Connected
Page 8
Turning down the volume on the TV and looking around at everything I have to pack, I say, “I can’t go on such short notice, you know that. I just put the house on the market.”
“No, I know no such thing. Having your house up for sale isn’t the issue. Being gone one night won’t make a difference. I’m not dumb. I know you. I know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, and this has nothing to do with your crush, I promise.”
She stops a minute, pauses, and then continues. “You’re afraid to see him, your secret rock star crush, but come on Dahlia. He probably won’t even remember you.” She says it so matter of factly I actually feel a little hurt.
I think to myself while mentally correcting her words in my mind, that actually, River Wilde was my crush before he was a rock star, and no matter what she says, she’s obviously setting me up so I can’t say no. Aerie knows I secretly swooned over him after we met at the USC Campus Bar many years ago. She knows he’s the singer whose songs were always on repeat, not only on my iPod, but also in my head. And she knows he was the one singer I never talked to Ben about, and now she wants me to meet him, again.
“You are going to owe me so big, you know that right? I’ll do it, I’m sure he won’t remember me anyway and even so it’s not like anything embarrassing happened, you know?” I finally manage to croak out.
“Thank you so much, I really do love you Dahlia girl,” Aerie croons and then spends the next hour telling me the highlights of River’s career.
After we hang up, my mind wanders back to how I felt that night I met River. How that was still the only time someone’s touch sent goosebumps up my arms. I remember the feelings I felt then, feelings I have long since buried. I hope to God they don’t resurrect tomorrow. How could they? Those were feelings of a young college girl who was in love with someone else anyway.
Every now and then I have thought about our intense connection that night in the bar and wondered if it might have been more in my mind than it actually was. More like it was okay to want to believe in something you knew couldn’t possibly be.
Besides, even if the connection was real, River is somewhat famous now and I’m sure he has a lot of women after him or possibly a girlfriend even. What does any of that matter anyway? I’m still a broken girl struggling through the stages of my grief, trying to reenter the real world without the man who is still a part of me.
I haven’t paid much attention to River’s career since Ben’s death. Curiosity takes over and I Google his name. I read a few articles about him and download his latest songs. I slip into my bed around eleven not even realizing I never watched Vampire Diaries.
Chapter Six
BEGIN AGAIN
I’ve been spending the last years
Thinking love will always leave you
I wondered if it would all begin again
Memories of years ago flood my mind
And I can’t help but think of you.
Shimmering through the desert haze of Nevada is the most dynamic city on earth. My plane is just about to touch down on the ground that’s often referred to as a latter-day El Dorado. My stomach is in knots. It’s a mix of nervous excitement and downright fear. I’m nervous because this is my first day back to work in almost two years. I’m excited because I finally feel like I’m doing something productive after so long. And I’m fearful because of who I will be interviewing to prep for his upcoming photo-shoot. Well, I’m not really fearful as much as uncertain or maybe even apprehensive, or dare I say, eager to meet with him.
We’ve been circling the airport waiting to land for almost forty-five minutes. I’m sitting in the plush leather seat of the plane listening to the music I recently downloaded. Looking out the window and past the clouds, I can see the crowded and famous Las Vegas strip. I’m trying to comprehend how I allowed myself to be talked into this job. How is it that in just a few short minutes I’m going to be seeing River again?
Earlier this morning Aerie texted me a list of hygiene items I might want to attend to before hitting my first ‘freelance’ job. These items included shaving my legs and blow-drying my hair, both of which she knows I’ve done very infrequently since Ben’s death. She also rudely advised me to put some thought in my wardrobe selection.
Last night I carefully picked out what I was going to wear today. I had decided on a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and the standard high-heeled black pumps. However, after listening to The Wilde Ones’ album this morning, their music actually inspired me to want to go to work today.
I happily showered and used my favorite grapefruit-scented shampoo. I not only took extra time to lather it in and repeat the process, but I decided to ditch my chosen business attire in favor of something more fun. My showers are usually the five-minute quick in and out kind, but today it lasted much longer. I can’t say why, but I just felt different, maybe even excited in a way I can’t really describe. I actually danced around my bedroom before getting dressed. I hadn’t done that in a while.
Feeling concerned about my appearance for the first time in a long time, I decided casual was better than trendy, and then decided sophisticated was better than casual, and in the end went with a mix of all three. I opted to wear black skinny jeans and my most loved white swing top with the words The Kinks scripted diagonally across it and the word Lola underneath in black faded scroll. I threw on my gray moto leather jacket with the hoodie snapped off, and a pair of black open toed wedge booties. I haven’t been shopping in so long, I don’t even know if the shoes are still in style, but they are comfortable. I added some eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss and I was ready to go.
As the plane finally lands, I take a deep breath, and walk down the jetway. I laugh as I read the sign at the end of the walkway that says, “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.” As I make my way through the airport, I smile again as I hear the sounds of the slot machine handles being pulled and bells ringing for the lucky winners gambling in the Las Vegas Airport. After collecting my luggage in baggage claim, I set foot on Sin City’s pavement and wait for a taxi to take me to my destination.
It’s early November and the weather is crisp and mild. I’m sitting in the back seat of a taxicab, feeling the bright sunshine through the window permeate my skin. I embrace the warmth and take a few deep breaths, trying to curb my sudden onset of jitters. I have so many emotions going through my head as I think of the two extreme outcomes of meeting River again today. How will I feel if he doesn’t remember me? How will I feel if he does? The answer to both questions . . . I have no idea.
Knowing I’m in a hurry, the driver tells me he will take the fastest route he can. As he’s explaining that it is the longer way, mileage wise around the strip, but much shorter, time wise, I zone out. God, what if he doesn’t remember me when I’ve never been able to forget him or what if he does and we still have that instant connection? Is he still adorably charming and utterly charismatic? Why am I even thinking this way and why do I care? I’m here to do a job and that is all I need to be thinking about. River is just a person I have to interview to prepare a photo-shoot for. I’ve done this job a thousand times. “Just do your job, that’s all you have to do,” I say to myself over and over again.
I watch the multitude of people walking down the sidewalk, men and women, couples and families, winners and losers, I think about how they’re all here to forget about their everyday lives. I decide today is the perfect day for me to do the same. I’m going to get lost in this city too. Today I’m Dahlia London, the photographer. I can be that girl. I was that girl. I am that girl. Today I will not be Dahlia London, poor girl whose fiancé was killed in front of her.
The sunlight streaming through the cab window is reflecting off the diamonds of my bracelet. As I look out onto the street I see a man dressed in a suit, walking while checking his phone and I can’t help but think of Ben. Ben was always multitasking, able to accomplish more in a single day than I ever could in a week. Today these thoughts aren’t sad thoughts. Instead I smile at the memory they provoke of the man that was so driven and so successful at such a young age. Taking deep cleansing breaths, I look at my bracelet again and remember the reason I will never take it off. The promise I made to myself to have no regrets. Those thoughts are what I will take with me as I interview the one man I had an almost dalliance with once, a long time ago.
The taxi is approaching the office building located on East Harmon Avenue, just a few blocks east of the Hard Rock Hotel where I will be staying. Since I’m running short on time, I decide against dropping my bags off at the hotel first.
I hop out of the cab and I hear my phone’s familiar ringtone. I answer it while grabbing my suitcase and messenger bag to make my way into the building. With my shoulder holding the phone to my ear, I open the large double doors to the building that houses Sound Music’s office. The lobby is quiet; it’s Friday afternoon so I suspect many employees are gone for the weekend. Aerie is on the other end of the phone frantically screaming that I’m late and telling me to get up to the seventh floor immediately because River is already there. After reassuring Aerie that I’ve arrived and am on my way up, I exit the elevator and hit the end button on my phone.
Practically running to get to the conference room, I trail my suitcase with my messenger bag on top of it behind me. I turn the corner and start down the hallway where I can see through the conference room’s glass wall. There he sits, River Wilde, looking down at his phone. My heart is pounding at the mere sight of him, and the feelings of the young girl crush I had on him five years ago come flooding back.
I slow down my pace, take a few deep breaths, and pause to straighten my jacket. The shift of my body weight causes my messenger bag to fall off the top of my suitcase, making a loud noise on the marble floor. Looking around the empty hall, I pick up my bag and continue walking, but as I lift my eyes and River Wilde comes into view, he’s no longer looking at his phone. He’s watching me instead. He’s still just as captivating as he was so long ago, but this time the word ‘dangerous’ no longer applies.
My legs are shaking and my stomach is doing flip-flops as I make my way to the conference room. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but the fact that I asked myself, ‘Could love at first sight be real?’ when I met him that night makes me nervous as hell. The silence in the office adds to my anxiety; the only sound that can be heard is that of my shoes clicking across the tile floor.
As I approach the door, I can see him running his hand through his hair. He’s walking around the conference table towards the door, and we reach it at the same time. With a nervous grip, I grab the door handle, dropping my eyes from his as my Cartier bracelet hits against the glass, causing a sharp pain to radiate through my wrist.
I wince as I stumble into him. Once our bodies meet, my nervousness evaporates and it is replaced by a bevy of heightened senses. I’m so close to him. I can smell his soapy, just-showered scent that I remember so well. I can feel his hard body, and as I look up, I can see the smoothness of the skin on his face, which makes my knees buckle beneath me.
Goosebumps run up my arms and down my legs. Our collision has awakened something in me. It’s something as simple and pure as desire. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Gaining all of my composure I look up into his gleaming green eyes, the intensity is still so powerful anyone looking into them might never get out. I already know I don’t want to get out. I’m sure I’m staring as I continue to gaze into his eyes searching for that same look he gave me long ago, but before I can find it our contact is broken.
He takes a step back and I notice his gleaming eyes studying the length of my body. Remembering I am supposed to be Dahlia London, the interviewer, I try to push the wanton girl aside and replace her with the professional one. However, trying to manage multiple personalities has never been easy for me. I drop my eyes to escape his power and begin to speak a mash of garbled words that make very little sense even to me. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, thank you, and oh shit.”
Shifting my gaze into the room, embarrassed by my lack of professionalism, I somehow manage to look at him again. I take in his faded jeans, black Doc Marten boots, and gray t-shirt with the word Fender scripted across in black. He’s still so overwhelmingly attractive. He looks just how I remember him; no, he looks even better. The guy I had talked to one night at a bar five years ago is now a man.
Still grinning, he chuckles and crosses his arms. “No apology necessary, that’s the kind of crash I wouldn't mind having every day.”
Giving him a polite nod, I continue to stand there, and I’m wondering if he really doesn’t remember me.
“Let me get your bags for you,” he says as he takes hold of the items in my hand. Crossing into the room, he sets my black messenger bag on the table in front of us and then, picking up my suitcase, he casually walks to the corner of the room and sets it next to his guitar case, which is leaning against the wall. I can’t help but notice his walk is still a sway and still full of confidence.
Turning around, he strides back to the conference table, showing no sign of recognition and I begin to feel a little deflated. He stops at the table where I first saw him and we stand across from each other, the table as our divide.
Glancing at my suitcase and pointing to the glass wall he asks, “Are you sleeping here? Because there isn’t much privacy.”
I let out a soft laugh and he chuckles to himself.
Trying to decide if I should mention we have met before, I decide against it. I’m not sure he remembers me; actually I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, so why further embarrass myself?
“No, I know no such thing. Having your house up for sale isn’t the issue. Being gone one night won’t make a difference. I’m not dumb. I know you. I know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, and this has nothing to do with your crush, I promise.”
She stops a minute, pauses, and then continues. “You’re afraid to see him, your secret rock star crush, but come on Dahlia. He probably won’t even remember you.” She says it so matter of factly I actually feel a little hurt.
I think to myself while mentally correcting her words in my mind, that actually, River Wilde was my crush before he was a rock star, and no matter what she says, she’s obviously setting me up so I can’t say no. Aerie knows I secretly swooned over him after we met at the USC Campus Bar many years ago. She knows he’s the singer whose songs were always on repeat, not only on my iPod, but also in my head. And she knows he was the one singer I never talked to Ben about, and now she wants me to meet him, again.
“You are going to owe me so big, you know that right? I’ll do it, I’m sure he won’t remember me anyway and even so it’s not like anything embarrassing happened, you know?” I finally manage to croak out.
“Thank you so much, I really do love you Dahlia girl,” Aerie croons and then spends the next hour telling me the highlights of River’s career.
After we hang up, my mind wanders back to how I felt that night I met River. How that was still the only time someone’s touch sent goosebumps up my arms. I remember the feelings I felt then, feelings I have long since buried. I hope to God they don’t resurrect tomorrow. How could they? Those were feelings of a young college girl who was in love with someone else anyway.
Every now and then I have thought about our intense connection that night in the bar and wondered if it might have been more in my mind than it actually was. More like it was okay to want to believe in something you knew couldn’t possibly be.
Besides, even if the connection was real, River is somewhat famous now and I’m sure he has a lot of women after him or possibly a girlfriend even. What does any of that matter anyway? I’m still a broken girl struggling through the stages of my grief, trying to reenter the real world without the man who is still a part of me.
I haven’t paid much attention to River’s career since Ben’s death. Curiosity takes over and I Google his name. I read a few articles about him and download his latest songs. I slip into my bed around eleven not even realizing I never watched Vampire Diaries.
Chapter Six
BEGIN AGAIN
I’ve been spending the last years
Thinking love will always leave you
I wondered if it would all begin again
Memories of years ago flood my mind
And I can’t help but think of you.
Shimmering through the desert haze of Nevada is the most dynamic city on earth. My plane is just about to touch down on the ground that’s often referred to as a latter-day El Dorado. My stomach is in knots. It’s a mix of nervous excitement and downright fear. I’m nervous because this is my first day back to work in almost two years. I’m excited because I finally feel like I’m doing something productive after so long. And I’m fearful because of who I will be interviewing to prep for his upcoming photo-shoot. Well, I’m not really fearful as much as uncertain or maybe even apprehensive, or dare I say, eager to meet with him.
We’ve been circling the airport waiting to land for almost forty-five minutes. I’m sitting in the plush leather seat of the plane listening to the music I recently downloaded. Looking out the window and past the clouds, I can see the crowded and famous Las Vegas strip. I’m trying to comprehend how I allowed myself to be talked into this job. How is it that in just a few short minutes I’m going to be seeing River again?
Earlier this morning Aerie texted me a list of hygiene items I might want to attend to before hitting my first ‘freelance’ job. These items included shaving my legs and blow-drying my hair, both of which she knows I’ve done very infrequently since Ben’s death. She also rudely advised me to put some thought in my wardrobe selection.
Last night I carefully picked out what I was going to wear today. I had decided on a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and the standard high-heeled black pumps. However, after listening to The Wilde Ones’ album this morning, their music actually inspired me to want to go to work today.
I happily showered and used my favorite grapefruit-scented shampoo. I not only took extra time to lather it in and repeat the process, but I decided to ditch my chosen business attire in favor of something more fun. My showers are usually the five-minute quick in and out kind, but today it lasted much longer. I can’t say why, but I just felt different, maybe even excited in a way I can’t really describe. I actually danced around my bedroom before getting dressed. I hadn’t done that in a while.
Feeling concerned about my appearance for the first time in a long time, I decided casual was better than trendy, and then decided sophisticated was better than casual, and in the end went with a mix of all three. I opted to wear black skinny jeans and my most loved white swing top with the words The Kinks scripted diagonally across it and the word Lola underneath in black faded scroll. I threw on my gray moto leather jacket with the hoodie snapped off, and a pair of black open toed wedge booties. I haven’t been shopping in so long, I don’t even know if the shoes are still in style, but they are comfortable. I added some eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss and I was ready to go.
As the plane finally lands, I take a deep breath, and walk down the jetway. I laugh as I read the sign at the end of the walkway that says, “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.” As I make my way through the airport, I smile again as I hear the sounds of the slot machine handles being pulled and bells ringing for the lucky winners gambling in the Las Vegas Airport. After collecting my luggage in baggage claim, I set foot on Sin City’s pavement and wait for a taxi to take me to my destination.
It’s early November and the weather is crisp and mild. I’m sitting in the back seat of a taxicab, feeling the bright sunshine through the window permeate my skin. I embrace the warmth and take a few deep breaths, trying to curb my sudden onset of jitters. I have so many emotions going through my head as I think of the two extreme outcomes of meeting River again today. How will I feel if he doesn’t remember me? How will I feel if he does? The answer to both questions . . . I have no idea.
Knowing I’m in a hurry, the driver tells me he will take the fastest route he can. As he’s explaining that it is the longer way, mileage wise around the strip, but much shorter, time wise, I zone out. God, what if he doesn’t remember me when I’ve never been able to forget him or what if he does and we still have that instant connection? Is he still adorably charming and utterly charismatic? Why am I even thinking this way and why do I care? I’m here to do a job and that is all I need to be thinking about. River is just a person I have to interview to prepare a photo-shoot for. I’ve done this job a thousand times. “Just do your job, that’s all you have to do,” I say to myself over and over again.
I watch the multitude of people walking down the sidewalk, men and women, couples and families, winners and losers, I think about how they’re all here to forget about their everyday lives. I decide today is the perfect day for me to do the same. I’m going to get lost in this city too. Today I’m Dahlia London, the photographer. I can be that girl. I was that girl. I am that girl. Today I will not be Dahlia London, poor girl whose fiancé was killed in front of her.
The sunlight streaming through the cab window is reflecting off the diamonds of my bracelet. As I look out onto the street I see a man dressed in a suit, walking while checking his phone and I can’t help but think of Ben. Ben was always multitasking, able to accomplish more in a single day than I ever could in a week. Today these thoughts aren’t sad thoughts. Instead I smile at the memory they provoke of the man that was so driven and so successful at such a young age. Taking deep cleansing breaths, I look at my bracelet again and remember the reason I will never take it off. The promise I made to myself to have no regrets. Those thoughts are what I will take with me as I interview the one man I had an almost dalliance with once, a long time ago.
The taxi is approaching the office building located on East Harmon Avenue, just a few blocks east of the Hard Rock Hotel where I will be staying. Since I’m running short on time, I decide against dropping my bags off at the hotel first.
I hop out of the cab and I hear my phone’s familiar ringtone. I answer it while grabbing my suitcase and messenger bag to make my way into the building. With my shoulder holding the phone to my ear, I open the large double doors to the building that houses Sound Music’s office. The lobby is quiet; it’s Friday afternoon so I suspect many employees are gone for the weekend. Aerie is on the other end of the phone frantically screaming that I’m late and telling me to get up to the seventh floor immediately because River is already there. After reassuring Aerie that I’ve arrived and am on my way up, I exit the elevator and hit the end button on my phone.
Practically running to get to the conference room, I trail my suitcase with my messenger bag on top of it behind me. I turn the corner and start down the hallway where I can see through the conference room’s glass wall. There he sits, River Wilde, looking down at his phone. My heart is pounding at the mere sight of him, and the feelings of the young girl crush I had on him five years ago come flooding back.
I slow down my pace, take a few deep breaths, and pause to straighten my jacket. The shift of my body weight causes my messenger bag to fall off the top of my suitcase, making a loud noise on the marble floor. Looking around the empty hall, I pick up my bag and continue walking, but as I lift my eyes and River Wilde comes into view, he’s no longer looking at his phone. He’s watching me instead. He’s still just as captivating as he was so long ago, but this time the word ‘dangerous’ no longer applies.
My legs are shaking and my stomach is doing flip-flops as I make my way to the conference room. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but the fact that I asked myself, ‘Could love at first sight be real?’ when I met him that night makes me nervous as hell. The silence in the office adds to my anxiety; the only sound that can be heard is that of my shoes clicking across the tile floor.
As I approach the door, I can see him running his hand through his hair. He’s walking around the conference table towards the door, and we reach it at the same time. With a nervous grip, I grab the door handle, dropping my eyes from his as my Cartier bracelet hits against the glass, causing a sharp pain to radiate through my wrist.
I wince as I stumble into him. Once our bodies meet, my nervousness evaporates and it is replaced by a bevy of heightened senses. I’m so close to him. I can smell his soapy, just-showered scent that I remember so well. I can feel his hard body, and as I look up, I can see the smoothness of the skin on his face, which makes my knees buckle beneath me.
Goosebumps run up my arms and down my legs. Our collision has awakened something in me. It’s something as simple and pure as desire. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Gaining all of my composure I look up into his gleaming green eyes, the intensity is still so powerful anyone looking into them might never get out. I already know I don’t want to get out. I’m sure I’m staring as I continue to gaze into his eyes searching for that same look he gave me long ago, but before I can find it our contact is broken.
He takes a step back and I notice his gleaming eyes studying the length of my body. Remembering I am supposed to be Dahlia London, the interviewer, I try to push the wanton girl aside and replace her with the professional one. However, trying to manage multiple personalities has never been easy for me. I drop my eyes to escape his power and begin to speak a mash of garbled words that make very little sense even to me. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry, thank you, and oh shit.”
Shifting my gaze into the room, embarrassed by my lack of professionalism, I somehow manage to look at him again. I take in his faded jeans, black Doc Marten boots, and gray t-shirt with the word Fender scripted across in black. He’s still so overwhelmingly attractive. He looks just how I remember him; no, he looks even better. The guy I had talked to one night at a bar five years ago is now a man.
Still grinning, he chuckles and crosses his arms. “No apology necessary, that’s the kind of crash I wouldn't mind having every day.”
Giving him a polite nod, I continue to stand there, and I’m wondering if he really doesn’t remember me.
“Let me get your bags for you,” he says as he takes hold of the items in my hand. Crossing into the room, he sets my black messenger bag on the table in front of us and then, picking up my suitcase, he casually walks to the corner of the room and sets it next to his guitar case, which is leaning against the wall. I can’t help but notice his walk is still a sway and still full of confidence.
Turning around, he strides back to the conference table, showing no sign of recognition and I begin to feel a little deflated. He stops at the table where I first saw him and we stand across from each other, the table as our divide.
Glancing at my suitcase and pointing to the glass wall he asks, “Are you sleeping here? Because there isn’t much privacy.”
I let out a soft laugh and he chuckles to himself.
Trying to decide if I should mention we have met before, I decide against it. I’m not sure he remembers me; actually I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, so why further embarrass myself?
