You Don't Know Me by MPants

You Don’t Know Me

MPants

A/N: The following is the start to a new story I’m writing, in part, due to the insistence of Ms. AHizelm. (The summary: “The year is 1958. A boy is in love. A girl is oblivious. A happily ever after seems so close, yet so far away.”) The story’s a work in progress—but if AHizelm has her way, you might see this posted on my personal account in the very near future.

Ang—You are my beta, my TS and one of the very best friends a girl could ask for. Happy birthday, love. Here’s to many more.

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Prologue

The opening words of the next song echoed softly through the ballroom. On stage stood the singer, dressed in a red velvet dress that matched the luxurious drapes hanging near the windows. She crooned softly, her voice full of bittersweet romance. The band behind her, dressed in their dark dinner jackets, played their instruments with a sleepy passion. All of them had played this song for more nights than they could remember, but even after a thousand repetitions, the song still had power. The singer smiled as she transitioned from one verse to the next.

The dancer strode gracefully to the center of the floor. In a sea of black, grey and ivory gowns, her golden dress shone brightly. She wasn’t after the attention; she was merely enjoying a rare night of indulgence. Her partner was a stranger, but he was handsome enough, dressed in his coat and tails. He whispered a compliment in her ear and she laughed, the musical notes of the sound adding to the magic in the room. She tipped her head back and released a relaxed sigh into the air as he dipped her slightly.

The man watched from his seat at one of the numerous tables in the room, his eyes transfixed on the dancer. The words of the song echoed in his head, caused his heart to ache. Never had a moment in time been clearer. It was as though nothing existed save for him, the woman in gold, and the lyrics. She was clueless that her mysterious benefactor was watching so intently. He grimaced as her partner’s hand slipped ever lower on her waist; the almost-silent growl that rumbled from his throat was heard by no one.

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Chapter No. 1—All Shook Up

The door slammed as Edward left for work, jarring me awake. I’d asked him time and time again to close it quietly, particularly after a long night like he knew I’d just had. He’d be conscientious about it for a few weeks, but then old habits would come back, and loudly.

I turned over and pulled my pillow over my head, feeling grateful that after this weekend, we’d no longer be roommates. I’d miss having him around, of course, but at this very moment the pros were larger than the cons. Edward was on to bigger and better things … and I was on to a quieter apartment. At least, that was the plan.

I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping I’d nod back off quickly. I’d been right in the middle of a dream, and a good one at that. I could still feel the softness of her lips on mine, the touch of her cool hand on the back of my neck. I willed myself back asleep. I’d found the state of half-dreaming/half-awake that meant I was about to drop completely off when the sound of clanking pans came from the kitchen.

I hoped it was just pans shifting in the cupboards, but the rustling coming from the kitchen continued, making it nearly impossible to fall back asleep. I rolled over onto my back, out from under my pillow, and threw an arm over my eyes, praying to whoever might be listening to smite the person making all the noise. I didn’t know if that sort of thing was done anymore, not since B.C. turned into A.D., but there were windows in the living room lightning could easily pass through.

I gingerly opened one eye and cast an eyeball at the clock on my nightstand. Its happy face mocked my pain. I could just make out that it was nearly 10:30. I forced a breath through my gritted teeth. So, it wasn’t exactly early. But still.

The noises coming from the kitchen only got louder. An egg timer went off; the noise reverberated around the interior of my skull like an all-too-familiar fire alarm.

I tossed back the covers of the bed with more force than necessary, sending last night’s clothes to the ground. I drug my legs over the edge of the mattress without lifting my torso, and slithered off the bed as though sometime during the few hours of sleep I’d gotten, I’d become an invertebrate. I forced myself into a standing position and shuffled to the pile of clothes, grabbing for my jeans.

I had no idea who could be in our kitchen if Edward had left for work, but I didn’t care. I was fully prepared to rip the ruckus-maker a new one. If, of course, my prayers hadn’t been answered. A third of me didn’t really want to see the smoking remains of someone dirtying the floor of the kitchen. The second third was running through the various ways I’d learned to dispose of a body from my friends on the force. The last third was still under the covers, sleeping.

I reached my door and braced myself for the vicious brightness I knew was waiting for me on the other side. Squinting, I grabbed the doorknob and threw it open; I was a firm believer in “ripping the Band-Aid off as quickly as possible.”

After a moment of blindness, my eyes adjusted enough so that I could see where I was going. I stumbled toward the epicenter of the noise. I ran through the curses I knew in my head and was actually a bit surprised at how many I knew, and how great they all sounded strung together.

I rounded the corner and clenched my fists at my side, breathed in, and readied myself for a cathartic rush of obscenities.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

My mouth fell open, and all the preparations for war I’d been making flew away like a flock of frightened crows.

In my attempt to pile up the z’s, I’d completely forgotten what day it was.

The day that I’d been waiting for—for months—was finally here.

“Eddie picked me up before he went to work. I thought I’d make breakfast for us. I’m starving. I never eat that terrible airline food.”

I couldn’t do much but stare. I rubbed my eyes vigorously, trying to make sure I hadn’t fallen back asleep, that I wasn’t still dreaming. She was in my kitchen. She stretched to reach things in the cupboards above the counter. Her sleeveless shirt rode slightly up her stomach and I got a glimpse of pale, glorious skin between the hem and the waist of her tight black Capri pants. She was leaning into the fridge. I tried not to stare as she bent down, from the waist, one of her many assets pointed in my direction. She turned to face me, carton of eggs in hand, and tilted her head to the side. Her short, wavy dark hair shone in the sunlight coming from the living room windows, the same sunlight I’d been cursing mere moments before.

She was also waiting for a response.

I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

“Hey?” She replied, incredulous. “Hey? We haven’t seen each other in six months and all I get is a ‘hey’? I make breakfast for you—a delicious and nutritious breakfast, I might add—and all I get is a ‘hey’?”

I grinned. Even in my stunned and sleepy state, she always knew how to make me smile.

“That’s better,” she said, before depositing the carton on the counter. She bent into a sprinter’s stance and looked up at me. “Ready?”

I moved my legs slightly apart and bent my knees, raising my arms in front of me. “Ready.”

She sprung from her position and covered the short distance in seconds. As she threw her arms around my neck, I gripped her waist in my hands and swung her around. I breathed in the scent of her perfume—Chanel No. 5. It was a classic scent, and it fit her to a T. I’d given her a bottle for Christmas. I could remember the look on her face exactly as she opened the package; she was genuinely surprised that I’d remembered something she mentioned in passing.

The thing she didn’t realize is that I remembered everything about her. I remembered the fourth grade history pageant in which she portrayed Queen Isabella and I’d played her king, Ferdinand II. I remembered our senior prom, when she went with Felix—a star football player— and I took Jane, my mother’s bridge partner’s homely daughter. I remembered watching her plane take off six months ago, taking her to her new home, 350 miles away from me.

As I stopped spinning and set her down on the ground, she put her arms on my shoulder and pushed back to face me. I didn’t remove my hands from her waist, however. I looked into her deep, blue-grey eyes and wished for the millionth time that she could know what I was thinking. Unfortunately, it seemed her brother had gotten that ability.

The horn rang, ruining the moment.

“I’ll let you get that. I’ve got to get back to the eggs!” She pulled away and I sighed, too low for her to hear. I walked to the counter where the phone sat and pulled the receiver a little too forcefully off of the base, knowing exactly who it would be. “Hello?” I growled.

“Jasper?”

Get bent, Eddie.

“What is it, Eddie?”

“I forgot to tell my sister something this morning before I left for work. Is she available?”

“Sure thing.” I held the phone out and she took it from me, cradling it between her shoulder and ear while she worked at the stove. I moved the base closer to her and she smiled up at me, mouthing her thanks.

I stretched, still half asleep. Last night had been a long one. There’d been a three-alarm down by the docks that took an abnormally long while to put out. Finishing the stretch, I reached to scratch my chest. When my fingers touched bare skin, I realized I’d forgotten a shirt in my earlier rush to maim the person in my kitchen. Finding her here had completely thrown me off.

Slightly embarrassed, I turned to return to my room, but not before she saw the look on my face. She winked at me and smiled even wider.

“Mmm-hm, Eddie. I’ll be there,” she said. “2 o’clock. Green Room.” She frowned as she listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver. “I can get there just fine, Edward. I’ve only been out of the city for a few months. It’s not like I’ve completely forgotten how to get around.” She stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes.

My embarrassment at my half-dressed status turned quickly into amusement. The redness faded from my cheeks as I made my way down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I grabbed a clean white t-shirt from my dresser and pulled it over my head, pausing to glance in the mirror. I grimaced when I saw the face staring back. I tugged at a piece of the wavy blonde hair that fell into my face—it had been far too long since I’d gotten a haircut. I pulled at the skin underneath my eyes—it was dark and saggy. I rubbed at the scratchy stubble on my chin—as often as the chief ragged on me about my stubble, there were some nights I just couldn’t find the time to shave.

The many night shifts I’d taken on recently were definitely taking their toll.

I blew out a breath of annoyance and ducked into the bathroom to brush my teeth when the smell of my morning breath bounced off the mirror and back into my face.

I wasn’t getting off to a very good start with her this morning. And I had made so many plans …

“Jas-per!” her voice trilled from the kitchen. “Food’s ready. Come get some before we’re interrupted again. My brother’s being a total wet rag over all the details that need to get taken care of before this weekend.”

I mumbled under my breath. Edward was often a wet rag, and not just about the upcoming event.

I passed the office on the way to the kitchen and the calendar on the wall caught my eye. I paused, turning into the room and grabbing a marker off the desk.

I studied the pages hanging on the wall. I’d gotten the calendar from the bank at the beginning of the year. Each month featured scenic images of San Francisco. It definitely was a beautiful city. But I never looked too long at the photos. I was more concerned with the days. For six months I’d been counting them. Each day leading to up to today was marked off, one by one, with a thick black X. Each day, when I was able to cross out another box, I got such a rush. One box stood out from the rest; it was circled in red marker. I drug the marker through the box just before the red circle and smiled.

“I’ll be right there, Alice,” I said, loud enough so she could hear. I put the cap on the marker with a satisfied click, dropped it onto the desk, and left the room.

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Slang:

cast an eyeball—to look

get bent—drop dead

horn—phone

pile up the z’s—sleep

wet rag—someone who’s no fun