Listen to the girl...
I was looking at my friends' friends' page last night, and saw a challenge to write a fic based on your current default icon. I've had Bob & Charlotte in my head for the last month anyhow, so I decided to take the challenge. Here is Lost in Time.
One day from now, he will land in L.A., and she'll catch up with John at a Tokyo train station. Both spouses will startle them with rare intuitive questions - "Did something happen while I was gone?" from John, "What are you so grumpy about?" from Lydia.
Bob and Charlotte both square their shoulders, gaze straight ahead, and smile. "Nothing," they both say.
One month from now, he will get his coat back from the cleaner's and, feeling something hard in the inner breast pocket, pull out a matchbook cover with a phone number scribbled on it in blue ink that somehow had hardly run.
Bob will dial it, twice. Once, he hangs up just before the beep of her voice mail; the other time, he hangs up as she catches him off-balance with a warm, quizzical hello.
Six months from now, Charlotte will cajole Bob's voice mail number out of some dumb fuck in his agent's office by saying she's her husband's assistant and wants to use Bob in a series of shots. She'll call three times, eventually leaving a stilted message. After she hangs up, she'll realize she didn't leave her new phone number.
He will get the message and save it, but will not call back.
One year from now, she will find out she is pregnant. Her husband's joy will make her feel guilty for considering abortion; anyhow, she'll decide, motherhood might be what she is meant for.
John will shoot down her suggestion of Robert as a middle name.
Five years from now, she will get a divorce on the same day that Bob finishes his screenplay, "One Week in Tokyo." It is about an aging ad salesman who has a brief, yet poignant, affair with a young Japanese housewife. He will type the last line, read it through as his eyes mist up, print out a copy for his files, and then delete the document.
Seven years from now, she will sell her first novel, about a young woman's relationship with an older stage actor, and will vehemently deny that it is autobiographic. Bob will buy eight copies.
Ten years from now, she will glance at Entertainment Tonight out of the corner of her eye and see a still shot of him. He's been killed in a car crash, the host solemnly announces. Her son will notice her staring at the set and ask why, and anyhow mom where's dinner you promised we'd have chicken nuggets.
She'll shake her head, shut the TV off, and step over her laptop and a couple zillion Legos on her way to the kitchen.
One day from now, he will land in L.A., and she'll catch up with John at a Tokyo train station. Both spouses will startle them with rare intuitive questions - "Did something happen while I was gone?" from John, "What are you so grumpy about?" from Lydia.
Bob and Charlotte both square their shoulders, gaze straight ahead, and smile. "Nothing," they both say.
One month from now, he will get his coat back from the cleaner's and, feeling something hard in the inner breast pocket, pull out a matchbook cover with a phone number scribbled on it in blue ink that somehow had hardly run.
Bob will dial it, twice. Once, he hangs up just before the beep of her voice mail; the other time, he hangs up as she catches him off-balance with a warm, quizzical hello.
Six months from now, Charlotte will cajole Bob's voice mail number out of some dumb fuck in his agent's office by saying she's her husband's assistant and wants to use Bob in a series of shots. She'll call three times, eventually leaving a stilted message. After she hangs up, she'll realize she didn't leave her new phone number.
He will get the message and save it, but will not call back.
One year from now, she will find out she is pregnant. Her husband's joy will make her feel guilty for considering abortion; anyhow, she'll decide, motherhood might be what she is meant for.
John will shoot down her suggestion of Robert as a middle name.
Five years from now, she will get a divorce on the same day that Bob finishes his screenplay, "One Week in Tokyo." It is about an aging ad salesman who has a brief, yet poignant, affair with a young Japanese housewife. He will type the last line, read it through as his eyes mist up, print out a copy for his files, and then delete the document.
Seven years from now, she will sell her first novel, about a young woman's relationship with an older stage actor, and will vehemently deny that it is autobiographic. Bob will buy eight copies.
Ten years from now, she will glance at Entertainment Tonight out of the corner of her eye and see a still shot of him. He's been killed in a car crash, the host solemnly announces. Her son will notice her staring at the set and ask why, and anyhow mom where's dinner you promised we'd have chicken nuggets.
She'll shake her head, shut the TV off, and step over her laptop and a couple zillion Legos on her way to the kitchen.