Fanfare

  Taking his lead, I removed my bags from my car as he took down my GPS from the windshield and walked over to a gunmetal-grey Jeep Cherokee that had just been moved out front by an employee. He loaded our things into the backseat and took position behind the wheel.

  “You’re just going to have to trust me. Give up. You’re not going to suss it out anytime soon,” he jibed.

  I glared at him for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat.

  “I’m the planner!” I sputtered as I watched him type a destination into my newly muted Garmin. How childish did that sound?

  “What are you talking about?”

  Might as well embarrass myself fully. “I’m the planner. Ask my friends. Anytime we go someplace or do something, I plan everything right down to carpooling. I don’t know how the responsibility always fell onto me, but it’s just been that way for a long time,” I muttered.

  “I know how it fell onto you. You’re a total control freak. Most people don’t want to fight with a woman who’s gone mental and takes her inspiration from Mussolini.”

  I shoved his shoulder lightly. “Seriously, though. I can’t remember the last time I felt so utterly out of control.”

  He paused a moment. “The wanker never surprised you with a trip?” His jaw always set with slight tension whenever Ryan was brought into the conversation.

  “No,” I answered honestly. “I usually did most of the planning.”

  “I told you he was a wanker.”

  “So, when are you going to tell me what the hell we’re doing today?” It was never a good idea to dwell on an ex-file.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes as it usually did. “Hopefully, I won’t have to tell you. The closer we get, the more obvious it should become. I’m counting on your natural intelligence just as much as I’m counting on you liking me enough to forgive me.”

  My mouth fell open a bit as I narrowed my eyes at Tom. “So, you think I’m not going to be happy about it.”

  “I’m living dangerously right now. You should try it.”

  I refused to answer as I wracked my brain for possibilities. From the corner of my eye, I could see him studying me.

  “Cristina, you really need to live outside your head more,” he said gently.

  “Meaning?”

  “Exactly that. I can see the wheels turning. Have you ever considered spending a day every once in a while where you don’t think . . . you just do?” His tone was introspective and slightly prodding.

  I thought for a moment more. He laughed outright. “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “You can’t even answer that question without stopping to think first!”

  “Hah, hah.”

  “I believe I have my answer. Well, my goal is to make you live outside of your head. This is only the beginning,” he stated with satisfaction.

  “I might not like it.”

  “How would you know?” He wagged his eyebrows at me in an absurdly cute fashion.

  After a few hours of traveling in a westerly direction, the Appalachian Mountains loomed majestically before us. When it became clear to me that we were heading intentionally closer to them, I cleared my throat in an attempt to stifle the slew of questions bubbling precariously in my chest, just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth.

  Soon, he parked the Jeep on Main Street near a Sporting Goods store in a sleepy town that emerged from the endlessly winding roads slicing their path through the rolling terrain. I stepped out of the Jeep and stretched my arms over my head as I breathed in the clean air and watched a soothing breeze ripple through the trees around us. Armed with his hat and sunglasses, we proceeded to walk up and down the quiet street and peer into the windows of the shops along the sidewalk. I was fairly certain we didn’t have to worry about the paparazzi in this quiet haven. Tom reached over to take my hand as we paused in front of a gallery to look at the clay pottery lining the window. About an hour later, we walked back towards the car, intent on getting something to eat. A delicatessen was attached to the Sporting Goods store, so we went inside to order some sandwiches for a picnic lunch. I grabbed more water and a few granola bars in preparation for what I felt certain was an impending hike.

  Holding our selections, we walked to the register located between the deli and store to pay for our food. The grey-bearded man nodded at Tom with a patient smile as he rang up the few incidentals in our hands.

  “That will be $421.67,” he announced in a kind tone.

  “What!?” I cried involuntarily.

  Nonplussed, Tom handed the man his credit card. “Thanks, Jim.”

  “Are you crazy?” I demanded. “There’s been a mistake, sir,” I said to the man as he proceeded to slide Tom’s credit card through the machine.

  “The maps and manuals are sittin’ on the driver’s seat. You call me if you need anything,” Jim said to Tom as he reached over to shake his hand.

  “Of course. You’ve been a lifesaver. Thanks again. Say hello to Janie for me,” Tom said with a big smile.

  “Will do.”

  Tom took my hand and led me outside. My face still registered nothing but complete confusion . . . until he opened my door for me, and I saw that the trunk was filled to the brim with . . .

  Camping gear.

  “Priceless. You look utterly gobsmacked. It’s perfect,” he crowed as he nudged me into my seat by prodding on my lower back.

  “You . . . no . . . I . . . THOMAS!”

  “Just wait, just wait. Before you verbally berate me in multiple languages, let me explain,” he started.

  “¡Este hombre esta del carajo!” I wailed.

  He started the engine of the Jeep while snickering to himself, obviously proud of his successful gambit.

  “I found a campsite right next to public toilets. Relax. You don’t have to piss in the woods,” he teased.

  While slightly mollified at hearing this news, I still felt as though I had a right to some important information. “Have you ever been camping?” I demanded.

  “No.”

  “Um . . . two idiots alone in the forest with no prior camping experience doesn’t sound like a recipe for a fun time,” I stated dubiously.

  “It can’t be that hard. You’re intelligent, and I’d like to think I’m reasonably smart. Isn’t camping essentially sleeping and eating in the woods? I don’t think we’re going to die trying it out.”

  “Famous last words. I think they probably said the same shit to each other in ‘The Blair Witch Project’ before a psycho in the mountains killed them all. Just so you know, I can’t be counted on for much, but I’ll give it a try.” I snatched the manuals from the floor in between us and tried to set a course of action in an attempt to assuage my fears.

  We found the campsite and parked the car nearby before yanking the accoutrements out of the trunk and laying it all out on the ground to begin devising a scheme for assemblage.

  “All these fucking poles look the same,” Tom announced in dismay as we still struggled to erect the tent an hour later.

  “Because you’re not even looking at the directions! How predictably male!” I pried the papers from under the rock employed by Tom to keep the instruction manual from blowing away. The afternoon sun grew hotter on my back, so I rolled the sleeves of my T-shirt and the bottom of my jeans higher to fight back against the heat.

  “This shite is doomed,” he stated as he looked at the ragged excuse for a tent that was beginning to take “shape” under our inexperienced guidance. “One strong breeze and we’re done for.” He opened a bottle of water and dumped it onto the back of his neck to combat the rising temperature.

  “Don’t look at me! Didn’t you tell me you spent your formative years in London’s West End? I guess they don’t offer tent-building classes or Boy Scout training in Leicester Square!”

  “Piss off! I suppose you didn’t take much time from obsessively organizing your life on Microsoft OneNote to learn anything useful either!” he mocked as he tossed the
empty water bottle in my direction.

  “Dude. If some cataclysmic event befalls the earth anytime soon, we’re done for. It’s Darwinian. We can’t even put together a place of refuge from the elements.”

  “No. It would only be Darwinian if we were unable to propagate.” He winked suggestively in my direction.

  “Don’t hold your breath, you perv. I won’t ‘propagate’ with anyone unless I have shelter.”

  “So demanding. I think you need to lower your expectations.”

  “I think you need to stop talking and help me put together this friggin’ tent!” I said with exasperation.

  An hour later and we were both dripping sweat. A ramshackle excuse for a campsite surrounded us. The tent had a decidedly fuck-it-all look to it, and the cooler filled with our food sat next to a pile of twigs surrounded by a circle of misshapen stones that comprised a miserable parody of a fire pit.

  “I smell terrible!” I proclaimed as I tugged on the sleeve of my T-shirt again. “Good call on the camping, genius. I feel incredibly sexy right now.”

  “Against all odds, you do manage to look quite sexy. Damn, it’s hot!” he announced loudly before yanking his sweat-soaked shirt over his head.

  “That’s not fair. I hope you get chewed to bits by the bugs.” I pretended to study the manual again to hide the flush that flared onto my cheeks at the sight of his semi-nude form. Ugh . . . so . . . unfair.

  He laughed at me. “No one’s stopping you from doing the same.”

  I raised my head and wrinkled my nose at him. “You wish. This campsite didn’t come with a pool by any chance, did it?” I pulled at my sticky shirt to increase the airflow onto my skin.

  “No pool . . . but . . . there’s a lake about a quarter of a mile that way.” A gleam had come into his eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble for me.

  “No way.”

  “Come on. I’ll race you.” He wagged his eyebrows at me in anticipation.

  “Um. I—”

  “Don’t think. Just do.” He grabbed my hand and took off towards the lake with me in tow.

  “What about our stuff!?” I yelled through the trees.

  “Run, you idiot! You don’t want to lose, do you?” he shouted back through his laughter.

  Don’t think. Just do. I pushed aside the concern for my purse and our food. I forgot about worrying that I might trip over tree roots or get smacked by a branch in the face. Soon, I only worried about keeping pace with the tall man ahead of me. I had no idea where we were going . . . and for some reason I didn’t feel compelled to ask as I placed one foot in front of the other and willed my legs to fly. I dodged roots and trunks in our path. The mirth rose from my stomach and into my throat, eclipsing the exhaustion that had overtaken me only moments before.

  I smelled the lake before I saw it . . . as though the hedonistic run through the forest had heightened my instincts. Tom curved the trajectory of our sprint in the direction of the lake’s center and grabbed my hand once more as we approached it.

  “I’m not just going to run into it!” I yelled in dismay as I tried to slow down.

  “Oh yes, you bloody well are!” He yelled a nonsense word I didn’t understand as he plowed ahead into the murky lake water.

  “Ahhhhh!” I screeched as I closed my eyes and followed after him. The shock of the cool water drowned my scream as it mixed in with our laughter.

  “Bollocks, it’s cold!” he yelled.

  “What you said!” I shouted back.

  He pulled me to him and placed his bare arms around my torso as he waded into even deeper water. My feet no longer found footing, and only our heads remained above water.

  “There better not be leeches or weird blood-sucking creatures near the bottom of this lake,” I warned as I brushed my water-soaked hair out of my face. He chuckled as he slid his palms down my thighs to lift and wrap my legs around his waist.

  “I’m saving you from the leeches,” he explained as I arched my left eyebrow at the suggestive stance he had just created by intertwining my limbs across his back. “But . . . I can’t in good conscience save you from myself.”

  I fixed a gaze of acid-laced humor on him, and then a delayed burst of mirth escaped my lips.

  “What’s funny?” he asked with amusement.

  “This is so cheesy. It’s reminding me of that scene in ‘Dirty Dancing’ . . . I heard once that every girl deserves at least one ‘Dirty Dancing’ moment. I guess this is mine.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that movie,” he stated.

  “Loser! What kind of man doesn’t watch Patrick Swayze save Baby from being put in the corner?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he teased.

  “I guess you’re just going to have to see it.”

  “I guess so,” he replied as he ran the tip of his nose along my forehead.

  “You’re not trying to take advantage of this situation, are you?” I sighed as I felt his hands move from my waist to rub seductively on my lower back.

  “I most certainly . . . am,” he jibed.

  I crossed my arms behind his neck and leaned forward to take his lower lip into my mouth with a smile of jest. He dragged me against his bare chest with a quiet rumble of laughter and kissed me back unabashedly. His hands moved under the hem of my shirt and began a tentative exploration upward. My heart took off at a crazed pace as warmth collected in my stomach and stunned me with its force. I positioned my fingers to grasp the tight muscles of his forearm as our embrace grew increasingly more inappropriate. His body did not have the hugely protruding musculature that I thought was requisite of a Hollywood actor . . . rather, it was completely devoid of fat and had sinewy muscles that showed their definition in movement—so incredibly sexy.

  “Mommy!” A child’s voice punctuated the tree-lined edge of the lake behind us.

  “Shit,” Tom muttered as we broke our embrace.

  “Good Lord! This is a family camping ground! Take it someplace private!” A highly irritated female came into view as she gesticulated wildly for us to leave.

  “I’m sorry!” I gasped back as shame washed over me. Tom had already turned back towards the embankment and tugged at my arm as he tried to keep himself from laughing out loud.

  “It’s not funny!” I stage-whispered back at him. In truth, I was trying really hard to ignore my own mirth.

  “Whatever you say,” he retorted through his pained attempts to stave off his amusement.

  We walked leisurely back to the “campsite” in spite of the fact my heretofore- immaculate tennis shoes were soaked and covered with mud that sloshed in my socks with each step.

  “My shoes are ruined,” I lamented as we arrived back at our shiteous shelter.

  He shrugged. “We’ll get you some new ones. Frankly, I think our shoes are a small price to pay for that memory.”

  I couldn’t help the quick smile that brightened my face.

  We changed, wrapped ourselves in our sleeping bags, and placed our wet clothes on tree branches to dry. Utilizing the combined efforts of the two most pathetic excuses for campers the woods of North Carolina had ever seen, we managed to start a fire and skewer some hot dogs for dinner.

  After we ate, Tom pulled out his guitar and strummed chords listlessly. His face expressed he was deep in thought as he stared at the dwindling embers.

  “Can we trade questions?” he asked and abruptly stopped playing.

  “What?” I replied, startled out of my own reverie.

  “You can ask me any question, and if I choose to answer it, I have the right to ask you a question in return.”

  “Why do we need a game to do that?” I queried.

  He narrowed his grey eyes at me in consideration. “It’s too easy to avoid difficult topics in regular conversation.”

  I sighed knowingly. “Do I get to start?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought for a moment. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Yes. The first girl I ever dated. I wa
s sixteen. We were together for almost a year, and we broke it off because we grew out of it. I thought I was in love with another girl about two years ago, but I think it was more infatuation than anything else.”

  I nodded. He was being forthright, and I was certain he expected nothing less from me. I had to admit that my curiosity had been the driving force behind my acquiescence to this exercise. Deep down, I knew nothing good could come out of delving too deeply into the past.

  “What made you cry that night in my room?”

  Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I knew it. I would be dying of curiosity, too. He had never once brought up the incident, and it must have been really hard for him to let it go for this long.

  “Well, you don’t mess around, do you?” I said nervously.

  He waited patiently with his arms linked around the guitar.

  “Sometimes, er . . . I have nightmares about the night Ryan left me,” I stated with biting simplicity. I really hoped he wouldn’t ask me for details I couldn’t vocalize.

  His gaze hardened. “I thought as much. At first, I wondered if it had anything to do with your father, but nightmares don’t usually come from things we’re at peace with, and you’ve always had open dialogue with me about your father.”

  I stared down at the ground for a moment while I dragged a twig through the dirt. Was my answer sufficient?

  “Your turn,” he murmured. Thank you.

  I glanced up at the handsome movie star next to me. His tousled hair fell into his face, and the light from the fire made the flecks of green and gold in his eyes even more noticeable. I had a question I’d been dying to ask him for several months, but it was a question an insecure person would ask . . . oh well, he was going for blood, so I might as well get this answer while I had the chance.

  “How many girls have you slept with?”

  He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he glanced down into the fire. “I guess I brought that one on myself.” He paused momentarily.

  “I’ve slept with six women. Two of them are the women I mentioned earlier . . . one was from a drunken night in London where loneliness overcame me. It wasn’t a one-night stand, and I tried to make it work afterwards, but it was mostly out of a sense of guilt. I’ve found that relationships created from guilt are rarely destined to work out well. Another woman was someone I dated for about six months, but she moved away and wasn’t interested in long distance. I’m particularly embarrassed about the last two. In a nutshell, I had sex with them to see if I could. One was this rich party girl in L.A.—a regular fixture at the clubs. Anyway, she threw herself at me and told me she wanted to have sex . . . so one night I did it. I kept telling myself that this was what I was supposed to do. Young Hollywood. How boorish, eh? I was terrified afterwards that she would want more, but that appeared to be it. I guess she just wanted to see what it was like or something . . . then I was scared shitless that she would start spreading rumors about me. ‘Tom Abramson’s a lousy lay’ or some shite like that. The other girl was actually someone I was attracted to in L.A., but she just wanted to have a good time. I was pretty uncomfortable with that experience as well.”