Mélange - PART 8

Without realizing the approaching danger, she suddenly swerved to miss a rough patch in the pavement. That single move allowed her to avoid being hit head-on by the speeding vehicle. However, it didn’t allow her to escape unscathed. The car still clipped her with it’s bumper. The force still sent her reeling. She came to a halt when she slammed against a wall and fell down on the pavement. She lifted her head just in time to see a car drive away.

Her head ached. The world was fuzzy around the edges. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. Everything was different colors, and moved in a circular motion. She saw everything in triplicate. She put her hand on her forehead. When she pulled it away, she felt something warm and sticky on it. She brought her hand close to her face. She recognized it immediately; blood. She must have cut her head.

Looking down her body, she noticed that her leggings were badly torn. Through the tattered fabric, she could see blood oozing from several open sores. Her eyes traveled upwards, to her arms. She had a bad case of road rash down both of them. Gravel and broken glass was embedded in her skin. The bone bruise on her arm, a remnant of her close encounter with an avalanche, was throbbing.

Moving gingerly, she took her helmet off and looked inside. The protective Styrofoam layer was badly crushed and was covered with red streaks. She was grateful she wore her helmet that day. Otherwise, the outcome would have been much worse. She gently probed her scalp cut with her fingers and determined it wasn’t too bad. She didn’t think it needed stitches.

Cautiously, she stood up, and was woozy so she remained motionless until the sensation passed. It was then that she became aware of the crowd that had gathered around her. Everyone was asking her if she was all right, and should they call an ambulance. She thanked them for their concern, but politely declined their offers. Quickly, she asked a few questions of her own. Did any of them see the car? Get the license plate number? Get a description of the driver?

Unfortunately, the bystanders couldn’t agree on year, make, model or even the color. Generally, they agreed it was an older car, very nondescript with no distinguishing features such as a bumper sticker either. When asked to provide details, the crowd started fighting amongst themselves. Each person described a different car and no one got a look at the plates. Some people even denied seeing or hearing anything. Based on their body language, Angie could tell they were lying and just didn’t want to be involved. Soon, she realized it was futile to try get relevant information out of that group. Tossing her now useless helmet in a nearby Dumpster, she cautiously skated away.

****

A few minutes later, she arrived back to the loft to find Rollie waiting impatiently for her. Great, she groaned inwardly. She had been hoping he was still at the set so she could clean up before telling him what happened.

"Where were you?" It was obvious he was mad because she went out on her own and didn’t tell him where she was going. Stopping on the other side of the loft, she took off her in-line skates and replaced them with a pair of comfortable sandals. As she stood back up, he got a good look at her and saw she was injured. He just exploded. His anger was evident in his brown eyes.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" He demanded as he grabbed a well-stocked, frequently used first-aid kit and started attending to her wounds. His touch was gentle, in sharp contrast to his words.

Softly, Angie told him about the hit-and-run.

"I told you not to go out alone. You should have listened to me. You could have been killed. You don’t know what she’s capable of," he shouted, as he dabbed an antibiotic solution on her scraps.

"I’m not going to let her rule my life. My life is not going to revolve around her.

"Look Rollie. You’re my partner, my friend, my lover. You are not my keeper!" she yelled in return and proceeded to storm out of the loft.

She was furious and livid. How could he? She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions.

She didn’t go far. Just walked around the alley to vent her frustrations. She inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled. Repeated this process several times until she felt herself start to relax.

Inside, Rollie was slamming things around, pretending he was cleaning up his workspace. How could she? She could have been killed. Why would she take such a chance?

"Blue, camera one," he ordered. He sat in his chair as he watched the alley in front of the loft appear on the monitor. He could see her walking around outside. He breathed a sigh of relief. Keeping one eye on the monitor, he tried to go back to work. He couldn’t, his mind kept thinking about the lovely blonde woman on the other side of the door.

Rollie was encouraged by the fact she didn’t go far. She was hanging around so they could end their fight. A few years ago, at any hint of an emotional confrontation, Angie would have just left; pretending the issue didn’t exist. Now, she was staying and fighting; standing her ground for what she wants. She just left the loft to calm down, not to avoid anything. He was glad. It also provided him with further proof she was an adult. Yeah, she’s definitely all grown up, he thought. She’s an adult who’s fully capable of making her own decisions. And I’ve got to remember to still treat her like one. Just because she’s my girlfriend doesn’t mean I can dictate her actions and protect her from the world, however much I want too. I should apologize for acting like some overprotective jerk. He waited a few more minutes, until he was sure he had regained enough control over his emotions so he could have a rational, unheated discussion with Angie, instead of an argument.

Simultaneously, Angie was doing some thinking of her own. Briefly, she thought about leaving; going back to her apartment, but she knew that wasn’t the solution. If Rollie and her were going to make this work, they had to talk things out, communicate with each other. She wanted this to work so badly; she had to stay. Besides, he sort of had a right to be angry. I should have left him a note. These are pretty strange circumstances. I’d be mad if he went out without leaving a message. Angie, now feeling capable of talking with, and listening to Rollie, instead of yelling, decided it was time to go back inside.

Just as she turned around to head back into the loft, she saw the door open a crack. Rollie saw her, and hurried out into the alley. She advanced on him as well, meeting each other halfway.

For a moment, they both looked at each other, opening and closing their mouths without any words coming out. Finally, Rollie spoke.

"Angie…Angela… You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset like that. It’s just that…" he paused to steady himself, "It’s just that you are the most important person in my life. If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t go on living. I’d survive but I’d just be existing, not living.

Angie was momentarily stunned at his emotional speech. He sounded so believable. Or was it that she just wanted to believe him so much? Did he really feel that strongly about her?

"I’m sorry too. I should have at least left a note," she said.

He tucked her head under his chin. He held that position for a short second then pulled pack to rest his forehead on hers. They gazed deep into each other’s eyes. Without a conscious decision, their faces moved closer to each other, until their lips met. They shared an long, lingering, intense, intimate, passionate kiss that left both of them breathless. They only separated when they heard a car horn blaring from the nearby street, reminding them they weren’t alone, nor were they in a private spot.

"I love you," Angie professed.

"I love you too. Remember where we were, for later," he said with a seductive glint in eyes. "Now, get back to work. We need that gag on set tonight. And, I’m call Mira to fill her in on this. She needs to know." Angie nodded her head in agreement, love shining in her eyes. His own sparkled; maybe they could become stronger as a result of this situation. He hoped so.

****

That evening’s filming went flawlessly. In fact, they even finished ahead of schedule. As a result, it was just after midnight when they returned to the workshop. As they drove in, they noticed a mysterious package resting on the doorstep of the workshop. Leaving Angie to unload the van, Rollie went outside to retrieve the parcel. It was a large, plain brown envelope, one that would be found in stationary stores anywhere in the world. It was stuffed so full the sides were bulging out. Clear packing tape was used to hold it together. The name Rollie Tyler was written on the front, in black ink in big block letters.