Year of the Chick (12 page)

We walked through the mall inhaling the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns (that our diets wouldn’t ever let us eat). The calming smell made it feel like the perfect time to talk.

“So Laura, I need some advice...about a guy.”

“OH MY GOSH YOU MET A GUY?” Everyone around us turned to have a look. None of those looks were from sexy men who wanted a piece of me. Mostly just from grannies, or from teenage boys with oily T-zones.

“First of all quiet down,” I whispered. “And secondly, it’s a little more tricky than that.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! Tell me everything.”

We now walked along at a slower pace, while my heart on the other hand quickened its beat.

“Well, I came across him a month ago, and we’ve been...corresponding regularly. For basically the last two weeks.”

“What do you mean by ‘corresponding’?”

“Well you know...” I took a quick breath. “E-mail.”

Laura snapped her head back, in a “possessed by a demon” kind of way. “Wait a minute. How did you meet him? Like online dating? Who is he anyway? What do you really know? And also...what the hell are you doing?”

“ALL valid questions. He’s this guy I met through my blog. He’s a writer too, actually a screenwriter. So you know, that’s a major plus point.” My voice grew quicker as I tried to justify it all. “He’s also really clever. Oh, and really hot. I know the hot part is true because we’re friends now on Facebook. Plus he has lots of Facebook friends, who all seem fine with his title of ‘screenwriter.’ Which means he’s totally telling the truth!” I looked at her and smiled.

Please don’t think I’m a psycho!

“Okay...but what comes next after flirting? Are you guys gonna date? Like don’t you have to MEET him to date? And where does he even live?”

I squinted my eyes for this one: “Right now he’s living far away. In Barcelona.”

A few seconds passed before she finally spoke. “Okay...I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Trust me neither do I. Like this hot writer guy just fell into my life. And it’s not like we’re dating of course. But it’s every day, this constant contact.”

“Right…”

“And I ask myself...why? Especially now when I can see just how vibrant his life really is. Like trust me, his friends and I mean female friends are smokin’. Or who even knows if they’re only friends? Aren’t Europeans supposed to be slutty? And if the pictures are any clue, he goes to the beaches all the time. And that doesn’t even include the topless ones!” I sighed and dropped my ass on the nearest bench.
 

Laura sat down next to me and waited ‘til I met her gaze. “Dude, why are you freaking out?”

I pulled at the puffy satin bow of my shirt. “I’m just not sure why he’s talking to me. He has everything he needs in his three-dimensional life.”

“Well first of all stop being so emotional. And secondly you’ve had a pen pal for a couple of weeks. That’s it. Don’t you need to get a little further before you start to act all psycho?”

She had a point. I would usually wait a bit longer before “obsession-mode.”

“Why don’t you guys start chatting online?” she suggested.

“NO.” I shook my head. “I’m actually glad we haven’t done that. Like if I’m going all crazy just from e-mails and pictures, can you imagine how I’d be if I saw him online and he didn’t respond?”

“Right, you’re way too crazy for that. Then you guys need to talk on the phone.”

The blood rushed straight to my cheeks. “The phone? But that’s so...relationshipy.”

“What are you twelve years old? Talking on the phone is NOT a relationship. And besides, what if he has a high-pitched voice like Mike Tyson? You need to figure all that out before you go any further. But he’s got a good start with the sexy accent. He’s Spanish right?”

“Actually no. He’s an ex-pat living in Spain. So just American I guess.” I sighed. “But yeah, I hope he doesn’t sound like Tyson. Anyway this all sounds great, but there’s one problem left: how do I bring up the phone chat? That’s a huge step from e-mail.”

Laura laughed and rolled her eyes. “God you are such an amateur. Why don’t you just wait a day before you answer his e-mail? Trust me, once you throw the routine off he’ll be begging for your attention. You guys will be talking on the phone in no time.”

Diabolical!

 
“But most of all,” she continued. “Promise me you’ll be careful, and don’t make any sudden plans to meet. This is still the Internet, you know.”

I put my arm around Laura and smiled. “Thank you. And I promise, he’s only a fun distraction. I’m just killing time!”

We resumed our stroll with the truth explained, minus one itty-bitty lie. I wasn’t just killing time, I was already feeling a million different things, positioning myself to get completely screwed over.

Would I?

A few seconds later we were standing in the Guess Store, and a few minutes after that, Laura was holding a mauve-coloured dress against her frame, with a skirt that flowed away from her hips. As soon as she tried on the halter-top dress, it dissolved any fears relating to her curvy ass.
Mission accomplishe
d.

***

After heeding Laura’s advice and ignoring James’s e-mail, the next morning I was welcomed with a message.

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Hello Roms,

It has gone rather quiet at your end, I guess you are busy with work or whatever else it is you do. Did you know I have never been to Canada?

I have travelled through so many countries in my life and yet Canada was never one of them, isn’t that funny?

Back to work for me. Don’t be a stranger.

J

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Unlike the morning before, the smile on my face could not be wiped away by a sickening discovery. I was appeased, enchanted, and wildly attracted to this man.

I needed to keep the thread going.
 

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Hey James,

Thanks for your e-mail.

If you haven’t been to Canada I can say you’re missing out. It doesn’t snow all the time and some of us are even pretty fun!

Anyway I’m off to work and then maybe another blog post tonight. I hope I can come up with something; it’s just hard to write about a man-quest that isn’t so full of…men. Ha.

Good luck with writing, hope you get a lot accomplished today.

Romi

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He answered immediately.

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Hello Roms,

Well that’s a tough one regarding your blog. Usually the stories are right next to you, but it requires a good hard look.

If you’d like a bit of help, send me your number and perhaps we can brainstorm a little.

Kind regards,

J

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Had I just dreamed that response?

No, it was real. But life was never this good to me, unless it wanted something in return.

***

After a week of grappling with time zones, my train schedule and the inconvenient presence of my sister, I was ready for the call.

My sister was on her way out to dinner, and when I finally heard her go down the stairs (and away from the paper-thin wall that kept our bedrooms apart), I assumed the dialing position. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but as much as my sister and I hid our partying behaviour from our parents, we were mutually untrusting in matters of the heart. As far as I knew, she’d never had a boyfriend and neither had I. And we kept it that way. Maybe we both knew the existence of a boyfriend was the very best blackmail should it ever be required. So why take the risk?

Without telling James a thing about my spying sister, I asked for his number and told him I would make the call instead. Hopefully he wouldn’t find that weird.

The phone card kept slipping in my hand, so slimy it was from being crushed by my sweaty palm. Was I really this nervous? With more than enough experience in long-distance phone chats, I should’ve dialed his number with confidence. But with each added digit my saliva production dropped.

So dry.

When I finally put the phone to my ear, the stomach churns began.

Holy crap, he’s going to hear my voice.

“RING.”

Holy crap, I’m going to hear HIS voice.

“RING.”

What if he sounds like Mike Tyson?

“CLICK.”

Chapter Ten

Minutes must’ve passed as I sat there on the floor, leaning against the bed with my heart pounding fast. But really it was only a second and then I heard his voice.

“James Caldwell.”

I tried to gasp but my lungs were stripped of air. Meanwhile my stomach dropped to the floor, falling through the basement, even further through the dirt, and finally landing with a thud on the earth’s core.

It was his accent. A deep-voiced, perfectly enunciated English accent.

Like Jude Law live on the air.

Say something, say ANYTHING!

“Hi…it’s me. Romi. From Canada.”

Yeah, real smooth.

“Hello Roms. How are you?” His voice was making me melt. The conversation hadn’t even begun and I was already in dire need of a towel.

 
But wait a second…Roms? Like “moms”?
It’s “Romes” dumbass!
It was a first offense so I let it slide.

“Fine thanks,” I said. “You took a while to answer. I thought you might’ve fallen asleep.”

No he didn’t take a long time, it was only two rings; WHAT AM I DOING?!

“Yes well, it is past midnight here. But then again it’s Barcelona. I rarely get to bed very early.”

Oh right, your sexy and exciting life.
Feeling annoyed seemed to instantly calm my nerves.

“Well your voice is a surprise,” I said. “I assumed you’d be American.”

“No ‘fraid not. All English all the way.”

I was drooling by now. “English!” I mumbled it strangely, which may have made it sound like a question.

“Yes English,” he repeated. “As in the Queen and Buckingham Palace, red buses and black taxis, fish and chips and David Beckham... although I am not quite sure why I just put those two together.”

“But you live in Spain?” I had to buy some time to compose myself.
Just keep him talking.

“Well I grew up in Wiltshire, which is South West England…by the way your voice is somewhat amusing.”

I winced and shook my head. “Oh god, do I sound like a pre-pubescent boy? I have this insane fear of sounding like a boy in recordings and over the phone…not that I’m in the habit of being in recordings but…you know what I mean.”

What the hell was I talking about?

James laughed gently. “No you don’t sound like a pre-pubescent boy for which I am enormously grateful. The Internet is a strange place, you never really know who is on the other end but you…you just sound bubbly and innocent, which is quite a relief I can tell you.”

Boy does somebody have it wrong!

“You’ve read my blog James; I’m neither bubbly nor innocent. Just a little crazy perhaps.”

Sure, tell him you’re crazy in the first conversation. Guys love that.

“That’s true,” he said, his voice momentarily crackling as the telephone connection fizzled.

“So can you tell me a bit more about your life as a screenwriter?” I asked. “It’s hard to get information out of e-mails. I practically have to beat the details out of you!” I started laughing. Then quickly began to wonder if he actually thought I was abusive.

“Wasn’t the point of this conversation to talk about your writing instead?”

“I know, but we need to warm things up. You go first.”

Yeah, you keep talking with that luscious accent.

“Alright…” he began, “well for one thing it’s very easy to become distracted out here. Blue skies, blue seas, great food, great wine...” he trailed off.

And hot Spanish chicks damn you!

“I’m guessing it’s great for inspiration?”
 

“Oh indeed that it is,” he said warmly. “Imagine starting your day with the sun on the terrace, a few sheets of blank paper and a strong black coffee. Simply magnificent, can you picture that?”

Umm no.

At that moment I looked out my bedroom window, and the beige brick wall of our neighbour’s house looked back.

“Wow, that sounds so beautiful,” I said.

Is that all you can think of to say?