Chapter 9

I told Mel the – slightly edited – story of Helga’s flowers when I called her at nine o’clock that evening; she giggled and responded that she too very much liked receiving bouquets. I chuckled and explained that I needed to see her in person to make that happen, and ... when would suit her?

As she was leaving for her Vegas convention early Thursday, Tuesday – or tomorrow – was the only way to go. She complained that she was scheduled to be filming out in Ventura all day, and probably wouldn’t get back to Woodland Hills until after seven, and would then need to change and get to our meeting place. Eight, half-eight? Would that be too late?

“Why don’t I meet you in Ventura for a drink and something to eat? Then you won’t have to travel back in the rush. It’s the right side of the city for me if I leave work a little early?”

(Living in the north-west of the city with relatively easy access to them, US 101 and the Ventura Freeway are not that high up my commute hate list. The 405 to LAX through Central Los Angeles is my very un-favorite, though many other stationary parking-lot ‘freeways’ are readily available in SoCal most days of the week. Yeah, I do know from bitter experience that 101 can really stink in rush, world class gridlock, but, with a little bit of planning, I could leave work early enough to be ahead of the worst.)

“Would you? That would be so great!”

“Dress?”

“I normally work in shorts and tee, with the heat of the lights, so strictly casual. How would six work for you?”

“I can do that. Any idea where?”

We had a brief discussion; she’d been to a place two blocks down from the San Buenaventura Mission building which had been good, so we agreed on that. We wished each other a good night; she was taking her girls out for their evening constitutional, and I did the same for Max.

Helga displayed an admirable flair for amateur dramatics the next morning, claiming that all her muscles ached, that she hadn’t gotten more than two hours sleep since leaving the office, and that only her strict sense of duty (knowing that I was totally lost without her) had prevented her from calling in sick. I asked her if she thought we needed to review the criteria for paying sick days when the debility was self-inflicted, and she just giggled.

Pressing my temporary advantage, I suggested that maybe she and Clifford could take a lunchtime nap in his consulting room while his assistants were out, which did win me a blush. Oh. Maybe I’d pushed too far. I got the impression that they’d already tried out the examination couch. Too much information. I retreated to my office and pretended that conversation hadn’t happened. Helga was smirking again when she brought me a coffee; my fault for so quickly forgetting yesterday’s lesson about not teasing her when I knew darn well that she had a much higher embarrassment threshold than me ... One day I’m gonna learn, honest.

I was driving out of the hospital parking structure on the dot of four, my secretary’s laughing reminder that it was a work night and I shouldn’t stay out too late ringing in my ears. Maybe my eagerness to get away had been a little obvious. At least she wasn’t bearing a grudge for trying to score points.

I’ve had better trips out on the Ventura Freeway; I’ve also had a whole lot worse. It was ... okay. Knowing that I had plenty of time to spare kept me relaxed. It’s when you have to be somewhere at a certain time and the traffic snarls up that it gets frustrating, otherwise it’s just another cost of living in SoCal. You want to enjoy the same climate and lifestyle as millions of others also want? You have to share it with them.

I was about twenty minutes early into Ventura, and found that Mel was already waiting for me when I got to the restaurant; she was in another pretty sundress and wearing the Kokopelli earrings I’d given her, which pleased me enormously. I’d changed into polo and chinos before leaving work, and was carrying a small bouquet of flowers, which pleased her. The kiss of greeting we shared delighted both of us.

Two glasses of wine ordered and delivered, I asked how her day had been; she reported that it had gone very well, everything safely in the can, so she’d be starting on editing the tape the next day before she set off for Vegas.

“The can? I thought you movie-makers were all digital these days?”

A chuckle, “We are, but we still throw in the old-style vocabulary to convince the civilians that it’s all about skill and experience. The problem with digital these days is that a couple of college kids can shoot a movie with a three-hundred dollar HD camera and you can hardly tell the difference in image quality – luckily they never understand the need for proper lighting, sound or editing, so it keeps us professionals in business. Long may they remain satisfied with inferior product!”

I nodded in agreement; I’d watched a couple of ‘community’ video clips that the hospital had considered including on our website, and the sound and light quality had been so variable that we’d been forced to reject the idea. Whenever we did have an information piece made, we always used specialist contractors – though we insisted on using our own staff to demonstrate or give advice, knowing that our reputation could take a big hit if it was ever discovered that we’d employed actors as stand-ins. With the professionals running the show efficiently and no down time, the clips had been well worth the money.

We drank to the confusion of all would-be cheap imitators, laughed, and both tried to speak at once. I gestured to her to continue, “Mike, I just wanted to say thank you again for Sunday. My last visit to Santa Monica Pier was at the end of a rather trying day with an arrogant and over-entitled S-O-B male star, and you helped me overlay my mixed memories with good ones. So yes, I’d love to show you the Pacific Wheel by night sometime; we’ll just have to agree a date. It’s a little too busy weekend nights, and work nights we’ll have to wait for the rush to die down a little. You up for it?”

“Please! You want to try spontaneous, or are we gonna have to plan?”

She grimaced, “Probably plan. It all depends if, when and where I’m working. Editing is no problem to get away on time; if we’re shooting and running behind, I may have to cancel on you with no notice, and I don’t like doing that to a friend.”

I gestured that it wasn’t a problem, “That’s okay, I know what it’s like. I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t accept that work gets in the way all too often. You plan a treat, and events conspire to foul it up. It’s a risk, and I’m good with it. You know your schedule for when you get back, yet?”

She smiled in thanks, her red lip gloss emphasizing her lovely white teeth, “I’ve got a couple of days penciled in, but the way the business works, someone has an idea, assembles a crew, we shoot it, and then someone else needs a movie made. Not like the big studios which have project management teams booked weeks ahead; it’s all about flexibility and responsiveness. It’s why some weeks I don’t get to work a lot, others I’m doing six or seven long days. I can’t afford to turn down work; the producers and studios have plenty of other people eager to fill in. I’ve got a good reputation for delivering the goods, and I intend to keep it.”

I was about to enquire what kind of subjects she mainly filmed, when the food arrived and we settled down to eat. We were both hungry, having skimped on lunch to get the work done, and the restaurant kitchen well deserved its positive reviews.

The company at my table was also awesome; in between bites we chatted light-heartedly about the next film we should go see together. I admitted to a weakness for the old black-and-white thrillers, especially Bogart and Bacall, though Robert Donat and Madeleine Carrol in Hitchcock’s 1935 Thirty Nine Steps was my especial favorite, just for the stockings drying on the mantelpiece scene. (Oh, and Madeleine Carrol’s legs as they remove the wet stockings, their wrists handcuffed together. But I didn’t mention that aspect.) My date grinned, “Yes! I just love that part too. The way she somehow catches the china ornament that falls off? Incredible timing, great direction and cinematography. The sound of the clock ticking as she tiptoes along the hallway and overhears the villains? SO atmospheric. Pity it was made while he was still working in England; I doubt they’ll show it on the big screen here any time soon; it tends to be Hollywood only. I’ve seen ‘The Birds’ at a movie theater; that was seriously scary.”

“I know! Some of the scenes, when the birds are breaking in, it’s hard not to look behind you to check that it’s not happening to you!”

She grinned and told me that she’d been in exactly that place too. “You ever done the Universal Studios tour? You get to see parts of the Bates Motel set. THAT was a creepy film too!”

It was that kind of date, where the conversation just flows. What was not to like, except for it having to end. I insisted on getting the check; she left the tip, another generous one.

At her suggestion, we extended our time together with a short walk down to the shore, holding hands all the way. There’s something about being on the beach after dark – I guess a stronger connect to nature or a weaker link to civilization – that made it seem ... I don’t know exactly how to say it, but it heightened my senses, made me feel more in touch with my senses. The soft crunch of the sand under our shoes, the reflection of the moon out on the ocean, the salty smell of the waves breaking ... Romantic? Yeah, I guess so.

Whatever, the semi-dark was a good excuse to continue holding hands so we wouldn’t get separated. I was tempted to try for some making out, but an arguing couple suddenly loomed out of the shadows, and totally broke the mood of being alone on a deserted shore. We strolled back towards our cars, the cooler evening air making me wish I had a pullover to offer to wrap around her shapely shoulders.

Another goodnight kiss on the lips concluded the evening all too soon, and I headed home to see Max. He does have one of those timer things on his food bowl if I need to use it, and his own little door out to the back yard, but I’d wanted a dog as company, and it was only fair that I gave him some time as well. Mel called briefly to tell me she was safely home and playing with Kara and Tara in between packing for her trip. An hour later, she called again to tell me that she’d successfully added some more time to her burner, and by the time we said goodnight, she was down another hour. She laughed as she realized how long we’d been talking, but said that now she knew how to do it, it was easy enough to buy some more time to replace what we’d just used.

Mel called me regularly from Vegas; when she finally got to her room Thursday night, early Friday morning before I left home for work, again that evening, three times Saturday, and late Sunday evening when she finally got home. I was flattered by the attention; she did admit that outside the convention hall she’d been very bored, but hadn’t wanted to go watch some entertainment at her hotel or gamble at a casino. Other than eating with a couple of girls she knew who were working the same convention, she’d been either on the stand or in her room.

I’ve only been the once to Vegas myself; the year after I’d arrived in LA. It’s a place everyone should visit sometime in their life; absolutely, shamelessly and unrepentantly over the top; but I hadn’t been sufficiently impressed to want to go again. I was now thinking that maybe with Mel we could have a great time together, exploring it as a team. With her keen sense of the ridiculous, it would be a whole lot of fun. Perhaps that’s where I’d gone wrong; I’d taken a long weekend to see the place alone, and I’d ended up being bored out of my skull with no-one with whom to share the experience. That was a definite idea for when we got to know each other better.

Mel told me Sunday night that her feet were killing her, she’d missed her babies even though the dog-sitting service had always been reliable, and she hoped I was still free Tuesday. I replied that I was, and was very much looking forward to being with her again. I almost invited her to come over so I could give her a foot massage, but it was very late and I wasn’t sure that the two of us had yet reached that stage. She might read more into it than I wanted to push at the moment.

Don’t get me wrong, if she had asked me to come over, I’d have smoked the tires out of my drive. The sooner we could move this friendship to intimacy, the better.

But.

When you’re dating to get laid, you can push things. It’s no great loss if she says no; you move on to someone else who might say yes. When you think you might just have found someone for the long term, it’s not quite that simple. I didn’t want to appear to Mel as yet another guy keen to get into her panties – though, believe me, I was keen – so I kept things respectful. Maybe this Tuesday would get me the making-out session I’d missed last Tuesday on Ventura beach?

Then things went sideways at work Monday; one of our prima-donna surgeons quit yet again and needed some more sweet-talking and temporary replacement and rescheduling while he got his head out of his ass. Some things you can’t delegate, and ego-massaging is one of them. Despite Helga’s best efforts, I ended up with a busy week and some late nights in the office to catch up on wasted time, so Mel and I only managed a quick meal together Wednesday, postponed from Tuesday, and it was a huge relief to actually be able to stick to our plans to see another movie together Friday – this time a recent release.