Caroline has never been the soul of grace. She knows it. Her hands are steady, but her heart isn't, and she's got that funny walk and can't ever quite match her top to her trousers.
This time she's really done it, though. Here she is in a strange man's apartment, blocked loo, disgusting kitchen things, and no Toblerone in sight. No Bollinger either.
"Shit," she says again, and leans momentarily against the nearest wall. With her forehead pressed to the paint, she feels calmer. She takes a few deep breaths, which isn't advisable really, given the smell, and says "Shit" one last time before crossing the little foyer to the door. When she opens it, Guy tumbles in, having apparently had his ear pressed to the panels.
"Just trying to get comfortable," he says from the floor, standing up slowly so that he almost slides up her front. She skitters backwards.
"You can't sleep in the hall," she says. "That's ridiculous. This is your flat."
He smiles, this lazy, bashful grin that she knows - she knows - is put on, but her knees still go a little wobbly. Her balance is wonky at the best of times and he's got her completely off-kilter with the eyes and the twattishness and the Bollinger and the smell of his throat through the open neck of his shirt (are those roses?).
"So how about that something to eat?" he says, and they end up making omelet with mushrooms and some cheese she finds in the back of his fridge. There's no Bollinger, but there is a nice white wine, and then she takes a shower while he makes up the couch for himself. She comes out wearing her pajamas and he's watching tv, half-sprawled on the couch, and she stands there for a minute with her mouth open and nothing really to say.
"Ready for bed?" he says in a rich flirty voice. She puts her hands on her hips, trying to be affronted. "Not like that, Caroline" he says, "I just want to make sure you're comfortable. You're my guest."
She sits cautiously in a chair and draws her feet up. "I'm fine, thank you," she says. "Actually, I feel like a human being again."
His eyebrow quirks. "Did you feel like an alien before?"
"Metaphorically?" she says, and ruffles her drying hair. "Not like with green skin and tentacles and everything. Just out-of-place."
He props his chin in his hand, and it's such a calculated move, but there's no denying she could use a friend, if not more, and he really has got lovely eyes under those massive eyebrows. "Tell me about it," he says sympathetically, and she finds herself actually doing it, telling him the whole story of the missing keys and her brother's inability to stay in one place for any length of time, and her mother's delight over the fact that her daughter was finally a doctor.
"I think it confuses her," she says, curled into the chair, and he's still watching her attentively, which is astounding. "I mean, her knowledge of medicine is going down to the pharmacy for a packet of aspirin. And once she was thinking about buying a foot spa - we've got hard toenails in my family - but she couldn't decide whether Epsom salts would be prescription or not." She leans her chin into her hand. "I wish she'd bought it. I always wanted one of those."
He tells her about Switzerland, about Zurich and Gstaad and a little bit about some boat he seems to have and some house in France, and his voice is soothing, and she's nodding off.
"You look exhausted," he says, and she knows it's because she is exhausted, but his voice seems to be wrapping around her like something warm and comforting. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll wake you in the morning."
"I can take a taxi," she mumbles, losing ground quickly to the yawns. "Left the car at the...place. Too much bloody stuff in it."
"Don't be silly, Caroline," he says, affectionate amusement in his tone. "I'll take you."
Take me to bed, she thinks about saying, but drags herself out of the chair and mooches toward the bedroom. At the door, she pauses and turns. "Thanks," she says. "It's generous of you to have me over."
"Not a problem," he says. "Sweet dreams, Caroline."
She goes into the bedroom and leans her cheek briefly against the door before she tumbles into his bed, asleep almost before she can press her face into his pillows.
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timeasmymeasure
Anecdotal, Green Wing, Caro(/Guy), wonky,
Date: 2007-03-30 10:35 pm (UTC)This time she's really done it, though. Here she is in a strange man's apartment, blocked loo, disgusting kitchen things, and no Toblerone in sight. No Bollinger either.
"Shit," she says again, and leans momentarily against the nearest wall. With her forehead pressed to the paint, she feels calmer. She takes a few deep breaths, which isn't advisable really, given the smell, and says "Shit" one last time before crossing the little foyer to the door. When she opens it, Guy tumbles in, having apparently had his ear pressed to the panels.
"Just trying to get comfortable," he says from the floor, standing up slowly so that he almost slides up her front. She skitters backwards.
"You can't sleep in the hall," she says. "That's ridiculous. This is your flat."
He smiles, this lazy, bashful grin that she knows - she knows - is put on, but her knees still go a little wobbly. Her balance is wonky at the best of times and he's got her completely off-kilter with the eyes and the twattishness and the Bollinger and the smell of his throat through the open neck of his shirt (are those roses?).
"So how about that something to eat?" he says, and they end up making omelet with mushrooms and some cheese she finds in the back of his fridge. There's no Bollinger, but there is a nice white wine, and then she takes a shower while he makes up the couch for himself. She comes out wearing her pajamas and he's watching tv, half-sprawled on the couch, and she stands there for a minute with her mouth open and nothing really to say.
"Ready for bed?" he says in a rich flirty voice. She puts her hands on her hips, trying to be affronted. "Not like that, Caroline" he says, "I just want to make sure you're comfortable. You're my guest."
She sits cautiously in a chair and draws her feet up. "I'm fine, thank you," she says. "Actually, I feel like a human being again."
His eyebrow quirks. "Did you feel like an alien before?"
"Metaphorically?" she says, and ruffles her drying hair. "Not like with green skin and tentacles and everything. Just out-of-place."
He props his chin in his hand, and it's such a calculated move, but there's no denying she could use a friend, if not more, and he really has got lovely eyes under those massive eyebrows. "Tell me about it," he says sympathetically, and she finds herself actually doing it, telling him the whole story of the missing keys and her brother's inability to stay in one place for any length of time, and her mother's delight over the fact that her daughter was finally a doctor.
"I think it confuses her," she says, curled into the chair, and he's still watching her attentively, which is astounding. "I mean, her knowledge of medicine is going down to the pharmacy for a packet of aspirin. And once she was thinking about buying a foot spa - we've got hard toenails in my family - but she couldn't decide whether Epsom salts would be prescription or not." She leans her chin into her hand. "I wish she'd bought it. I always wanted one of those."
He tells her about Switzerland, about Zurich and Gstaad and a little bit about some boat he seems to have and some house in France, and his voice is soothing, and she's nodding off.
"You look exhausted," he says, and she knows it's because she is exhausted, but his voice seems to be wrapping around her like something warm and comforting. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll wake you in the morning."
"I can take a taxi," she mumbles, losing ground quickly to the yawns. "Left the car at the...place. Too much bloody stuff in it."
"Don't be silly, Caroline," he says, affectionate amusement in his tone. "I'll take you."
Take me to bed, she thinks about saying, but drags herself out of the chair and mooches toward the bedroom. At the door, she pauses and turns. "Thanks," she says. "It's generous of you to have me over."
"Not a problem," he says. "Sweet dreams, Caroline."
She goes into the bedroom and leans her cheek briefly against the door before she tumbles into his bed, asleep almost before she can press her face into his pillows.