Eight: Ice Skating on the River

NOTE: Loooong-ish chapter ahead. Again.


   "Thank you for the lovely dinner, dear, it was divine."
   "Thanks mom." I smiled, as she squeezed me tightly. My family did not have a religious way of celebrating the holidays, we used them as a way to spend more time together, to be grateful for what we had, to reminisce about the year, and think fondly of all the new memories we'd make during the next three hundred sixty five years. Instead of having them invite me over on the twenty-fifth, I decide to take on the responsibility of cooking a feast suitable for four times the amount of people we had present.
   "Save some hugs for your old man." Dad chuckled, at he opened his arms.

   "You know I always will." I replied. "Drive safely; the roads have to be horrid, it's been snowing all day and now it's dark, the temperatures have dropped, too."
   "Don't you worry." He patted my shoulder, reassuringly.
   "You know I do, though..." I trailed off, looking at them. My parents were not elderly, frail people, however they had moved away from being middle aged. The vision problems, the hip replacements- health problems had begun to set in and they refused to discuss "such depressing issues" with me.
   "Well, we better be off, now." Mother reached her hand out, as father securely took it, helping lead her to the front door. "Thank you again, dear."
   "Anytime." I smiled, gently opening, then shutting the front door, glancing at the bright, blaring numbers on the microwave. Nine-Five-Two. I ventured towards my bedroom, planning on binge watching Raising Hope on Netflix, when my cell began emitting the sounds of Dido. My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all.

   "Is Ms. Mumsy available?" A curt voice that sounded as if it was coming from a secretary who was rather disgruntled that she was working today instead of enjoying time off.
   "This is she."
   "Yeah, Miss. DuSo wannas talk to ya about the movie." DuSo. DuSo. The name sounded familiar, I just couldn't place it.
   "Pardon, may I ask who is calling?"
   "Stace Clint, Della DuSo's secretary. I called ya a few months ago." She paused, as if she was waiting for me to suddenly realize why a valley girl was calling me after office hours. "We're in LA, ya know, With Love: The Letters of a Missing Girl? DuSo and LoveX production studios wants to turn your fifteen minutes of fame into a romance-adventure-drama thing."
   "LoveX, wait did they produce those vampire movies that were based off of the worst young adult novel of the decade?"
   "Yeah, you heard of them?"
   "Considering that they were in every theater, yes."
   "Ah, well, Miss. DuSo said that she called ya six months ago, you told her to call back in six months, you were healing from your past or some ratchet new age crap."
   "Ratchet new age crap? Excuse me, but you find out that you were a ra- you know what, no I won't discuss movie rights with her or anyone else."
   "Should I tell her to call you back tomorrow or-"
   "Pfht. Yeah, no, have her call me back in, I dunno, preferable never, but if that doesn't work, then I don't know. Seventeen years? Maybe then my new age healing crap will be done." I scoffed, clicking the hang up button, wishing that I had a land line.

   Nothing was more satisfying then, as a child, slamming the receiver down when I got into a petty argument with one of my friends. Despite the mother incident being months ago, I was still sensitive; I despised the idea of my life becoming something someone paid ten dollars to witness for ninety minutes.
   "Beeep." A notification appeared on my screen, informing me that I had one voice mail from an unknown number. It had a Pittsburgh area code, though, so I didn't have to worry about an LA production studio attempting to buy my life rights so they could turn it into a hyperbole of a film.
   "Ello, Lavender, er, this is James Colton, from yesterday. You left rather suddenly yesterday and I wanted to ensure that you were alright. Call me back, please."
   James... James was calling me? After he called those people that, that word? Did he even know how offensive that was to people? Technically I had over heard, he hadn't meant for me to hear, so he could be clueless as to why I left... And he was kind and attractive and humorous and dammit, I'd convinced myself to call him back.
   One ring.
   Two rings.
   Three rin-
   "James Colton speaking."

   "Hello, James, this is Lavender. I got your message and just wanted to inform you that I'm fine."
   "That's lovely, I'm glad... Are you sure? You sound miffed."
   "Miffed?" I scoffed. Damn British slang, if he thought he could seduce me with his accent and his large olive eyes and dammit. Why was he so attractive? Why was he such a lovely, awkward, charming person?
   "Pissed. Lavender, why'd you leave so suddenly? Oliver and I waited and-"
   "You and Oliver. Please, don't get me started on you and Oliver. I heard your conversation, I heard what you called those two women. Do you think they have a choice? That I have a choice?"
   "A choice in what? Which two women?"
   "Do you think I'm a-a fa-g?" My voice cracked as I spat out the syllable. Deep breaths, deep breaths. I was bouncing from insanely angry to completely smitten with him; my mind was a whirlwind of confusion.
   "Don't be barmy, 'course not, no one is." His befuddlement was audible, as my brow furrowed. Neither one of us understood the other; what was going on?
   "At the bar yesterday, why did you use that word then?"
   "She was smoking one."
   "Pardon? They're people, James. You don't smoke people."
   "Lavender, I'm well aware. Being English does not make me a wazzock."
   "What what were you showing Oliver on your phone yesterday?"
   "The song from Grease. He inquired about it, so I showed the video to him, with the Sandy girl and her cigarette. He commented about how there was nothing like lung cancer to make one more attractive, I said I didn't understand why someone would do that to themselves, would smoke. Why?"
   "When you said fag, that's slang for cigarette?"
   "Indeed. Why? You don't think I- Damn. Damn clanger; was there a couple snogging around us? Were those the two woman?"
   "Yeah." I meagerly replied, thankful that he couldn't see my rosy cheeks. He wasn't insulting or offending the LGBT community; I had misunderstood.

   "It may seem smarmy, considering the time, but do you want to meet up, tonight?"
   "Where? It's Christmas; no where's open."
   "There's this lovely bed and breakfast, they have a quaint restaurant. They're open."
   "I... Sure."
   "Meet you in ten?"
   "Fifteen; I need to get my hat and gloves and I've misplaced them."
   "Alright, until then." He clicked off, as my heart skipped a beat. We were meeting up, we were meeting up! I might as well explain: 'He likes me, he really likes me', the meaning I'd convey would be more accurate.

♢ ♢ ♢ 

   He was standing by the cozy B&B's hearth, gently tending to the fire.
   "Um, hey, hi, hello." I said, as he turned, a wide smile of his face. He stuck out his hand, which I shook.
   "Thank you for coming."
   "No problem, thank you for inviting me out."
   "And I apologize for any confusion caused by last night."

   "I, oh, no, it's my fault; I misunderstood and am a bit sensitive about that topic."
   "Still, my apologies, despite having lived here for almost six years, I still keep using the blasted British slang. Now, Oliver said something about you, I cannot remember, but said it was best to avoid it. What was it, if you don't mind me asking? I'd like to know what to avoid so that way on our next date one of us isn't leaving in a rush."
   "There's the bisexual thing, but I don't avoid that." I shrugged, not mentioning my the Jane Doe suicide case. "Also, on our next date, I believe we should go to the cinema or an art museum, instead of a dingy bar."
   "Very well... I supposed I should mention that I'm divorced."

   "Oliver mentioned that." I wasn't sure how else to reply. "From whom? Why?" I paused, wondering if I was being too abrupt. Er- If it isn't too sensitive of a subject." That might make me look a tad more courteous.
   "Do you have a smart phone that I may borrow?"
   "Yeah, sure." I handed him my iPhone, as I shifted my weight from one foot to another.
   "Here, this is her." He spat, his voice was filled with disgust, as she showed me a photo of a raven haired woman, who was posing seductively in front of a motorcycle.

   "That- That's you ex-wife? An American Allurance model?" American Allurance was a company that sold clothing made from shockingly little fabric and cost an outrageous amount. They're a company that was started in the 70's as the it place to buy hot pants and go-go boots and popularized the phrase "sex sells".
   "I feel a bit abashed admitting it, but yes."
   "So... Why?" Why had they ended their marriage? Why had he married her in the first place? The two flotation devices that were barely covered by her bikini top might be the answer to the second question.
   "We married..." He sighed, glancing at his feet. "My father despised American woman. Said they were crass harlets who were too busy concerning themselves with the daily activities of Hollywood starlets that looked like plastic surgery addicted sex dolls to earn a decent education."
   "So you married a plastic surgery addicted sex doll to spite him?"
   "Lacey and I met at uni during this ridiculous freshman dramatics class. At the time she was doing department store catalog modeling to help support herself while she earned a degree in social work- it was pre-AA. We kept seeing each other every Monday and Thursday and eventually admitted that we were both smitten with each other. We started seeing each other and the day after we graduated, we were wed at a small ceremony. My mother had flown in to see me graduate and so had Lacey's parents; the timing was perfected and we'd been together for nearly four years, marriage seemed like the next logical step."
   "I... I apologize for calling her a sex doll." My cheeks turned crimson, as he continued the story of him and Lacey, how he was teaching piano to bored elementary school students and she was working an unpaid internship at a foster care facility. She didn't sound like a vain model, she sounded sensitive, caring.
   "After we'd been wed for a few months, an AA representative contacted her, said that they wanted to put a few photographs of her in their fall catalog. We didn't have a lot of money and she had enjoyed doing things for Penny's, Macy's, however they didn't pay nearly as well as what she was being offered.
   The first few ads weren't so provocative, however after she signed a contract with them, quit the internship, she started modeling lingerie, swim suits. She was told if she wanted to be featured, she'd need surgery, to ehem, enhance her assets. We couldn't afford it, we'd been pinching every penny, attempting to save up for the suburban, white picket fence, dream home- marriage seemed natural, I presumed that a few years in there would be children, since it would also seem natural- so she decided to take the house money, get a loan, and go up to a double D.
   Things started falling apart after that. I was upset that she had thrown away a promising career to go pose with a shirtless sweaty man in boxers, looking like they'd just shagged- I was jealous; I cannot pin everything on her, for I handled the modeling rather poorly- and she was upset that I didn't support her more. After a year and a half, neither of us could stand the arguments, we didn't communicate with each other, just yelled, so we decided to give up, skip the counseling, skip second chances, and go straight to getting a divorce."
   "I'm sorry, I didn't... I saw her, presumed that the marriage was an impulsive thing, I didn't..."

   "Love fades." He shrugged, a faint smile on his face. "I'm not bitter about it, not now. We're both at fault and if it hadn't been for the divorce I wouldn't have met so many people."
   "Still, it's so personal, I..." I inhaled, staring into his eyes. "I hate cops."
   "Pardon?"
   "Sorry, I, the divorce felt personal, so I... Cops. There are several things that are deeply personal, that I barely tell anyone about, the cop story is one of those things."
   "You do not have to; we've-"
   "I want to." I smiled, taking a deep breath. I hadn't told anyone why I had a particular despisal for cops in an incredibly long time. "It-"
   "Excuse me, are you two going to book a room or just loiter in the lobby?" A tired employee interrupted me, dark bags hanging underneath her eyes. "I've been instructed by my boss that you either need to buy something or get out, we're not a meeting place."
   "Of course, of course." James replied, pointing to something behind the front desk. "Are though ice skates?"
   "Ten dollars per pair for an hour." She curtly replied.
   "Can you skate?" He asked me, as I nodded. My school had taken multiple trips to the ice rink and allowed students who earned all A's to have an hour colliding into one another while freezing; I wasn't an expert or even average, however my mediocre skills were enough to agree to strapping on a pair of skates and spending an hour out on the frozen pond. Within minutes we were outside, in the freezing cold, as flakes of fresh, white snow and the bitter winder swirled around us.

   "Haha, look I can skate backwards!" I exclaimed, as James stumbled onto the ice.
   "Brilliant." He replied, chuckling. "Now what were you telling me, about the cops?"
   "I..." He slide forward, taking my hands, looking into my eyes. "I was out with my mother, we had gone to the craft store to buy supplies for her jewelry making and then we'd gotten ice cream, since it was an abnormally warm March day- it was in the nineties, I believe- and I was whining because she only let me get one scoop of ice cream and I wanted to get a scoop of every flavor, thinking like most irrational young children, that if I annoyed her enough, she'd take me back to the ice cream parlor and buy me what I wanted. A cop saw us.
   It'd been recently reported in the news that some teenage girl had been kidnapped. She was a Swedish foreign exchange student who spoke minimal English, but was gorgeous- blonde, blue eyes, pale, alabaster skin. And... The cop, this is what we were told later, thought that maybe my mother was kidnapping me, since I was white and she had dark skin... I, dammit, I hate racial profiling. He saw her and he came over and he started inquiring that he see my mother's I.D. She asked why. He said to shut up and do it... Then he started beating her, yelling at her for being scum, kidnapping me. I started crying, screaming, as I watched my mother be beat to the ground... She was beaten so bad, she was temporarily paralyzed and she lost her sight... She lost so many damn things because she couldn't see. And that effing cop didn't lose anything. Not a thing."
   "I'm sorry..." He whispered.
   "So yeah." I sniffled, as a few tears slipped down my cheek.

   He raised his gloved hand, gently wiping away the tears. "Lavender, I, I have something to tell you."
   "Alright." I looked at him, sniffling.

   "I suppose it might be a bit cheeky, me confessing this to you, considering that we have only known each other twenty-four hours and you spent half that time believing that I was an arse, sod it, I simply must confess this-" We were holding hands, as we attempted to spin, together on the ice. And then we weren't spinning, as I felt my feet slip out from underneath, as I flew forward.

   I heard the ear splitting crack, as my head hit the ice, bouncing back off it, as James' eyes expanded. His mouth began moving, as his blurry body began moving, reaching out towards me.

   "-okay? Lavender, are you okay?"
   "Hmm?" I groaned, as my vision came back into focus.
   "Your head hit the ice, are you okay?"
   "Just dizzy." I replied, as I stumbled, attempting to stand back up.

   "Here." He thrust out his hand, helping me up. "Are you sure you're fine?" I nodded my head, thankful that there was no bleeding- I despised blood- feeling a slight throbbing pain, as if a dull knife was piercing my brain. "Do you need a doctor?" Doctor? Did I need one? I... I feel all the time. I was clumsy and uncoordinated when it came to athletics. I'd be fine. I shook my head no. "Well... Should I take you home?"
   "No-o... You, what you say?"
   "Your speech-"
   "I'm fine." I curtly replied. "I'll take soem Advil when I get home, put an ice pack on my head. What-t were you saying?"
   "Lavender, I like you an abnormal amount and I wish to get to know you much better and I feel like we know each other quite well already. I want to, well, date?"
   "Really?" I smiled widely, as my heart fluttered and I forgot the pain.
   "I'm hoping that that is a yes."
   "It is."

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