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Part 2 (Go back to part 1)

They lay in bed, the flickering lights washing over their bodies, as their eyes lazily viewed the giver of the lights.
"There "s a lot of really crappy movies on TV late night, you know.",he said quietly. "The kind you find in the under appreciated part of the video store..... ", Pamela clarified.
"Geez.... ", pointing at the TV screen. "I don't know if I "d call this under appreciated art."
"Why? That "s only what we "ve been doing for the past hour!", she slyly commented.
"Ah...... well, um, we elevated it to a genuine art form! We should be filmed!"
She swung her line of vision toward him. "Now, don't tempt me! "Ohh, you "re nasty!", he joked. "You "ve been smelling too many of the paint fumes in the adult room, right?"
"What does that have to do with anything?", she purred, squeezing him.
"All those movies -- burned into your brain.", he said. "The experts were right -- those types of things do mess up your head....", chuckling.
"Mmmmm......", her moan stretching suspensfully. Jim thought her next phrase would be wickedly witty. "Jim.... I'm hungry."
"Hungry, hmm.... for what?", he grinned.
"Well,", slowly parting from him before rolling off the bed's side. "There's all kinds of snacks in the cupboard!" Her voice cracked on the word snacks, as if it signified something tremendously important. Jim, on the other hand, frowned in bafflement.
"Oh....like what?", he asked. "Caviar... shrimp??"
"No way!", she burst. "I buy strictly dry snacks! So.... cookies and crackers?"
"Do I want them?", he mocked. "Bring them on!"
"Only the best on the street.", she gleamed, walking into the kitchen. "You'll never find them anywhere else."
"Except in every other house in town, of course."
"Details, details! They bother me none!"
She opened up the cupboards, looking for any edible simplicities, and returned to bed holding both a package of cookies and a box of crackers. She sat on the bed, cross-legged, facing Jim who was still lying on his back, and handed him the cookie bag.
"God, I'm hungry. I never ate a whole lot today.", she flustered, before eating into her first cracker. "Yea, I know... this isn't much of a meal, but it's the best I can do."
"Hmmm...", Jim hummed in jest, yet with subtle delight. "Cookies with fudge centers!"
"Now those...those are the best ones, I tell you!", she smiled, brushing her hand against her stomach. "I'm getting a bit of a tummy because of all this elegance, though."
Jim looks at her stomach, still nude along with the rest of her. "Don't say that,", poking her gently in the middle. "I enjoyed that tummy."
"I bet you did!", she growled lovingly. "It's difficult to buy good food on my salary... I'm lucky to be able to live in this dump!" Pamela mumbled the last words of the sentence, trying to hide any sour emotion.
"Well... it's a home. I live in similar circumstances.", he reminded her.
"Yea, well, what are you supposed to do. I work at a fucking video store -- where else am I going to go in life?", her voice hardening.
Jim's eyes widened from the shock of her profanity against his eardrums.
"Or....", Pamela responded upon noticing his reaction, "... did you suppose I was born to work there?"
"Umm... no, I didn't...", thinking that he'd have to be on the defensive.
Her apologetic smile saved them from awkward silence. "sorry...", she said pleasingly. "I guess that is not really conducive to an... intimate evening together."
"Well, that's over with....", he said, even while unabling to remove this display of bitterness from his memory. "...where were we?"
"Well,", picking up another cracker. "We were engaged in our post-erotic session."
"Do you...", crunching on a cookie, "like to eat after wild sex or something?"
"Some people like to light up after sex.....", she smiles seductively, before unseductively crashing her teeth against the fragile cracker. "...but for me, food is the ultimate afterwards tool. Besides, smoking kills you faster than any eating binge, even without sex!"
Jim noticed a shower of crumbs raining over her stomach. "Hmmmm....hae you ever thought of....using food during?"
Pamela's eyebrows raised, in naughty amusement. "Food? Pass me the butter!", she growls in an odd guttural voice, before exploding in hysterical laughter. Jim smiled in confusion, not understanding the reference.
"Never mind -- that was just my Marlon Brando impression -- sexy, ain't it?", she giggles.
"You're a nutty chick -- I don't need butter, or any impressions, to think that you're sexy...." He pauses. "Although maybe if we went to the bars, and you starting dancing on the bar in tight leather pants, I'd enjoy that!"
Pamela grimace. "Ahh, no not that! I don't want to be a Coyote Ugly reject. I don't think I could stoop that low... sorry!", she shrugs sarcastically.
"Not even in private?", he asks.
"Well, I wouldn't dance to any country music, that's for sure!", she scoffs. "But... maybe if it were some soft, elegant piece of classical music, then I could do ---", slowly swinging her arms up in the air, mocking the movements of ballet, " --- a sensual dance, in three movements....lala la laaaaaa.....!! Wouldn't you like that idea?"
Jim takes her in his arms, to rescue her from her crazy idea. She clumsily falls across his chest, before rolling on her side to face him.
"We're too different ---", she spoke, honestly, but without much force, or else face the potential implications of that statement.
Jim heard the words, but wasn't prepared to listen. He merely took her in with his eyes. Pamela's body was naked; the image of that was about as much art as he was willing to take in now or most other times. He let his hand roam, and his fingertips were telling her not to speak about differences, not now.....



*

Pamela still lay on the bed, wrapped in her blanket of childhood, yet still feeling the cold gripping her skin.
"Why must you leave me?", she jokes, performing a brief, lackluster melodrama.
Jim already has his jacket on. "I must go out into that great unknown -- into the realm of strange and mysterious packages -- if I return, it will be a miracle!!"
He walks over to kiss her good bye.
"I'll try to call you sometime today", returning to a serious tone. "although I suppose you're quite difficult to reach."
"I should be home by ten....", she said softly.
"Sure.", stifling a surprise yawn. Last night was a late one for him; he'll feel the effects, in more ways than one, for the rest of the day.
Jim left and went on his way to work. This morning, like many others, he was off to his job, driving a delivery truck, carrying packages and letters to proper destinations. He had to reflect that the people who asked that these packages be sent more often than not had more money than he. Why else would they pay twenty dollars for premium delivery of a small package?
He, on the other hand, was doomed to stay the rest of his life in such a position that he found himself in currently. Of course, he thought about that; he wasn't`t that thick. But Pamela seemed to claw at potential realities that he never could articulate.
"I work at a fucking video store, where else am I going to go in life....." was the refrain.
"I work at a fucking delivery service, that's the job I chose to pay the bills....", was his own interpretation. He didn`t act as if he had regrets, and he never thought he had any. But Pamela`s own pain seemed to insert much doubt into his mind as he drove, marking off delivery stop after delivery stop.


*

The television wasn't the same. Why watch it, if there were better things to do with one's time?
"Channel after empty channel....", she said to herself. "There's nothing there -- game shows, talk shows, soaps, fluff masquerading as news -- what time killers....."
There was nobody to hear her. The talking heads prattled on, snidely ignorant of the viewer, their ego too commanding to care, or to compromise.
Surely there was more to life than watching pointless television shows. Instead of being passive, try being active for once, Pamela. You did want to become a stage actress at one point in your life. You had those roles at university. Did you really have to work at the video store, and fall into that trap of punching a time card each day, of doing mindless and tedious work, of paying rent, of doing laundry....
.....laundry. Her internal monologue cracked as her hand sensed the cookie crumbs from last night. All her fancies would have to halt -- off to the laundromat!



*

Ring of the telephone. "Hello.", said Pamela.
"Hey there.....", Jim said. "So how's things going this evening."
"Pretty good....", she began, not realizing that Jim was still itching to get statements into Pamela's ear.
".....I was wondering if perhaps you were home tonight, and sure enough, it was my lucky night.", he said, determined. "I was wondering if you were interested in going to the movies tonight."
Pamela slowly paced the floor, her cordless telephone cradled on her shoulder. "What's playing.", she asked, her heart heavy and unintrigued.
"Actually, I was wanting to see Freddy Got Fingered... the Tom Green movie!", said the voice filled with anticipation. "It's going to be really funny, I can tell!"
Pamela laughed a nervous laugh, but Jim didn't seem to notice.
"And I suppose you want me to go with you...."
"Well, yea, why do you suppose I phoned!", said Jim, somewhat baffled.
"That, I suppose....", Pamela said, monotonously.
"Well... I'll be there in a few minutes!", he asked as politely as possible. "Sure....", she said. She hung up the phone after saying good-bye along with him, and sighed.

*

Knock knock knock.
He paces about the front door, thinking that she'd appear in her best clothes, or at least with an eager face. But there was no thumping of the feet against the sensitive floor. No voices, except that from the television. He was wondering whether anything happening in there. She didn't pass out, he hoped.
He felt slightly funny in the heart as he did, but he feebly reached for the doorknob, discovering it was unlocked. He let himself in.
As he entered the living room, he could hear no extra sounds. No showers running, no hairdryers or the like. But he did hear one sound, the sound of sleep.
Pamela had her head rested on the armrest of the couch, as if she nodded off unexpectedly. The sight was somewhat amusing, he thought, although he couldn't guess at why Pamela would suddenly be having a nap only twenty minutes after speaking to him on the phone and agreeing to a date.
"hey... wake up.", he whispers closely to her ear. "I can't go on a date without you...."
"ummmm.....", she moaned.
"Come on...", he snickered. "Sleepyhead, the night is young."
She opened her eyes on cue. Something told him that she wasn't as sleepy as she originally appeared to be.
"Hello", she drawled. "I ... guess I fell asleep.", she smiled weakly, before lazily closing her eyes again. "How about we just stick around here for a while... There's always movies playing at the cinema, they're not going anywhere."
"Oh no you don't", he joked, pulling her up to a sleeping position, and feeling her body deliberately relax to a ragdoll state. "Don't be a lazy woman... get out and have some fun. Work's wearing you down... I remember your happy comment."
Pamela's muscles suddenly tensed. She wasn't sleeping.
"Let's just do something else.", she said again, slowly rising to a sitting position. "I really don't care....", her voice in a gruff whisper, "to see a movie right now.
"Why don "t you want to go? ", he mockingly sobbed. "It'll be fun, I promise.... "
"I don't really want to see anything like that.... ", Pamela droned, visibly frustrated. "...let "s just take a walk or something. " "Please... ", he prodded. "It "s supposed to be pretty funny. It will be funny! "
"No, no, no, no! ", she repeated.
Jim jerked back, stunned at her animosity.
"What "s.... ", he began, before Pamela burst back.
"I can "t see that kind of movie, I just can "t! ", she affirmed. "They "re ... they "re retarded, excuse my rather politically incorrect terminology!"
"Huh? , Jim questioned.
"Jim.... some of us are a little more.... high minded. , she said rationally. "Some of us don "t want to witness the potentially disturbing sight of a man doing atypical things to animals.... some of us are a little more discriminating than that! "
"What "s that supposed to mean? ", Jim asked. "We "re just going out to the movies, to get a few laughs."
Pamela turned to look at Jim, with penetrating, heartless eyes. "You know, I "ve always had you pegged as a very laid-back fellow but I guess I never put a lot of research into that belief. ", Pamela questioned. "Jesus Christ, that shit's not funny! "
"Come on.... ", Jim laughed with agitation. "Give it a chance. What do you think comedy is supposed to be: sweet and innocent? "
"Well, why can't we, for once, see a film that I want to see? ", she asked, attempting reason.
"Like a foreign film? If I wanted to read, I "d get the sports section and the daily comics! "
"It doesn "t have to be in another language..... it can be in English. " Pause. "Or is the Queen "s English too foreign for you?" "What "s that supposed to mean? Shit! , she hisses to herself. That really wasn't "t proper..... "
"You "re right..... ", he said. "What makes me so bad because I like Tom Green?"
"And why am I so foolish because I watch British plays? ", she countered. "Why? what did you see in me? ", she asked, not unkindly. "What.... what was it."
"I thought you were nice!", he laughed, nervously. "Nice!", he struggled, as if there were other things he was wanting to say.
"Nice... hmmmm", she said. "Well, that's a start. I guess I was beautiful, too.... true."
"Yea....", he said.
"It's okay!", she growled, her arms flying. "You can say that I am beautiful... you can say that you wanted to sleep with me! It's normal, damn it! Surely, you have some courage!!"
"You must have some courage too.....there's more to life than the sorts of stuff you're interested in."
"Well, they're my interests! What do you want me to be, your little lapdog, who obeys your every whim."
He motions to the left, as if wanting to hide his face from the truth. "Don't put words in my mouth."
"All I've done was cater to your interests.... I went to the bar and played darts with you. I went to that dumb movie with you. Did I complain! I followed you, I didn't want to disappoint you. I let you stay with me for the night, and overall it was an enjoyable evening. I don't see why you have the right to look down on me for saying that once I'd like you to accompany me to something I want to do. You're pretty set in your ways, I'd say......"
Jim shook his head.
"Shouldn't we at least have a passing interest in each others hobbies.....", she added. "Or are you hoping that I'm a pushover."
"Hmmmm.", Jim trembled inside. "Well.... ", understanding her game. "....you did agree to go out with me! The delivery driver!"
She shrank. "So."
"You ought to have known what sort of person I was... by my job, my choice in movies, my nights out."
"Yea... but..."
"But.. you could have just said no. You could have said you were occupied. That I wasn't "t your type. You could have recommended me to another part of the store, so to speak. But we went out ! and why was that? What do you see in ME? Did you need me to feel superior to? To prove that there was more to you than some silly girl behind the counter, working on minimum wage? "
Pamela "s eyes darkened as Jim continued.
"It must have been that.....", he continued. "I'll admit that you weren't exactly what I usually find when I meet a girl. But I took a chance... and so did you. And I... I enjoyed it. You.... tolerated me for a while, making me believe that you enjoyed my company. You even had sex with me..... "
Pamela bit her lower lip at this comment.
"...so what was that all about? "
Pause. Pamela couldn't think of much to say. The fog cleared, but what had been hidden all that time may have been best left hidden.
"You just wanted to get laid, I suppose.", he says. "And to have somebody to complain to, I guess. No regrets, no need to face anybody in your social group with such dirty secrets. I was your punching bag, wasn't I."
Pamela remained silent on the couch, simmering in her bitter thoughts. She wanted him out, before she said something else that she'd regret. He turned her complaints around and shot them back at her, implying that everything was her fault for accepting the date.
"Wow...", she finally said. "i guess we had our say....."
"yes....", he said, before turning to leave, cutting the farewells from the script.
Each second was a sour capsule that forbade her to escape the reality of the moment, and she had imbibed hundreds of those vile pills before even considering standing upright. Her head was stirred to intolerable conditions. She growled, wishing she could just rip apart all of those days spent together. Her growls were futile. the past was still more than mere daydream. Quickly, she bolted out of the apartment. She needed a goddamn drink!



*



Every few days she came to this one particular Laundromat. It was only two blocks away, a good sign, since she didn't own a car, and bags of laundry created a lot of stress on the arm.
Well, Pamela didn't really have all that many clothes. Her closets were filled with articles of wardrobe, yes, but much of these articles were either outdated, outsized, or inappropriate for most occasions, not being one who went to fancy get-togethers.
She wore about two or three pairs of jeans a week, five or six shirts, six or seven pairs of socks, and assorted undergarments per week. Not really a lot, when you think about it. She rarely looked untidy, but she wasn't particularly stylish. She washed and dried her hair, washed her face, forewent most cosmetics except facial cream, and went out into the world. That was it.
Today was a rather empty day. She woke up late; about 10 am, and knew that she had to arrive for work by 4 pm. She made a show to her own conscious that she had to get all these things done before the end of the day; but in reality, she didn't have the energy to finish, or even start, anything. Six hours would go by, and at 3:30 she would moan to herself that her entire block of free time went down the toilet. She's only been aware of such feelings over the last two weeks or so. She became a little more lethargic, less motivated. Most days she spent in the house -- she'd spend her time on-line or on the phone, but never bothered to go out, unless prodded severely.
The muscles of her cheeks and around her eyes tightened arbitrarily. She wasn't sure what occurred; was this a precursor to sobbing? How pathetic, she thought. All this over some guy? There's more where that came from! Where, she wasn't exactly sure. Not as if she made a habit of going out to bars, to pick up guys or anything. Her outings were usually more cerebral -- an experience at a play, or at a movie. Most of her experiences were in solitude, but she was used to it. So used to it that she rarely attempted to change her situation. A rut was where she stayed. And perhaps it was all for naught.
Her eyes felt the sting of tears. Why? Why? She knew that she couldn't have been upset because of him. No, it was more than that. She felt, sitting here in this humble Laundromat, its walls dirty and its paint peeling, its atmosphere stuffy and bland, that this was the best she could do. Drying cheap clothes in the middle of a weekday, while waiting to go to work at a video store where most of the people's taste were elevated only to the point of crappy Hollywood films or scary pornography. A long, long, long way from the stages of London, or even the stages of Charlottetown. She did a few university plays around here, but that didn't help pay the bills. Nowadays, the closest she can get to a prestigious stage is by watching some old videotaped performance of an old British play, populated with many aging or long-dead greats who she was not ready to replace yet... or maybe ever.
Her dream was noble, but waking up was the nightmare. Maybe it would be better just to cry. That was about as theatrical as she was going to get.....
As she hid her face from sight, her eyes squinted through the wet blur and noticed that she only had twenty minutes before work. The nightmare continued. But her clothes weren't finished. She wasn't ready. She was going to be late.

*

She had her clothes in a garbage bag, which tugged mercilessly on the tendons of her arm until she thought it was going to fall off. Nevertheless, she had to carry it with her to work, not having any time to drop it off at home. She felt a bit embarrassed, but shrugging it off was necessary. They were only clothes, after all.
For a too short moment, she let go of the garbage bag at the corner of the street, waiting for the light to turn green. Others gathered around the corner waiting impatiently to cross the street, while others, brazen folks that they were, crossed the street anyway, unconcerned about the possibility that an errant car, or worse, an errant police officer, might strike them down in the criminal act of jaywalking.
Ten seconds later, the walking light turned green. The heavy garbage bag was to be carried again. Grrr!!
As she crossed the pavement, she noticed from the corner of her eye a very recognizable color. A mild shade of pink to her right.
Pamela turned her neck slowly, attempting not to appear conspicuous. The pink shade was from a jacket, and the woman wearing the jacket was the very same Pink Jacket from the video store.
Pamela felt bold enough to initiate a conversation. "Hey....", she said. The girl in the pink jacket squinted and slowly looked at Pamela's direction, unsure of whether she should look in that direction.
"Are.. are you speaking to me!", the stranger said.
"How are you!", Pamela said.
"Ahhh.... alright, I suppose.", the pink jacket girl said, suspiciously. It seemed apparent that she was pondering on who exactly this redhead was.
"Oh...", feeling embarrassed, "I suppose you don't recognize me... now that I'm not in the store."
The pink jacket girl stared at her, as they approached the other side of the street. "Ah, yea, I know you now!", she said drily. "Why do you want to talk to me!", she says curtly but not cruelly.
"Oh.. ah, well, I just wanted to say hi. You're a valued customer!"
Pink Jacket chuckled darkly. "Sure!", she says sarcastically. "Do they pay you enough to accost customers on the street, or what!"
"No, I'm just a volunteer!", Pamela giggles. "Anyway, what are you doing out here.", she asks hoping for improved conversation.
"Just walking....", she replies egnimatically.
Mysterious one. "Ah, I see, I see....", trails Pamela. "So, did you like your last movie", picking up the words again.
"Yea.....", said Pink Jacket, before pausing. "You know what... Jennifer Lopez is hot!"
Pamela grinned, baffled.
"... but,", Pink Jacket continued, "that was the only thing good about that stupid movie."
The movie was The Wedding Planner. Natural that this cynical sort would frown at the movie, but what was up with the Lopez is hot bit.
"So you don't go for these sorts of things, then.", said Pamela, who frowned on such romantic tripe as well. Especially in light of her own personal situation.
"No, not really.....", she droned quietly. "it's all just silly. All that love stuff is fake...."
"Well,", gulping. "it's not so bad when you're actually in love....or at least in like." She knew all about truth and falseness in relationships, and Pink Jacket's words were threatening to slant Pamela's beliefs into a far more deeper and darker pit of pessimism.
"....and,", Pamela continued, "it would all depend on what sort of person you would go for...."
"I don't go for anybody.", she laughed, shaking her head. "Why would I. It's better to watch TV, then at least you don't get hurt."
"Ha!", Pamela laughed, believing this to be a somewhat tongue in cheek comment. "But after a while, I'd suspect you'd get bored!"
Pink Jacket glanced her way again, her dark brown eyes both penetrating and sad.
"Better to be bored than to be hurt.", she said.
"Well, give people a chance, huh.", Pamela said, still grinning, unable to react any other way at the moment.
"Why.", she asked. At this point, the two women passed by one of the more popular bars on Kent Street. "All the people I see around here are all Islanders!"
Pink Jacket's usage of the term implied something more sinister than mere geographical location.
"Well, except for the tourists, mind you.", Pamela said, not quite understanding.
"you know what I mean!", she said. "Everybody around here likes to drink until they drop and practice the fine art of inbreeding."
Pamela no longer grinned. She was too shocked to continue with any form of animated expression. This pink jacketed lady was ignorant toward things more tangible than the trivialities of film.
"It's not all that bad....", Pamela said, wounded inexplicably.
Pink Jacket brewed in her own resented before she went up for breath. "All I see is people getting drunk and high and hopping into bed with one another -- it's disgusting!! All that gross stuff in your stomach! All those germs touching you!!"
Pamela didn't want to look at this woman. She was disturbing. "If people want to do certain things.... that's their right."
"It's their choice, but it's stupid!", said Pink Jacket, no longer the image of healthy humanity, according to Pamela. If she were to look again at this figure of misanthropy, however, it would be correct to say that those brown eyes would be glazed even more with the stain of sadness.
"Don't knock life now.....", Pamela said quietly, trying not to swat this almost stranger across the head. "Sure, watching TV can be ... entertaining, but that stuff will fry your brains! Do you want your whole world view to be defined by what the TV tells you?"
"Oh, I know that it's all.... junk.... but I have to have something to fill my nights.", she said. "The world is filled with people i don't want to talk to; people who just act stupid."
Pamela looked to the opposite direction of Pink Jacket, which was just as well, since the two found themselves at the next street corner, and the video store was to the left of her. "Well, I... better get to work.", Pamela said, her eyes averted from the pink girl. She dared not look at her face before she walked away, in case her discovery was that Pink Jacket was just a heartless little thing, who hated everything for no good reason. But Pamela didn't want to find out, as well, that this angry girl masked her sorrow by using all these vicious words. No, Pamela would rather not know.
The pink jacket girl had a soul that avoided actively the intricacies of people, and retreated in to fantasy. Fantasy -- a component of fiction -- was interesting, maybe too interesting for someone like Pamela, but it ought not to poesess one's entire being. There's more to the world than the world that you narrow yourself into. You can't go through life fearing or hating those unlike yourself. You can't mold them your way. You have to mold yourself to them, if you ever wanted to be a part of this world.
And that's when it struck her.

*

"Hello... is this Jim?"
A numbingly obvious question, but it was either that or maintain a silence which would have been a waste of the quarter she inserted into the pay phone.
"It's me, Pamela.", possibly another silly question. The silence introduced itself again.
"I...wish that we could get together sometime." Pause. "Yea, I think it would be nice... I've been pretty lonely lately. Feeling pretty rotten -- over all the stuff I said to you. I know it's potentially unforgiv...." Pause. "That's okay. I never really thought about the stuff you said to me."
She lied about that. Of course, she thought about it. She felt so rotten, ambiguous about her sense of self. Was she really a snob? Or was he the snob? Who knew?
Jim said something to her, that made her heart jump.
"Really?", she chirped. She almost felt that she would cry. "I can do that.... I won't be off until ten p.m. Is that...." Pause. "Great, I'll be there. See ya....."
She hung up the phone, quietly. She was already very late for work, but she was still rattled from the emotions flooding her being. The weight of those feelings slowed her down through the entire walk to work. She showed up twenty-five minutes late. But being the kind of store it was, a local, close-knit operation, it didn't create a major disruption.

*

"Hello.... ", she droned lightly. "As I said, I "m here after work...."
"Ummm... yea, hello. ", Jim responded awkwardly.
The two stood, unsure of their next move.
"Oh, ah...... come in. ", he said.
She walked past him. His hand grazed her left elbow, as if to cautiously guide her, before it flinched away.
"You "re okay, are you? ", she laughed nervously.
"Well, I.... I didn "t know what to do. ", he muttered as he went to the sofa.
"I guess I "m under the impression that you don "t want me to touch.... your elbow.... "
"What makes you believe that? ", her lips smiled, while her heart chilled at the possible response.
"Well, you did tell me that I was beneath your station.... ", he glared with apprehension.
"Apparently, my lower class hands were too dirty.... " "Now, now, don "t be putting words into my mouth. ", she sighed. "We "re really the same kind of people I realize that now. Sure, we have our separate interests, but we "re not exactly alien to each other. We "re both fairly young.... we "re out on our own, trying to get by with a meager living.... we both have crappy jobs, puny apartments to live in ..... we "re both in the same boat. It "s not as if we don "t have anything to talk about that the two of us can understand. "
"True..... ", Jim figured this was her way of apologizing, but she really didn "t have to do it. He started to agree with her. "Exactly! ", Pamela chimed in. "And don "t you think that two people who have something in common ought to stick together...... in some capacity? "
"In some capacity! ", Jim smirked. "What are you getting at?" "Oh, nothing..... ", her right eyebrow curling upwards. "It "s just that we've utilized a few different skills over the past few weeks. " "And, what skill do you prefer? ", hinting around.
"Anything, my friend.... ", she whispered. "..... but maybe we should take it slowly. " She gets up from the couch.
"Why so.....? ", he asked.
"Well, we sort of saw each other as types, not people. " She looked nervous. "We have to get to know each other...... ", she rearranges items on the table. "....you know, like sitting down on the couch, apart about four or five feet, just watching a movie. And only thinking about the quality -- or lack thereof-- of the movie! Nothing else! "
"Yea ", he pauses. "I suppose that's possible. "
"Of course it "s possible! ", she gleams, picking dirty glasses from the random areas of the apartment.
Hey, you don't have to do that.... ", he spoke. "Or are you a clean freak when you visit other people "s houses? "
"Hey, I "m just trying to be helpful... ", she laughed. The laugh felt more nervous inside her stomach. She was trying to repair what she had damaged, although it perhaps wasn't "t entirely necessary. "...... I think I can be helpful. It "s not as if we had some one night stand..... where we didn "t exchange names and what not. We do know each other..... we got along otherwise. "
"I was your best customer. ", he jibed.
She gives him a stern glance. "Funny stuff! ", she said dryly "Well..... I mean, I was always an honest customer! ", he stammered, correcting himself. Pamela's face warmed, revealing her humor behind her mannerisms. She settled down physically, now just quietly pacing the kitchen area. She felt that the wall had been broken.
"I always paid my late fees, you know. ", Jim continued. "You told me yourself that most people would try to weasel out of any late charges.... "
"Mmmhmm ", she concurred. "You "re probably the first person I know who actually gets ahead of the associate; you tell them that you have an outstanding late charge on your account! "
"You make me sound pathetic! ", he grinned.
"Not necessarily.... ", she grimaces with affection. She continued striding along the floor, feeling almost ready to settle down here for a few hours. Feeling almost ready to be able to pretend that little confrontation never occurred. Feeling almost ready to return to their little fling. "Hey, ", she began again, her voice calmer. "Would I be able to go to the washroom.... "
"Yea, ", pointing the way.
She enters the washroom, shutting the door behind her. The room fell silent for a moment. Jim became a bit more comfortable on the couch, anxious to know what was about to happen. It seemed as if things were back to normal, at least for now.
"Hey.... ", she bellows from behind the door. "....anything that you want to see tonight in particular? I rented a bunch of videos; I brought them in that bag over there.... "
Jim scans the room and notices a strange package near the door. He went over to pick it up and returned to the couch. Inside were three videos.
Damn, he hasn't heard of any of these films.
Last Tango in Paris. Looked like some cheesy 70's film, although it did have some famous old guy, Brando, or something. Man, he must be really ancient by now.
Like Water for Chocolate. Geez, it was about food, for Christ "s sake! Who wants to watch a film where people eat a lot.
The last one caught his eye. He thought his senses were deceived. A Pornographic Affair???? Was that the actual title? Interesting. He laughed like a ridiculous schoolboy. Pamela rented a porno! Finally a secret has been revealed!
"So, what do you want to watch first? ", she asks, opening the bathroom door.
Jim looks up to his guest. Another small shock to his system. Pamela stood by the bathroom door, wearing a tight fitting red bra, with underwear equally striking in color.
"Umm....", quietly started. "It matches your hair, anyway..... " She laughs at his shy comment as she approaches the couch.
.....well, all I see is people getting drunk and high and hopping into bed with one another -- it's disgusting.....
Random pulses of memory danced in her head as she, wearing little, approached Jim. Only twenty minutes ago, she didn't even know whether or not he was truly willing to approach her in any capacity ever again.
"Hey,", Pamela said, "I'm often like this when I just want to sit down ..... ", squeezing in beside him, placing her arm around him, "..... and relax at the end of the evening. I just want to be comfortable. "
"Hey...", Jim asked, sneakily, "I thought we were going to get to know each other like friends. What's with.....", admiring her, ".....this!"
.....if people want to do certain things, that's their right.....
Pamela's retort, imagined again. Pink Jacket would never understand the instinctive desire of just being close to a person. Or maybe she thought herself too proud to succumb.
"Ahhh..... It's just me....just because I'm wearing this ....and sitting this close to you... doesn't mean you have to have your mind in the gutter!" Her voice tried to fake resentment, but she gave it away with a wink. "Anyway, ", Pamela continued, "You didn "t tell me what you wanted to see first. "
You, Pamela, was his first thought, before he quickly repressed his wish. "Well...... ", holding up the risqué title. "I was looking through the bag and noticed..... that you seem to have forgotten to leave this one in the car..... that is, if that was your intention to leave the knowledge of this to yourself!"
"Hmm.... I don "t get you. ", Pamela asked, puzzled.
"I never pictured you as a porn shopper! ", he grinned, like a mischievous brat.
"I "m not! ", frowning.
"A Pornographic Affair! A Porn movie! ", he smiled, poking her gently in the stomach.
"No, it "s not a porn! It "s a French movie about two people who meet through a personals ad, and the relationship they have. " "And.... they have lots of sex! ", he replies.
She makes a grunt of a laugh. "God, you "re so North American
"What? It "s not as if you "re exactly a sophisticated European."
"Jim, it's all a state of mind!", she proclaims mockingly. "Come on....let "s watch the movie, just so I can prove to you it "s not some sick bout of perversion. "
Pamela took the video from Jim's hands, and held it for about three seconds, or maybe it was three years. She saw this peculiar moment, frozen in her mind, as the essence of their relationship. it was her right to persist in engaging in this rather frivolous bond. With rights came responsibilities, and consequences.....
She turned around, leaving Jim with a reassuring smile after he quizzically asked what she was pondering about. Nothing special, was her reply.
She inserted the tape into the VCR, and pressed play. My God, she wanted to scoff, i,m going to have to teach this boy a thing or two about culture.
But, (as she turned back to approach him, in her sensual persona) she wasn't going to be able to teach him anything. All he was going to learn was that French movies were chatty and blaze. And all she was going to learn was that bars were full of drunks and cigarette smoke. They were incompatible as personalities. They brushed that aside with the erotic, or with just being within the presence of the other. She had the right to follow her needs for companionship. Nobody wanted to be alone. Nobody in their right mind wanted to wander through life, wading in one's bitterness because the rest of the world didn't fully satisfy one's ego.
Pamela didn't want to find herself face to face with the girl in the pink jacket, only to discover that she was looking into a mirror. Even if it left scars that were impossible to heal, it was the only option -- to break the glass.

END

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