“—horn-bro who has no interest in being a fake-ass fiancé. That what you really want to do is be her devoted love god.”
“Poetic,” I deadpan.
“It’s true. I slay.”
Outside, the sky is starting to yellow, the cradle of mountains on either side of me dimming to dark brown.
“March.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Yeah.”
“It’s Pen.”
He waits a beat.
“I know. Ain’t no coming back from that.”
“Yeah.”
There’s nothing more to say. Only action counts now.
Pen
Pickle:You doing anything?
The message comes in just as I finish up my cinematography paper discussing the utterly gorgeous use of light and shadow in the 1932 film,Shanghai Express, starring Marlene Dietrich. I’d been curled up in the den watching the black-and-white film, while writing down my thoughts.
Pen:sitting here wondering why I didn’t go into cinematography
This film, for me, is all about beauty—the actors, the shadows and light. I’m keyed up with an urge to create something—anything—as beautiful as the artfully lit glory that is Dietrich and Anna May Wong in that film. Unfortunately, I got nothing. And, despite my quip to August, I don’t really want to go into the business.
Pickle:Watching old movies again
It’s not framed as a question. A smile teases my lips. Classic movies are from a world outdated and wrong in many ways. Forgood or ill, they’re also windows to the past. I focus on the artistic beauty of them, the stunning clothes, and fabulous interiors. The dialog is always snappy and quick, and the storylines, once you get past the slower bygone pacing, are often better than we have now.
Pen:maybe
Pickle:You are
Pen:shows what you know. I just finished
Pickle:There you go being pedantic again.
Grinning now, I pack up my laptop and put away my bag before stretching out on my back. My day has been going pretty well, but now? This man turns a light on inside me and I find myself glowing.
My heart does a happy dance—the cha-cha or something equally ridiculous. I tell myself to be cool as I text him.
Pen:are you texting just to bust my chops or do you have an ulterior motive?
Pickle:When you pull out the grandma talk, I’m going to assume you want me in the worst way.
I roll my eyes. But he isn’t entirely wrong. I think I’ll always want August Luck. It’s a problem. Not that he needs to know this.
Pen:you know what they say about assuming
Pickle:Only do it with a friend?
( . . . )
