Oasis

six

ONLY AN HOUR has passed. Jackson and I are still at the restaurant. We played four rounds of an obscure Mexican card game, until Jackson realised I'd been inventing the rules as we went along. So I'd resorted to building a card house. Jackson just shuffled the leftover cards and watched me fumble with cards. He suddenly speaks up.

"You didn't seem star-struck," Jackson points out, "when we met." I look up, simultaneously knocking over the foundation of my eight card house.

"What?" I ask, "back in the club, or two hours ago?"

Jackson smirks, "both." I grin, my eyes glancing down at the table. His statement is within reason.

"Well, we're both adults, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Jackson notes, "but even adults have their moments." Something in his voice tells me there's a memory attached to this statement. Possibly not a positive one.

"I don't know," I admit honestly, "something about ending up in the Mexican desert, handcuffed to a stranger, and that stranger turning out to be- you, didn't feel all that weird, really." Jackson laughs; his head falling back a little. I watch the way his eyes crinkle at the sides, and two dimples appear in his cheeks. He's quiet for a moment.

"The tabloids are going to go crazy if this story comes out," Jackson scoffs. I realise that I hadn't even considered the consequences of this excursion. There's no subtle way for a global music icon to sneak back into the country after going MIA for 24 hours. Especially not with a companion.

"At least I'll get my 15 seconds." The way I said this wasn't meant to sound sad, at all. But something in my voice took a different turn. Jackson's features soften, and sympathy flashes across his face. I groan, internally, at my fleeting mistake.

"Sam," he says. I look up and notice the shielded pity in his eyes. I don't want his pity.

"I was joking," I insist, laughing lightly, "I'll just keep my head down." Jackson sighs and shakes his head. He sounds tired.

"It's not that easy," he mutters. He leans back in his seat and runs his hands across his face.

"I know. But what can you do?" Jackson meets my gaze. Something tells me he's not familiar with the concept of optimism. I can tell he's warming up to me. We sit for a while, just waiting. Jackson fidgets with the cards while I stare outside the big, square window at the front of the restaurant. If it weren't for my tight grasp on reality, I swear I'd seen tumbleweeds travel down the open road. I sigh, and return my focus on Jackson.

"What's it like?" I ask, Jackson looks up, "Being famous." He seems to laugh to himself. Jackson sits up and inclines towards me. A sort of charm washing over him.

"I knew you were going to ask me that," he says.

"Well, what do you expect?" I laugh, "as an ordinary civilian, I have the right to be curious." Jackson laughs at my poor attempt at a justification. He glances down at the wooden table, then back up at me.

"An ordinary civilian? As opposed to what?" Jackson watches me fidget with the loose wood chips, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my restless hands. I heave my shoulders.

"I don't know- a global music icon." This might not have been my best answer. But what is the appropriate approach to questioning a celebrity? There's no real code of conduct, so I stick to improvisation.

"Fair enough," Jackson states. "It's great, being famous is great." His answer is stiff, and empty. I narrow my eyes. Superficiality tints every part of Jackson's words. None of it is true.

"You're lying. I can tell. But it's okay. You don't have to open up to me if you don't want to." I sit back, nonchalance washing over my features. I've heard I can come across as invasive or pushy when my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Fine," Jackson sighs, "It's not always great, happy?" I smirk, triumphant. I got a response. It might not have been the response I was looking for, but it was a response, nonetheless.

"Overjoyed." I smirk. Jackson shakes his head, dismissing my sudden pride with a sense of amusement. I bite on my lip, musing on our next steps. I decide to take initiative. As I clap my hands together, Jackson snaps out of his daze. My chair creaks against the floor when I abruptly stand up. Jackson watches me, confused.

"I'll pay. Then we check up on Antonio." I start to get the cash from my pocket. Jackson gets up too.

"You mean, you pay with my money?" Jackson points out, with a grin.

"Finders-keepers, amigo." I smirk before pressing the money, with tip, onto the surface of the table. We bid the lady behind the counter goodbye and head in the direction of Antonio's corner store. Jackson walks a step ahead of me and I slouch behind, our handcuffed hands dangling freely between us. I ponder over what possible measures could be taken to hasten this process. This impediment.

"Are you any good with numbers?" My question drops from my lips after an idea pops into my head. Jackson stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder. He studies my eyes for a moment.

"Why?"

"Well, we could ask Antonio to borrow a phone and speed up this process- but I can barely memorise my own number." Jackson laughs at this. He then thinks about it. He walks ahead.

"I think I know my manager's number," he says. We walk into the store. The door closes behind us. Jackson doesn't elaborate. He glances in my direction, so I send him a pointed look. Jackson sighs, "He can arrange a plane, if I ask nicely enough." The normality in Jackson's tone makes me snort, in sheer amusement.

"Okay, no need to brag, Richard Branson." 

✧ ° ✧ ° ✧ °

Please comment your thoughts on the Chapters: I love reading reader responses.