A Kiss and a Cuddle (5 page)

Later
that night, I returned to my condominium.  It was a modern, one bedroom
apartment that I tried to make as peaceful and relaxing as possible.  The walls
were the color of warm toasted pastries, and my furniture was frosted white.  I
had candles, flowers, and photos of me and my mom dispersed throughout my
place.  I lived minimally, as I tried to keep my apartment and my mind free of
clutter.

I
went into my kitchen and made myself dinner.  Or rather, I heated up a frozen
meal suspiciously named “Spinach Muffins” that I purchased from Natural
Grocers, the closest grocery store with relatively healthy food.  Not that I
could complain much compared to the southern cooking I was used to.  Denver, I
was told, was the healthiest city in the country.  I definitely got that vibe
from walking around the city and seeing the fit men and women walking around. 
Even the fashion here was different; it was very athletic-inspired, with hiking
boots and wind-breakers around every corner.  Even for the businessmen and
women downtown.  It was as though they could run into the wilderness, paddle
across a river, and climb a mountain at a moment’s notice.

I
never really adopted the athletic-chic style, and anyone could tell that I
wasn’t a home-grown Denverite when I walked around town.  More than a handful
of people noticed this and made comments about me being a girly girl and mocked
how I don’t know how to ski or snowboard.  I would much prefer to wear dresses or
a chunky sweater with jeans and boots.  I didn’t spend a lot of money on buying
designer clothing, but I would buy timeless, classy pieces like a pearl
necklace, a classic trench coat, or a silver watch.  I also liked to mix and
match styles and blur the line of formal and informal wear; I would wear pearls
with my jeans and t-shirts or wear sturdy cowgirl boots with the most feminine
lacy dress.  I liked to bend the fashion rules.  

I
gazed over at my boot collection near my door adoringly, as I started in on my
green muffins.  The muffins had an interesting texture.
 
Nina jumped up
on the table, took one sniff of the green dough on my plate, and turned her
nose up in disgust.

“Well,
this isn’t food for a kitty, little Nina,” I said in my high-pitched kitten
voice.  “This is going to make your mama strong and healthy.  Even if it does
taste like unidentifiable goo.”

As
I sat there nibbling away at my dinner, I thought back to my conversation with Rex
earlier that afternoon.  I thought about how everybody has a past that makes
them act the way they do now.  It seemed like he used a false bravado to disguise
the hurt from his past.  I didn’t blame him.  I thought the world had misunderstood
him.  Not that I even knew that much about him.  I paused on that thought.  I,
then, like any other modern girl would, promptly retrieved my laptop, opened up
Google in my internet browser, and typed in “Rex Byron”.

I
saw a montage of Rex pictures – from when he was just a little boy with
coveralls and rosy cheeks to the man he was today, with designer suits and rosy
cheeks.  There were some images from his visits to Africa.  There were some
images of young Rex and his mom, Lady Byron. 

I
tried to remember where I was when I heard the news of Lady Byron’s death.  I
would have been nine or ten years old, and we were driving in my mom’s old
Toyota car near the end of summer.  The song on the radio changed to a man with
a deep, saddened voice.  I do not recall the exact words, but I do remember my
mom gasping and moving her hand to cover her mouth. 

“What
happened, Mom?” I asked from the passenger seat. 

“Lady
Byron… is gone.  She was so young…” she trailed off, still in shock.  She was
still driving, but I could tell her mind was in another place.

I
did not know who Lady Byron was, but it did make me sad.  Sad because a woman
was gone forever, and sad because it made my mom and the radio announcer sad. 
I could tell that she was someone special.  I knew that the world loved her.

I
clicked on the Google image of young Rex and his mom.  It took me to an article
that discussed his recent visit to Argentina in his late twenties where he met
two young girls who lost their mother.  It said that Rex was so overwhelmed
that he started to cry, as he remembered his own mother’s death.  Lady Byron
had been attending a charity event in Rio de Janeiro, and there were swarms of
paparazzi surrounding her.  During all of the commotion, she walked out on to
the street and was struck by a car.  I read that Rex was only twelve years old
when she died, and that he was told the next morning by his father.  And at
that young age, he joined his father, uncle, and grandfather in walking behind
her funeral carriage.  It was no shock to find out that he burst into tears
during the ceremony, and that for many years after, his laughter could turn
into sobbing in an instant. 

The
more I read about him and his family, the more I understood him.  The more I
wanted to understand him.

The
next afternoon, I found myself back at the Caribou Coffee.  I was unwittingly
becoming a regular.  This time, I was with Derek on the patio, and we were
talking business.  Derek also came from a home with a single mother, and he
knew how to work hard.  He was born and bred in Denver, and he had an
incredible talent for writing powerful rock songs as well as beautiful
ballads.  He had a large following in Denver and across the nation, and he
always knew how to use his entrepreneurial mind to increase his market share. 
We were both in the same boat in Denver.  We were transitioning from open mic
nights to performing our own sold-out shows.  I was hoping that I could get
some lyrical input from him, since he was the king of writing love songs, but
he was determined to talk marketing.

“You
need to determine who your target audience is and write music for them,” Derek
recommended, as he drew some sort of marketing diagram on a sheet of paper to
help me understand.

“I
don’t think I could categorize my fans into one box,” I replied.  “When I look
out into the audience, there are young people, old people, hipsters… every
category of human you could imagine.  I don’t know if I want to choose just
one.”

“Your
target audience may be completely unexpected,” he continued and added more
arrows to the diagram.  “Middle-aged women are the target audiences for many
rappers.  Who knew, huh?”

I
laughed and looked up to see that Babs had arrived at our table.  She asked for
our orders, and we both ordered our usual drinks, but I noticed that even when
I was talking, she still only looked and nodded at Derek, as if I didn’t even
exist.

When
she left, I said to Derek, “What was up with that?  I gestured towards Babs and
raised my eyebrow.  “She’s totally into you.”  And even though I hated to admit
it, I continued to say, “And she is pretty cute.”

“Do
you think so?” He looked over at her working on our drinks inside the cafe and
pursed his lips while evaluating her.

“For
sure, like a cute little bunny,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.  I
couldn’t help but always be a bit jealous of the perfectly petite girls.  The
type that you just wanted to squeeze and put in your pocket.  Although petite
girls were probably always jealous of us tall, long-legged girls.  It was one
of the many peculiar mysteries of women.

Derek
continued to look at Babs while he thought about it.  “I’m not sure that I want
to date a cute little bunny,” he said.  “I am more into the tall, lady-like
gazelles of the world.”

“Okay,
before this animal analogy gets out of hand, you should think about it.  She is
definitely interested, and I don’t think she’s just after your fame and money,”
I said playfully.

“She’d
better not be trying to steal my spotlight,” he joked, and then gave me a look
to say ‘change the subject’ as Babs started walking towards us with our drinks.

“So,
umm,” I started to say.  I was trying to think of a conversation topic, but my
mind went blank.

“Yea,
umm, that thing I was telling you about.  It’s great,” he said and nodded his
head at me for authenticity.

Babs
came and put the drinks in front of us at the table and said, “Here you guys
go.  Enjoy your drink, Sergio.”

He
thanked her and she started to walk away.  Then he surprisingly said, “My real
name is Derek, not Sergio.”

She
turned back around and her smile was beaming across her face.  “I already knew
that.  I love your music,” she managed to say as her face became flushed and
she turned to walk away quickly back into the café.

It
sounded like he was warming up to her.  “You scared her off, Derek.  She
couldn’t walk away fast enough!” I joked.

“I
didn’t
scare
her,” he disagreed and took a sip of his coffee.  “She was
just so flustered by my manly charms that she had to rush away.”

I
laughed out loud.  “Oh yes, that was so smooth, Derek,” I replied and rolled my
eyes.  “More likely, she probably realized that we were both staring at her and
watching her wiggle as she walked away.”

“Her
wiggle?” he asked.

“Yes,
there is nothing worse than knowing that your crush is watching your booty walk
away.  You either need to commit to the slow, sexy wiggle or just speed up,
walk like you mean business, and get out of there.  She chose the latter.”

“Girls
are absolutely crazy.  I would love to spend a day inside of your mind to
figure it all out.”

“I
can’t give away all of my secrets…” I replied coyly and sipped my latte.  “Then
some poor boy might actually understand me and I’d have to, God forbid, marry
him or something.”

Derek
threw his head back and laughed.  “Oh Rose, you are the quirkiest person I
know.  Speaking of boys, do you think Rex Byron plans on ruining your album
release gig as well?”

“Oh,
him?  I don’t think he meant to ruin it, really…” I started to say.

Derek
raised an eyebrow.  “Someone has changed her tune.  Didn’t you call him a
pompous man-boy who tried to steal your spotlight?”  He actually sounded upset
with me.

“Well,
yes.  He was…” I stumbled on my words.

Derek
pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.  “Don’t tell me.  You are falling for his
British charm and wit, aren’t you?”

“No,
no, no.  We are just friends,” I reassured him.

“Just
friends.  I have heard that before.”  He looked away in frustration.

“We
are honestly just friends, Derek.  Not as good of a friend as you are, though,”
I smiled, trying to win him over.  “Please don’t tell anybody that I am hanging
out with him.  I think he is trying to avoid attention.”

“If
he was trying to avoid attention, he wouldn’t have made such a grand entrance. 
Be careful, Rose.  This guy is trouble.”

I
nodded obediently.  “There is nothing to worry about, Derek.  Just friends.” I
repeated, unsure if I was trying to convince Derek or myself this time.

The
next day, Rex called me, and I agreed to meet up with him to show him around
Denver.  He requested that we do very typical “American” things.  I was not
generally one for doing touristy activities, but it was a sunny afternoon, and Rex
was surprisingly good company to have around.

I
waited for him outside of my condominium building on the corner of Sixteenth
and Larimer Street.  I still felt a twinge of guilt after being so dismissive
to him earlier in the week, and I was strangely excited to see him again.

I
felt a vibration in my purse, and I pulled out my phone to see a text message
from Derek: “Hey Rose, want to come by the studio?  I want to show you
something.”  I quickly texted back: “Hey Derek, sorry!  I am busy today.  I’ll
be at your gig tomorrow.  Your #1 fan!”

I
put my phone away and looked up to see Rex rounding the corner, walking next to
his two bodyguards.  The bodyguards looked and acted like regular men.  It just
appeared as though Rex was walking with his uncles or slightly older friends.  One
of the bodyguards was slightly bigger and balder than the other.  Rex had told
me that his name was Clive, and the smaller man with more hair was called
Johnny.  Clive was originally from Scotland, but he moved to London to train
with the London Police Service.  He had been married for fifteen years and had
three children, who all lived in London.  Johnny was a single man, who was
originally from London and had devoted his life to being in the London Police
Service.  He was a ‘bloke’s bloke’, who enjoyed drinking a pint and watching
football, or soccer, to Americans.  Rex got to choose the two bodyguards to
take him to Denver, and he said that these two men were his favorites.

All
three men were wearing light denim jeans and t-shirts.  Once again, Rex wore a
baseball cap to cover his notoriously messy quiff. 

He
smiled as he walked towards me, and when we met, he gave me a peck on each
cheek to say hello, which caught me off guard.  He must have been able to tell,
as he quickly explained “Oh, it’s a London thing.”

“It’s
okay,” I blushed furiously and tried to change the subject.  “Look at you, all
dressed up like an American again.  Are you trying to become one of us?”

“I
think I’d make a rather exquisite American, don’t you?” he asked, and then put
on the most brass southern drawl I have ever heard. “Howdy, darling!  Let’s go
get a hotdog and go to the shootin’ range, huh?”

“Never,
under any circumstances, do that again in public,” I laughed.  “I do kind of
like this sporty look you are going for though,” I said, eyeing up his ensemble.

“Well,
sometimes I want to be seen, and sometimes I don’t want to be seen.  Besides,
the media only really follow me at night.  They know I behave myself during the
day,” he grinned.  “Today, I want to blend in.  I want to be a normal person
walking about Denver.”

“I’m
not so sure how normal we will look with your bodyguards walking with us,” I
said.  I had never been on a double date quite like this before.  I didn’t know
if I should include them in our conversations or act like they didn’t exist.

“Oh,
them?  They’ll just walk behind us.  You won’t even notice them, my little
dumpling” he assured me.  “Right, lads?” he shouted back towards the men.

“You
what?” Clive shouted back.

“I
said, we won’t even notice you.  Right, lads?”

“Course
not.  You two carry on.  We will trail behind, keeping shtum, mate,” Clive
replied as he touched his nose and winked.

“Is
the word ‘shtum’ another London thing?” I asked.  “I’m not sure I like the
sounds of ‘shtum’…”

“Yes,
doll, it is the British way of saying they will keep quiet,” Rex replied.

“Oh,
good.” I said.  “Well, let’s get started on our adventure, then shall we?”

“We
shall!  I might just wee myself with excitement,” Rex exclaimed, and we started
to walk down Sixteenth Street.

The
streets were quite busy for a mid-week afternoon in October.  Surprisingly,
nobody recognized Rex.  It seemed like more people were staring at me than they
were at him.  Did I have food on my face?
 
I looked down to make sure
there wasn’t any toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my boots.
 

Sixteenth
Street was vulgar and glamorous at the same time, with panhandlers begging and
pigeons pecking, and potted flowers blooming and posh professionals strolling. 
The street was full of people sipping cool drinks on patios, sign holders swinging
their boards in the middle of the street, and buskers singing at the top of
their lungs.  I pointed out the free mall-ride bus that went down Sixteenth Street. 

“So
that is what that incessant ringing sound is!” Rex said, after watching the bus
drivers ring their bell twice at every street corner. 

“Those
bells tell the pedestrians to watch out.  Do you know how many pedestrians have
been whacked by the buses’ mirrors?”  I asked.  I made sure not to tell him
that I was almost one of the oblivious pedestrian victims on a few late night
occasions.

“My
goodness.  The vicious buses of Sixteenth Street, hmm?  I will gladly walk on
the outside then, peaches,” he said, and took the position closest to the road
to protect me.

“Why,
thank you.  Such a gentleman.”

“They
don’t make them like this anymore, my dear.”

“At
least not on this side of the Atlantic!” I replied.  That might have been a
stretch.  Derek would probably walk on the outside of a cliff for me.

Just
as we were coming up to the corner of California Street, I could see my
favorite shoe shiner.  He was sitting on a flipped over milk crate with his
shining tools on display, watching everybody walk by and laughing.

“See
that guy over there?  The shoe shiner?” I asked Rex.  “He is my favorite person
on this street.  He sits there all day, cracking jokes as people walk by.  He
makes everybody smile.  Let’s see what he says to us.” 

We
reached the corner of the street, and I could tell that we were in his line of
sight.

“Hey
there, baseball boy!” the shoe shiner yelled at Rex.

“Yes,
sir?” Rex replied.

“What
does your girlfriend think about your dirty shoes, boy?”

“I
don’t have a girlfriend, sir,” Rex laughed.

“That’s
‘cause your shoes is dirty, boy!” the shoe shiner yelled and laughed hard.  The
other people waiting at the street corner laughed too. 

Rex
grinned and his cheeks turned bright red.  Luckily, the pedestrian light turned
on, and we quickly walked to cross the street.

“At
least he’s having a laugh at work!” Rex said.

“You
know what, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him shining a pair of shoes!” I
remarked, and we both chuckled.

After
we crossed the street, we neared a bridal store with dazzling white dresses in
the storefront. Just as we were passing it, Clive yelled out, “Now would be an
ideal time to hold her hand, mate!”  Johnny and Clive laughed to themselves. 

“Keeping
‘shtum’, are they?” I asked and looked at Rex.  He grinned shyly and turned
backwards to see them, giving them ‘the look’, I was sure.

“Oi,
Bonny and Clyde!” he yelled back to Johnny and Clive.  “Better watch out or
I’ll tell Daddy to take you off the payroll.  Remember who butters your bread!”
he jested.  They didn’t make another peep for the rest of the walk.

“So,
when you get married,” Rex casually said.  “Do you imagine that it would be a
big wedding or a small wedding?”

“
If
I get married… I would prefer a small wedding.  Probably fifty or a hundred
people or so back in Texas.  How about you?” I asked.

“Oh,
probably a couple million people from around the world,” he joked.

“I
keep forgetting that you are famous,” I laughed.  “You seem like a normal human
being to me.”  He really did.  I was beginning to wonder what the big deal was
about him.  Why did the paparazzi care so much?

“I
should hope I resemble a normal human being!” he proclaimed.

“Well,
to help you feel like a normal person, we should give each other typical
American nicknames for the day,” I declared.

Rex
raised his eyebrows.  “Is that right?  What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well,
the name Rex is far too European to survive around here.  Let’s see now… Your
American alter ego would be named…. Billy-Bob?  Jimmy?  Butch?”

“I
will absolutely not be called Butch.  How vulgar.  Jimmy doesn’t suit me. 
Billy-Bob might just work.”

“Billy-Bob
it is then!  And now for me.”  I figured that he would try to give me some
cheeky little nickname like Trixie or Dolly.

“You’re
right.  Today, you can’t be an English Rose.  Today, you shall be…. Roseanne! 
Isn’t that the star of some American television program?”

“My
goodness, yes!  I haven’t thought about that show for years,” I said.  Okay,
maybe he didn’t try to give me a cheeky little nickname.  Quite the opposite. 
Was I really a ‘Roseanne’ to him?
“
Okay, get ready for Roseanne and Billy-Bob’s
big American adventure!”  In all of the excitement, Rex reached over and held
my hand.  His hand felt like it was nearly twice the size of mine, and our
fingers interlocked naturally.  There was something extraordinarily comforting
about holding his hand and gazing over to see him warmly smiling back at me.  He
was a strikingly dashing man, in his own mischievous way.  He was several
inches taller than me and had such broad shoulders that I almost felt petite
next to him, and that was most certainly alright.

“Where
to first, Roseanne?”

“First,
Rex, I am going to grease you up with a trip to Maccy D’s.”

“I
love Big Macs!  They are my absolute favorite food.  Though I don’t get much of
an opportunity to eat them inside a real McDonald’s.”

“That’s
part of the whole experience!  You need to sit at the dirty table and listen to
the crying children, all while trying not to make eye contact with the
loitering hoodlums.”

“Bring
it on, Roseanne!” he exclaimed, and we headed towards the McDonald’s down the
street holding hands.  Our romantic moment came to a swift end though, as Rex
moved behind me to tickle my sides.  In true Rex fashion, he let out a naughty
laugh and ran ahead.  All I could do was yell “Rex!!!” and run after him.