Off the Record
An amber-tinted sun gawked at him through his glass shield; the glowing orb bathed his vehicle in a temporal flame of red and yellow. As if in mockery of his predicament, it blinded him as his vehicle rounded the overpass. Holden tilted his head upward, now venturing to steer his voice towards the speaker system.
“I’m running late. Can you just let the group know?” He nodded along with the voice on the other end, and replied, “I’m sorry. I totally forgot that we were meeting at six. It’s my fault.”
He pressed his foot on the accelerator and sped beyond the engulfing sphere of daylight.
…
Nick interrupted Holden’s account of youthful indiscretion and raised a hand in the direction of the waitress, intimating that they were ready to depart for the evening. “I can’t believe you still remember that… that you still remember her.”
Holden took a sip from his drink, “Speaking of, do you think she looks familiar?” Nick raised an eyebrow,
“Who?”
“The waitress.”
Nick studied the eatery, and then trained his eyes on the youthful brunette nearing their table, “Oh my Go-”
The two of them swapped bewildered looks as she neared the table, “So, are we finished with everything? I’ve got your check here — the tip is included — thank you for coming out.”
Although some detect the smile of a past lover reflected in a passing stranger — it is seldom to see a past lover reflected in one’s own smile.
“I’m sorry, but you look like someone I used to know.”
“Holden. I thought that was you. I was literally just telling my co-worker. What are you doing in Atlanta? Did you come all this way just to order a lousy drink?”
He stifled a smirk, “You know, after ten years you’d think one of us would be just slightly different, but no, we’re both just overgrown teenagers. It’s good to see you though, Tamara.”
Nick cleared his throat, then slid his chair away from the congested table, “It’s getting late, and as much as I’d love to sit around, and talk about all the good times we don’t have together. I think it’d be better if I let you two catch up.”
Tamara slipped the receipt into her waitress pocket,
“No, you should hang around for a bit.” She winked at Holden as though she were inviting him to join some audacious adventure, “I don’t want you to pay for his dinner and then run off. Settle down, Batman. I’m sure Gotham will be alright for a few hours.”
Nick smiled in reply, “I’ll leave the crime fighting to you and Holden for the night. How’s that?”
Sarcastically, she stretched out her hand as though she were concluding a transaction of sorts, “Deal.”
At that moment, Holden could have sworn that a hidden turntable started to imitate their greatest hits.
…
She handed him her waitress apron, “Well because you’ve been so sweet, I think I’ll give you a personal tour of the city. This is your first time, huh?” Holden chuckled, “It’s past midnight.” He hesitated, “I’ve got to be up in less than…” He glanced up at the timekeeper near the alleyway exit, “seven hours. I’ve got a twenty-minute drive. Yeah, I need to go.” She rolled her eyes,
“Don’t you have any regrets?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Answer mine first.”
“Ummm, yeah sure who doesn’t. I don’t stay up late thinking about them but-”
“They exist though?”
“Yeah, but what’s your point?”
“I have them too, and I want to forget about them for a few hours. With you. In this city. Only for a few hours.”
He sighed and stared up at the glistening arrangement of heaven’s public art gallery, “Fine. What’d you have in mind?”
She punched his arm, “I’m so glad you asked Mr. Holden Anderson.”
…
The evening air stirred her hair so that it danced before them like an exotic dancer inviting them to farther into the city. Instinctively, she prodded the disparate curls back into place while delivering a rather coarse remark about the city’s pungent odor. Holden stifled a yawn, attempting to disguise it with a laugh, “Tamara? Are you taking me somewhere or are we just making it up as we go?”
“I have an idea. Not sure if it’s all legal and stuff, but I think that’s part of the fun.”
“I really don’t care to get arrested for trespassing.”
“You’re so boring,” she said rolling her eyes in a parody of his moral high-ground.
The breeze interrupted his rejoinder, and finally, Tamara said: “What do you do, nowadays anyway?”
“Well, it’s a little complicated, but I’m actually scheduled to do a seminar tomorrow morning.”
She moved her wide-eyed expression closer to his, leaving only a meager collection of breaths between them, “Hmm, aren’t you important; I can’t believe you’ve pulled yourself away for a few hours.”
He inhaled and allowed her rich perfume to rush into his nostrils, “You’d be shocked. It’s not often that waitresses can convince me to run away with them for the night.”
She smirked, “As if you could’ve said no. You might have the rest of them fooled, but I’m on to you. Hook line and-”
“Sinker,” Holden said finishing the thought. “…if you were right, that is. Which, I don’t think you are,” he added, and then retreated back to the succor of the night’s soothing vapor, excising her scent from his memory.
…
A milky satellite loomed over their idle bodies, outlining them in the deserted lot. The faint moonlight noted their hurried sighs and awkward pauses. Tamara motioned to a grassy area for them to sit, and as they sat Holden accidentally brushed his hand against hers, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to hold your hand or anything.” She nodded,
“I’d hope not. That wasn’t too smooth. Just out of practice?”
He guffawed, “No, because I’m not interested. We’re not having one of those ‘rom-com’ moments tonight.”
She frowned, “Aw, well now where am I supposed to find my self-worth?”
Mirroring his earlier blunder, Tamara wrapped her pinkie finger around his, and then deliberately shifted each finger into a cohesive pattern. She smiled, “See, that’d be a better way to do it.”
Their interwoven fingers were treated as abstractions, so that — in spite of their solemn witness in the melancholy twilight — no one might attest to the sanctity of the act. Holden wondered if God might step away from heaven’s frosted mosaic to provide them a few seconds of privacy. Tamara reclined her head on his shoulder, “Guess what?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m forgetting.”
Abruptly, he felt his phone buzz in his coat pocket, “I’m pretty sure that’s my alarm.”
She grimaced, “Oops.”
“There’s no way any of this happened,” he insisted as he began to ascend from their patch of moonlight.
“You and me both…my boyfriend probably wouldn’t like that we spent the night together.”
Holden’s eyes widened, “Oh holy-”
“I’m joking: we’re breaking up tomorrow.”
“I’m practically engaged.”
As he announced it, he felt very ill, “God, this is not a good look, is it?”
She rose to her feet and gazed up at him, “Holden, you’re not a monster for entertaining an old flame; you’re a monster if you lie about it.”
“Besides,” she said raising her arm as though she were adjusting the tonearm from an antique phonograph, “this is totally off the record. Promise.” She flashed a sentimental smile at him, “Now, go do your speech, Mr. Anderson. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Yeah, umm I…” He hesitated, “Nevermind, it’s unimportant.”
“I know. Regrets usually seem that way in the moment.”
“Always.”
…
