. Amy looked
up. "Hi, Mark," she said with a slight
smile.
"So you’re what a public trans person looks like," he said with a charming
smile as he draped his arm across the back of the Corvette seat. "I always wondered."
Amy’s lips twitched. "Nothing
glamorous, I hate to say. Just normal
people who don’t like hassling with traffic."
"But that’s the best part."
Amy chuckled. "Help yourself."
Mark’s lips lifted upward in a slight smirk. "So can I offer you a ride?"
"That’s all right." She lifted up
the script. "I’m using the time to
study."
Mark laughed. "You are a
brown-noser, aren’t you?"
"No. I just like knowing my lines
before hand. A good habit, I say."
"I wouldn’t know anything about good habits." Mark checked the traffic in his rearview mirror. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride? One last chance."
"Positive. Thanks for asking, but
I’ll take the bus."
"Suit yourself. See ya later." He gave a wave moments before peeling away.
Amy changed her focus back to the script.
She stopped reading when a shadow fell over the words. "You’re blocking my light."
The shadow moved. "Miss Burke, what
are you doing?"
Amy blinked and looked up. She
smiled. "Hello, Mr. Harrison." He didn’t return the greeting, and the stern
expression on his aristocratic face didn’t lessen. Amy let it slide without a feather ruffled. Instead, she gestured to the post that said
‘bus stop’. "I’m studying while waiting
for my ride." Amy motioned to the space
on the bench beside her. "There’s
plenty of room if you care to have a seat."
"No. Thank you." He studied her. Amy didn’t look away. "Do
you not have an auto?"
"Oh sure I do," she said as she closed the script. "I just don’t like fighting with traffic and getting yelled at
and cursed at and flipped off." Amy
shook her head with a continual smile.
"Too much stress in daily life as it is. I take the bus and use the time to read, or write letters to my
family, or just enjoy the peace."
"I see." Mr. Harrison looked away as
he adjusted his beige, calf-hide trenchcoat over his arm. A moment later an attendant of the studios
drove up in a crème-colored antique roadster.
Amy whistled. "Lovely. I bet she drives wonderfully smooth."
"I seldom have the opportunity to drive her beyond 10 miles per hour, but
she handles nicely enough."
Amy arched an eyebrow at the surprisingly civil conversation they
shared. She decided to continue as much
as possible. "My dad had one similar,
but I think his was American. Yours is
English, right?"
Mr. Harrison raised his gaze from his trenchcoat and moved it to hers. "Correct."
Amy nodded. "A lot of
difference. American roadsters have
their pluses, but those English ones…"
Amy shook her head. "Pieces of
art."
Mr. Harrison’s eyebrow twitched as he accepted the keys from the
attendant. "Thank you." He changed his attention back to Amy,
regarding her as he seemed to debate with himself a possibility.
Amy changed her gaze to her lap and opened her script again, not wanting him
to feel obligated when she would have been happy either riding the bus or in
his lovely roadster. "Have fun on your
drive, Mr. Harrison. Hopefully traffic
isn’t too bad."
He remained silent for a moment more before moving toward his roadster with
a civil "Good day, Miss Burke."
Amy watched him out of the corner of her eye until he drove away. Then she lifted her head with a slight smile
as she watched the car fade into the traffic.
"Good day, Mr. Harrison."
"Amy--"
"No."
Renee wilted into the seat cushion beside Amy on the couch. Amy read her script while making notations
in the margins between occasional sips of coffee. She adjusted her feet under her, clothed as she was in her simple
flannel loungers and 'Illinois' midriff T-shirt of white.
"Come on. It's a
movie!!"
"That's what you said last time.
I don't know what you classify as a movie, but sexual situations
every five minutes surrounded by a plot that can barely be called that is not
what I call a movie."
Renee crossed her arms with a deep breath.
"You've been studying that script all morning, Aims. Don't you want to get out and do
something?"
Amy set aside her coffee mug onto the felt-bottomed brass coaster on the
antique coffee table. "Not until I
know I have it down pat. Then, and only
then, I might step out to catch the bus to the studio."
Renee sat up. "Can I go?"
"No."
Renee sat back again. "You have
all the fun," she pouted.
"I can't help that. The rules
of the studio prohibit any visitors," Amy said absently as she turned the
page of the script. "Apparently
Mr. Harrison wants this movie to be top-secret."
"I know, I know. Geez. What a tight ass."
Amy frowned, raising her eyes long enough to look over at her roommate. "He is not a 'tight ass',
Renee. He takes his job seriously, is
all. Do you have any idea how
stressful it is to be Executive Producer of a sci-fi/fantasy film?"
Renee scoffed. "Yeah? Well how hard can it be to smile once in a
while?"
Amy arched an eyebrow. "You've
been looking at those pictures on the gossip mags again, haven't you?"
Renee looked away, adjusting her crossed arms. "So what if I have?"
Amy sighed, turning her focus back to her script. "I'm not even going to honor this conversation with a
comeback. You know how I feel
about those columns."
Renee sent Amy a sidelong glance.
"Did you know he always has an affair with the heroine?"
Amy's throat tightened, and her eyes lost focus on the page. Then she blinked and purposefully made a
note of something nonsensical in the margin.
Renee adjusted her position on the couch, sitting tailor-style to face
Amy. "His last girlfriend,
Fiona?, was the heroine in his most recent Broadway performance 'Legaia'... or
something. Anyway, the only thing was
she actually married the guy she'd been engaged to during their whole
fling."
Amy turned the page, even though she couldn't remember anything that had
happened in the scene.
"Renee..." she warned.
"And when he played the phantom in 'Phantom of the Opera'? Guess who played opposite? Vanessa Heron. And guess who got intimately involved during its run? Mr. Harrison and Ms. Heron. Only then Mark Frasier came on the scene –
fresh from Hollywood and labeled the ‘sexiest man on film’ – and broke them
up. I guess action/adventure heroes are
more attractive to stars than Broadway names."
"I'm not listening," Amy said in a sing-song voice.
"Fine. Don't listen. Just remember that each and every movie or
musical or drama he's been in, he's gotten involved with the heroine only to
break it off once the rehearsals end, or the run peeters out, or the lady gets
too clingy."
Amy slapped the script closed, finally raising her eyes to meet her
roommates' gaze. "So what,
Renee?"
Renee gave a one-shoulder shrug.
"So, Miss Prude and Morality, I wanted to give you a heads up. He likes his women, sure, but he likes them disposable."
Amy frowned with a flash of temper as she stood. "Don't worry about me, Renee," she snapped. "I've got both feet firmly planted on
the ground." She strode to her
room and slammed the door closed.
Renee arched an eyebrow.
"Sure," she called, "but I know you, Aims. You go for these high-culture English types
with their fancy accents and their manners and charm. He'll have you in his sheets in less than a week." Renee smirked when she heard a crash and a
slam within Amy's bedroom. "Just
go with it. You only live once. Besides, it'll give you something to talk about
when you go home."
Amy stormed from her room dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, script in hand,
purse over shoulder, scowl on face, and daggers in eyes as they glared at
Renee. "I'm going out."
"Kind of figured you would.
Chicken. Bock bock bacaw."
Amy slammed the front door shut.
"Oooo," she growled as she strode to the elevator. "Gossip columns! Not giving them a bit of privacy or a shadow
of a doubt. Just spillage of sop and
exaggeration of details we don't need to know!" Amy fumed.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Amy stalked inside to press the
button with a little more force than what was necessary. The elevator closed and headed down from the
fourth floor. Amy adjusted her hold on
the script, glaring down at it while wishing it could be the face of the latest
gossip columnist who'd bashed a man that worked hard and didn't get any breaks
because of it.
"Ooo," she growled again.
"I'd like to ring your neck!"
And she gave the script a little shake.
Her temper sparked hotter at the remembered comment-- "Between his
sheets in a week?!" Amy scoffed.
Amy pressed her lips together, all the while wishing she could have brought
herself to slap Renee hard across the face.
But Renee had been her friend for years. The elevator dinged and opened its doors, ignoring her continued
fumes and rants and raves as she strode forward. She grunted a returned greeting to the desk clerk/security guard
and then gave a tight-lipped nod to the doorman as he offered her a genuine
"Good afternoon, Miss Burke.
Lovely day."
It was a lovely day, sun shining and pigeons flying while dropping
their goods on unsuspecting statues and benches and the occasional car.
Amy grabbed her temper before it had a chance to bolt away from her and took
in a deep breath. She released it
slowly as she acknowledged the lovely day, the smiling doorman, the pretty
trees outside her apartment building's front door, and the somewhat peaceful
Sunday afternoon. She gathered another
breath and then sent the doorman another attempt at a greeting. This time she smiled.
"Yes, it is a lovely day, Oliver. Thank you for reminding me."
"Having a bad day, Miss Burke?" Oliver asked.
Amy grimaced. "A little."
Oliver smiled. "Maybe you
should stop by the park for a little R & R. Helps me every time. It's
a nice walk, too."
Amy looked down at her script.
"I think that's a good idea."
She lifted her gaze to meet his.
"Is there a coffee shop on the way. I think I need a triple."
Oliver laughed. "Yes, there
is. Red tent. Mobile cart. Tell Randy
that Ollie sent you. He'll give you a
free coffee cake."
Amy smiled. "Thank you,
Oliver. I appreciate it."
"Sure thing, Miss Burke. Enjoy
your walk."
Amy set off at an easy pace, occasionally taking the time to look at the
window dressings and displays in the shop windows on her way. She shook her head with another deep
breath. I didn't need to know that. She kicked at a pebble and adjusted her hold
on the script. People had faults, Amy
knew that, but she didn't believe they should be everyone else's business. Besides, now I'll be suspicious and
untrusting, not giving him the chance he needs to be who and what he is. I'll question every little thing he does or
says. Amy sighed again. Darn it, Renee. You and those gossip columns... and calling me a prude? Sheesh.
That's hitting below the belt. I
can't help it if I have certain ideas on things.
Amy wrinkled her nose as she lifted her gaze-- she halted in shock. Sir Garret Harrison was purchasing coffee at
the red tented mobile cart that Oliver had told her about. He paid for his coffee and then turned away,
looking both ways before hurrying across the street to the park. Amy blinked and began absently gnawing her
lip. She tucked a long, stray lock of
brunette hair behind her ear before hesitantly moving forward to the mobile
cart for her promised triple mocha.
She cleared her throat and dug her coin purse from her little wallet
strapped across her. "May I have a
triple vanilla mocha. No whipped
cream. Whole milk."
"Sure thing."
"Thank you." Amy paid for
the coffee, left a tip, and then stepped slightly away to wait.
Amy continued to gnaw her lip as she looked toward the park while tapping
her foot. I was headed that way
anyway. Why should I not go just because I saw him head over that way,
too? Amy shook her head and turned
back to the mobile coffee-cart. He’ll
be suspicious, thinking I’m stalking him or something. Amy wrinkled her nose. It isn’t my problem what he
thinks. I’m trying to get some peace
and quiet so that I can study my script and be ready for shooting my scenes.
Amy gave a curt nod, accepted the coffee from the vender while remembering
she was supposed to have told him ‘Ollie’ sent her, and then shrugged it off as
she proceeded to the crosswalk to head to the park. She pushed aside all plans and plots and reasons and excuses to
tell him in case their paths did cross, and resigned herself to simply enjoying
the scenery and the peace and quiet—‘he’ll have you in his sheets in less than
a week’. Amy frowned and pressed her
lips together just as the signal turned to ‘WALK’.
"Oh for pete’s sake," Amy murmured as she headed across. She wasn’t a wide-eyed, star-struck newbie
to the star-studded scene.
Amy adjusted her hand hold on her coffee and her script as she chose a trail
into the deeper section of the park.
Then, when her arms began complaining that she carried too much, she
made her way to the side and set herself down very carefully on the grass. Renee, you did it on purpose. You knew I would dwell on it, thereby
ruining my study time and giving you a bit of revenge for ignoring you. Amy pressed her lips together as she nestled
her coffee in the lush grass beside her and opened up the script. Renee did things like that all the time,
just because she knew she could. It was
a mind game she liked to play. Push
the right button and see the reactions fly.
She’s sick, I tell you.
Absolutely sick.
Amy sighed with a slight shake of her head.
"And I stepped into it with all the grace of an elephant," she mumbled.
"Miss Burke?"
Amy looked up at the shocked tone of the question. She blinked, and then she remembered seeing Mr. Harrison come
this way. He looked quite normal in his
wrinkle-free Dockers and deep red Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, his long white hair
neatly combed and occasionally tickled by the very slight breeze. Holding his coffee in one hand and a
leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s Hamlet made him look anything but
a villain.
Amy offered him a smile. "Hello, Mr.
Harrison. Do you escape here too?" ‘He’ll have you in his sheets—‘ Amy pushed the thought away, hiding it in
the corner of her mind and stuffing a box over it.
Mr. Harrison changed his gaze to the leather-bound book without a twinkle in
his eye or a twitch to his lips.
"‘Escape’ is a bit dramatic."
"Yes, well I can only call the horse by its name," Amy responded, attempting
to draw out his sense of humor. "I
don’t blame you at all for trying to hide from everyone and everything. In fact, I’m doing a bit of hiding myself." She lifted her coffee with a twitch of her
lips. "My trusty triple mocha my only
conspirator."
To that Mr. Harrison surrendered a slight smile. "Ah. Trustworthy friends,
our coffee cups and sippy lids."
Amy’s smile broadened. The idea of
Sir Garret Harrison saying ‘sippy lid’ nearly did her in with laughter. She took a careful sip of the steaming coffee
as she watched him examine the leather-bound book. Amy couldn’t tell if he wanted to retreat or not. Up to that point, it seemed he stormed off
if he needed to be somewhere. Maybe
he’s waiting for the invitation?
Amy lowered her gaze as she nestled her coffee cup back into the grass. "I have grass here, there, and everywhere if
you’re still looking for a place to enjoy your book." She looked up to catch his gaze.
"I promise I don’t mumble or talk while I study," Amy told him with a
small smile.
"While the invitation is appreciated," Mr. Harrison said carefully, "I’m
afraid I received a call from the director a moment ago and must return to the
set."
"Ohh. You want to escape but take
the cell phone in case of an emergency."
Amy gave a slight nod. "Right."
Mr. Harrison’s lips twitched again.
"Yes, well…"
"The duties of an exec are never over," Amy finished for him, and then she
wrinkled her nose at him. "Don’t you
feel special?"
Mr. Harrison actually chuckled.
"Again. Thank you for the invitation."
Amy smiled up at him, freeing her coffee from the grass to give him a fellow
coffee-lover salute. "You’re welcome,
Mr. Harrison. Have a pleasant day. And I hope those ‘emergencies’ settle down
to give you a free moment to enjoy Hamlet the way Shakespeare intended."
"Thank you, Miss Burke."
Amy smiled her response before lowering her gaze back to her script. When she didn’t hear the expected sounds of
his Italian leather loafers on the cobble walk, she raised her eyes. Mr. Harrison continued to stand there, but
this time he had gone to the chore of balancing his coffee and Hamlet in
one hand while dialing a number on his cell phone with the other. Amy arched an eyebrow.
"Harrison here. Regarding the item
discussed, use your judgment…" Mr. Harrison’s expression darkened to
annoyance. "If I am required to hold
your hand through each and every decision regarding this movie, Max, then I
shall find another gentleman to do the job… I recall quite clearly what I said
the other day thank you, Max. Your
question, however, is not within the realm of my attention. Handle it."
Mr. Harrison pushed the appropriate button to disconnect the phone and then
tucked the itty-bitty thing into the pocket of his ‘trousers’.
Amy, ever the teasing imp, began to softly applaud. "Congratulations, Mr. Harrison. You have taken the first step in controlling
your own life. What do you plan to do
next?"
Mr. Harrison stepped forward and sat beside Amy, much to her surprise. "Stain my trousers," he said in a tight voice.
Amy leaned slightly back to regard his frowning face with wide-eyed
amazement only partially real. "Well
aren’t we going all the way in the realm of adventurous
irresponsibility?"
Mr. Harrison actually positioned himself tailor-style before nestling his
coffee cup into the grass in front of him with a curt nod. Then he opened Hamlet to the
ribbon-marked page. "Dash it all," he
remarked sharply, "I deserve a moment to breathe."
Amy chuckled and then said "yes, you do" as she changed her gaze back to her
script.
*
Mr. Harrison replaced the ribbon bookmark within Hamlet with a
deliberate action. Amy finished her
thought on the script, nearing the ending scene of the first act of the movie,
and then changed her gaze to his profile.
He is definitely a handsome man.
"Miss Burke," he began as he closed the book, "I want to apologize for my
attitude yesterday." Mr. Harrison moved
his startling blue eyes to meet Amy’s gaze.
"You have been more than civil, considering."
Amy smiled. "I suppose I have, in
your field of experience. But my
philosophy has always been to let bygones be bygones. Not only that, I shouldn’t judge a person until I walk a mile in
their shoes." Amy chuckled as she
pointed at his Italian-leather loafers.
"I think I would step right out of yours, so I’ll just be content with
my size 7 and leave you to your… 11?"
Mr. Harrison changed his thoughtful expression to his shoes.
When he didn’t respond, Amy’s smile faded.
She tilted her head as she watched his profile. "Are you okay?"
Mr. Harrison looked back to her with a serious expression. "Yes.
Thank you." He stood to his feet
and offered her a hand.
Amy smiled and handed him the script instead of the expected hand. Then she stood of her own accord while
gathering her purse and empty coffee cup.
She discarded the coffee cup in the available trash, strapped her purse
across herself, and then accepted the script.
Mr. Harrison looked a little surprised.
"Normally I would ask if you wanted to come up for a refill on your coffee,
but I don’t think you would appreciate my roommate’s attention," Amy said,
still smiling. "She has
less-than-glorious opinions about you."
Amy lifted a hand, turning her head away. "Don’t bother saying anything.
I’ve already told her that she shouldn’t believe everything she reads in
those papers. I’ve also told her
that you are a busy man who takes his job seriously. Renee knows that if she wants to say anything more, she better do
so to a brick wall."
Mr. Harrison slightly chuckled, drawing Amy’s attention as she lowered her
hand. "I am quite familiar with
negative judgments, Miss Burke. I doubt
your roommate’s opinion shall cause any damage to my ego. Max claims I have enough to spare."
Amy laughed, then she motioned ahead down the trail. "Well then, if you don’t mind glares and
daggers from her, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner." Mr. Harrison didn’t move down the trail, so
neither did Amy. He did change his gaze
down it, though. "Mr. Harrison, you
don’t have to come. I’m just doing the
neighborly thing and inviting you. I
understand if you don’t want to accept.
After all, you wouldn’t want to break your own rule about fraternizing."
"No, I suppose I wouldn’t," he admitted absently. Mr. Harrison regarded the trail a moment more before changing his
gaze to hers. "Miss Burke, thank you
again for the invitation; both of them."
Amy nodded. "You’re welcome, Mr.
Harrison. And call me Amy."
Mr. Harrison presented his hand. Amy
accepted it this time. He gently
gripped it. "If you have questions…
Amy, don’t hesitate to ask."
Amy smiled. "I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Harrison." They released hands. "You have a nice evening."
He nodded with a slight twitch to his lips before moving away down the
trail. Amy stared after him, still
smiling, and hugged the script to her chest.
He’s a nice man, when given the chance. Probably has a reason to be defensive. Just look at his life.
Women throwing themselves at him, audience demanding his full
performance each and every night, no retreat to rediscover who he is… Amy
shook her head and lowered her gaze to the cobble walk at her feet. Poor guy. He needs a vacation.
Amy took in a deep with a slight rise to her shoulders before stepping
forward toward home.
*
"Well it’s about time," Renee scolded when Amy stepped in the front
door. "I was beginning to think you’d
gotten mugged or something."
"Serves you right for doing what you did."
Amy turned from the door with an ‘I’m not talking to you anymore’ look
as she made her way for her bedroom.
"Doing what? Telling the truth?"
Renee asked, hands on hips.
"Repeating gossip," Amy chided. She
closed the bedroom door behind her.
"Oh brother." Renee sat back on the
couch and picked up her magazine – they didn’t have a TV – to search through
for the interesting tidbits she loved to read.
"Gossip is based on facts, Aims.
Deal with it."
Amy emerged a few minutes later in her flannel loungers and same sweatshirt,
novel in hand. "Sorry, no deal. Everyone deserves a second chance to be who
they are without gory details being embellished just so that a person bored
with their own life can have a bit of excitement."
"Ugh," Renee complained with a roll of her hazel eyes. "Puh-lease."
Amy chuckled as she sat on the other side of the couch. "I’ll step down from my soap box now,
Ren. Sorry."
Renee smacked Amy’s socked feet with her magazine. "Don’t worry about it, Aims," she said with a smile. "And sorry for stepping over the line. You know me."
Amy opened her book with a smirk.
"Yep."
"Do you have to go to the studio tomorrow?"
"Nope. Shooting doesn’t start for
two weeks, but I do need to talk to the director soon about my final
scene. I’m a little nervous about it."
"I know, you can’t tell me.
Top-secret."
Amy sent Renee a regretful smile.
"Sorry, Ren."
Renee grimaced, not raising her eyes from the magazine. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll just find out with everyone else." And she sounded really put upon.
Amy chuckled. "I’ll make it up to
you. Promise."
"Only if you get me a date with Mark Frasier, but since he’s on some
top-secret project and you’re only a nobody in an itty-bitty role… that won’t
happen."
Amy’s smile twitched.
The first week passed as any other week, with the exception of Amy having to
tell her boss at the coffee shop near the University that she had to quit. He took it pretty well, considering the
short notice, and gave her a dubious expression when she told him she had
landed a role in a movie. That, in NYC,
was the most common excuse for being a flake.
Or so he said.
Studying the script was fun for Amy.
Not so much for Renee, due to the fact Amy refused to read her any
part of it.
Amy had qualms with certain aspects of the character she played, such as her
tendency toward insensitivity and the fact that she practically threw herself
at the lead hero - Cloud - instead of staying true to an existing relationship
with a young man by the name of Zack.
Amy forced herself to excuse the girl, though. After all, Zack had been missing for nearly 5 years when
Aeris met Cloud. The girl was
probably lonely. And people would
do normally out-of-character things when that was the case.
The Sephiroth character intrigued Amy.
She felt torn on whether to consider him a true villain or a tortured
soul. After all, he had been used and
abused, his soul twisted and tainted with untruths about who and what he
was. How does a person handle
something like that? Amy could see
the reasoning behind the character's desire to control and rule the world. After what he had suffered through his
30-something life, that form of control would probably be the only way to give
him some semblance of sanity and stability.
The Monday morning of the second week, Amy dressed in Levis and a nice
pale-pink cable sweater her mom had made the Christmas Amy had left for New
York. Then she gathered her script and
rain jacket, strapped her purse across herself, made sure she had her bus fare
in hand, and announced to Renee that she was heading toward the studio
early. Renee mumbled something while on
the way into the bathroom for a shower and then closed the door firmly behind
her. Amy chuckled and locked the
apartment after her before making her way to the elevator and then the street
outside.
"Good morning, Miss Burke," the doorman greeted.
"Good morning, Edward," she greeted the tall and thin man in his late
thirties. "How are you?"
"Doing well, Miss Burke. Yourself?"
"Good. Thank you."
"Off to the bus stop?"
Amy looked at the rain and grimaced.
"Yes, and it looks like I’m going to get soaked." She slipped into her rain coat and then gave
Edward another smile as she raised the hood.
"See you later."
The bus was actually on time, which Amy couldn’t understand because of the
rain, and dropped her off in front of the studios a full five minutes before
the expected time. Traffic had been
surprisingly light, with the bus only being honked at once. It’s bound to be a good morning, even
with the rain. Which had stopped a
few minutes before arriving at the front gate of the studio.
Amy stepped off the bus, missed the puddle with a smile at her good fortune,
and then headed toward the front gate.
As expected, she was stopped by the security guard there.
"State your name," he ordered as he retrieved his clipboard.
"Amy Burke," she offered as she opened her purse and dug out her ID.
"You’re not on the list."
Amy looked up. "Excuse me?"
"The list." He lifted the clipboard
for her to see. "You’re not on it."
"Oh. I take it that if I’m not on
the list, I don’t get in."
The security guard stepped back into his booth. "You got it."
"Hmm. Well this is certainly a
predicament. I needed to talk to Mr.
Shepherd about--"
"Throwing names around won’t impress me, Miss. Move along."
Amy placed her ID back into its appropriate slot. "You don’t need to be rude about it," she told him. "I’m just telling you what the problem is so
you could offer me a suggestion on how to fix it."
"Come back when you’re on the list," he told her with crossed arms.
Amy made a face. "Now why didn’t I
think of that?" She turned away with a
frown, a shake of her head, and a "for pete’s sake."
A familiar red Corvette pulled up, squealing to a stop with all the grandeur
and attitude expected of an action-flick hero who believed himself to be God’s
answer to Adonis. Mark stepped out of
the sports car, tossed the keys to the studio attendant that appeared, and then
made his way toward Amy.
"Hey there, you. What’s the matter?"
Amy forced the frown away. "Nothing
really. They just won’t let me in. I’m not on the list of expected guests
today."
"If you’re not on the list, what are you doing here?" Mark asked as he came
to stand by her.
"I’m a little nervous about one of my scenes. I wanted to talk to the director about it."
Mark gestured back to the security gate.
They headed toward it, Amy falling into step beside him. "Which one?"
"The death scene."
"Oh. Yeah, I can see why you’d be
nervous." Mark glanced over at
her. "I’m sure Shepherd will put a
stunt double in for you."
Amy met his gaze. "But it’s a
head-on shot. Otherwise the dramatic
effect is lost. You can’t do that with
a stunt double."
"Hmm." They arrived at the security
gate. "Mark Fraiser."
The security guard checked the list.
"ID."
Mark pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his black jeans and showed
the appropriate ID.
"You’re clear." He pointed at
Amy. "You’re not. Move along."
Amy frowned. Mark did too. "Look, mister, she’s with me. I don’t care about your rules. She’s got a question--"
"I don’t care," the security guard interrupted with a shake of his
head. He crossed his arms. "She’s not on the list. She doesn’t go in."
Mark swore as he pulled a cell phone off his hip. "We’ll see about that damn list." He hit the speed dial and brought the tiny phone up to his
ear. "Yo, Shepherd. Some ass here at the security gate won’t let
Amy in because of some damned list… Yes, I know shooting isn’t scheduled for
another week, but that’s not why she’s here… What do you mean you don’t have
time for anything outside the schedule?… Sure I get that, but--… I know--…
Fine. Be an ass." Mark disconnected and jammed the phone back
into his hip holster. "Sorry, Amy. No can do.
Shepherd’s anal about his schedules.
I forgot about that."
Amy smiled. "It’s okay, Mark. I appreciate the effort. I’ll just go home and try and come up with
some different ideas on how to do the scene without dying."
Mark smirked. "I used to do some
stunt work myself. In fact, I’m doing
my stunts in this flick. If you want, I
could come over and give you some pointers or something."
I’m sure you could. "That’s
alright. You’ve got enough on your
plate without having to baby-sit the newbie.
Thanks for the offer, though."
Amy gestured toward the studio beyond the gate. "You better get going. I don’t want to be black-balled because I
held you up.
Mark chuckled. "Yeah. I’d be heart broken, because I couldn’t see
you anymore."
Amy’s lips twitched. "I’ll see you
later, Mark. And thanks again for
trying."
"Sure thing."
Amy turned and walked away, very conscious of Mark’s appreciative
examination of her retreat. Oh
well. Where there are chicks, there are
wolves. She snickered at the good
joke and sat at the bus stop bench.
Wolves and flirts and teases had long ago become expected and dealt with
in truly unique ‘Amy’ fashion. Quite
simply, she ignored them. Not so much
their entire person, just their obvious lines or come-ons. She treated them as a person, and that was
it. It had been the best way to keep
from making enemies. Instead, she
gained friends, which were more important than anything else. At least in Amy’s opinion.
Amy pulled her script onto her lap to open it to the last scene, nibbling
her lower lip as she read and reread what she had already written in the
margins. The more she thought about the
scene, the more she knew that she would be better off if she did talk to
Mark about it. I just won’t invite
him over to my apartment. We’ll do it
in a less personal setting. Renee
would be irritated if she ever found out that Mark Frasier had been denied the
opportunity to come over, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
There was a door slam and Amy looked up.
She smiled. "Good morning, Mr.
Harrison. Lovely drive today, I hope."
Mr. Harrison halted his progress around the roadster with an expression of
mild surprise. "Miss Burke? I don’t recall seeing your name on the
schedule for this morning."
Amy grimaced as she set the script beside her. "So I found out the hard way."
Mr. Harrison finished pulling off his driving gloves as he made his way
toward her. He was wearing yet another
pair of flattering Docker-type slacks and what was likely a Ralph Lauren Polo
cable-knit sweater of emerald green.
The crisp white collar of his freshly pressed Perry Ellis shirt peaked
up over the ‘crew’ neck. Wow.
"Was there a problem?" he asked.
"I had a question about my final scene," she confessed as he came to stand
in front of her. He smelled of Hugo
Boss, always a favorite of Amy’s when it came to men. "I have to say I’m more than a little nervous."
Mr. Harrison sat on the bench beside her after taking up the script. "I believe I understand the hesitation," he
said as he flipped through the pages in search of the mentioned scene.
"Mark said something about a stunt double, but that would take away from the
dramatic effect." Mr. Harrison found
the scene, and Amy leaned toward him slightly to point to the appropriate
section on the page. "See? The culmination of action and conflict up to
that point just screams for a dramatic death.
If we put in a stunt double…"
Amy shook her head as she pulled herself back. "It will ruin the entire scene."
Mr. Harrison adjusted the script in his hands, apparently reading the notes
Amy had written within the margins.
"What are these?"
"Oh." Amy flushed and reached out to
take the script. "Just notes to
myself. It’s nothing."
Mr. Harrison pulled the script out of her reach. "Hmm," he commented absently.
"Interesting."
Amy gnawed her lower lip. Then Mr.
Harrison closed the script and handed it to her. "Thank you." She
self-consciously adjusted it on her lap.
"Anyway, I thought maybe I should take some stunt classes or
something. That way Mr. Shepherd
doesn’t lose anything in the delivery of the scene." Amy finally raised her gaze to meet his. She smiled.
"I don’t want you to look bad, either.
After all, you… suggested me for this role."
Mr. Harrison’s lips twitched upward.
"Yes. So I recall." He gestured to the script. "Continue to study what is written, Miss
Burke. In the mean time, I will ask Max
what he had in mind. Believe me, I
would rather not risk life and limb simply for the performance of a scene."
Amy’s smile broadened. "No, I don’t
suppose you would. Mr. Shepherd would
be a little peeved if the villain and the ‘sacrificial lamb’ died at the
climax."
Mr. Harrison chuckled, and Amy found it a luscious baritone. Then he stood. "When your time comes to perform, Max and myself require
110%. I suggest that, until then, you
enjoy your respite from the grueling shooting schedule."
Amy nodded, looking into his handsome face with an absent smile. "I will."
Mr. Harrison gave a slight bow, his eyes still twinkling as his lips
twitched upward. "Good morning, Miss
Burke, and enjoy your ride back."
He moved away toward the security gate, Amy staring after him with a continued smile. Nice man. Very nice man.
(tip: in the poetry excerpts you will notice a ‘/’ within lines. This
only signifies a hard page break within the poem itself. If you can, ignore
them and pay attention only to the punctuation. That will help with the
smoothness of the reading. Speaking from experience, you might also try
rereading the poem. It will help, too. I promise. ^_^)
*
The phone on the end table to Amy’s right chirped. She absently reached over to pick it up, nestling it into her
shoulder with a distracted "Hello" as she turned the page of her novel.
"Good day. Might I speak with Miss
Amy Burke?"
"Speaking," Amy confessed with disinterest.
"Ah, Miss Burke. Harrison here."
Amy blinked, the words on the page lost to her as she smiled into the
phone. "Well hello, Mr. Harrison. How are you?" Amy closed the novel and set it beside her as she tucked her feet
up under her.
"Quite well, thank you. Yourself?"
"Just relaxing with good ol’ Charles Dickens."
"Indeed?"
Amy’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
"What? You expected Sweet
Valley High or something?" she asked with a chuckle.
"To be quite truthful…"
Amy laughed. "I suppose I deserved
that. I have a tendency of being a
little too perky for people to believe I prefer literature to contemporary
works." Amy thought she detected a
slight chuckle, and her eyes twinkled.
She changed her position on the couch, stretching her legs out as she
leaned her back against the couch arm.
"So to what do I owe the honor of this call, Mr. Harrison?"
"I’ve spoken to Max regarding the scene."
Amy’s smile faded to an expression of astonishment.
"It seems that he has already planned a meeting with one of the top stunt
companies," Mr. Harrison continued.
"Max intends to gather different options and opinions on how to best
handle the situation before making a decision regarding it."
"Wow. Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I appreciate it." Amy started picking at a loose string on the couch. "I didn’t tell you to manipulate you into
doing something about it."
"Of course not, Miss Burke. I had
already intended to speak with Max regarding the scene, simply at a later
date. Your attention to detail and
preparedness - which is much appreciated - simply brought it to the forefront
of the conversation earlier than intended."
Amy’s smile returned. "Thank you
again, Mr. Harrison. If only all
villains and execs could be as helpful… it would definitely be a lot easier to
be persuaded to stay in the movie business."
"You don’t intend to continue on screen?"
Amy wrinkled her nose as she rested her forehead in her left hand, her elbow
pressed into the back of the couch.
"Nope. I went to the audition
because my friend asked me to. I never
actually thought I would get a role, especially not a leading one… although I
would call Aeris a supporting role more than a lead. Anyway, my love is the stage, not the screen. Always has been."
"Indeed?"
"‘Indeed’, Mr. Harrison." Amy
chuckled. "I continue to shock
you, don’t I? I think that’s four times
now. Twice just in this
conversation."
Mr. Harrison cleared his throat.
"I do apologize. I seem to
have placed you in an inappropriate category since the first."
Amy waved it away. "Don't beat
yourself up about it, Mr. Harrison. I did
sound pathetically similar to a 'yes-man' that first day at the studio. As I told Mark and the director, I
brown-nose without meaning to."
Mr. Harrison actually laughed.
Amy admitted that it had to be the sexiest sound ever heard from a
man. "Anyway, thanks again. You didn't need to bother about it, but I'm
glad you did."
"Again, you are quite welcome.
Also, If you are so inclined, I could meet with you to choreograph
different possibilities."
Amy's smile vanished as the statement 'he'll have you in his sheets in
less than a week' hit her upside the head.
True, it had been more than a week, but not if she counted the actual
days they had met with each other. She
cleared her throat. "Mr. Harrison,
you're so busy… I hate to have you
bother with something like that."
"It is no bother, Miss Burke, due to the fact we will be working
together on that particular scene at a later date. With that in mind, I would have likely recommended we meet before
actual shooting commenced. It reduces
the need for retakes of the scene."
Amy rubbed at her forehead with a single finger. Suspicion battled with her eagerness to work with a legend in his
own time. Dang it, Renee... "Well... when did you have in
mind? Your schedule looks pretty
wild." Geez. Just give him the benefit of the doubt,
girl. "Saturday was my last
day at the coffee shop, so I'm free all week."
"Perhaps we could meet today to discuss possibilities of a rehearsal
schedule?"
Amy swallowed hard. "If you're
sure it won't completely mess up what you’ve already got planned, that's fine
with me."
"What time should I expect you?"
Amy cleared her throat as she turned in the couch to sit with feet flat on
the floor, adjusting the phone to her other shoulder. "Um... well, that depends on the bus schedule. Probably a couple of hours."
"I see." Silence. "Would you be available in forty-five
minutes?"
Amy blinked. "Pardon?"
"I should be able to arrive at your apartment complex by that
time."
"Mr. Harrison, you don't have to do that."
"Nonsense. What is your
apartment number?"
"412, but--"
"Right. Forty-five minutes,
then."
"Mr. Harrison," Amy pressed in her most firm tone available,
"this is going a little bit beyond the Executive Producer's call of
duty."
"Yes, it is," he agreed, "and such is the reason I am not
currently wearing my Executive Producer shoes."
Amy reluctantly smiled. "No
Italian loafers today?"
"Nike."
Amy laughed. "Alright,
alright. No more complaints and
whining. I'll be ready in thirty
minutes."
"Excellent. Barring any quote-unquote
emergencies, I shall be there shortly."
"I thought you weren't wearing those shoes?" she ribbed.
Mr. Harrison's smile could almost be heard through the phone. "Unfortunately, I must always carry
them with me."
Amy laughed again. "Point taken
and admitted. How about I say I'll see
you when I see you?"
"Good enough, although for the record I do prefer punctuality or early
arrivals."
"I already suspected that," Amy said with a slight sound of a
laugh.
"Ah. Then the warning wasn't
necessary."
"Nope."
"Very well, then. I shall see you... when I see you."
Amy smiled wider with a shake of her head.
"Sounds like a plan.
Bye."
Mr. Harrison clicked off without a returned statement, and Amy wondered if
he had grown so accustomed to hanging up on people that he didn't even think
about saying 'good-bye' or 'toodles'.
Amy laughed. She couldn't hear
him saying 'toodles' or 'ta-ta' or anything else. A simple click as all she could picture. I'm sure he doesn't mean to. And Amy wasn't going to ask, either.
"Okee dokee," she sighed as she pushed herself to her feet. "A meeting with Sir Garret
Harrison. Wow. Don't look now, Amy girl, you're on your way
to... well... to something."
Amy shook her head with a chuckle as she made her way to her room to change
from her flannel loungers and midriff T-shirt to something a little less... provocative? Amy laughed aloud when she thought of
wearing her baggiest and least flattering jeans with her dowdiest
sweatshirt. The guy would pass-out
from horror! Instead, she dressed
in her favorite pair of medium blue Levis and the dark blue sweatshirt that
said 'Oliver' across the front; one of the many dramas involved with while
studying drama at NYU.
Amy washed her face and brushed her teeth, then reapplied her make-up and
ran a brush through her waves of brunette.
She put the side and front portions up in a barrette to keep it out of
her face, and then she gave it a couple spritzes of Aussie hairspray to keep it
from flying every which way and tickling her nose into a sneezing fit. That would not be very attractive. Then she left the bathroom while pulling off
her socks, leaping on first one foot and then the other on her way to her
bedroom.
Amy grabbed a fresh pair of socks from her dresser, scooped up her
outlet-store Addidas from the corner by her bedroom door, and then padded to
the couch. She looked at her
watch. Cool. Fifteen minutes. Gives me thirty before he shows up. She slipped into her socks and shoes as she chuckled over their
phone conversation. So he is
human after all. I'll have to tell
Renee 'I told you so', which caused another flow of sniggers and shakes of
the head.
Deciding to make sure there was juice, freshly filtered water, or soda pop
in the fridge ready and waiting for their guest, Amy made her way into the
kitchenette and opened the fridge. Sure
enough, there was a half gallon of juice from concentrate, a half pitcher full
of filtered water, and a half case of diet cola. Amy wrinkled her nose. Mr.
Harrison probably doesn't like cola, and definitely not diet. So, wanting to be the appropriately prepared
hostess that her mother had trained, Amy set some water to heating on the stove
for tea - herbal and not black - and then brought her grinder down from the
cupboard to make coffee.
Amy had just set the coffee to percolating in her trusty Mr. Coffee
coffee-maker when there was a firm knock on the door. Amy glanced down at her watch.
She smiled. Fifteen minutes
early. Good for you. Amy tucked the grinder up and away with a
shout over her shoulder of "Just a second!" before hurrying to the
door. She unlocked the deadbolt and
chain and opened it.
Mr. Harrison was dressed in his same slacks and cable-knit sweater, with a
schedule book the size of a notebook in one hand while wearing a somewhat
serious expression on his face. Amy
smiled and stepped back as she opened the door wider. "Come on in."
He did so, taking in a minute scrutiny of the small apartment and the
furnishings/decorations therein.
"I didn't know how soon you wanted to scoot out of here, what with
traffic and everything," Amy continued, "so I'm making coffee or
tea. Your choice. If you'd rather a cold drink, I have freshly
filtered water, diet cola, and juice.
No alcohol. Don't
drink." Amy closed the door,
refastened the locks, and then made her way back to the kitchen when she heard
the teapot begin to sing. "Go
ahead and have a seat," she offered as she passed.
Amy heard the schedule book go onto the couch, but heard his steps on the
hardwood floor cross the room toward her collection of books. Amy smiled as she placed the teapot onto the
available hot pad before opening the cupboard above the stove in search of the
box of teabags. She had never been ashamed
of her reading preferences, and now she was even a little proud of her
selection. Especially with Sir
Garret Harrison looking over it.
Mr. Harrison's loafers click-clicked back over toward the bar and the stools
of the kitchenette. Amy found the wanted
box of Earl Gray and Chamomile teas and set them onto the counter without
turning around. "So what's the
verdict: tea or coffee?" she asked as she stepped to the left cupboard
near the sink for the mugs.
"Coffee. Thank you."
Amy heard him sit at the counter as she set the tea boxes aside and carried
the mugs over to the coffee-maker.
"Honey or sugar?"
"Honey."
"Cream or not?"
"Is it non-dairy?"
"Yep," Amy said as she made her way to the fridge. "I'm lactose intolerant. A bummer when I crave ice cream, but what
can a person do." Amy retrieved
the creamer from the fridge and turned to show it, vaguely noticing how well
Mr. Harrison fit with her decor.
"It's French Vanilla. I
hope you don't mind."
Mr. Harrison's smile was slight and continual. "It doesn't matter."
Amy made her way back to the coffee-maker.
"I usually put a teaspoon or two of chocolate powder in mine,
making it a mocha you know. Did you
want to try it?"
"No. Thank you."
"Sure." Amy finished the
concoction and turned to place it on the counter with a napkin and a saucer and
spoon. "There ya go."
"Thank you."
"Uh-huh." And then she
went to work with her own coffee.
There was the slight tinkle of spoon on china as he stirred his coffee. "Quite an impressive library, Miss
Burke."
"Thanks. It was a bit of a
chore to get them on a student's limited income, but I shopped garage sales,
estate sales, eBay, and who knows where else." Amy put her mug into the microwave and hit '30 seconds'. She turned back to Mr. Harrison and gestured
to his coffee. "Is it hot
enough? I could reheat it."
Mr. Harrison set the spoon onto the saucer and took a testing sip. "It's fine. Thank you."
The microwave beeped, and Amy retrieved her coffee mug. Then she gave it a stir with her own spoon
before sipping it as she leaned a hip against the bar counter across from Mr.
Harrison. "I love books as much as
I love reading. A person can't have
those types of adventures nowadays.
Well, not unless you're on stage or screen. That's probably why I went into Drama. I loved the adventure."
Amy smirked. "The applause
is nice too."
"Yes. I have found the applause
to be worth the agony of the performance."
Amy nodded. "Applause is like a
drug. Maybe that's why actors stay in
the biz so long. They're really
addicts," she finished with twinkling eyes as she sipped her coffee.
Mr. Harrison chuckled. "Yes, I
suppose we are."
Amy regarded Mr. Harrison over her coffee cup. There was something different about him. Yeah.
He's actually relaxed.
"What made you go on stage?" Mr. Harrison's relaxed expression tightened, and the smile became
forced. Amy pounced on the obvious
warning of dangerous territory with a genuine "I'm sorry, Mr.
Harrison. Forget I said anything. Just enjoy your coffee."
Mr. Harrison stared into his coffee cup on the bar counter a moment before
raising his gaze to meet hers.
"Call me Garret."
Amy smiled to hide the relieved sigh.
"Okay, but you have to stop calling me Miss Burke. Makes me feel like I should be wearing my
hair in a bun with army-issue glasses and a dowdy blazer/skirt
combination."
Mr. Harrison-- Garret's expression relaxed into a smile as he chuckled. "I do apologize."
Amy straightened and headed around the bar to the living room, coffee and
saucer in hand. "Don't worry about
it. Habits die hard." She set her cup and saucer onto a coaster on
the coffee table and sat in the couch.
"Alright. I guess we
should-- Oh wait." Amy looked over at Garret. "Were we going somewhere else?"
Garret stood - Amy hadn't realized he was so tall - and made his way to sit
beside her. Hugo Boss clung to each
article of clothing he wore. He set his
cup and saucer on a coaster beside hers.
"It isn't necessary. We
should be able to compare schedules as easily here as elsewhere."
"Okay. Just wanted to make sure." Amy leaned back in the couch with a fast breath as she crossed her arms. "Like I said, I'm free all day and all afternoon. Except for Sunday mornings. Church, you know." Garret unzipped his schedule book and opened it to the appropriate week. Curiosity got the best of Amy, so she leaned slightly over to take a gande