Page 21 of Serenade Me

She’s half way to the elevator when I enter the hallway. I take a deep breath. This is going to be more fun than a prostate exam by a cactus.

“Anca, stop.” I call out.

She doesn’t, she just runs faster. Of course. What is wrong with this maddening woman?

I take off on a run towards her. “Anca! Come on, I’m sorry! Can we talk?”

“No!” she yells without turning around, still refusing to stop.

I quicken my pace and gain on her, reaching out to touch her shoulder when I catch up to her. She shoves my hand away and spins around, her eyes wide and wild, like a cat on the caught in a trap.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hisses.

“Whoa. Sorry.” I step back, my hands up. I give her a moment to calm down. “Hey, um, I’m sorry about what I said. I was out of line and I didn’t mean it.”

“Of course, you did,” she responds immediately. “You don’t want me to go on tour with you guys. Do you?”

I feel myself about to lie, but I don’t. What’s the point? So, I tell her the truth. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t.”

She nods, slowly, turning a thought over in her head. “At least you’re honest. But why?” Her eyes lock on me in that hypnotizing way that she does, and her voice wavers as she asks, “Am I not good enough to play with your band?”

Fuck, no. How could she think that?

“God, no, Anca. No, that’s not the reason. If anything you’re too good.”

“Shut up. I was just giving you credit for at least being honest with me.” She pulls her gaze from mine, and it gives me a moment of relief.

I reach out and touch her on the wrist, before I can stop myself. “No, listen to me. I am being honest. You’re seriously amazing. I’ve never heard anyone play the harp like you. Like you were born to do it.” She looks at me with a small smile for the first time in all the times we’ve butt heads. But I know it won’t last. I pull my hands back. “Look. I just… I don’t know if I trust you. What do you want? Why would you want to play with us? You could be a star in your own right.”

She waves my words away, her cheeks flushing red. She really doesn’t believe me.

“I don’t know why you think you can’t trust me.”

“Well, let’s start with… why didn’t you tell me that we’ve met before? Last night, at the bar when I first came up to you? Why did you pretend we were strangers?”

Her eyes narrow, like she’s running through it all in her head again. And hating me all over again. “Ah. So that’s what this is really about. Look, I thought you did recognize me, I thought that’s why you were coming over to my table. And then when it was clear you didn’t… I was, I was really embarrassed. So, I guess I was just covering my embarrassment by being a bitch.”

And now I’m being the jerk. “I’m sorry, I really did not recognize you. You just… you just don’t look the same at all. You were such a cute kid.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, thanks, now I’m a horrendous hag?”

“NO! I mean… fuck. Why do you always twist my words around?”

“Why are your words always so offensive?” She challenges me.

“Because you’re always trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Oh, trust me, there’s no part of me that wants to get any part of you to rise.”

“Arghhh!” I shout, my hands coming up to hold my head.

She just shrugs and walks over to the elevator and jabs at the down button over and over.

“See? That’s just… that’s exactly why I don’t want you to come along.” I sigh.

“Which part, the part where I reject your masculinity, or because I’m an horrendous hag part?”

“Arggghh!” I shout again. “What is wrong with you? Why would you even JOKE about being a hag, when you’re so fucking stop-men-in-their-tracks stunning?!” I slam my fist against the wall. “Ow! Shit!”