*** I’ve been working on this plot for awhile now and I thought I should go ahead and start writing it down before I forget. I decided to do this in first person because it’s different from what I usually do. Written 10/15/04 through 10/21/04 (finished). ***
Damn. Why the hell did it have be so cold? And why did it have to rain on the day I forgot my umbrella? I jammed my fists as deep into my jacket pockets as I could, but my fingers still felt frozen. My shoulders were hunched against the bitter breeze and I fiercely wished I had worn a heavier coat. Or at least had brought my umbrella. But it was too late to go back for either of them now.
My breath puffed out before me, fighting against the chilly mist that sprinkled down from the flat gray sky. It just wasn’t fair, I thought as I tried to squeeze farther back into the bus stop shelter. Not only had I not worn a big enough coat, and not brought my umbrella, but I had also woken up late, and now there was no room for me under the protective roof of the bus stop. I had managed to cram my shoulder under the overhang, but the rest of me was getting soaked.
I gritted my teeth, both to keep from getting more pissed off and to keep from chattering. I tried to imagine what I would do tonight. After school… a long sit in front of the heater, a nice hot bath, a wonderful cup of hot chocolate… damnit. If only I could have just stayed in bed this morning….
The tiny droplets of freezing water suddenly stopped hitting my face and I looked up in surprise, breaking out of my thoughts. A large black umbrella had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, covering my head and sheltering me from the pelting mist. I followed the umbrella’s handle down to the arm of a young man, who, unlike me, was properly bundled up for this nasty weather. A long black coat had been buttoned up to his chin, enclosing the scarf that was wrapped around his neck. His hands were snuggly warm, I’m sure, in his black leather gloves, and a black stocking cap adorned his head. I could just barely see the ends of dark hair protruding through the narrow space between his cap and his scarf, but I couldn’t see his eyes at all, because he wore sunglasses. Well, I thought, that wasn’t completely weird… the sun did glare off the clouds…
I smiled at him anyway, truly grateful for such an act of kindness. “Thanks,” I said, hoping he could hear how really thankful I was in my voice. It was already a bit warmer without the fine coat of water chilling my skin.
He smiled, flashing amazingly straight teeth. “No problem,” he said softly. A sudden shrill ringing pierced the morning air and he fumbled in his coat pocket with one gloved hand for a second, eventually pulling out a cell phone. “Hello?” He put it to his ear, the bright smile returning to his face as he heard whoever it was on the other line.
I turned back to watching the street, waiting impatiently for the bus, trying not to eavesdrop on the man’s conversation. But it was hard. He kept his voice rather low, but he was only standing a foot away from me and I could hear every word. It didn’t take long to realize he had a British accent. Not an incredibly thick one but it was definitely noticeable, and quite lovely. I didn’t really realize it, but a small smile crept over my face as I listened to him talk. I always loved to hear British people talk. I’m not sure why… they just sound… nice. I was so engrossed in listening to his voice that when he hung up and abruptly stopped talking I found myself immensely disappointed.
I glanced to him discreetly, not wanting him to think I was staring, but he was looking down the street, probably also trying to mentally summon the bus.
I cleared my throat in the silence. “Figures it would rain on the day I forgot my umbrella,” I said cheerfully, trying to strike up some small talk. Not only was I trying to hear that accent again, but in the quiet it felt decidedly awkward to be sharing an umbrella with a stranger.
He turned back to me in surprise, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Oh,” he said, smiling again, “but that’s how things go, isn’t it?”
I nodded grimly.
“Does it always take so long for the bus to get here?” he asked abruptly.
I shrugged. “Usually. But it always takes longer if it’s cold and wet outside. Never fails.”
He nodded absently, looking both ways down the street again, straining for any sign of the bus. I peered at him curiously. Obviously he didn’t ride the buses much, or he’d be like the rest of us, standing quietly staring into space or reading a book or magazine. Actually… now that I took the time to really look at him, he seemed vaguely familiar. Not that I could see much of him; most of him was completely covered by clothing… but his nose… and his jaw… the more I looked at him the more I felt I should know him. He turned back toward me and I looked away quickly, pretending to examine a soggy poster taped to the outside of the bus stop shelter.
“I don’t usually ride the bus,” he admitted at last.
I nodded in understanding, careful to keep my eyes off his face in case he had caught me staring before. “I ride it every day,” I told him, as if he cared. But then my eyes lit up as I saw the dirtied, chugging bus inching up the street toward us. “Oh, here it comes,” I said.
He turned to look.
There was a general shifting of bodies in the bus stop; a putting away of things, a standing up, a stepping forward. Many waiting people all eager to climb up the short flight of stairs into the muggy interior of a public bus and get their day started. I felt the subtle pushing of someone behind me against my back but refused to move an inch. If they wanted to board first then they should have been the one standing all this time in the rain.
The bus came to a brake-squealing halt in front of us, and already the group of people began to stream forward. The doors opened, a few passengers disembarked, and then, with a short sideways glance at the mysterious, dark-clad stranger who seemed slightly familiar, I moved forward to try and squeeze my way on fast enough that I could get a seat. To my surprise, the man moved hurriedly after me, keeping the umbrella over both our heads until we reached the door of the bus.
There he managed to hold up the line just briefly while he folded and shook out his umbrella. I grabbed a seat while I could, and the next thing I knew he stood beside me. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the seat beside me.
I shook my head. “No, go ahead. You were nice enough to share your umbrella, after all.” I gave him another smile as he settled into the seat, somehow cramming his rather tall frame into the small space. I caught a whiff of cologne as he moved and discreetly took a deep breath. Whatever the brand was, I liked it. It wasn’t too overpowering and yet had something to it that just made you want to stick your nose right up to the guy and sniff. Of course, I didn’t dare do that. Oh no. I’d just have to be content to sniff from a distance. I thought briefly about asking him what type of cologne he wore, but discarded the idea. I didn’t want him to think I was flirting with him or anything…
In fact, I thought, I should really stop staring at him as well. But damn, something about him nagged at the back of my mind, and I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Frustrated, I dug my book out of my backpack and opened it to the page where I had last left off, refusing to think about Mr. Umbrella-Sharer-with-Nice-Cologne anymore.
A few minutes of silence passed. I was lost in my book, no longer aware of the man sitting next to me, or of the hissing bus doors as they closed, or of the rumble as the bus started forward on its route.
“What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I looked up in surprise, blinking as I came back to reality. The man was looking at me, and though he still wore his sunglasses I could nearly see his curiosity. “Oh,” I started, smiling shyly. I turned the book over so he could see the cover. “The Two Towers. You know… Lord of the Rings?”
He smiled broadly all of a sudden, as if he were about to laugh, and I wondered what was so funny. It’s not like Two Towers was an unusual reading selection… I’d seen lots of people buying and reading the trilogy since the release of the movies-
“Have you seen the movies?” he asked.
It took me a moment to realize his question aligned with my thoughts. “Yah,” I answered finally, then looked down to the book and sighed. “Unfortunately I’m one of those people who’s only reading the books after seeing the movies.”
He shrugged. “Well… some people never read the books even after seeing the movies.”
“True…” I admitted. “Have you read them?”
He nodded. “Just before I saw the movies, actually.” He smiled again, showing his very white teeth, and then his cell phone’s insistent ring shrilled once more from his pocket. “Oh, excuse me,” he murmured, digging the phone out and flipping it open. “Hello?” He turned back to the front, at once engrossed in the conversation.
I grunted and shook my head, going back to my book. If people called me that often I’d shut my phone off…
He talked through one whole stop, and then hung up at last. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him bring a little black book and pen out of his other coat pocket and scribble something down on one of the pages. Then he flipped a few more pages, stared for a second, and dialed another number into his phone before putting the little black book and pen away.
I went back to reading and he started his third phone conversation of the morning. He jabbered away through two more stops, but then at the next one he peered around the standing bodies in the middle of the bus to look out the window. “Oh, hold on a minute,” he told the person on the phone.
He turned to me, flashing his brilliant smile once again. “This is my stop,” he told me. “Thanks for the chat.”
I nodded, thinking he should be telling the person on the phone thanks. We had actually only talked for a few minutes, and he’d been chatting on the phone for much, much longer than that. But I smiled good naturedly. “Thanks for sharing your umbrella,” I said in return.
“Think nothing of it,” he said, standing from his seat. “In fact, you can have it.” He passed the damp, folded umbrella to me, and I think my jaw must have fallen off my face.
“No… no, no!” I finally managed to sputter. “You need it! I’m not taking it from you… I don’t have far to walk after this anyway…”
But he insisted, setting the umbrella down on the seat he had just occupied. “I have a ride coming to pick me up soon,” he said. “I’m going to sit in that Starbucks until they come. I won’t need it. Take it.”
“No way!” I protested, pushing it back toward him. “I am not going to take your umbrella.”
He sighed, then shrugged. “All right then. But I’m leaving it here, so you’d better use it.” He grinned, then gave a final nod. “Well, cheers.”
“Bye,” I choked out, thinking this man had the most curious habits to him. He turned around, resuming his conversation on the phone as if he had never stopped it, and jostled his way through the people to get to the door.
I watched him go. Just as he stepped off the stairs onto the sidewalk I saw his little black book fall out of his pocket. It bounced off the last step and fell onto the wet pavement, where it was promptly stepped on by several pairs of feet.
I jumped from my seat without thinking, and grabbing my book and his umbrella I scrambled for the door of the bus, fighting my way through the passengers coming aboard. At last I got off, wincing as the bitter wind cut through my thin jacket again, and crouched down to rescue the little black book.
I frowned at the dirty grime that covered the outside of it and tried to wipe it off on my jeans. Satisfied at last with its appearance, I raised my head to look around. Now where was he? He said he’d be in the Starbucks… I turned around and spotted him, now almost to the door of the coffee establishment and still on the phone. I rushed after him.
“Sir?” I called out, wishing I knew his name. “Sir!” He seemed not to hear me. I finally caught up to him and touched his arm to let him know I was there. He stopped abruptly, turning in utter surprise to face me. I thought I saw panic flash across his partially concealed features but then it was gone as I held up the black book.
“You dropped this,” I said breathlessly.
“Bloody hell,” he said in wonder, lowering the phone from his ear and taking the book from me carefully. “Well, that would have been very, very bad to lose this!” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head and flipping through the book quickly as if to make sure everything was still in order. Then he looked at me again, smiling gratefully, showing faint dimples.
“Thank you for bringing it to me. I would have had a heart attack when I found out it was missing. This little book is my life, you know.”
I grunted. My mother couldn’t live without her planner either. “I know how it goes,” I told him. “I just wanted to catch you before the bus left again.” Speaking of… I glanced down to the bus stop, found the bus still there. Thank God. But I probably didn’t have much time left…
“Oh yah, you’d better not miss it,” the man said. “But I do really appreciate you coming after me… I’m sorry; I don’t believe I ever got your name?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling my face grow hot. I always felt awkward when a guy asked for my name. But, I supposed as long as he didn’t ask for my number or anything… “Ashley,” I croaked. “Ashley McDowell.”
“Ah.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you Ashley.”
I nodded as I shook his hand, feeling the firm grip through the soft leather gloves, and though I desperately wanted to ask him his own name, I couldn’t seem to get my voice to work at the moment.
“Oh shite,” he said, looking suddenly toward the bus. “It looks like the bus is about to leave. You’d better go… but thank you again. You saved my ass.” He winked.
My face grew hotter as I released his hand. Don’t think about his ass, I urged myself. “Well, it was no problem, really,” I said aloud, beginning to inch toward the bus. “Thanks for the umbrella!”
He nodded and waved as I turned and bolted again for the bus. It was all at once a relief and a bummer to leave him. He was cute, despite the hat and the sunglasses, and he smelled good, and he seemed genuinely nice. But… first impressions could always be deceiving, I reminded myself as I climbed the bus steps.
I had lost my seat, of course, but I didn’t really mind. I still felt sort of light and breathless from my good deed and the thanks I had received for it. All I could think about as the bus closed its doors and moved off again was how gorgeous his smile had been, and how he had said my name, and how he had given me his umbrella.
I craned my neck to look through the window as we passed the Starbucks, and grinned as I saw him through the building’s front windows. He was standing in line waiting to order something, but his face was turned out toward the passing bus. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for me or not, but I pretended he was, and that was enough to make me happy.
*
Four o’clock in the afternoon. And I was still thinking about him. I’d gotten home from class about two hours ago, and had since had my long sit in front of the heater, my hot bath, and my cup of hot chocolate. I did feel a lot better now then I had at first this morning, and yet I couldn’t shake the thought of my all too brief encounter with Mr. Umbrella-Sharer-with-Nice-Cologne. Why oh why didn’t you ask him his name? I kept demanding of myself. I shook my head in dismay, knowing that one failure of mine would haunt me for probably the rest of my life.
I looked over to his umbrella, which sat on the opposite side of the couch, and sighed. “Who was he?” I asked it suddenly. “What was the name of the guy who carried you around? Huh? Tell me!”
But the umbrella refused to answer. Growling in frustration, I stood from the couch to go to the kitchen. I needed some brain food to think about this. I know he was familiar somehow… I had to have seen him before…
A knock came at the door. Frowning, I moved cautiously back across the living room, wondering who the hell it could be. No one ever came to my apartment… not unless I asked them first, anyway. A quick glance through the peephole assured me it was not some salesman, but it didn’t help to ease my confusion any. I unlocked and opened the door, blinking at the man who stood on the other side.
“Hello, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “Are you Ashley McDowell?”
“Erm… yes…” I muttered, suspiciously eyeing the goods that rested on the floor by his feet.
He handed me a clipboard and a pen. “I’ve got a delivery for you then. If you could just sign here?”
I did so, noticing the company’s name at the top of the paper I signed: Jenny’s Flowers and Gifts, it said. Frowning all the more I handed back the clipboard and pen. He took them and handed me the rather large bouquet of flowers sitting on the floor. Then he tipped his hat and smiled. “Have a good day,” he said, and moved off down the hall.
I looked at the flowers, already awash in their heady but delightful scent. The vase was so heavily packed with yellow chrysanthemums and fully bloomed red roses I had to hold it with two hands. I shut the door with my foot and quickly locked it again, then moved over to the kitchen table, intensely interested to see who had sent these things. If they were from Kyle again he was just wasting his money, I’d told him a million times I didn’t want to get back together with him…
I pulled the small card from the clip, noticing my name had been handwritten on the outside of the envelope. It didn’t look like Kyle’s writing… but who else could it be?
I hurried to open the envelope and freed the greeting card within.
Ashley,
Just wanted to say thank you again for
saving my ass. I am so lost without
that little black book. I really appreciate
what you did!
Much love,
Orlando Bloom
Oh holy fuck. My knees gave out and I sat down in the chair behind me hard, still hanging on to the card. But my brain wasn’t working. I just kept rereading and rereading the words, disbelieving. This had to be a joke. A prank.
But somehow I knew it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t because now that I knew his name, I recognized him. That’s why he had seemed so familiar… I’d watched Pirates of the Caribbean enough… I should have known… oh, fuck! I should have known!
I read the card again, realizing my hands were now shaking just from the thought of having sat that close to him, of having talked to him, of having shaken his hand… of now owning his umbrella!
I should have paid more attention; I should have just kept staring. Surely I would have eventually realized who he was? Of course his behavior now all made perfect sense; why he’d looked so amused when talking about Lord of the Rings, why he’d seemed so anxious for the bus to arrive, why he’d been wearing sunglasses on a rainy day… he was trying not to be recognized, obviously, and he was probably happy I hadn’t been able to place him.
But I wasn’t happy about it. No, I wasn’t happy about it at all. In fact, it was embarrassing. I mean, almost every time I go to Wal-Mart there was a magazine with his face on it staring at me from the check out line. Yet when he’d been sitting right beside me, right in front of my nose in real life, I was oblivious. It had been the hat and the glasses, I decided. Otherwise I would have known him.
I swore at myself. The one time I meet a celebrity – and a cute one at that – I don’t even recognize who they are! A wonderful opportunity had fallen into my lap and I’d let it slip on by without even realizing it for what it was.
I rubbed my eyes, rereading the card for what seemed like the trillionth time. I should have looked in his little black book while I had it, I thought. Maybe I could have caught another celebrity’s phone number. Maybe I could have seen where Orlando was going to be next week… I could have known, could have planned to “conveniently” show up at the same place…
Whoa. I stopped myself, realizing I was starting to sound like some kind of stalker. I was getting a bit carried away here…
Wait, speaking of stalker, how in the hell had he found out where I lived?
The phonebook, you idiot, a voice promptly answered in my head, and I nodded to myself. Oh yes. I had given him my full name. I guess there weren’t that many Ashley McDowell’s in LA, or at least if there were, he’d managed to find the right one.
Hrm. But that meant he knew my phone number and where I lived. Hot celebrity or not, the thought was a little creepy. I looked to the door to be sure I had relocked it.
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. Not like he would ever come to my apartment himself, anyway. Ha ha. No, he had a girlfriend already, or at least, I thought I remembered reading once that he had one. And even if he didn’t, I’m sure he’d have plenty of rabid female fans to keep him occupied.
Nope, I was fairly sure these flowers were as close as Orlando Bloom would ever get to my apartment. And that was fine with me, I thought, starting to feel a giddy excitement build within me as the shock finally began to wear off.
Whether I’d known it at the time or not, I’d gotten to meet, sit by, and talk to Orlando Bloom. I’d even gotten to shake his hand. That was something not just everyone got the chance to do. And what’s more, I’d gotten a personalized message and autograph from him without even asking for it. I was almost positive that had never happened to anyone else before. And he’d sent me flowers, and I was sure that didn’t happen often to anyone other than his girlfriend… and maybe his mother.
But, the best thing, I thought, looking over my shoulder to the couch, was that he’d given me his umbrella. Now that was something I was one hundred percent sure no other person had. And it was mine, all mine.
I smiled gleefully, placing the card back into the holder on the bouquet, then positioning the vase in the center of the kitchen table. I stepped back to look at it, and then, fully satisfied, I moved to retrieve the phone.
My friends were never going to believe this story.
THE END
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