In the Details

by H. Claire Taylor

  She leaned back, giving herself a moment to consider how to respond. As she looked around the coffee shop, she was incredibly annoyed to realize Jameson might have a point. Two high school girls were staring right at her and when she smiled and waved, they gasped and giggled, then waved back. It was a vastly different response than she would have received from high school girls when she was in high school.

  She returned her attention to Jameson. “I would prefer for people to like me for what I do, not who I am.”

  He laughed, and when she didn’t, he said, “Wait, are you being serious?”

  She nodded.

  “But then you have to keep doing to be loved. Isn’t the whole Jesus thing about being worthy of love just by being you?”

  “I don’t know. That sounds more like Mister Rogers to me. And I’m not Jesus or Mister Rogers. I’m Jessica.”

  “I see that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing for who you are, and, as someone who’s been resurrected by you, I also appreciate what you do.” Then, to her complete bewilderment, he reached across the table, placed a hand on hers, and gazed into her eyes.

  No cameras caught the moment to her knowledge, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved by that or annoyed.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” she babbled. “It was my fault you got killed in the first place.”

  “Just hush. You didn’t pull the trigger. And if it’d never happened, you and I wouldn’t be here right now, in this weird bat-themed coffee shop, enjoying our time together.”

  Enjoying our time together? Is that what we’re doing?

  She supposed it was, or rather, it would be if she could just loosen up. She inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly. “That’s true. As long as you’re not upset about it.”

  “I’m not,” he said, squeezing her hand. “If you haven’t caught on yet, I think you’re pretty great, whether you’re a messiah or just the owner of a gluten-free bakery. I’m glad I finally get to spend some time with you.”

  That smile. She’d seen that smile on him before, but in other contexts, with other women. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have to have the “I physically cannot have vaginal sex because God forbids me to outside of marriage” talk a lot sooner than she’d hoped for, which was never.

  “I don’t understand that, but I’ll believe you.”

  He laughed and straightened in his seat, letting his fingers slip off her hand. “Hey, it’s a start. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  I mean, seriously. What could Jameson Fractal and I have to talk about outside of—

  “What’s your favorite animal?”

  “Giraffe!” She didn’t mean to yell, but she couldn’t take it back now.

  “Nice! Giraffes are one of my favorites, too. I also love lions.”

  While it wasn’t polite, she did feel like she could clear the air. “Are you a pedophile?”

  Jameson’s jaw dropped. “What? No!”

  “Are you a demon?”

  “What are you talking about?” he whimpered. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Jessica blinked. What was she talking about? She shook her head to clear it. “Sorry. Just old trauma. Had to cover my bases. Also, I haven’t been on a first date in a while.” When she realized what she’d just said, she felt her whole ass clench. “No, not like, I mean, I said ‘first date’ but I just mean I haven’t hung out with someone I don’t know that well, a man, just one-on-one, since college.”

  Jameson sipped his Nosferatbrew silently as she spun her wheels, and when she was finished, he waited a moment before saying, “It’s okay. This can be a first date.”

  She waved him off, avoiding eye contact at all cost. “No, no. It really doesn’t have to be like that.”

  “Well, could it be like that?”

  She risked a glance at him to see if he was being serious. “Um, I guess so.”

  “Great. Just so you know,” he added, “I don’t put out on the first date.”

  She laughed, and as she did, the tension evaporated from her chest.

  “We can just be friends going on a date, Jess. I don’t care what we call it, so long as I finally get to hang out with you a little. I think you’re interesting, and I know I’ll only be in town a couple months, but it’s nice to have someone to spend quality time with while I’m here.”

  “I doubt you have trouble finding people to spend time with.”

  “Quality time. I can’t very well get on a dating app, and when I get done on set, the last people I want to be around are other actors and people in show business. You’re authentically you, and I find that an attractive quality in a person.”

  While she knew he was speaking generally, and that sometimes adults were honest with each other and handed out compliments without needing it to be a big thing, Jameson Fractal thought she had attractive qualities!

  If she’d ever kept up a journal like she knew she should’ve, this shit would be going straight in it later that night.

  “You feel properly caffeinated?” he asked.

  “Yep. Where to next?”

  “Another surprise. But I think you’re going to love it.”

  “I bet I will.”

  She was terrified.

  For a moment, Jessica thought her nightmares might be coming true as they approached the thumping bass and long line leading into a windowless club downtown. She would rather be buried alive than have to go in there, which would undoubtedly feel a little like she was being buried alive. Was he bringing her here to give her a molestation crash course?

  But just before they reached the front of the line, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him through a narrow door leading to a narrower set of stairs. At the top was a pink neon sign that said S8 Su4.

  “Hope you like sushi,” said Jameson from in front as they climbed the stairs, single file because that was the only way they fit.

  “Oh, is that what this place is?”

  “Yep. Strictly speaking, it’s Japanese-American fusion.”

  “And what’s the name?” she asked, wondering if she’d ever heard of it and expecting that she hadn’t.

  “Sate Sushi.”

  She glanced up at the neon sign again, slightly less puzzled but still pretty damn confused.

  “You usually have to get a reservation months in advance for this place, but I know the owner, so I gave him a ring this afternoon and he said he’d get us the best seat in the house,” he added.

  “Oh great.” Was she dressed for a place like this? Bat-Ass Brew, sure. You could show up to that place in a see-through nightgown and no one would judge you. Rebel might not stop staring, but that was no aberration.

  She needn’t have worried, though, because as soon as she stepped out of the dim, claustrophobic staircase and into the brightly lit restaurant, she knew nothing in her limited wardrobe could look too casual for the neon tackiness of this place.

  The walls were bright yellow under fluorescent lights, and the floor was covered in what looked like astroturf. Each low table was painted a different shocking color. The chairs, which looked like they were built for wide-assed toddlers, were a mishmash of colorful polkadots and splatter paint.

  She’d heard about drug flashbacks before. Was this one? Had some sudden movement or jerk of her head dislodged chemical remnants of those magic mushrooms from her spinal cord?

  Something brushed against her leg and she yelped.

  Jameson grabbed her to hold her steady, laughing as he did so. “I hope you’re a cat person.”

  Jessica had always found cats tolerable, but if being a cat person meant wishing to spend an extended period of time in this acid trip of a setting, surrounded by no fewer than three dozen felines (two of which were engaged in a standoff in the corner, their backs arched, tails skyward), she might not be a cat person after all.

  Perhaps the strangest thing about it all was the fact that no one, not a single person enjoying their raw fish
and white rice, seemed to mind the visual assault or the animals circling underneath the legs of their tiny chairs.

  A black cat jumped onto a table to Jessica’s left and, without pausing a beat in the conversation, the customer grabbed the feline and set it on the ground. The cat wasn’t deterred, though, and jumped right back on, and the human repeated the process, grabbing the cat and tossing it a little farther away this time without a second thought.

  The host, a lanky teenage boy with a bright red nose that made Jessica want to suggest he look into allergy testing, led them to their table in the corner. Jameson stooped over to pull her chair out for her, and she thanked him absentmindedly before lowering herself onto it. Lower … lower …

  Where the hell was she supposed to put her legs? She tried to take a cue from the nearby tables. Some people opted to put their feet flat on the ground in front of them, simply ignoring that their knees were even with their necks, while others opted for sticking their legs out straight to straddle the table, and one shameless couple even kicked their legs straight under the table, leaving their feet in each other’s lap. Jessica noticed the young woman’s right calf flexing and relaxing over and over again, and it wasn’t until she saw the man’s face that she realized what was happening.

  She looked away quickly, but Jameson had already caught her looking. “They must have ordered the oysters,” he said, and she felt her face redden.

  She opted for knees-in-the-face position, and Jameson, clearly being more limber than she was, sat on the very edge of his chair and crossed his legs like he were meditating, resting his knees on the floor.

  “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Unsure whether he meant the restaurant or his flexibility, and wanting to remain congenial, she said, “Oh yeah.”

  A fluffy gray cat stalked over to her and rubbed against her shin. Its coat was feather soft, and who was she to turn down a little affection. Maybe adding cats to the mix wasn’t so strange after all. She reached down and scratched the cat on the head, which she assumed was what it wanted, considering it was doing nothing but rubbing its head on her. The cat purred gratefully, and she felt vibrations of the soft drone rumble up her fingers.

  Then the cat whirled its head around, bit her hard on the soft skin between her thumb and pointer, leapt a foot straight up into the air, and took off like someone had lit a rocket in its ass.

  “Ah, god dammit!” She shook out her hand, noticed the pinprick puncture wounds, then brought them to her mouth to suck on them. Then she realized a cat mouth had just been on them, and she quickly spat out her hand and rubbed it on the rolled chopsticks she hadn’t yet taken out of the napkin.

  Jameson laughed. “Cats are so ridiculous.” He grinned at the lunatic that had just sprinted off and was already calmly licking its crotch by a table of young professionals clinking glasses.

  For all the discontinuity of this restaurant, the tiny blonde waitress who greeted their table seemed the most out of place with her extraordinary ordinariness. She could have been a Nu Alpha Omega with her hair pulled back into a thoughtless circle bun and that look of vague disinterest resting on her face like a misplaced sock that had simply become accepted as a part of the decor.

  But when she glanced up from her order pad and saw who was at the table, her tired eyes widened. “Oh, hi,” she said, staring at Jameson like he was an ex she hadn’t stopped thinking about.

  “Hi, how’s it going?” he asked, grinning.

  “Good.”

  “No, I mean, really. Is Travis treating you okay? Not being too much of a hard ass?”

  Jessica made a mental note of the name drop and how instantaneously it broke through the waitress’s shock.

  I should’ve brought a notepad and pen.

  She suspected this date night would only continue to be a master class.

  The waitress laughed. “Yeah, he’s all right.”

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Jameson said quickly, staring up at her with rapt attention.

  “Jessica.”

  Her eyes flickered to Jess when she said it, indicating she knew she wasn’t unique in this quality, and before either of the women could say another word, Jameson gasped excitedly. “Hey! She’s Jessica, too!”

  The waitress giggled. “Yeah, I know.”

  Oh shit. They’re looking at me. “Uh, nice to meet you.” Did she offer a hand to shake? This felt way more intimate than a normal introduction with a server.

  “Two waters and two lotus Buddha sakes, please,” Jameson said, politely dismissing the girl. Once she was gone, he turned back to his date. “How do you think that went?”

  Jessica shrugged. “Horribly? I mean, you were great.”

  “You wanted to shake her hand, didn’t you?”

  “What? No. That would be so weird.”

  “I saw your arm twitch. It was a good instinct. Simple touches are a quick way to neutralize the fan’s anxiety and force an instant connection. A person can go from someone who recognizes you to a fan for life with one simple touch.”

  “Are you saying I should have shook her hand?”

  He cringed. “Oh no. That would have been incredibly awkward, don’t you think? Never do just a handshake. A handshake is touching, but have you ever felt more relaxed around someone after a firm handshake?”

  She thought about it. “No, I guess not.”

  “Right. Because it’s more of a challenge than anything else. Who will squeeze the firmest? Who lets go first? Did the other person look you in the eyes? For how long? Sure, there’s an art to it, but it’s not the art of intimacy. It’s an art of sizing up.”

  “You some sort of intimacy guru now?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “I’m thirty years old and have never had a serious relationship. You decide.”

  An image of Jameson smashing that incredibly lucky actress against a wall in Cutthroat Times flashed on Jessica’s mental projector, and she quickly turned her attention downward to the faux bamboo menu. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

  Jameson gazed down at his, though he didn’t seem to be hoping the secrets would reveal themselves if he just squinted hard enough, an approach Jessica had taken without meaning to. “Got any food allergies?” he asked.

  An orange tabby jumped onto the table, stepping over his forearms and rubbing its back against his chin until its tail brushed against the underside of his nose and he finally seemed to notice its presence. He blinked rapidly, scrunched up his nose on the verge of a sneeze, then gently grabbed it and set it on the ground.

  “No,” she said. “No food allergies. I don’t know that I’ve ever eaten mass amounts of cat hair, though.”

  The tabby jumped right back up onto the table, aiming its butthole at Jessica like a threat.

  Jameson set the menu down and grabbed the tabby, once again moving it onto the turf. “I can order a few different rolls and some sashimi, and you can do a taste test. Also, don’t worry about the cats. Travis assures me that they clean them every morning before they open.”

  She considered all the morning prep she already had to do before the bakery opened each day and wondered what sort of a masochist would willingly add “bathing three dozen cats” to the list.

  When blonde Jessica returned with the drinks, Jameson ordered a series of plates that seemed to go on forever and finished by ordering another round of the sake. “Give it a taste and you’ll understand.”

  She gave it a taste, and she understood.

  “Don’t drink it too quickly,” he said once the waitress left them alone. “You want to relax, but whatever you do, don’t get sloppy in public. And only do it in private if someone has confiscated your phone.” He sighed heavily. “I learned that the hard way. I thought Cash was going to put a hit out on me the next day.”

  “They can be a little bit scary,” Jessica added.

  “And we can be pretty stupid.”

  She raised her nearly empty drink. “I hear that.” They clinked glasses.

  By th
e time the second drink was gone, Jessica was feeling rather sloppy, and Jameson was more talkative than she’d ever seen him.

  “Yes, you can absolutely have a selfie with us!” he said to two women twice Jessica’s age. He picked up one of the sushi pieces in his chopsticks and acted like he was about to eat it in the photo. “Now one with Jessica,” he said, waving for her to lean in. That was clearly not why they were there, but they tolerated Jessica’s photobomb at Jameson’s request.

  “This is not at all the night I imagined,” she said once the women hustled out of the restaurant, jabbering excitedly.

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Or rather, if I’d imagined it to be this way, I wouldn’t have imagined myself enjoying it.”

  “You’re telling me you’re enjoying yourself?” He feigned astonishment. “We should probably leave right away, huh? I would hate to see you enjoy yourself.”

  “Oh, hush, you.” She swiped away his jibe with a flick of her chopsticks. “I just mean, this is nice. I’m trying new things and it’s not horrible and I’m not worried about it leading to my crucifixion.”

  Jameson’s head twitched to the side, and he stared at her from an angle, his eyebrows cinched together. “That something you worry about a lot?”

  “Oh yeah. I mean, sure, there are other things for me to worry about in the day-to-day, but it’s always kind of there, you know?”

  “I do not.”

  “Right, right. You wouldn’t. No one would, really. I guess it’s just—”

  “Your cross to bear?” He grinned playfully and waved his arm until their waitress spotted him, at which point he jabbed a finger at each of their empty glasses.

  “To be clear,” he said, addressing Jessica again, “I’m totally willing to hear all about your crucifixion phobia—cruciphobia? Is that a thing?—I’m willing to hear all about it on the first date, but we’ll for sure need another drink.”