by J. J. Murray
You can’t make me talk, Copper.
Patrick
PS: You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
29
Lauren Short cried for the first time since her father’s funeral. She had often forced herself to cry in movie scenes, but this time her sobbing was real.
She had no Kleenex and had to use toilet paper. She realized she would need more toilet paper soon.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
He’s beautiful.
Therefore, we’re beautiful.
And we should be together.
Somehow.
And soon.
She wiped her eyes.
I’m still beautiful. Imagine that. And a real man said so.
Patrick:
Thank you for sharing by not sharing. You made me cry, but in a good way, a very good way. Your words . . .
I know I said I wasn’t looking, and I’m not. Really.
Not anymore.
Why go looking when I’ve already found somebody in you? You’ve become more than a friend, Patrick. Much more. You’re a lifeline, man. You’ve given me life. “Got to Get You into My Life” (the Earth, Wind & Fire version) is going through my head right now.
Okay, okay, you originally found me. I have to give you all the credit. And to think I might have skipped past your e-mail. You know how you got me to read your first one? You didn’t put anything in the subject line. I’m a sucker for blanks, I guess. Now we have a long line of “Re:” up there. I wonder what the record is, but I don’t want to set that record, okay?
It is obvious to me that we should meet face-to-face, and from what you’ve just told me, it is obvious to you, too. We are already in agreement, so what are we waiting for?
There’s just one little thing I have to learn about you first. Really a technicality, hardly worth mentioning. (This is part of my “good cop” interrogating technique. You can’t resist me, so don’t even try.)
You see, since you sent me your picture, I have had numerous thoughts involving you in those coveralls. I feel you holding me in your strong hands and rubbing my back, and then you lift me into the air, and you gently whisper something into my ear. . . .
What do you whisper to me, Patrick?
Lauren
PS: Spill it, or the torture will continue. I’m good when I play the good cop, but I’m oh so bad when I play the bad cop. ; )
She sent the message and waited precisely one minute before Patrick’s e-mail arrived.
Lauren:
I whisper, “It’s going to be all right, Lauren. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. You can hold on to me all night.”
Patrick
Lauren began to tremble.
“That’s . . . good,” she whispered. “That’s . . . the right answer. I need to hear that every day.”
But I need to move this along a little faster . . . .
Patrick:
I say breathlessly, as only an actress can be breathless (of course), “Take me somewhere, anywhere. Now!”
Where do you take me, Patrick?
Lauren
30
The stench visibly rising into the warming basement air, the remnants of Lake Holland finally flowing into the drain, and the snake sullenly steaming in a corner, Patrick pondered his response while letting four service calls go to his voice mail.
This is a loaded question. Where do you take an angel? I could take her anywhere in an e-mail. In reality, I can take her to the deli across from my apartment for a burrito and a soda. I need to ask her for more directions.
Lauren:
Forgive me, but “take me somewhere” is somewhat vague. Take “take.” (I hear an echo.) “Take” can mean to remove by force . . . and even to get busy with, right? And “somewhere” could be anywhere. There are a lot of somewheres to choose from. Too many, in fact.
Please be more specific. I only want to take you where you want to go.
Patrick
He sent his message and waited less than a minute.
Patrick:
I like the second definition of “take” better . . . though a combination of the two might work out, too. ; )
Where do you want to take me?
Lauren
Anywhere but here, Patrick thought. Especially here.
Lauren:
I take you to a couch in front of a fireplace. I make a roaring fire and see flames dancing in your eyes.
Patrick
PS: I hate to interrupt this, I really, really do. I have at least four service calls to make. I may not be able to get online until I get home late tonight. I don’t mean to leave you hanging, but I have to. I hope you understand. :~
He sent the message. Thirty seconds later, he read:
Patrick:
It’s okay. You go on with your day. I’ll wait here by the fire. Write to me when you can.
Lauren
PS: You make a nice fire. It’s so hot, I might melt.... Ooh, it’s getting hot in here. I may have to take off some more clothes.... Oops. There goes my . . .
Patrick sighed. I wish I could continue this! I want to know what she took off! She was only wearing two items, so if she took off her shirt . . .
It is suddenly not nearly as cold as it was before.
Patrick wearily packed his laptop, hoisted his tool bag, and headed out into the cold while listening to Mrs. Moczydlowska’s four messages about icy drafts, rats in the walls, a burned-out lightbulb, and one creaking floorboard.
I’ve got to “fix” Mrs. Moczydlowska’s problems and hurry home, he thought. I don’t want Lauren to melt.
And I certainly want to be there when her last piece of clothing hits the floor.
31
Lauren watched her in-box for several minutes, and when nothing but more junk mail appeared, she buried herself under her covers.
Patrick is a good, hardworking man who is sexy, kind, and romantic, even if he says he isn’t romantic. Why isn’t he married? He should be married. He should have ten kids and the happiest wife on earth by now. Okay, maybe not ten kids. She wouldn’t be that happy with ten kids.
Two kids.
He must not have the time for a relationship. Either that or Natalia ruined him for life.
That could be it. Natalia was Patrick’s Chazz.
And here I am, waiting patiently for my man to either “call” me from work or get home from work so we can “talk.”
Her phone buzzed.
She looked at the caller ID. Todd again, wasting his time. She opened her phone and said, “I’m not interested, Todd.”
“I haven’t even told you what I have for you,” Todd said.
“I’m not interested.”
Now, go away so I can work on some handyman fantasies with my fingers under these warm covers.
“I have several projects you might be interested in,” Todd said.
I can think of quite a few projects I need my handyman to work on. I need to have my plumbing worked on in a big way. I need him to make me feel like a woman again. I also need him to kiss me from my nose to my toes and work that snake of his.
“I’m not interested,” Lauren said.
“Will you at least listen?” Todd asked. “I’ve been making calls like crazy on your behalf.”
Lauren sighed. “All right. Go ahead.”
“The first is a TNT sitcom called—”
“No,” Lauren interrupted.
“Let me finish,” Todd said. “It’s an ensemble sitcom that takes place in Atlanta, and it’s called—”
“No.”
“Is it Atlanta or the fact that it’s an ensemble cast?” Todd asked.
“Neither,” Lauren said. “I’m not interested.”
“Well, then there’s a musical slated to open in Chicago this spring—”
“My stage days are over,” Laur
en interrupted, “and you know I don’t sing.”
“It’s mainly a speaking part,” Todd said.
“No,” Lauren said. “Next.”
“All right,” Todd said. “I’ve just been on the phone with Pixar, and they need someone to do the voice of a rabbit.”
“A rabbit,” Lauren said.
“Right,” Todd said. “I can tell you’re interested.”
I’m not. “What kind of rabbit?” Lauren asked.
“Well, it’s not like Jessica Rabbit or Bugs Bunny, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Todd said. “It’s more of a scared rabbit kind of character.”
“Gee, thanks,” Lauren said. “The answer is no. I don’t do voices.” I only want to hear Patrick’s voice. We need to get on the phone soon.
“But the money is huge!” Todd shouted. “And you’ll be done in a week, so you can go back to feeling sorry for yourself.”
Is that what I’m doing? “I’m recharging myself, Todd,” Lauren said. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself.” Anymore. And I can thank Patrick for that. “Have you heard back from SNL?”
“No, I haven’t, but—”
“Good-bye, Todd.”
She turned her phone off completely, then placed it on her nightstand. Safely in her cocoon of covers, she hugged her pillow and closed her eyes.
Please come home, Patrick. I need you. She hugged her pillow. Patrick isn’t this soft. I am already growing tired of this pillow, and I am suddenly tired of e-mails. They aren’t immediate enough. If I had Patrick’s phone number, I’d be talking his cute ears off all day.
I have to get his number.
As soon as Patrick appears online tonight, I will instant message him until he gives it to me.
And then . . .
The suspense is killing me!
She smiled.
And then we will really talk for the first time.
I am beginning to like suspense....
32
The daily drama with Mrs. Moczydlowska finished, Patrick trotted to his apartment, started a load of laundry, took a long hot shower, shaved, and put on clean clothes.
He immediately felt foolish.
As if she could smell me from LA.
He grimaced.
Earlier today she might have been able to.
He booted up his laptop, and as soon as he signed on, a series of instant messages flashed up on the screen a few seconds apart.
LS77: How was your day?
LS77: You there?
LS77: I’ll bet you’re in the shower. I hope you’re in the shower. Oh, you missed a spot. Let me get it.... My, what big feet you have. ; )
LS77: I’ll just talk to myself, then. Not much going on here. I rested today. Oh, I moved my TV into my bedroom. I must have slept for ten hours. I might actually eat something today, too. I’ve been forgetting to eat.
Patrick’s fingertips began to sweat.
She’s here.
I mean, she’s there.
She’s on the screen. Lauren Short is talking to me right now. Why can’t I think of anything to say?
LS77: I haven’t even put on any more clothes since I took that picture for you. I’m feeling excessively lazy for some reason. It must be because of this nice fire you made for me. My skin is glowing. ; )
Patrick typed “No e-mail this time?” and quickly deleted it. Talk to her!
LS77: I know you’re there, Patrick. Surprise! I don’t know why we didn’t do this before. This is fun. It’s a little one-sided right now, but . . . How was your day? Did you do any more snaking today? I’ll bet you’re an expert at using your snake. ; )
Patrick took a deep breath and started to type.
PAE1: My day is over and no more snaking. Yours?
LS77: Just beginning. I hope. How long have you been watching me ramble?
PAE1: Not long. I didn’t know what to say.
LS77: Say hi.
PAE1: Hi.
LS77: Hi back. Were you in the shower?
PAE1: Yes. Thanks for seeing that spot I missed.
LS77: You left it unwashed on purpose, didn’t you?
PAE1: I did. It must be nice to be able to sleep all day.
LS77: It isn’t. I was so lonely. An extremely muscular man built me a nice fire, put me on a couch, and then he abandoned me. Wasn’t that mean of him? I’ve been here all day alone, without him, while he’s out saving the world one drainpipe at a time.
PAE1: Funny.
LS77: I have my moments.
PAE1: How is the fire?
LS77: It’s dying. I am getting so cold. My goose bumps are having babies.
PAE1: I’ll add more wood.
LS77: You devil. ;)
PAE1: More wood for the fire.
LS77: I know what you really meant. Don’t be shy. . . .
PAE1: I’m adding a lot of wood.
LS77: You have a lot of wood?
PAE1: I guess.
LS77: You’re so humble.
PAE1: Okay. It’s blazing again.
LS77: Your wood is blazing hot?
PAE1: Ha-ha.
LS77: Ooh, it is. My hands are getting warmer already. Get closer to me.
PAE1: Getting closer. Nervous.
LS77: Why?
PAE1: I’m sitting next to you.
LS77: Don’t be. I don’t bite on the first date. I only nibble.
PAE1: But you have 48 teeth.
LS77: I may draw a little blood.
PAE1: Now I’m more nervous.
LS77: I’m nibbling on you. You taste good. Whoo, it sure is hot.
PAE1: Not too hot, I hope.
LS77: It’s very hot. Your body is so warm. Is that sweat?
PAE1: No. I just took a shower.
LS77: So your hair is wet.
PAE1: A little.
LS77: I want to make you sweat.
PAE1: Too late.
LS77: I am too hot for this T-shirt. Will you take it off?
PAE1: You’ll catch cold.
LS77: No I won’t. The fire is blazing, and you’re here to keep me warm. Take it off, Patrick.
PAE1: Taking it off.
LS77: Ooooooh, much better. Do you like what you see?
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: You didn’t say YES! I am hurt.
PAE1: I am in awe. I don’t shout when I am in awe.
LS77: You say the nicest things. You like them?
PAE1: Like what?
LS77: My breasts.
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: You’re still in awe.
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: I want to see your chest.
PAE1: I’m not wearing a shirt.
LS77: Humor me.
PAE1: I’m taking off my shirt.
LS77: I want to take it off.
PAE1: Oh. Go ahead.
LS77: I’m taking off your shirt. Nice. Do you feel my hands on your chest?
PAE1: Yes. Your hands are soft.
LS77: I just lotioned them. I am jealous of your chest.
PAE1: Don’t be. Your breasts are perfect.
LS77: Ooh, the things you say. Would you like to taste them?
LS77: Patrick? Are you still there?
PAE1: Lauren, can I call a timeout?
LS77: Why?
PAE1: While I would love to do anything you ask of me, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I really like you.
LS77: I really like you, too.
PAE1: This is moving too fast for me, I guess. I don’t want you to think that I only want your body. I must be old-fashioned.
LS77: I’m old-fashioned, too. I don’t only want your body, too. Did that make sense?
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: Well. Hmm. It’s obvious something is happening here.
PAE1: Yes. What do we do next?
33
Lauren sat on top of her covers, her laptop in front of her. We’re getting serious while sitting in front of computers three thousand miles apart! This is agony! This is torture!
And I can’t wait for it to continue.
LS77: Are you nervous?
PAE1: Yes. This is my first time for . . . whatever this is.
LS77: Mine, too. What do we call it? We can’t call it our first time.
PAE1: Our first conversation?
LS77: It won’t be our last.
PAE: No.
LS77: Where are you?
PAE1: On my bed. You?
LS77: On my bed.
PAE1: I’m more nervous now. Are you . . . cold?
LS77: Not really. I’m actually sweating. You?
PAE1: I’m sweating.
LS77: Were you getting . . . excited?
PAE1: I’m looking at your picture, the one you sent me today.
LS77: So you’re not excited.
PAE1: I’m very excited.
LS77: Define “VERY.”
PAE1: Extremely excited.
LS77: Be specific.
PAE1: It was getting difficult to sit comfortably.
LS77: You were . . . growing?
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: How much?
