Year of the Chick (book 1 in the "Year of the Chick" series)

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.