…compared to what I normally write, that is.
For the last couple days i’ve had this scene rolling around in my skull and finally decided to put it down on paper, so to speak. It belongs to a project that I probably won’t get to for some time titled: The Island Of Sean. I decided to share it with you all and see what you think while its fresh in my mind. I suppose the story overall would be like a not-so-innocent-romantic-comedy-thingy.
Eh, anyway, read below…
THE ISLAND OF SEAN
Chelsea’s First Day
Standing six feet, five inches tall with brown-skin, Sean waits at red light holding a document portfolio watching a torrent of cars roar pass him.
The heat from the blaring sun bears down on him. Perspiration trickles down his back. He reaches inside his dark-blue suit jacket and pulls his shirt away from his moist, itchy armpits.
A click-clocking sound rises behind him and halts just at his side. He turns to his right and a petite woman, in her twenties, smiles up at him with short, close-cropped red hair and freckles.
He gives her a curt nod.
She adjusts the strap of her black shoulder bag, looks him up and down, then winks at him. “You coming?” She walks into the street, red-bottom high heels click-clocking away.
He lowers his brow, then reaches out for her, but drops his hand noticing the idling cars at the crosswalk and the green light glaring at him across the street.
A mob of pedestrians rush pass him and he hurries to match their pace. Scanning through the crowd, he catches the back of the young redhead and just as she reaches the other side of the street, she stops and turns around, arms folded, grinning at him.
He cocks an eyebrow, looks straight over her head and walks pass her. She follows him, matching his stride, click-clocking beside him. He glances down at her with a furrowed brow. Her eyes brighten and she laughs, covering her mouth with a hand.
She clears her throat. “Hey, do you like me?” She asks.
The furrows in his brow deepen. “Um, I don’t even know you.” He keeps walking, looking straight ahead.
She steps in front of him, walking backwards, and tilts her head to the side. “Are you attracted to me?”
He stops in his tracks parting the stream of pedestrians around them. “What?”
“Do you like the way I look?” She does a slow spin gesturing at herself, then folds her arms, jutting her hip out to the side, cheesing.
He clears his throat. “Well, um…” he eyes her slight yet curvy figure outlined in her sleeveless black dress, the hem stopping just above her knees exposing her toned calves. He averts his gaze and looks straight into her brown eyes. “What? Why? What are you doing?” he waves a dismissive hand.
She tip-toes up to him and whispers in his ear. “I’m trying to pick you up.” Her cool breath on his neck sends a chill down his spine and she backs away covering her smile with a hand.
He blinks at her perplexed, checks his watch, looks up at the blue sky, then back into her twinkling eyes. “Is this a joke? What day is it?”
She offers a dainty hand. “Hi, I’m Chelsea. What’s your name?”
Pursing his lips he eyes her hand, then gives it a gentle shake. “…Sean.”
“So, where are you going, Sean?” She raises her brow.
“Um, nowhere. Home.”
She scans him head to toe. “Then, where are you coming from?”
“Job interview.” He looks about the sidewalk, at the rushing pedestrians, and the busy storefronts. “Is this a hidden camera show or something?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Want to have lunch?”
“What?” he blinks.
She reaches up and straightens his tie. “My treat since, you know, you’re looking for a job and all.”
He cocks his head to the side, licks his lips, then shrugs. “Okay, sure. Where exactly?”
“How about here?” She points to the storefront beside them.
He turns to a little bistro noticing the round tables and chairs setup outside peppered with patrons eating, talking, and laughing. Through the glass front doors he can see silhouettes busily moving about.
He tongues the back of his bottom teeth. “Well, isn’t that ironic.” he mutters.
“Come on.” She heads for the doors, holding a hand out to him.
“No. Wait.” he reaches for her.
Her smile falters and she walks back to him. “What’s wrong?”
He eyes her, opens his mouth to speak, but takes a breath and looks away.
She steps into his field of view, smile completely gone from her face. “What wrong, Sean?”
He shakes his head. “Look…Chelsea? What’s this about? Who are you? What do you want from me?”
She looks down, then up at him, smile returning. “I told you.”
He sighs. “Yeah, but…”
His gaze darts about. “Look, how old are you? You must be about twenty–“
“Six” she grins.
He cocks an eyebrow.
“Thirty…five?” she laughs.
“Thirty-Eight.” He scratches his head managing a grin. “So…?”
“So…?” She arches her brow with a sly grin.
He clears his throat. “I mean…why?”
She looks off to the side in thought, then back to him. “I know what I like.”
“And you like me?” He points to himself. “You don’t even know me.”
She smiles up to the sky then to him. “Okay. Is there something wrong with you?”
He chuckles. “Well, no, but I mean…you know, I’m black and…you’re white…”
Her eyes widen and she explodes with laughter. “Oh, my god. Are you serious?”
He sighs; giving passersby’s a weary smile as their gazes turn towards the outburst.
“I’m sorry but,” she catches her breath. “Isn’t this how it normally happens? Granted the gender roles are usually reversed, but” she looks off, her gaze seeming to turn inward. “A guy sees a girl he likes and does whatever he has to do to get to know her?”
He purses his lips. “Yeah, but…”
She sighs, her eyes dimming. “Why are you fighting this, Sean?”
He looks away, brow wrinkled in thought, then turns back to her expectant gaze. “You know,” He shakes his head. “I really don’t know.”
Her eyes brighten. “Then don’t.” She brushes something off his shoulder.
“Stop it.” She puts a finger to his lips.
They stare at each other, a grumbling giant silenced by a slender fairy.
Muffled music starts playing.
“Hold on a sec.” she removes her finger and digs into her shoulder bag. She pulls out a cell phone, looks at the screen, then rolls her eyes.
“Excuse me.” She winks at him, then partially turns away putting the phone to her ear. “Hey.” She answers.
He studies her, the freckles on face, the natural shade of red in her hair and eyebrows, the way the sun lightens the brown of her eyes after she blinks.
“Yes. I know.” She informs her caller. Her brow lowers and she wrinkles her nose. “Right now?”
Sean shakes his head and checks his watch. He steps in front of her, drawing her attention, and mouths. “I’m going to go.” He points up the street.
She grabs him by the tie. “Wait.” She mouths back.
He looks down, frowning at her grip on his tie, then at her.
She releases his tie and holds her hand up to him in a halting motion.
“Yeah, okay, whatever.” She barks into the phone. “I’m sure you can find me.” She pulls the phone from her ear and sighs. Turning back to him, her smile clicks on like a spotlight.
Still frowning, he flattens the front of his suit jacket and straightens his tie.
Her eyes flicker to his chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry for doing that.” She giggles into her hand. “I just didn’t want you to leave yet.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I see.”
“Look, I have to go.” She digs into her shoulder bag, pulls out a black business card, and hands it to him. “But call me so we can go out.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Okay.” He takes the card.
A black car with tented windows pulls up beside them. A stone-faced gentleman steps out of the passenger side dressed in a black suit. He strides to the back passenger door, pulls and holds it open, and stares straight ahead.
She back pedals towards the vehicle, still smiling at Sean. “Well, duty calls.” She winks, then turns, rushing to the car.
The stone-faced man nods to her as she steps down into the vehicle, then he closes the door.
Sean stares, brow knitted, lips pressed together, watching the man stride back to his seat and pull his door closed.
The back passenger window rolls down and Chelsea leans her head out. “You better call me, Sean.” She shouts with a grin, pointing a finger. “And send me your resume.”
She leans back and rolls up the window as the car pulls off into traffic.
He stands there, document portfolio in one hand, black business card in his other, looking about the street confused.
“What the hell was that?” He mutters.