Response to prompt #15: Behind the scenes
Some of you might recognize the boy-at-the-door-with-a-rose scene from "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." After playing around with a couple of other ideas, this is the one that stuck.
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He stood at her door, a single rose in hand, ready to profess his love after months of playing cat and mouse--he being the cat, she being the mouse. All that time, he really just wanted to play, bat her around a bit, but wasn't looking for anything serious. But, the more she resisted his badly veiled hints and outright sexual advances, the more he found himself thinking of her throughout the day in a way that surpassed any physical urges.
She came to the door, looking befuddled at his presence. "What are you doing here, Bill?" she asked in a hushed tone. "I kinda have company right now." Her already huge brown-almost-black eyes widened as punctuated the word company.
It took him a moment to process what she meant. He was great at dropping hints, but sucked at picking up on them. As it slowly occurred to him that she meant a male visitor, he tripped over his words. "Well, uh, I just, just wanted to bring you this" he thrust the crimson rose in her general direction as he continued, "and to see if you were feeling better."
She looked at him with eyes full of pity. "Awwwww, that is so sweet," she crooned. "But, I really gotta go," she said as she peered over her shoulder, probably at him.
"Uh, OK. Well, take care, OK?" He leaned in, wanting so badly to kiss her, but settled for a hug instead.
He began berating himself before he even reached his piece of shit car, a pale yellow Ford Pinto, and kicked the already dented driver's side door before sliding into the front seat and slamming his fists on the steering wheel.
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" he screamed into the stifling hot air. What in the hell made him think that she would just sit around and wait for him to get his act together, to treat her the way she deserved to be treated? All of his stupid games bit him in the ass in one fleeting moment.
"IDIOT!" with one final scream, he rolled down the windows since his A/C was on the fritz and drove down to the pier, their favorite hangout.
Months later, he heard through mutual friends from the Italian restaurant where they both used to work, and where they met, that she was engaged. Some dude that her grandmother worked with at the bank, a few years older and already on his way to a successful career. He didn't waste any time, Bill thought. Maybe because he's not a moron like me.
The same friends tortured him with details about her gorgeous wedding, and filled him in yet again when she became pregnant with her first child.
"Enough!" he pleaded. "Please stop telling me stuff about her. I can't take it."
"What's the problem, bro," Mark asked. "Ya'll were just friends. Right?"
"Right." Bill mumbled. Then, even softer, "Because I was a fucking moron."
"What'd ya say, bro?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Life went on without her, and although he didn't think of her every day, every failed "relationship" he attempted had him wondering if he was punishing himself for letting her slip so easily out of his life. He continued to play his cat-and-mouse games, not because he enjoyed toying with women, but because he didn't want to get too close to any of them. They weren't her. They could never come close to her.
When he finally found the one he thought could fill the void, his lack of attention and emotional distance drove her to infidelity within five years. He couldn't really even blame her.
He sat in the same Italian restaurant where he first spotted her, chestnut brown curls gently pulled back, the shy smile that drew him right in. His previously thick, curly blond hair receding and thinning, but his blue eyes more intense than ever. He drummed his fingers anxiously on the table as he waited for his notoriously late soon-to-be ex-wife to meet him, the stack of divorce papers tucked away in his attache.
"Sir, can I bring you something to drink while you wait?" the waitress interrupted his thoughts. He had to shake his head as he looked up; she was the spitting image of his long, lost love, as if frozen in time.
"Uh, sure," he muttered as he struggled to gain his composure. "I'll take a glass of the house Chianti."
"Great choice!" she beamed as she spun on her heels to retrieve his vino from the bar. As he watched her walk away, he was convinced he was seeing things. Her gait, the swing of her hips, the tiny waist, the tied-back brown, curly hair swinging back and forth as she moved--it had to be her.
When she returned with the wine, he snuck a peek at her name tag: Melina. That wasn't to far off from Angelina.
The door chime sang out. "Mom!" Melina excitedly called out. "Make sure you sit in my section!"
He nearly spit out the mouthful of wine but forced himself to gulp it down before he choked on it. There she was, her edges rounded out and her hair notably shorter. But, there was no doubt: it was her. As she looked her daughter's way, her whole face lit up with one of her famous smiles, he knew there was no mistake: it was her.
His heartbeat quickened as she caught his gaze, "Angelina, is that you?"
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