The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 19

She sat on the couch and curled into a fetal position. Art locked the door behind them and made straight for the kitchen to fetch two glasses of gin. He filled his two fingers' worth, and David almost a full glass. She probably needed this more than he. She said nothing when he handed her the glass, but gratefully brought it to her lips and took a long swallow.

Art was first to break the silence. "That was intense," he said.

David said nothing, but stared ahead blankly.

Art sat down next to her on the sofa, but kept a good distance. She was still unpredictable in her needs. She did not move closer nor further away, but sat like a mannequin.

Art tried again. "Are you okay?" he asked directly.

David did not speak, but nodded her head almost unperceptively. Then she shook her head softly from side to side. Shrugged her shoulders. Took another taste of gin.

Art wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, but he knew better. His longing for her was so strong, it made his chest hurt. He loved her. "How about a bath?" he offered Angie's suggestion. When he thought about it, he hadn't seen David bathe at all since she came, but that was the least of her mysteries.

David sat for a long while, contemplating the question. She finally spoke. "I am so sorry that I ruined your date," she said solemnly.

Art rushed to her. "Oh, no, no, no, you didn't ruin anything," he answered emphatically.

"If it hadn't been for me," she continued, "you'd still be out probably, maybe catching a late supper."

Art shook his head. "I had a wonderful first date, and I'm not letting you say any differently. You didn't ruin a thing; in fact, you were my savior."

David looked at him incredulously. "How could even a portion of that be true? I took you away from your date, and then she made us drop her at her flat."

"That's not what I meant," pleaded Art. "If it weren't for you, I'd one, never have met Angie; two, never had the nerve to talk to her; three, never invited her to the art exhibit; the list goes on, David. All of it, I owe to you."

"That sounds familiar," mused David.

"It was a perfect date," Art stated. "It really was." He thought back to kissing Angie on the stairway, the way they were completely caught up in the spontaneity of the moment, the way she felt in his embrace. He blushed.

David took notice and smiled knowingly. "Really?" she asked.

"Really," he answered. "Now how about I draw you a bath?"

David sighed and wiped her hands down her face. Some of the red makeup rubbed off on her palms and she looked at them for a minute before answering. "You know, that sounds great," she said. "Thank you, Art."

Art left David on the sofa and went into the bathroom to draw the bath. He looked at the tub and grimaced. He was not a slob, but not very meticulous about cleaning, either. He hastily scrubbed the walls and bottom of the bathtub with some powdered bleach and a sponge, and rinsed it clean. He wanted this to be special for David, a thank you card in a way. He searched through the linen closet for the best towels, which honestly were not that great, but the ones with the most fluff left in them. Rooting in the cabinet under the bathroom sink he found a sample of bath salts he had nicked from a hotel, sniffed the packet – lilac or lavender or something - and added them to the running hot water. He lit a candle stump he kept in the bedroom for power outages and placed it on the bath ledge. He wished he had a fluffy hotel robe, but only had an old flannel robe he never wore, with dust on the shoulders from having hung unused in the closet so long. He brushed off the dust best he could and folded the robe neatly, setting it on the closed toilet lid. He tried to think of what else David might like in the bath – music. He brought his old boom box into the room and plugged it into the wall, setting the box on the sink. He tuned into the classical music radio station and adjusted the volume. Something still wasn't right. He flipped off the lights. The candle cast a soft warm glow throughout the room. Perfect.