Party at a Friend's
You've been invited to a party at a friend's house. She just moved back into town. You haven't seen her in years. You get dolled up in your most elegant little sexy black number and drive across town. When you get there, you spend a few minutes catching up with your host before she moves on to tend to the other guests. You collect a glass of champagne and attempt to mingle. You are realizing slowly that in the time since you last saw her, she has made a lot of other acquaintances, none of which you know.
You wander aimlessly to the corner, admiring the decor and the potted plants. Your eyes scan the crowd from time to time, hoping you will find a familiar face. Suddenly, in the back of the room in a tux, you think you see...but no, it can't be. The person is gone before you can be positive. You put the glass back on the table. You decide you certainly don't need any of that stuff if you're already seeing things. You sit and shake your head. 'Whoa, what dug up that skeleton?!'
"I must say Della has wonderful taste in art but you are by far the most exquisite creation here," an English voice, smooth as silk, says. You look up and find that tonight is not your night for hallucinating. Oliver Sampson stands before you, smiling and looking bloody devastating in his tuxedo. He hands you your discarded drink and seats himself beside you. "You look beautiful Love." His hand cups your cheek and he kisses you. "Though I could never imagine you as a wallflower. If you tell me it's become a habit I'll never forgive myself for leaving you."
You smile and kiss his cheek. "I left you my Love, remember?"
"Oh yes. Mind's the first thing to go. Age and all."
"Oh sure. You're just about ready for the home, aren't you?"
"Utterly."
"Those'll be some very happy old ladies there."
He smiles, his cheeks flushing just the slightest tint of pink. Your stomach does flips it hasn't done in five years. Oliver finishes his drink and takes yours from you. He stands and puts out his hand. "Come on Love. Care to dance? Make an old man happy?"
You accept and he twirls you out onto the floor and into his arms. You're glad you didn't drink a lot because you're finding yourself intoxicated by something much better than alcohol. The heat from his body warms you head to toe. You deeply breathe in the smell of him, spicy and strong. He holds you firmly, his hands on your back at the waist and the neck. You find Oliver still knows how to touch you in exactly the way that makes your spine liquefy. He is humming to the music, nuzzling your ear, kissing your lobe.
You lean your head up to his ear, wearing a grin. "Remind me again why I left you?"
He stops dancing and smiles, leaning forward for your lips and promptly stopping at the sound of, "SAMPSON!" Bullet holes spray the perfectly papered walls. Oliver pushes you to the floor, diving to cover you amidst the sea of screaming and ducking partiers.
"Oh yeah, now I remember." Oliver pulls you to your feet and begins to run with you in tow. Bullets are biting at your heels and you are silently thankful you wore flats as Oliver takes another sharp corner. You race out of the back door together, the chilly night air embracing your skin. He starts for the street but suddenly turns and herds you back into the bushes. "What? What is it?"
"They're waiting by my car. Where are you parked?"
"Up a block and around the corner," he smiles, "she said after generously offering you a ride."
"Come on, let's go this way." He takes your hand and walks you deeper into the bushes until you appear on the street behind. You take the long way around and get to your car, reluctantly handing over the keys when he makes a strong case for being the better defensive driver if they pick up your trail. You both get in and Oliver speeds away from the curb. "You realize you can't go home?"
"Ever or tonight?"
"Well tonight for sure. They saw us dancing. They'll be keeping your house under surveillance. As to the rest..."
"Yes?" You're more than a little peeved at him dragging you into all this stuff, again, but you can't help a little smile at the impish grin he wears.
"Well. We'll see."
He parks your car amidst many in the middle level of the hotel's parking complex. You cross through a walkway into the actual building. You're not even sure where you're at, just that it is way swanky.
You approach the front desk arm in arm. You remember the drill and keep dutifully quiet, gazing at him lovingly in support from time to time. You let him do the acting. "My wife and I need a room. We've had rather a difficult night, almost got into an accident on the way over. I wonder if you'd mind someone showing her on up to the room while I check us in?" Oliver opens his wallet making sure to flash a pantheon of gold cards and an ample wad of cash.
"Of course Sir," says the suddenly eager to help concierge. He rings for a bellhop. "Luggage?"
"Shit." Oliver bites his lip, frustration making his *class act* dissolve momentarily. "I left them in the car," he recovers quickly.
"I can send someone out for them?"
"No. No that's all right." He leans over the counter, whispering conspiratorially. "I forgot it's her birthday tomorrow and I'm going to have to run back out and get her a gift anyway." The man nods. Oliver leans back and resumes his normal tone. "Could you have a robe sent up for her though?" He turns to you. "At least you can have a bath and relax while you wait for me Dear."
"What's our room number?" you ask the clerk.
"525" He hands you the key card. You take it and head for the elevators. You hear Oliver make a brrr noise as you walk away. As the elevator doors close, you hear the clerk say, "It better be a good gift. She is maaaaad at you!" You smile.
You see a hotel employee exiting the door of your room. He spots you and holds the door. "Your robe is in the bathroom Ma'am." You wonder inwardly when you graduated from being a Miss to a Ma'am. You thank him and enter. He closes the door. You lean heavily on the door and blow your bangs up off your face. What have you gotten yourself into this time? You kick off your shoes and pad your way over to the bathroom. You draw a warm bath, get undressed and slip in. You need to think.
Oliver must have known you'd be there tonight. He knew people were after him. He hinted that he wants you to come with him. You're not sure you're ready to do that. It's been five years. This whole James Bond routine is why you left in the first place. Have you been happy? Yes and no. Do you still love him? Yes. You knew you always would when you walked away. Did you miss him? Almost every minute.
You hear the door to the room. You need to decide. You can hear him out, maybe let him talk you into running away with him or, you can get dressed and leave and that will be that. You rub your temples with your warm sudsy hands. What choice do you really have? What choice has there ever been since you first saw that man? No one has ever made you feel the way Oliver does. He lets you know, without any doubt, how much he loves you without ever having to say a word. And then he says the words anyway, just to be sure you know.
Oliver knocks lightly and opens the door. "May I join you?"
You nod. "We need to talk."
"Yes." He peels off his clothes. The years have been kind. He slips into the opposite end of the tub, his long legs trailing up alongside yours.
"You're running?"
"I have to."
"For how long?"
"A few years probably. I'm not sure."
"And you want me to come with you?"
"When I go, I have to say good-bye to everything and everyone I hold dear. You're the only part of that I don't think I can stand to lose."
"You didn't mind five years ago."
"Five years of following you around supermarkets and malls and parks and movie theaters. Five years of calling your house and pretending to be a telephone solicitor or the wrong number just to hear your voice. I stayed away because it's what you said you wanted. This might be permanent. I had to take the chance and ask you to come." You focus your breathing, calming yourself down before he makes you cry. "I promise you, if I had known they were that close on my trail, I would have found another way to see you, to ask you. Tonight was not the best way to make my case."
You've decided. You crawl forward toward his end until you are laying on top of him, chest to chest. "So, where are we going again?" He smiles a wonderful smile, beaming with hope. He leans down and kisses you completely.
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| The character of Oliver Sampson and the show VR.5 were created by John Sacret Young and are © Samoset Productions and Rysher Entertainment. No infringement is intended and no profits are being made. |