Just a Fan (5 page)

'Ah, she'll probably forget about it,' I replied dismissively, then smiled at him brightly. 'It's really nice of you to invite me, Connor - I know you must be busy nowadays.'

Connor shrugged.

'Well, the scripts I can usually get through easily enough now,' he said, as we began to walk up the pavement. 'And I have help if I need it.'

I nodded, unable to resist stealing a sideways glance at him. He looked very dashing indeed in his shirt, leather jacket, and smart jeans. I briefly wondered whether he, too, had perhaps wondered what to wear...but then again, did men even
have
those problems? I found my thoughts sidetracked again as I took in his soft, silky crown of luxurious dark curls, and the paleness of his legendary profile under the grey, cloudy sky. He'd probably get his tan back when he returned to the USA...I'd seen many candid pictures taken of him on Calfornian beaches, usually shirtless and wearing sunglasses that suited him marvellously. His chest, neck and shoulders were always burned a bright red and the rest of him toasted brown as he squinted happily from his deckchair. It was still hard to grasp that this much-sought-after man was with me now, walking me from my apartment -

'Hop in,' said Connor lightly, making me realise he had just stopped. I stopped too, turned to him, and then gawped at the vehicle he was getting out the keys for.

'This is your car?' I gasped. The sleek, sexy conveyance parked as naturally as anything between two scratched, dull Renaults seemed entirely unreal. The scarlet paintwork gleamed immaculately even without the sun.

Connor grinned modestly.

'Aye, my English one,' he replied, pressing the button to unlock the car doors with a smart click. 'I can't keep shipping one car back and forth between here and the US, so I have two. I remember desperately wanting a red car when I was wee...so now I have one. Of course, the roads get some getting used to whenever I switch from my American car to my English one, but luckily I've managed to not get arrested.'

A group of shabbily-dressed boys came by, and murmured in admiration amongst themselves - they were obviously automobile amateurs. One of them, a gangly youth in baggy trousers, came up to Connor.

'Ah, sweet ride, sir,' he said reverently. 'What make's it?'

'Mazda RX-8,' Connor replied with a grin, after a short reflective hesitation. I raised my eyebrows. The boys looked very impressed, and Connor appeared to be proud of his car too. All of them, and Connor included, seemed to share that universal, manly admiration for fast, sleek cars of any description. Even though I could see why, I just didn't understand why the technical parts like suspension, engine power and chassis fascinated them so.

Abruptly their little exchange was interrupted when one of the boys said in awe: 'Hey, wait - aren't you the dude with the sniper in
Heyday
?'

Connor inclined his head modestly. 'Aye, that's me,' he replied. This caused instant hubbub in the group.

'Oh, can we have your autograph?'

Connor looked at me. 'I'm so sorry, Lillian -' he began helplessly.

'It's OK, really it is,' I reassured him, sympathising with his situation. After much fuss, the boys produced a chewed biro and a white advert page in - surprise, surprise - a car tuning magazine, and Connor dutifully did the signing. I looked on with a smile, made even more aware of this man's sheer fame, and my own sheer
luck
to be actually out with him. In a purely friendly way, unfortunately, but still...

'Listen, guys, I'd better not keep my friend waiting,' Connor told them apologetically, showing me first-hand how respectful he was towards his fans. 'Nice meeting you!'

The boys all gave their own admiring farewells, and Connor gallantly turned back to me with a smile, motioning that I should get in. I obeyed him, opening the door and sitting myself down, and found the interior of the car to be just as posh as the exterior. The seats were pale, immaculate leather, and the rest of the car was surprisingly tidy, even though the dashboard compartment was crammed full of paperwork. I smiled as I noticed a tiny figure with synthetic red hair, fluffy beard and full kilted costume dangling from the rearview mirror. Connor got in beside me, closing the door.

'Sorry about that,' he apologised, putting the keys in the ignition.

'No worries,' I replied, then found my gaze drawn once more to the hairy, kilted little figure hanging by a glittery string from the mirror. 'Who's this?' I asked, smiling.

'Who - oh,
that
?' Connor said with a chuckle. 'That there's Angus. One of my mates back in Scotland gave him to me. Keeps me company while I'm driving.'

He started the car, and soon pulled out from his parking space. I watched him from the corner of my eye.
How does a movie star drive?
I wondered as I took in the reflexive way he changed gears, the serious look in his eyes when watching the road. He drove just like a normal person, really.
Both
hands on the wheel, too, as the car's engine purred smoothly beneath the glossy bonnet.

I just knew I was going to have fun today.

* * *

The Red Terrace café was a lovely little place that had just been opened in the downtown area next to a small park. It had tables and chairs outdoors as well as indoors, but most of the visitors seemed to be inside due to the depressing cloudy gloom of the skies. After Connor had parked his sleek Mazda in the available parking lot, the two of us crossed the road and entered the café.

Inside, the space was confined, but very cosy indeed. It was decorated in summery shades of red and breezy whites, and most of the tables were occupied. Couples and groups of chattering friends sat drinking their coffees or tucking into late lunches, and I cast a worried glance at Connor. He only grinned at me and winked.

'Shall we be rebels and sit outside?' he offerred.

I smiled back. 'I'm up for that,' I replied, and so we went out of the café's second glass door, which led out onto a small paved area bordered on two sides with short, decorative fencing painted red. We were the only ones outside, which meant we wouldn't have to talk over the noise of other people.

We sat down at a table near the far right side of the red-fenced patio, which was partially obscured from the view of the road by the large bushes of the adjacent park.

'This is a nice place,' I remarked. 'The patio bit leads right into the little park...'

'If you're cold out here we can always go inside,' Connor said, but I shook my head.

'I'm fine! I've got my coat, and it's better out here than in there with all those people,' I told him. Connor smiled.

'Aye, I think it's nice outside,' he replied, then tilted his head back to squint at the sky. 'It's just cloudy, not rainy. Trust me, I know when rain's coming...not like those people are inside just because of a few
clouds
. Back in Glasgow the rain was just terrible...especially around this time of year. That's why clouds have never scared
me
away...' He smiled thoughtfully. 'And to tell you the truth, I kinda missed this type of cloudy weather when I was away in the US. This weather's just so...
English
. It's great. And it reminds me of home, too...'

I smiled and nodded. 'I find cloudy skies like this quite peaceful,' I said musingly. 'I don't know why. Bright, boiling sunlight is what I don't like...the type that shines right in your eyes but everyone seems to go crazy about.'

Connor laughed in agreement, but before he could reply, a waitress skipped up to us from indoors.

'Hi, can I get you anything?' she simpered, more to Connor than to me. I couldn't blame her; Connor was quite a vision, reclining regally in his chair, his handsome face bathed in muted sunlight. However, the smile she was giving him was so openly flirtatious, and her skirt was so short that I didn't feel much sympathy for her. Connor didn't even seem to notice the pretty waitress's looks, and just ordered normally without a single note of interest in his voice.

'Yeah - one coffee, please, and, er...?' He raised his eyebrows questioningly at me.

'A mocha for me,' I supplied.

'One coffee, one mocha,' the waitress repeated, her eyes quickly going back to Connor before she sauntered back inside.
Haha, he's all mine today
, I inwardly laughed at her. Who would have thought...? I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

'So...' I began conversationally. 'How's life?'

Connor shrugged. 'It's good,' he replied simply. 'Well, there's hard work, but I get to have a lot of fun, too.'
I bet you do
, I thought to myself, suddenly remembering photos I had seen of him in the climactic hours of a party, lying full-length on his back across the laps of about eight pretty young ladies, who were all laughing while Connor himself - who had presumably had a few drinks too many - grinned with both thumbs up from his recumberent position.

'You said you weren't always well-known,' I said, to chase away that mental image. 'It must be really different for you now.'

He chuckled, looking down and consequently making me notice how lovely and dark his eyelashes were. 'Aye, I suppose it is different,' he replied, leaning his elbows on the table as a faraway look came into his eyes. 'I'd say I'm much happier now, even though there are things about my past life that I miss.' A soft, confiding tone had crept into his voice. His life before his rise to fame had obviously marked him greatly, and I felt touched that he was beginning to share it with me. 'For instance, there's always -'

'Here we go!
One
coffee,' said the waitress with a flourish, appearing next to Connor and setting down a steaming cup before him, 'and a mocha,' she added with considerably less enthusiasm in her voice, placing mine on the table too.

'Thank you.'

'Thanks.'

As the waitress left us, I cursed her for having interrupted the story Connor had been about to share with me. Grimly, I took the packet of sugar from my saucer and tore it open, tipping the white powder into my mocha in a hissing stream. Connor sipped his coffee as it was.

'Not bad,' he commented idly, looking down into his cup. I took a sip of mine, too.

'Mmm,' I agreed. 'Lovely.'
I hope the waitress didn't spit in it - she did give me a pretty jealous look back there
...I thought wryly, but my mocha seemed to be un-tampered with. Looking up, I saw that Connor's eyes were glazed, as if he was lost in thought. This expression of his was interesting and new to me, because I usually saw him alert and full of life, even when acting. Now he seemed so natural, so...reachable.

My gaze went down to where his hand was resting on the tabletop beside his coffee. He had quite large hands, with long fingers. The nails looked a little picked, though, and he had a healing graze on his thumb. He was probably specially manicured for some of his films, I realised. Shame...the rough appearance was quite cute.

The table we sat at was round with a pearl-grey top, and it wasn't all that big - which meant that Connor's hand was well within reach of mine. I felt my heart give an odd leap; whether it was the sugar in my mocha going to my head or not, I suddenly felt the urge to touch that casually placed hand of his. After all, he had been confiding in me quite a bit since we had met, and maybe I could pass it off as a comforting, friendly gesture if things went wrong...