Just For You (12 page)

"She actually is a nice lady," Todd piped in. "She's like my second mom, you know."

"Then why don't you come down and see her more often?" Cameron's voice was dry.

"Because I'm too busy seeing my own mother."

"Yeah, if your mother is some twenty-three year old stripper, then you sure do spend a lot of time around her."

"You know, Cameron, I don't see the root of all your mommy issues. If you had a twenty-three-year-old stripper for a mom I bet you'd like visiting her once in a while, too." Todd took a hand from his pocket and leaned his arm against Cameron's shoulder.

Cameron shook him off. "Shut the hell up before you get seriously injured."

"That's disgusting." Imogen swallowed. Todd winked at her.

The elevator stopped and, after the ding, the doors slid open. Cameron led the way out.

"How are we getting there?" Imogen asked.

"I am going by rental car."

The rustle and bustle of life all around invaded their ears. "Where do you live?" Cameron asked. Imogen went left and in seconds Cameron surpassed her.

"Okay, when do you expect we'll be back?"

"That's hard to say. If something in me snaps and I murder them all, I might just be jailed and never return."

"Sunday night," Todd told her.

Imogen smiled. "Perfect. I'll let my boss know in advance. I don't know about you, but I'm excited."

Cameron chose to ignore her, focusing instead on the car horn that blared in his ears right at that moment.

Todd's apartment was on the way to Imogen's. The night was young- it was only just eight o'clock, and that meant it was time for a drink and probably a pretty girl. No, scratch that. Definitely a pretty girl. He waved goodbye and happily left the other two to their own devices.

Imogen and Cameron walked for five more blocks, Cameron still thinking he was leading the way despite the fact that he had no idea at all where he was going. He didn't care. He prided himself on knowing the city like the back of his hand and besides, Imogen was only just new to the city. If anyone knew where she lived, it was him.

"Take a left at Bedford Street," Imogen said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. She was surprised how chilly it got after the sun went down. She ran a few steps to keep up with Cameron's large, quick stride.

"Bedford, hu?"

Imogen looked up at him. "What? Is there something wrong with Bedford?"

Cameron shook his head and looked up at the large, looming buildings above his head, opaque shadows against the backdrop of the royal blue night sky. "Nothing wrong with it at all. It's…"

"It's what?"

"Expensive." Cameron shrugged in his own coat. His hands were freezing. He wished he'd taken enough time to grab a pair of gloves but he considered himself lucky enough to have separated Imogen and his mother before things got any worse. It was bad enough Imogen already had it in her mind that she was going to be going with him to visit his family. Family visits were terrible on their own. He didn't need Imogen adding to the misery.

"Are you implying that I can't afford it?"

"Can you?"

Imogen smiled at the sardonic look on Cameron's face. "Would you believe me if I were to tell you that I'm not really from Louisiana and that in another country I'm one of the most respected, revered, and biggest actress they've ever seen?"

Cameron scoffed, his hot breath crystallizing in the dark air. Imogen took a right at another street and he skipped to catch up to her, taking his place in front like usual. "No, I wouldn't believe you. For one, you have a Southern accent."

Imogen laughed. "I do not!"

"Please. I could close my eyes and pick you out of a line of Chicago natives. You're like a yellow lemon in the middle of a sea of blackberries."

"Nice comparison, I appreciate it."

"I'm just saying… you're a bit conspicuous."

"Fine. Take a trip down to Louisiana and you'd be the yellow lemon in a sea of blackberries. You know, make that a lemon in the middle of a bowl of seafood gumbo."

Cameron made a face as he followed Imogen, who was taking a right down Winchester Avenue.

"What? You've probably never even had gumbo. Don't knock it before you try it. You really need to get yourself out of here, Cameron. You've got yourself in this little protective hole where no one can get in and you can't get out. Bet you've never been out of the state, have you?"

"Hah!" He pointed a finger. "I've been to Wisconsin."

She threw her head back and laughed, loudly, fully. Cameron stopped in his tracks and looked around. She was making a spectacle.

"Hey," he took her by the elbow and started again. "Think you could do that a little less, I don't know, noisily?"

"What the heck is in Wisconsin, can you just tell me that?"

"Don't knock it before you try it."

Imogen was still giggling to herself when she grabbed Cameron's elbow. They stopped and Cameron looked around.

"This is it," she said, digging for her keys from her purse. "I appreciate you walking me home. You didn't have to."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well it was either spend some time with you or my mother…"

" I suppose I'm glad to hear I'm more fun than at least one person in this world."

"Don't feel too privileged. It's not hard to be more fun than her."

Imogen stood at the doors to the apartment complex and stared at Cameron, trying to gauge his reaction. He blinked and a sincere smile spread slowly across his face. Imogen couldn't help but smile back. She had a feeling he was really beginning to warm up to her.

"Fine, then. I have a new mission. During our trip there I will get her to join in some real fun."

Cameron scoffed. "I told you, I'm going alone."

Imogen shifted her weight on her leg and crossed her arms over her chest. "You heard your mother. I was invited, too. Save some room for me in the car."

"You don't understand, Imogen. The two of us--- it'd be like putting potassium and water together. Don't you know what happens when potassium and water mix?"

She knew but she didn't move an inch.

"They explode, Imogen. It's bad. Bad all around."

She tilted her head to the side, long hair grazing the side of her arm. "Didn't you ever stop to think that maybe they explode together in a good way?"

Cameron's mouth dropped slightly as he considered her. Maybe they'd explode together in a good way? Was there even such a thing as an explosion of any kind that could be deemed as good?

Imogen broke his train of thought. "Thanks again," she waved. Her keys jingled loudly in her hand. "See you around."

Cameron waved toward her and watched her turn and open the door.

"Oh." Imogen stopped and faced Cameron again. "Here. Let me know the details about this trip when, you know, you finally come out of denial." She handed him a piece of paper with a phone number on it. Above it was her name, scrawled in large, loopy handwriting. "By the way, you have lipstick on your forehead." She gestured with a long pointer finger to his face.

He swept the back of his hand across his forehead before he swallowed, folded the small paper with two fingers, and placed it in the pocket of his jacket. He nodded, not knowing for certain if he ever would dial those numbers. Imogen waved goodbye again, and in seconds she was gone.

He walked slowly on his way back to his own apartment, dreading the moment he would come face-to-face with his mother. The rest of the night would probably consist of her badgering and cross-examining him until the sun came up. That was definitely something he didn't look forward to, but it was a routine they went through any time they were in the same room together, so at this point Cameron considered the Clash of Wits, as he called it, inevitable. He didn't know how long she intended to stay, either, but it couldn't be too long. After all, it was a Saturday night and he had to work on Monday. Thank God.

After seven blocks, he stood in front of his own doorway and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the battles that were about to ensue. He opened the door ever so quietly and wasn't prepared for what he walked into.

All was quiet. All was dark. He switched on a small lamp on a table next to the couch, where his mother lay sprawled on her back, with her left arm bent around her head and her right across her belly. Cameron watched her breathe steadily and suddenly he felt bad. When she wasn't speaking she was almost innocent.

He licked his lips and undressed himself, making his way to his room. He took three blankets and an extra pillow from the hall closet and, about to throw them across his mother's body, he thought the better of it. Cameron threw the bed supplies down to the floor and in one movement, swept Sylvia from the couch. His bare feet padded down the hallway and he lay her gently in his bed.

As he left he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly 9 p.m. He hadn't realized it earlier but he was exhausted.

Instead of making his way to the couch, though, he took a detour to his study. He stood in front of the large bookshelf and read all the titles of the books there, something Cameron hadn't done in far too long. There were Imogen's marks, where she left a clean trail through the dust with her fingertips, nearly two months before. He traced it again with his own.

Sighing, he took that little brown book from its place and sat down on the couch. Before he opened it he looked around and made a mental note to clean up the room a little bit when he got a chance.

Small, scribbled writing was on the front page. "Write your own story. Then pass it on."

The second entry was a quote. "We loved with a love that was more than love." Edgar Allan Poe.

He read on.

"There once was a girl who thought that the world was her playground, and she lived in a fairytale…"

"Today I picked seven daisies."

"My wife left me yesterday. Half of me was sad. Half of me was relieved beyond belief."

"Johnny asked me to marry him. We're having a wedding in the fall."

Before Cameron knew what hit him, he was completely absorbed in the book. He forgot that he'd read through it once before. This time he looked at it with new eyes. This time he was really listening. He read stories of love, stories of courage, stories of hope, funny stories, sad stories, stories with happy endings. He read one-sentence stories. He read quotes by famous people.

The last quote struck him the most.

"
Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so." --Douglas Adams.

The handwriting, loopy and large, was oddly familiar.

He swallowed the bad taste in his mouth and took a pen from the drawer of his desk.

"
Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be,"
he wrote,
"since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be." –Thomas Kempis.

Cameron placed the book back in its place on the bookshelf. It was almost midnight when he finally crawled into bed on his couch.

Chapter Seven