The ride in the limo was cramped, not in space, but in attitude. Not only was Scott sitting next to her, but the guys he hired for protection were there too, all muscle and bravado. Cricket had to give it up for Scott, because he was as ripped as they were, actually working out with them when his schedule permitted.

Since he had an audience, he was in Braveheart mode, with his arm draped around her shoulders, his fingers both possessive and attentive as they swirled up and down her arm. Compared to the last time in the car when they had been alone, he had been aloof and sulky, interested only in looking out the window, no matter how hard she tried to get his attention.

Well, it’s my turn to look out the window, Cricket muttered in her mind, as she fidgeted with his closeness, uncomfortable with the stares of the other men.

“Settle down, Baby. You’re edgy tonight.”

“Oh Scott, I never wanted in on this interview. Can’t I just sit and watch? You know, like a real sideline lover, kind of secret and mysterious.” Cricket warmed to her idea of anonymity, momentarily forgetting the other guys. “Maybe we could just have dinner. Then I would sneak back to your place, and wait for you there, while you finished up with the magazine. We wouldn’t have to share ourselves with anybody. Just be you and me,” she added softly into the silence.

“Hey! The ‘you and me’ part is for later, after,” Scott emphasized the word ‘after’ by squeezing her shoulder, “our time with the magazine. Yeah the article is about me, but I want you there for interest. After all, you’re part of my life now.”

Someone coughed, snapping Cricket back into the reality of the moment. Embarrassed, she laughed and said “Nothing like having a romance with a tribe.”

She looked at Scott, “So I’m part of your life now?” He smiled his answer. Looking out the window, she shook her head and wondered if he would ever be part of HER life.

They arrived at the restaurant with more flourish than sense, scrapping into the small space allotted for valet parking. The doors swung open, and the men were out, harboring the space for their security. Satisfied, they motioned for Scott and her to get out.

The restaurant that had been chosen for the dinner and interview was a Los Angeles favorite,
an historic deli called ‘Philippe The Original, Home of the Original French Dipped Sandwich, since 1908.’ Cricket was surprised when she first heard of the location. Its relaxed atmosphere, complete with long red tables for family style dining, and sawdust on the floor, were so not Scott. Too plebeian.

GQ, however, thought that his “friendly sophistication” would lend itself nicely to the restaurant’s legendary status as one of the oldest and best establishments in Southern California. Actually, it was one of her favorites, not only for the homemade desserts and
spicy sauce for the sandwiches, but also for the friendly, noisy crowd that made life good.

The magazine crew came out to greet them, the writer saying he felt really good about the interview, while the photographer was excited about the light for the pictures. Several of the tables had already been partitioned off, and they were directed over to the one where they would be eating.

The photographer knew Scott had picked out their clothes for the evening and was gaga over the looks he was going to create. With enthusiasm he exclaimed, “Like living posters. Still life shots juxtaposing elegance with everyday; special with mundane; champagne with beer; the past with the present; life lived, whether up or down.” He laughed and hoped that the interview would be strong enough to hold its own with his pictures.

The other diners were openly curious, chancing looks as they walked in and sat down. Cricket remembered another time when she had placed herself in similar moment. It had been after her high school prom, and she and the gang had decided to go to Dairy Queen dressed in their formal finery. They had shown up like birds of paradise, amidst the sparrows. But being a small town, everyone had know everyone else, so all ended in laughter and a good time.

Now, however, she felt like she was slumming, playing a part of the righteous, too good to mix with the regulars. Here there was no laughter on both sides, only a vague sense of entitlement.

“Sit down,” Scott hissed in her ear, smiling at the same time, as she lowered herself onto the bench next to him. She hadn’t realized she had lost herself in the stares of the crowd, and was still standing after they had been encouraged to sit down.

John Parker, the man in charge, looked quizzically at her, probably wondering if she were high.

Cricket smiled back, saying “If I was high, I would have already ordered, and been on my second batch of french fries.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Least your honest. Can I make that part of the interview?“

“And have my Grandma thinking I was anything but a ‘good girl’. Mr Parker, sir, lets keep you a real gentleman and have it off the record.” Cricket drawled, doing her best southern accent, and batting her eye lashes like a silly twit.

More laughter, not only from John, but from several of his crew members. The laughter she was looking for, however, was sidelined in Scott’s picture perfect smile, covering icy rage. Cricket quickly interrupted John, who was trying to get her to have a a bigger part in the article.

“No, really. Your readers only want to hear about the man behind some of the best box office hits. Hey, I’m dating the guy, and I can hardly wait to read the article so I can find out more about him.” Cricket smiled at the loud guffaws, and continued for good measure. “I’m just a simple singer from across the Mason-Dixon Line. Scott’s movie magic.”

“That I can use,” Mr Parker crowed happily.

Scott was straddled across the bench, and pulled her close to him. She could feel the tension in his body, and knew he was displeased with the attention she was getting. Cricket hoped her parting salvo had soothed some of his ruffled ego, but rather doubted it. With him, it was like telling a show panther he did good. You still ran the risk of getting your head bit off.

But Scott was back on, in front of the public, so he settled her in, got her drinks and food, and made sure she was comfortable. The photographer was good, which meant that he knew how to stay unobtrusive, stopping only to adjust lighting, and move tableware. He had researched the location and evening light beforehand, so nothing surprised him.

What did surprise her, again, was how good Scott was. His ready smile lit up their space. Charm that was almost otherworldly, rolled off his lips and encompassed all those around him, making you not only feel special, but wanting to do something for this wonderful person. The Oscar winning gesture that softened all the female hearts watching, causing them to sigh and wish, was when he leaned in to ask her a question, and absently, with delicate care, picked up strands of her hair and pushed them behind her ear. Cricket sighed too.

And knew she was being sucked back into la la land. A place of hot and cold, of uncertainty, where trying to please someone meant judging their moods to figure out how to act and what to say.

Maybe for a little while, she had liked that dark undercurrent, which added an erotic edginess to their relationship. After all, when you didn’t know how he was going to respond, it was like a game to figure out what turned him on, or made him happy. You fool yourself by saying, “maybe next time,” as more of who you are disappears into him.

Cricket dug her fingernails into her clenched hands, hoping the pain would distance herself from the magic of Scott. He laughed, like he knew she was trying to get free, pulled her closer, and continued to answer the interviewers questions. “Yeah, this little girl might be the one to get me to the altar.“

Mr. Parker knew he’d just been handed a sensational news item, and hoped for more information.

“When’s the date? Where’s the wedding going to be? Small or big? What about interfering with your new movie, a spy thriller I think? And…”

He got no further for the simple reason that Cricket had grabbed his pen and was glaring at Scott, full of playful indignation. “Excuse me, but I’m the other half of this equation and no one has asked me anything. I’m old fashioned enough to want to hear my proposal from you, not read about it.”

She had squirmed out of his reach while venting her opinion, and told everyone that she had to powder her nose and get dessert. “I prefer to pick out my own baked apple. The one with the most drippy cinnamon-sugar syrup,” she said rolling her eyes dreamily. “Have fun finishing your interview.”

Cricket hurried away before Scott could object. She was grateful that even though people were staring at her, they left her alone. She reached the bathroom and chose a stall in the corner, giving her at least one wall’s worth of privacy.

My life must be pathetic, if escaping to a bathroom stall brings me a moment’s peace, Cricket thought wryly. She took a deep breath and just sat there gathering her wits. What’s wrong with me? He’s talking marriage which is a good thing, but he doesn’t even know me. He only knows what he thinks he knows about me. Oh God, this is too crazy. Stick to the facts, she told herself sternly.

Cricket held up her hand, counting her fingers. On the one hand, you’re in a relationship, where, outside of sex, there is no intimacy, there is no affection, and there is no mutual understanding. And when the sex goes from gold to glitter, no one likes the dross. You have already been there, done that, and the emptiness is getting too hard to bear.

The other mind voice piped up. “But he is talking marriage. Maybe that will bring a new dimension to your relationship.”

Cricket sighed, wearily thinking she would give it another try because tonight was special for Scott. But she was scared, because she didn’t know how much longer she would be able to hold it together.

An image of Scott singing to her flashed in her mind. The song was sultry, full of rhythmic dimension, rather like that archived Elvis song about making love on the grass. But although he was singing to her, warming her with his voice, the words were all about him. Revealing words, about a man who didn’t understand relationship, and wanted the upper hand, in more ways than she cared to think about.

“Goodness.” She looked at the mess of toilet paper that she had written the word’s to Scott’s song on. Folding them carefully, she shoved them to the bottom of her oversized Coach bag, another hurtful reminder. The purse was one of her favorites, because of the metallic accents and the little, lime green pin stripe. Scott had chided her because she had kept it well beyond the original season, saying, “You have the money, for god’s sake. Buy the season and give the rest away. But stay in style.” So much for her opinion, again.

Cricket flushed the toilet to lend credence to being in the bathroom, gathered her purse and and went out to wash her hands. One of the waitress’s was there, and said how much she enjoyed Cricket’s songs, and thought that it was too cool she was dating Scott Ryder.

“Oh my God. He is so cute. That smile, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, you are so lucky. I’ve just got my imagination. You get the real thing. My friends are going to be so jealous when they hear that I got to wait on you. I have Scott’s napkin that he wiped his mouth with.”

Cricket reached for the napkin. “Give it to me and I’ll get him to sign it.”

“Really?? Oh my God., that is so nice.”

They left together, the bathroom door bouncing back because of the hefty push Cricket gave it.

“Sorry, ahh, what’s your name?”

“Nancy.”

“I didn’t mean to pop the door so hard. You OK?

“No problem, I can move quickly, you know, waitress and all.”

Smiling, Cricket nodded her understanding and said she must be more frustrated than she realized. With not too much fuss, she picked out her pie and made her way back to the tables, bringing Nancy with her. Thank God they were finished and were just sitting around shooting the breeze. Scott stood up, motioning for the guys to get the car.

“Good. You’re here. I didn’t know choosing a piece of pie could take so long. Get it boxed and let’s leave.” He motioned for Nancy to make the order to go.

“Just a minute, please,” Cricket chimed in. “This is Nancy, one of our waitresses, and she is a big fan. Would you please sign this napkin for her?” Then, giving in to an imp of anger, Cricket pressed on, “Besides, I want to eat my pie here.”

Giving her a squinty smile, the kind that means we will talk about this later, he took the napkin, wrote his name, and handed it back with a flourish.

Nancy squeaked out a “Wow, thanks,” and asked Cricket to sign it too.

She gave Cricket a hard look, and turning to Scott, said “It’s not every day that you get to spend time in a restroom with a singing star. Thanks, guys, I really appreciate this.” Waving her hand, with the napkin in it, Nancy turned and threaded her way back to the manager who was waiting impatiently for her.

The sisterhood of girlfriends coming through again. She had just given Cricket a reason for her lateness. She slowly sat down, forcing Scott to sit down again. Mumbling under his breath, he asked if she hadn’t eaten enough already?

Replying slyly, with her mouth full of yummy, gooey pie, “Oh yes, after I finish this piece of pie.”

SNAP, Scott’s Song

SNAP, give me your attention.
SNAP, I’ll be your direction.
Come and lean on me,
I’ll meet your every need.

So baby, get it, and give it,
you know what I mean.
You’re mine to have it, to hold it,
You’re part of my scene.

SNAP, I want you in my dreams
SNAP, I’ll tell you how it seems.
I’m your hero by design,
I’ll always mess with our mind.

So baby, get it, and give it,
you know what I mean.
You’re mine to have it, to hold it,
You’re part of my scene.

SNAP, your soul wants my dark side,
SNAP, to redeem your sense of pride.
Try and get the reason, girl,
And get to the pleasing.

So baby, get it, and give it,
you know what I mean.
You’re mine to have it, to hold it,
You’re part of my scene.

SNAP, I’m the shadow in your heart.
SNAP, I’ll never let us part.
Give your love to me,
Your life is my reality.

So baby, get it, and give it,
you know what I mean.
You’re mine to have it, to hold it,
You’re part of my scene.