AN: I’m glad people are enjoying this. It’s the first thing I’ve written since my favourite dog died suddenly, she was so intelligent and loving, she was like a child to me and I’ve been blocked ever since. I’ve never not been able to write before, not even when I was being stalked, and writing is how I deal with life’s problems, so I’ve been a total mess. I thought I’d break myself back in slowly with this little fantasy, so it’s great to know this has been so well received. :)
Chapter Three
I heard my computer beep to signal that I had an email and I picked my up phone up, hopeful that it was an order. The work I did paid the bills but I didn’t have much of a nest egg to fall back on, so each month as rent day approached, I became tense. I was still about a hundred shy of having Decembers rent.
Sometimes I wondered if choosing art as my career hadn’t been the worst decision of my life since, while I was doing what I loved, there was zero job security. Maybe those people who sit behind a desk for eight hours a day were onto something; they had a regular pay cheque coming in, after all, and they didn’t have to slog through the self-assessment tax form once a year.
I love my life, really I do, but I would love it even more if I sold a few more paintings each month.
I have considered leaving London and moving to somewhere cheaper, but part of me still hopes to be discovered by a gallery. Of course, it’s been about two years now since I took the time or trouble to cart my paintings to galleries. There’s only so much rejection my poor heart can take and while painting Fluffy might not be considered fine art, at least the people who commissioned me liked my work.
As I picked my phone up, I wondered what my new friend would make of my paintings, and it turned out that the email was from him.
‘My darling Dr Horrible, your paintings are as exquisite and beautiful as you. You really should consider exhibiting in a gallery. While I am no expert, I’m certain that there is more than enough room in the art world for someone with your talent.
Yours with utmost sincerety,
Capt. Hammer’
He really was kind of sweet, in an adorkable way.
I clicked reply. ‘Been there, done that, got rejected.’
It didn’t take long for a reply to come back.
‘You can’t give up, you have to keep trying. How many times do you think I’ve been turned down or acting jobs?’
I smiled. He was right.
‘I hear you’re a shoo in for hind legs of the donkey this year.’
That was a bit glib, even for bitchy old me, so I immediately typed another reply.
‘Sorry, you hit a bit close to home with that. I guess that now I’m paying my bills, I’m not as hungry, and not as willing to face rejection. But you are right, I should keep trying.’
‘You really should, I think you’re very talented.’
‘Thank you. This might be easier by text, so here’s my mobile number, 07XXX XXX XXX’
The next time my phone beeped, it was with a text message from an unknown number.
‘So you’ll give me your phone number but not your name?’
‘Harri. My name Harri. I would have thought Harriet’s Pets might have given you a clue. Can I know your name?’
‘Thomas. Call me Tom.’
‘Very nice to meet you, Tom. I think I prefer Captain Hammer though. It’s more colourful.’
I could almost hear him laughing. I hope he found me as funny as he seemed to.
‘True. Are you enjoying Dirty Dancing?’
‘Actually I opted for Guardians of the Galaxy. My DVD came this morning. Dirty Dancing is next though. How’s the party?’
‘Party’s okay. Think I might leave soon, I have an early call time tomorrow.’
‘So you have a job at the moment? Do tell.’ I was genuinely curious. Being an actor can mean anything from being an extra, to being Leonardo DiCaprio.
‘It’s just a few days of reshoots.’
‘Do you have anything else lined up?”
‘I have a part in a BBC mini-series, filming in the New Year.’
‘Anything I might have heard of?’
‘It’s based on a John le Carré book.’
I knew nothing but the basics about his books. ‘Ooh, spy stuff!’
I could almost hear him chuckle as he typed out a reply.
‘Yes, spy stuff,’ he agreed. ‘It’s a bit different from anything I’ve done recently, so it should be fun.’
I took that to mean he’d been doing theatre or something, and working in front of a camera would be new.
‘A lot different from being the hind end of a donkey, at least people will see your face ;)’
I really did wonder if I was being a bit close to the line with these insults, hence the wink face at the end. He can probably tell when I tease him on webcam but with just text, teasing can easily be read as bitching.
‘Yeah, and far less sweaty than a donkey suit.’
Yes! He got me and my twisted humour, but maybe it was time I stopped acting like an ass, or at least tone it down a little.
‘Well I hope you enjoy it and I’ll be sure to watch it and cheer for you when the series airs. Unless you’re a bad guy, in which case I will boo and hiss at you but you shouldn’t take this as a reflection that I don’t support you.’
‘You are marvellously mischievous, Harri Horrible.’
‘Hey, horrible by name, horrible by nature.’
‘So, how is your film?’
‘Not sure, some weird guy keeps texting me so it’s paused just before the final fight scene. Still, a gorgeous redhead has his head buried in my lap, so I’m being well cared for.’
There was a very long pause there and I wondered if I’d offended him, or put him off. Why had I joked about that anyway? Did I want him to think I was seeing someone? Worse still, that I would text while someone was going down on me?
A worrying thought occurred to me then, what if the guys I dated weren’t the weirdoes, what if I was the weirdo? They couldn’t all be weird, right? And I was the only common denominator so…
I was about to text again and remind him about Jasper but he beat me to it.
‘The red setter you painted, right? You said he was coming over.’
‘The very same.’ I actually sighed with relief, causing Jasper to look up at me. ‘He’s spoiled rotten, almost treated better than a child. If he wasn’t such a sweetheart, I’d be jealous of all the money they spend on him. Seriously, he even attends doggy day care while they go out to work.’
‘Well, as long as they love him, I can't see the harm.’
‘Nor me, that’s why I watch him in the evenings when they go out. They call it a sleepover though, which is slightly disturbing.’
‘Says the woman who has a crush on a raccoon.’
‘I do not have a crush on a raccoon… okay, maybe I have a little crush on him, but the kind of petting I want to do with him is totally legal, I assure you.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’
Well, he didn’t have to. He could meet me, I suppose. Did I really want to say that though? Probably not.
‘So, is the BBC show filming in London?’
‘Mostly. We haven’t started yet.’
‘Well, good luck with it. I hope it’s amazing and epic and your big break.’
‘Thank you, darling, that’s very kind of you to say.’
‘So, have you been in anything else I might have seen?’
‘Ah, now, that would be telling.’
I pouted. ‘Dirty, rotten tease. I showed you my work, now you show me yours :P’
‘As tempting as that is, I fear not.’
‘It’s okay, you know, even if you do look like the elephant man, I’ll still talk to you.’
‘You are too kind.’
Was he being sarky? ‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘Maybe, just a little. What’s sauce for the goose if sauce for the gander, after all.’
‘Are you calling me a goose? A bird? Fowel (or foul). I have never been so insulted in my life! You beastly man!’
‘LOL. I wish I was there with you, watching you tear your film plot to shreds.’
‘Eh, I go easy on Marvel. And comic book adaptations in general. Except Man of Steel. And Green Lantern. Man, those films were awful.’
‘Oh come on, who doesn’t like Superman!’
‘Me. For the same reason I’m not as keen on Captain America and Thor, they’re all goody two shoes, there’s no complexity or real depth in their characters. I like a complicated hero.’
‘Like Loki and Stark?’
‘Exactly. And I’m dying for a Black Widow movie. I’d bet she has a graveyard worth of skeletons in her closet.’
Suddenly my phone rang, displaying a withheld number. It was probably him but I couldn’t be sure.
“Hello?”
“Tell me your theory on Loki again?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“You mean about him deep down being a good guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Shouldn’t you be enjoying your party?”
“I did enjoy it. Now I’m in a cab back to my place.”
I wondered where his place was.
“Just think about it,” I began. “Loki was Thor’s right hand man in Asgard and they fought together for centuries. Even at the beginning of Thor one, he saves Fandral’s life. Up until his whole identity was stripped away from him, he was one of the good guys, despite how shitty his dad treated him.”
“But he was never really good, was he? He did let the frost giants into Asgard.”
“True, but we’re talking about gods and monsters here, not people. Everything in Asgard is larger than life, so it stands to reason that their pranks would be bigger too. Letting Frost Giants in is probably equivalent to our putting cling film over the toilet bowl.”
“I suppose.”
I carried on with my point, pressing it home. “Besides, it’s only a few recent years when he’s been a true bad guy so really, that behaviour is the aberrant one.”
“So would you date Loki?”
“Are you kidding?” I said excitedly in my best overly enthusiastic fangirl voice. “Of course I wouldn’t! No frigging way, Jose! As much as I like to ogle him from afar, the dude’s a maniac.”
He laughed.
“All I’m saying,” I continued, “is that he’s complex and there are dozens of layers to him. He can be good, bad or indifferent, depending on his motivation, and that’s what makes him interesting.”
“Hmm,” he said, as if considering my words and finding them wanting.
“I wouldn’t date Tony Stark either, for that matter, I’d trust him too save the world most of the time but not not break my heart, if that makes sense. My English teacher’s head is probably spinning around right now, Exorcist style.”
“Bad grammar or not, I know what you mean,” he chuckled. “What makes for an interesting or sympathetic character doesn’t necessarily make for a good boyfriend.”
“Exactly. They’re good for a one night stand, nothing more,” I teased.
“So, what kind of man does make a good boyfriend?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I considered the question. “I’ve never been one for a laundry list of what I want in someone else.”
“You must have some idea though.”
“Well… I suppose someone like my Dad. I would like to add before I continue, that I am not now nor have I ever been, attracted to my father.”
“Understood, please continue.”
“Okay, first you want someone calm. Having a temper is not an attractive quality and nothing ever got solved in anger. Next, he has to be kind. Why anyone would date someone who was unkind, I don’t know, I hate meanness in all it;s forms, but those losers keep getting dates, so I guess someone likes them…”
“What else?” he prompted.
“I don’t know. I suppose intelligence is important, someone you can have a real, in depth discussion with sometimes.”
“So educated then?”
“Education is nice but not necessary, as long as someone is bright and willing to learn.”
“Anything else?”
“Someone who is confident but not arrogant. The kind of person who is happy with who they are, who doesn’t have a massive chip on their shoulder and who has nothing to prove to the world.”
“Isn’t having goals good though?”
“Sure, but it depends why you want to reach those goals. If it’s to prove to everyone around you that you’re worthy, then you’ll never feel worthy because external validation never lasts. If it’s to prove something to yourself, to see if you can do something new, or just so you can learn and grow as a human being, those kinds of goals are admirable.”
“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.
I gasped, “Thomas! How could you ask a lady such a thing! You impertinent beast!”
He laughed.
“Why do you want to know?” I asked, joking aside.
“Just curious. You seem to have a wisdom beyond your years.”
“How do you know I’m not seventy five old and just have a really good plastic surgeon?”
“I suppose I don’t.” He laughed. “Please tell me you aren’t seventy though. I have nothing against age gaps but forty plus years might be stretching it.”
Was he flirting with me? Was it possible that he was as enamoured with me, as I was becoming with him?
Probably not.
“Thirty one.” I replied.
“Ah, to be thirty one again,” he said wistfully.
“You’re not some middle aged guy who is going through a midlife crisis, are you?” I joked. He didn’t sound middle aged.
“I’m thirty three, love.”
“Phew!” I said with exaggeration, wondering if I should flirt back. “So, what do you look for in a partner?”
“Just hold on a second.”
I heard him talking with the cab driver, then a door slammed.
“Sorry, just getting inside,” he explained a moment later. “Where were we?”
His voice was getting softer and louder, so I pictured him taking his coat off.
“I was asking the qualities you look for in a girl. Well, a woman; if you were still dating girls, I’d have to report you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “I suppose similar things to you. Nice, even tempered, intelligent. I think a sense of humour is a must too, you need to laugh, even in the darkest of times.”
“Especially then,” I agreed.
“So, um, I don’t suppose you, uh…”
Was he going to ask me out? If there is a god, please, please, please let him ask me out!
“Yeah?” I prompted as the silence became awkward.
“I suppose I’d better let you get back to your film and your redhead.”
I felt a pang of loss. Probably my own fault for getting my hopes up. Why would he want to date me? I spent half the time insulting him. It was a dynamic that worked in our house but I was usually careful to break new boyfriends into that aspect of my personality carefully. With Tom, I’d just jumped straight in with the insults.
“Sure,” I tried to sound upbeat. “Enjoy the rest of your evening and have fun with the mini-series.”
“I will.” Was it my imagination or did he sound a little sad? I don’t know why he had any right to be sad, he was the one who suggested hanging up. “Good night, darling.”
“‘Night, Tom.”
I ended the call before I could second guess myself.