I Seek You
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He grinned in genuine warmth for the distant typist he faced over the ether. He'd never meet her, not IRL, in real life. He'd never even seen her picture. She wasn't some newbie AOLer, to send out pictures to just anyone. I don't want to open that can of worms anyway. He scrubbed his hand through his long, shaggy blonde hair and sighed. He probably never would meet the "funny girl." With all that was possible in his line of work, there was much that was not possible.
"Hey man! We're going to the club. Wanna come?"
He turned to face the tall, dark haired man who was peeking in the hotel room door, his roommate. "Nah, Gogo, you go. I'm busy."
Instead of leaving, Gogo came closer, he was tall enough to tower over the chair where his friend sat hunched over a laptop computer. "You use that thing more than I do, man... and it's my computer. Who gives?"
"That's 'What gives?' my friend," he laughed, correcting his French friend's misuse of the Americanism. They had a very similiar saying in Welsh, and it was more similiar to who gives than what gives. He'd just been in the states longer. "Nah, Gogo. I haven't got the star appeal, nor do I have the figure. You go."
"They don't do figures anymore, man," the dark man joked.
"Fun-ny. Don't quit your day job, Gogo."
"Why would I want to do that?" he asked all ingenuous.
"You wouldn't," the small blonde man said, exasperated, rising from his seat and showing the larger man towards the door.
"Why don't you meet this chickie you're always typing to on the internet?" he teased. "She sure likes you."
"That's crazy, Gogo."
"I'm Gogo Dodo, I'm supposed to be crazy."
"Yeah, but this isn't Animaniacs. I'm not going to Wackyland. Have fun on your own." He closed the door behind his friend and sat back down in front of the computer.
He smiled. Seemed like they had typed that exchange a million times. This kind of thing happens on the internet all the time, he reminded himself. This isn't real. Of course, it wasn't real, he knew that. The funny-girl was just so... he found himself wishing for a moment that he wasn't what he was and that it was real.
She typed another clever quip and he replied, on auto-pilot,
Often, he thought wryly, Too often. He wondered what she'd think if he told her just how often he'd see "the tour" that summer.
Then she'll be waiting by the buses. I could see her. How would he know who she was? I won't. It would be like not seeing her at all. He would see crowds of Dauteau fans and she would just be another one of them. Meet her. Maybe.
That would never work. He ran his fingers back through his hair, regretting necessity... the necessity for anonymity, privacy, silence. He regretted being alone. Being alone was all well and good for someone like Gogo Dodo who had a legion of simpering fans. There was plenty of ego boost in that, but it wasn't anything more than that.
Gogo didn't know his fans. They were fans. They weren't friends. They weren't lovers, not beyond the occaisional one night stand. They weren't really even human. He didn't want that. He wanted someone he could be friends with, talk to, love. He wanted someone he knew. Meet her. I don't know her!
This girl, the funny girl; he knew her name, her home city, a screen name on AOL IM, and an ICQ number. He knew she must like purple; really deep, jewel-blue purple. She liked complete skaters; full toned, quirky music and rich programs. There was a simplictity to her, that simple sans serif font she invariably chose. He knew she was 33, brown haired and described her figure as "rubenesque." He even knew what rubenesque meant, thanks to Webster.com.
He knew that he could never be what she must want. Girls like her... they wanted winners. He wasn't a winner. Oh, yeah sure, Welsh Champion a couple times, but the triple axel was never his. He was never going to be Steven Cousins, popular with the American crowds despite never really delivering the goods internationally. He would always be second string.
He wasn't Dodo, with his three University degrees. He wasn't Dodo, who could write love letters half-cousin to literature. He wasn't even literarily coherent. He knew that his first, last and only post to the newsgroup was misspelled and sounded idiotic. He lurked exclusively after that.
Not like the funny girl, her's were works of art. He didn't seek her out exactly, but when he got the new messaging client, he looked up her email address. There she was. She had been uneasy talking to him at first. Once she relaxed, she had been good company. She had admitted to being a writer, early on. She wrote under a pen name because she wasn't sure of the reception. He had read some of her stuff; dark, skating related, but good. Very good.
"ARRRRRRAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" the sound of an elephant's roar issued from the tinny speakers of the laptop.
He threw caution to the wind.
He broke in.
He reached for something, anything to convince her.
"Essie, he's not coming," the woman said to her companion. They stood at the Will Call window, or rather, facing it in the dark shadow behind the large pillar that supported the portico of the Duck Pond. The shadow was cool, not hot. The dry air had lost heat quickly when the sun went down.
"Let's walk over to the performers entrance, see if we can meet any of the skaters."
"Esther!" the woman said, exasperated.
"Then we can wander back and not look like we've been waiting."
"You've got a point." She jammed her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. So Esther won't see them shake. She really didn't know Esther all that well, just "via email." Of course, in everything else, Esther felt like someone she'd known forever. As her favorite girlhood author would have said, "kindred spirits."
"Kira, don't be nervous." Esther's face looked earnest and concerned. She reached out and laid her hand on the other woman's elbow. "I'm here. If he's a jerk we can ditch him and go find Dauteau."
Kira grinned, knowing Esther's well documented net-dot-passion for the French pairs skater. "Yeah." She just wished she was nervous about him being a jerk.
She knew Daffyd wasn't a jerk. Like she knew that Daffyd wasn't his real name, any more than Kira was hers. She knew he skated. She suspected he was in the tour. He spoke of traveling. The tour traveled. She thought deprecatingly of how little she really knew about skating, her pitiful three turns and shakey crossovers. He was probably a god.
Then she thought about her size 18 hips and panic set in. Why couldn't I have lost that last 10 pounds?! At least then I could claim to be under 200. A low moan escaped her lips.
"Oh, Kira!" Esther exclaimed softly. "You're trying so hard to play this cool. You're nervous as hell, aren't you?" At her friend's nod, she offered, "You could stay in the shadows. I could wait for him. I'm heavier than you are, if I don't scare him, you certainly won't."
That could work! I could see him! I could see if he was just... Esther wore it better. It was a good idea. She could see if he was... as stunning as she expected him to be. "Esther. I can't. I can't do it. It's too D'bersheraktic. I have to face him."
"You told him you weren't skinny, girl. Why are you so worried?"
"Because he's undoubtably beautiful, has a body like a rock and groupies who worship him."
"And he asked to meet you. You don't give yourself enough credit, Kir. He's got good taste... and he's probably just as nervous as you are."
"You're storing all this away for your next serial, aren't you?"
Esther shrugged and smiled. It was a "Who me?" smile that could only be described as shit eating.
"Esther, I am going to get you for this," Kira threatened fascisiously. "What're you going for this time? World's oldest virgin, can't skate to save her life meets famous, handsome world champion pair's skater?"
Esther's grin twisted. She didn't much like sharing her Dauteau inspired character with the avatar of anyone else. "It wouldn't come off that way. I was thinking of using that British skater you love so much," Esther teased, the very picture of innocent authorhood. Esther was always like that. Kira hated the younger Cousins: Robin, yes; Steven, no. No avatar of her was ever going to get anywhere near an avatar of him.
"Using mental italics again, Kira?" Esther teased gently, "You know I'm melodrama girl, not you." They both laughed, the tension broken. Esther did have Kira using mental italics. "So, how's the play going?"
"Okay," Kira sighed. "I'm rewriting Act II, Scene 3 for the third time. It's slow."
"You're the perfectionist, Kir." Esther shrugged. "Guess I can't be expecting any new skatefic any time soon. The natives are getting restless."
"Maybe if the muse moves me."
"Only if you get inspired?" Esther grinned wickedly at the implications of her vocal italics. "He could inspire you," she said, saying one thing and meaning quite another.
"Oh yeah," Kira's voice dripped sarcasm. "Riiiighhtttt." Like I could inspire him.
"This is crazy, Gogo."
"You're the one who's doing it," the dark haired frenchman replied. "If you're so sure it's a mistake, don't meet her."
"If I'm so crazy, why are you coming?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"You know me!" the skater responded, rapping himslef on the head with his knuckles. "I'm Gogo Dodo." He finished by making a rotary motion around one ear with his index finger. "I'm wacky!" He made a funny face.
Tim laughed, running his hand through his hair the way he always did. "I must be crazy too."
"So don't go." The stocky Frenchman ushered his friend out the steel doors of the venue.
"Don't go? You're all but pushing me out the door."
"But of course, my friend. You want to go. Now come, grow some balls. It's now of never. I'll walk ahead, so that you can get a good look at her before you cross the bridge into Wackyland."
"Gogo..." Tim tried to pull his friend back with his voice, but the taller man was already determined.
The two men walked around the huge concrete mass of the arena. Tim kept to the shadows, only a bit behind. He knew what a contrast they were: dark and blonde, pale and tan, pairs champion and singles failure.
"You're not a loser, Tim."
Tim realised that he must have subvocalised the last word. "You're reading my mind again, Gogo," he said drolly.
"You're not a loser," the Frenchman insisted. "What happenned to you could have happenned to anyone. We all have bad breaks. Ooooo, I made a funny! Bad breaks. get it?"
"Don't quit your day job, Dodo."
"Why would I want to?"
Tim ignored it. They had had that exchange a million times. "Yeah," he said bitterly, "at least I can still sharpen skates."
"And no one does it better," the dark haired man chuckled. "You should take that promotion to producer on the European tour?"
"It would be closer to my family."
"You'd rather sharpen skates in the big time than produce a smaller tour close to home. You always did have big dreams."
"And no ability to bring them off."
"Tim," The big man slowed down. "You sell yourself short. Take this girl, she's smart and educated. You've been chatting with her for months. She agreed to meet you, didn't she? You told me she doesn't meet anyone. She's got good taste. Come on, we go to meet her."
Tim sighed. "If I don't she'll never chat with me again. How did I get into this again, Dodo?"
"Easy, garcon," said the Dodo. "You're crazy."
Kira's mouth dropped open as she saw him approach. He was alone. She could see Esther's back, but she was sure that her own body was hidden in the shadow. She mouthed the words, but nothing came out. She flailed ineffectively with a pointing finger. Esther is such a motor-mouth! If her friend would shut up she might be able to get a word in edgewise.
Esther got the picture and looked over her shoulder. Suddenly, it was she who was incoherent. The only recognizeable words in the babble that streamed from her lips was "Gaultier Dauteau."
Kira was still frozen. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. She had spent that last 5 months chatting with Gaultier Dauteau. She didn't even like the "big tricks" style of Claudette and Dauteau. She was mortified and Esther wouldn't shut up!
Dauteau was obviously having a terrible time following the pace of Esther's chatter. When the excited speech stopped, Esther had to catch her breath sometime, he asked sheepishly, "You are Kira then?"
"Nooooonononono..." Esther reached behind her and grabbed Kira's wrist. "This," she announced, pulling her forward, "is Kira."
Kira blinked in the bright light of the sodium arc. She saw Dauteau's eyes and smile widen appreciatively. "Are you Daffyd?" she asked shyly.
"No," said another shadow in the shadow. "I am." A slight figure limped out into the light. It left half of him in shadow.
My GOD! She steeled herself for what the light would reveal. She had been afraid that he would be a god. She was suddenly even more afraid that he wouldn't be. He knows what I wrote!
He turned towards her and the light fell more fully across his face. Chistled cheekbones; straight nose; shaggy, shiny, touchable blonde hair... sculpted lips. The other side of his face... softened into a smile. It was a nice smile.
She was staring at him. Horrified. He cringed inwardly. She's sorry I'm me and not Gogo, here. He put on his best fan face, carefully cultivated in his younger years for the successes that never came. He smiled.
"Hello, Daffyd," she said. She even pronounced it correctly, with syballent whispered f-ish v's and a hard t-ish d, Davit.
He held out his hand. "My real name is Tim. I sharpen skates for the show."
She smiled. Was she laughing at him?
"And I jump barrells... until I uh... broke my ankle..."
"In Snowden rehersals last year," finished the heavier woman, "Tim Llewellen," she accused, "Age 34, height 5'10" Best finish 2nd place at British Nationals 1990, 17th at worlds. You retired young, a freak case of..."
"I got smart," he broke in and then turned to Kira, "Timothy Daffyd Llewellen at your service." He pronounced the double-L in the Welsh way, with an undulating, gutteral -thl sound.
After the introductions were finished, the heavier woman, Esther, led them to the car chattering about his competitive record. He still had ahold of her hand. He was very aware of it. "She's a regular Skatabase," he quipped.
"No," Kira hissed. "Skatabase shuts down once in a while."
He chuckled. She didn't. Was he not supposed to laugh? She was very quiet. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. He didn't say anything. It was very quiet.
Dauteau found his voice somewhere on the highway. He and Esther were singing "Frere Jacque" at the tops of their lungs. Esther sang close harmony to Dodo's strong baritone. They didn't sound half bad... not that he really knew anything about music. He knew what he liked, but he was no musician.
He was aware that he still had her hand. She wasn't taking it back, but she was sitting most of the way across the car. He looked at her hand. Maybe it can tell me what to say.
"Are you a palmist? Can you tell my future?" she whispered.
"Oh!" Her voice surprised him. He dropped her hand. "No. I was thinking... uh... you must type alot. You have strong hands."
"Piano."
"Really?" A musician.
"Not too much anymore." She flexed her fingers. "Juvenile arthritis."
"I'm sorry." He was sorry. He remembered the aching joints and the pain of rhumatic fever. He was very sorry. He could jump barrels, but the triple axel would never be his.
"No biggie," she said flippantly. "Started writing instead. Just means I work at Borders rather than Planet Music."
He couldn't laugh. He tried to force himself. A strangled chuckle emerged. "It's weird to laugh instead of typing 'LMAO.'"
"It is," she giggled.
He'd never thought of her as someone who giggled. It grated on his expectations even more than her silence at her earlier joke.
It was very quiet.
She doesn't like me at all.
Say something! Kira berated herself silently. Why can't I say something!? He's not that handsome. He's not that famous She was too aware of the tingling where his hand touched hers.
She asked him a question, a silly question. He dropped her hand. She tried to act normal. She made a joke. He strangled out a laugh, because it was not funny. She got nervous... -er. He made a joke. You'd think four years of stand-up could teach me not to giggle like a schoolgirl. He made a sour face before the expression was covered by a blandly positive skater-persona smile. It was the same nice smile.
They arrived at the hotel. He did know how to crash the reception. It was called "having a ticket." Dauteau insisted on escourting Esther, much to her amazement and joy. He had seemed charmed with her vivacity. They had already traded email addresses in the car.
"It's not his fan mail address, either!" Esther confided when they went to the powder room to freshen up before entering the reception room. Esther would know. "I might even..."
"Don't you dare try to seduce him!" Kira hissed back. Esther was a self-described "former slut." She knew how to chase men... and how to catch them. Even in her 40s, even heavy, she could still catch someone half her age. It was mainly that all she was out for was a casual affair. Men were always interested in casual sex.
"If I do get lucky, I'll be sure to get you a room here so that you don't have to try to make your way home."
"I'd get horribly lost," Kira admitted.
They rejoined the men and went in to the reception. It was more like a party. Parties always made Kira uncomfortable. She could perform in front of people... but mingling was hard. Daffyd, Tim, was too quiet. Dauteau was introducing Esther around and she was being vivacious and charming, having calmed enough to stop being overwhelming. The two were taking turns being the fool, playing an unconscious game of "Who's the Straight Man?" .
Kira would have vastly prefered to sit in a corner, but the idea of being alone with her silent escort was too much for her to bear. She wished fervently for someone, anyone to deliver her.
"Tim, I didn't know you knew anyone much in the states!?" Her deliverer was Ed Barrett, a Canadian, and her favorite shater. She wasn't one to gush, but she colored under his attention and blossomed into a smile.
"This is Kira. She's uh... an acquaintance," the grim blonde man beside her stumbled on the words, "from the internet."
An acquaintance? That explained it. She thought it was more than that. That was why he was so silent and uncomfortable. He could tell that she was looking for something he was not.
She was heartbroken. She steeled herself. She put on her best professional's face and forced her stage fright into her shoes. She was the woman with "the great material," wasn't she? "I'm Katherine Hollyford, people on the net call me Kira." She held out her hand. "I'm a big fan."
"Not my biggest?" Barrett joked, turning on his famous charm.
"No, she's moonlighting at the Duck Pond as the Zamboni." Lame, but it was short notice.
Ed Barrett laughed heartily, "You fit right in. You don't need to stand here with this old sourpuss. He never enjoys parties."
"I..." she attempted.
"If he won't introduce you around, I will." He linked his arm through hers and stepped out with a flourish. It was follow or be dragged. His easy manner was similiar to her own stage presence. She had no trouble mimicing it.
A moment later, Daffyd, Tim, caught up and linked his arm onto her free arm. He was obviously not pleased. She was super aware again, not of Ed Barrett. She smiled at the Welshman and gritted her teeth beneath the smile.
She was an acquaintance. I won't feel this way! He doesn't like me that way! She caught his braced expression.
He doesn't like me at all.
She was walking away with Ed Barrett. Of course he would appeal to her: famous, wealthy, charming, well spoken. Ed had made her bloom out into the person he recognised from numerous ICQ chats.
He didn't want to seem to be running after her... but it was that or lose her in the press of the reception. He hated these receptions. He'd much rather sit in a corner with her and talk quietly.
Ed Barrett had no use for her. Barrett was happily married on the public side and just as happily conducting an affair with a married ice dancer. Barrett would steal a woman's attention just because he could. He didn't want Kira particuliarly, just her wide eyed fanship.
She told him her real name. I can't lose her to Barrett! I've got to go after her! He took several long steps and slipped his arm through hers. He steeled himself for the long evening ahead. She smiled at him but he knew it was fake. Her teeth were clenched.
Kira cursed silently, fingering the key that Esther had pressed into her hand. There was a room party and Esther was feeling confident. Some girls had all the luck. She waited for the elevator.
"You staying the night?" He was right there again: her silent, grim, touseled blonde shadow, straight nose and chistled lips. She nodded. "You want to go to the room party?"
"Do you know how to crash those too?" He just looked at her. the elevator opened and she walked into it. He followed. "It hardly matters. i don't want to go. I just want to go upstairs to my room and go to bed."
"I'll see you up," he offered.
No need. You're not getting what you want.
The elevator stopped at the 5th floor. He stared at her the whole time, intense. He's angry. She felt forced to look away. She knew she couldn't bear it. I thought we were friends.
They came to the room. She swiped the key card through the lock and turned the handle. He was standing close behind her. She wasn't sure, but it could have been his breath making the hairs on her neck stand up. "Could I come in?" he asked softly.
She was not Esther, who would have welcomed the opportunity. "No," she said flatly, not even turning to face him. She shut the door behind her. Her lips burned. The last thing he wanted to do was kiss me. She almost wished he would knock. if she did, she would let him in and what would happen would happen.
She went to bed, but she couldn't get the idea out of her mind. What would happen would happen.
The last thing he wanted for her to do was walk through the door and close it behind her. He wanted to do anything to get her attention. They were finally alone. He wanted to kiss her. He hestitated, almost knocking. He could still...
He couldn't.
What a total disaster. Dauteau or Barrett would have kissed her. Tim Llewellen could not. Tim Llewellen was a total failure.
He didn't much feel like partying. he went back to his room. the laptop's case beckoned. He snapped the phone wire into into the hotel's data jack and logged in, the same two emails from before the show. From Kira: "Can't wait to meet you." The other one from the executive producer of the European tour. Well there was one thing Tim Llewellen could do not to be a total failure! He highlighted the latter message and hit "reply."
Then it was more than he could bear. He double clicked on Kira in the offline list.
The message indicator was flashing. She double clicked it. Then she started. She didn't want to read anything from him! She knew she was invisible, but it didn't help that momentary leap of terror. Thank God, the first message was only Esther. She sent a chat request in reply. The icon was still blinking. She couldn't avoid ICQ completely. It was her only link to friends like Esther.
I should avoid it.... for a while... until it doesn't hurt anymore.
Copyright © 1999 by Mary E Tyler. All Rights Reserved.
