Animate Me (7 page)

My head falls forward as I begin to put all my attention on peeling the label off my beer bottle. My stomach is rolling. “No, I haven’t kissed her. I’m the world’s worst kisser, so that isn’t even an option.”

“What in the hell are you talking about…world’s worst kisser?” she slurs. “That’s impossible.”

“How would you know?”

“I can just tell. You’re creative, and creative guys are the best. Plus you’ve got those lips with that sexy mouth. Hell, I would kiss you just to get closer to your amazing teeth. It’s just impossible.” Her arms are waving dramatically.

“Well I love that you think I’d be great to kiss, but according to Rachel….”

“Rachel?”

“My girlfriend at CalArts…she hated kissing me—refused actually.”

“Do you have bad breath or something?”

Before I can respond, she practically crawls into my lap and puts her nose up to my surprised, open mouth.

“Wow, your breath is sweet, not bad at all.” She falls back to where she was sitting on the couch.

“Gee, thanks. No, my biggest problem is that I’m just stiff and awkward.”

“Oh, please…” She jumps up and reaches out for my hand. “I know I’m tipsy but never mind that. Do you want me to help you?”

“Sure, how?”

“I’m going to help you get over this crazy idea. Come on, stand up.”

I take her hand, and she pulls on me until I push myself up off the couch. I steady myself and smile to see her so serious, her fists perched authoritatively on her curvy hips.

“Okay,” she instructs. “Pretend I’m Dani and we’ve just had a date.” She starts pulling me forward.

Oh, good God,
I moan inwardly. This is really getting out of hand. I need to stop it, but like a car crash that you know you should avoid looking at, it seems beyond my control.

“So Dani is walking you to her door to say goodnight. What do you say?”

“Um, I had a great time?”

“No, that’s too generic. Make it about her. ‘Dani, I hope you know how much I love spending time with you
.’“
She takes my hand, as we get closer to the door. My fingers tighten over hers.

“Dani, I hope you know how much I love spending time with you,” I repeat, my heart thumping wildly with a mix of anticipation and fear.

“Can I see you again?” she asks in a low voice as we reach the door.

I swallow hard. “Can I see you again?” I whisper.

She pushes me against the door, and the look in her eyes undoes me. I forget that she is acting, demonstrating this scene for my benefit. All I can feel is this overwhelming passion I have for her. I’m already excited.
Can I, can I?

“Can I kiss you?” she asks with those beautiful eyes searching mine.

“Yes,” I whisper as she steps forward. I feel her hands rest on my chest first before they move up to my shoulders. A second passes, and then she’s so close to me that I can feel the heat from her skin, her full breasts skimming my chest.
Oh,
Brooke.

What if, like every other time in my intimate history, I’m disappointing? What if she gets disgusted and gives up on me? I’m overwhelmed with fear, but I close my eyes and reach for her with my heart and soul. I say a silent prayer that this will be a moment where my life changes course, all my wrongs with girls will be right…this will be the kiss that’ll change everything. Or will it?

“
Any more at home like you?” ~Lois Lane “Uh no, not really.” ~ Superman
^iv

T
he minute her perfect lips touch mine the room goes black, but not in a good way. I gasp and my body seizes into one rigid mess. I’m an awkward statue, a frozen failure.

Her tender hand wraps around my neck, and her lips soften and coax mine, but the ship has sailed. The weight of every horrible kiss from my past slams into me, and the little sign in the window sadly flips forward,
closed for business.

She presses on one more time, a hint of desperation and refusal to accept failure. This only makes things worse, and I pull away from her and raise my hands to cover my face.
No, no, no.

I must have actually said the words because I instantly hear her shift in voice and tenor. “It’s okay, Nathan, it’s okay. Please don’t freak out.”

I blindly reach out for the doorknob to make my escape. I twist and pull, but she sees what I’m doing and she pushes back.

“No,” she insists.

“Please, please…just let me leave. I’m so embarrassed. Please…” I moan.

“No,” she says with more conviction. “This is my fault. I pushed it, and I want to fix it.”

I open my eyes wide, and frustration washes over me. “You can’t fix me. I’m just messed up. Something’s wrong with me, and I’m just not meant to be like this with anyone normal.” My chest is heaving, and I can’t look at her. My eyes are focused on the door leading into the hallway.

“Please,” she begs, and I hear the tears in her voice before I finally look at her and see them trailing down her cheeks. I take off my glasses, and rub my eyes.

“Brooke, please don’t cry.” I feel even worse, if that’s possible.

“Will you just sit with me for a minute please?” she asks, gesturing towards the couch.

I nod and follow her over, and as I sit back down she turns off the TV and puts her iPod in the dock. The Cure comes on in their dreamy atmospheric splendor.
Oh great, emo music
, I think shuddering. A minute later Brooke hands me a small glass with clear liquid.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“A shot of vodka, drink it please. It’ll help relax you.”

I knock it back without a thought. She has me now, even if I’m worthless. I would probably do anything she asks. I look up and imagine I can see the wheels turning in her head. Like Geppetto from
Pinocchio
, she’s trying to figure out how to fix her broken toy.

She crawls onto the couch and curls up next to me, taking my hand and gently rubbing it. Just when I figure she’s given up, she speaks.

“Where is your favorite place to relax?”

Huh?
She’s pitching out of the left field.
I’m confused, but I still want to please her. I think for a moment.

“Well, probably my hammock in my backyard. I like to lie in that and think of story ideas while I sway in the breeze.”

“That’s good. Is it under a tree?”

“Yes, it’s in the shade, so it stays cool.”

“Good, okay.” She scoots over even closer to me, practically sitting in my lap.
What the hell? Could this night get any stranger?

She runs her fingers through my hair, and then starts rubbing my shoulders. “Close your eyes, Nathan. I want you to imagine that you are lying in your hammock, in the dappled light on a warm summer day.”

Her voice is soothing and soft, much prettier than Wayne Dyer’s. My head falls back on the cushions as her fingers move back up into my hair, and start massaging my scalp. No one has ever done this for me. It feels so good that I start to moan softly.

“Isn’t it wonderful in your hammock?” she asks.

“Yes,” I moan.
Keep rubbing Brooke.

She works over me for a long time. I am vaguely aware of one Cure song shifting to another, and the burn of the vodka spreading through my veins. I’m so relaxed that I’m somewhere between sleep and the waking world.

When she senses how far gone I am, she starts up again. “Now I want you to imagine that Dani is curled up next to you,” she says softly.

My stomach lurches, but I quickly remind myself to replace that image with Brooke, and I relax again. Her magic fingers are unraveling me. One hand moves back to my shoulder, and the other lightly strokes my neck, and then skims across my cheek. “You pull Dani closer as the breeze blows over you. She gently touches you, and with each stroke you relax further.”

I take a deep breath as I feel Brooke’s soft hands move over my chest. I feel my body relaxing, sinking into the couch.

“Now imagine her lips kissing your face gently.” I feel Brooke’s lips on my forehead as her hands weave through my hair. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this great. Every touch stirs and soothes me. She is a witch of unspeakable potions and spells, transforming me under her magic hands.

“Brooke,” I moan.

“Dani,” she corrects with a whisper.

Her lips brush across my cheek, and over my closed eyelids. I reach out and rest my hand on her hip.

It doesn’t fully hit me that she’s kissing me until my lips have already molded to hers in the most natural way. Her fingers work across my scalp as her tongue eases in, and suddenly my mouth understands the language it was meant to speak.

This is completely different in the best way, and we move together like the most graceful dancers. The push and pull, the building of passion, I am Gene Kelly to her Cyd Charisse. She makes me feel like I’m leading this dance even though I’m not. For these precious moments I am passion and romance, debonair and suave. I am the man I was supposed to be, and it’s so great.

My fingers sink into the flesh of her hip as I pull her closer once last time before we part. “Oh, my,” I moan, looking up at her.

“See, Nathan. I knew it was there all along, you just needed to quit thinking so much.”

“I just needed you,” I say unguardedly.

“Well, I’m glad I could help. You had me worried for a minute.” She runs her hand across my head and I see the warmth in her eyes. She does care about me. Maybe not in the way I want her to, but maybe more than I realize.

She eases off my lap until she’s sitting next to me on the couch. “But just for the record, you’re an amazing kisser. I forgot I was Dani for a moment.”

“Really?” I ask, trying to hide my happiness. “I kinda forgot you were Dani too.” I admit.

She looks at me but doesn’t say anything, as if she’s torn. She finally smoothes out her skirt, and sits up straight. “Well, I should get to bed. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow with my trainer at the gym. I’ll have to work off all that pizza and beer.”

“Okay,” I say. I stand up and follow her to the front door. Before I can figure out what to do, she pulls me into a hug. “Thanks again for fixing my computer. I really appreciate it.”

After we part, I shove my hands in my pockets and shuffle my feet. There’s so much I want to say, but I decide to keep it simple. “Hey, thanks for not giving up on me.”

“I had a good time tonight.
I hope you know how much I love spending time with you
.” She smiles as I realize she had just repeated my lines for Dani.

“I hope you know how much I love spending time with you,” I whisper.

“So I’ll see you at work Monday?” she half states, half asks.

“Four twenty-five, with a half-caf Soy caramel macchiato with three pumps, and a Splenda gently stirred in.”

“I like it sweet,” she teases.

I grin. “I know you do.”

As I reach her gate she buzzes me out, and I turn back one last time and wave. As happy as I am, my legs feel like lead with each step I take to my car. I don’t want to leave her. It’s as if a huge magnet is trying to pull me back. And as my car slowly winds down the road, I realize that everything I want is perched on that hill. All the way down, I memorize every turn and landmark, so I’ll always be able to find my way back to her.

• • •

“Mom,” I yell as I step through the door.

“In the kitchen,” she yells back.

I find her at the center island cutting up fruit. I kiss her on the cheek, and take a strawberry.

“How’s my boy?” she asks, looking up at me. I see something in her eyes. It’s curiosity mixed in with that all-knowing mom look. “You look different.”

“Different how?” I ask, a bit creeped out from my mom’s innate intuition. Can she tell I’m in love?

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out,” she says confidently. “How’s work?”

“Good, the same. They always want too much done in too little time. Guess what though? I was contacted by Sharper Edge Comics about my comic book.”

“Really, what did they want?”

“They’re interested in publishing it for me. That would be a wider distribution and more promotion.”

“Oh, that sounds great. Make sure and talk to Dad’s lawyers before you sign anything.”

“Don’t worry, I will. By the way where is Dad?”

“He and Curtis are already out playing.”

I start to head out the door.

“And Nathan, if he tries to get you to test the ball retriever out, watch your ankles. He hasn’t worked out all the kinks yet.”

“Okay, thanks for the warning.”

As I head over to the tennis court, I laugh at the idea of my dad working on a ball retriever. He loves tennis, but hates bending over to pick up balls. Dad is the wacky inventor who’s had great success with his unusual ideas. He’s invented countless things over the years and owns dozens of patents, but it’s a small group of his ideas that actually made him rich.

He isn’t an extravagant man. He still drives his old Honda Civic and shops weekly with my mom at Costco. He likes space around him, so their home in Pasadena is large and on a big piece of land. When the doctor told him he needed more exercise, he took up tennis, and built a court at the edge of the property. Now Curtis and I join him every Sunday to play.

“So you finally show up!” Curtis calls out with a grin when he sees me open the gate.

I look at my watch. “Hey, I’m only ten minutes late,” I respond. “Besides, you were a half hour late last week.” I turn towards Dad. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Son. You ready to kick his butt?”

“I’m sure going to try.”

Sadly the game goes as it always does, Curtis beating me, and Dad too while hardly breaking a sweat. He’s an athlete through and through, definitely a deviant in our family gene pool. I’ve always been more like my dad, non-athletic, quirky and a loner, slow to connect with people. If he hadn’t met my mom, he probably would’ve ended up one of those eccentric old guys with tall piles of newspapers stacked all over his house.

Mom serves brunch out on the patio since she doesn’t want our sweaty bodies on her nice upholstery. Big mouth Curtis pipes up before I’ve even taken a bite.