Life & Times of Rob Pattinson (Chapter One)
The first official chapter of Life & Times of Rob Pattinson. This is the individual introductions. Hope you like it!
“This is ridiculous!”
Rob turned toward the voice, thinking it was directed at him. It was early morning-the sun was barely peeking over the Hollywood horizon-and this section of the lot was mostly empty. Only a few assistants and extras that would be appearing in the reshoot with him wandered about, heads low, mouths wide in yawning, Starbucks Styrofoam cups grasped tightly between their hands. The person who’d spoken, he realized, was faced away from him. All he could see was the back of a female figure, red hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck, a pencil-he couldn’t help but grin-stabbed between the elastic and her skull, and a mobile pressed close to one ear.
“I just… No. No. Ugh,” she let out a loud groan that made Rob step back about a foot. “You know what? Let me talk to Martin. No, I want to talk to Martin. Hey…it’s a good script, dammit!” She pulled the mobile away from her face and stared at it for several beats, obviously trying to figure out if she’d really just been hung up on. Then she snapped it shut and shoved it into the pocket of her torn blue jeans.
Behind her, Rob could no longer suppress the little chuckle that had been building in his throat-the movie business was a tough and brutal one. Bad for actors, worse for writers. Though he was sure he was quiet in his laughter, the woman spun on him, eyes irritated and impatient. “Hey, you,” she snapped without taking a good look at him, “Do you know where I can find Alix Austin at and holy crap it’s you again.” Rob’s mind had immediately focused in on Alix Austin-the director of the film he was currently working on-so he didn’t register the second part of her statement until a few moments later. Then he blinked and looked her over quickly-jeans, t-shirt, red-brown hair, thick construction-worker boots. He did recognize her, but from where?
As if sensing this silent question, the woman continued, “I was at Antrim a few nights ago. Played the cello. You complimented me. You were there signing up for-okay, stop me when something rings a bell.”
Rob felt himself grin at this. People weren’t usually so forthright with him. It seemed like, nowadays, everyone seemed so desperate to impress him that no one ever seemed to be really real in his presence. He missed that. He missed attitude and true emotion. And then it clicked, and his grin widened, “Yeah, I remember. You did the Tchaikovsky piece, right?” The woman nodded absentmindedly at this, eyes scanning the almost-barren lot-he wasn’t used to not having people’s full attention either. “You were really good; what’s your name?”
“Delaney Callaghan,” she focused on him again, sticking out her hand.
He shook it, “Robert Pattinson.” He dropped his hands back to his sides, shoving them into the pockets of today’s chosen denim jacket. When Delaney raised her eyebrows at him pointedly, he took the hint and shrugged his shoulders. “Alix is probably at Kraft Services; she likes to load up on doughnuts before the rest of us can get to them.”
She let out a breath and nodded, a small smirk tugging at her lip, “Right. Okay, I should go, then. You know,” she sighed heavily, “People to see, scripts to pitch-work, work, work. Thanks for your help. Bye!” Before he could answer, she’d finished her quick words and was walking with incredible speed toward the main building, where Kraft Services had set up.
Rob watched her go, brow furrowed, “Erm…bye.” He turned then, shrugging it off, and started for his trailer.
--
“Okay, this is ridiculous.”
Rob’s eyes snapped open and darted to the left. It was the second time he’d heard those words in the past hour, and he wondered if Delaney had somehow wandered into the Hair & Make-Up trailer, still searching for Alix Austin. It wasn’t her, though. Instead, the woman standing behind the chair next a few feet from his checked her watch and let out an impatient sigh, foot tapping against the linoleum-tiled floor.
Rita, Rob’s hair and make-up artist, frowned and shook her head sympathetically and started in with her gentle Alabama drawl, “Just give him a while longer, sugar. Close your eyes,” she added to Rob, who complied long enough for her to spread a coat of base over each eyelid, then they fluttered open again, long lashes brushing against her fingers as they pulled away.
The other artist rolled her eyes toward the door. “I never figured him for one of those diva, late-for-everything kind of guys.”
“He’s not,” Rita pointed out as she began painting a black eye on her client. “You’ve never worked with a high profile actor before, darling, so you don’t understand: Things come up. He probably got called in for reshoots on the show.”
“I know,” the woman grumbled reluctantly, running a hand through her blonde-and-red hair. “It’s just that I blew off a pretty good modeling job to work on this set, and I have nothing to do.”
Rita smiled, putting down her brush. “Well, here-why don’t you finish up Robert while I run to get us some coffee? Really, I don’t mind.” After a few minutes of persuasion-during which, the swollen purple bubble pasted beneath Rob’s eye started to itch and burn like no other, but he kept silent-Rita left for the coffee machine and the other artist took her spot behind Rob. Once he saw her full reflection in the mirror, his eyebrows shot up, causing the pasted bruise to burn even more.
“I know you,” he told her matter-of-factly. “How do I know you?”
“What? Oh, right,” she picked up a make-up brush and moved around him to finish the colouring on his eye. Up close, he could see the flash of her nose ring every time she moved her head. “I didn’t mention it before because I figured you wouldn’t remember-you came into Antrim while I was performing the other night.” Another one? Rob laughed within his own mind-what were the odds? “I’m Lindsay. Lindsay Colvin.”
“Robert Pattinson,” he replied automatically, desperately trying to fight back the watering in his eyes as the paste began searing through his skin.
“Hm, I had no idea,” she told him with good-humoured sarcasm. “Oh, well, crap,” her ocean-blue eyes narrowed on something, “She put this on all wrong.” She picked up a bottle and let some liquid drip against his skin before gently pulling the pasted piece from his face, careful not to hurt him in the process. Once it was off and the cool air brushed against his cheek, the burning faded almost immediately. “Oh, thank god,” he mumbled quietly as she began reapplying the piece with a different adhesive.
“Better?” She asked as she began repainting the bruise.
“Much,” he breathed with relief. “Oh, by the way, I thought you sang beautifully at the club. ‘The Man That Got Away,’ right?” She nodded absently, entirely focused on finishing his make-up. “Dinah Washington?” He inquired.
She shook her head, “Judy Garland.”
“Ah.” Several minutes passed in silence-Rob noted how entranced Lindsay seemed to be in her work. She scrutinized every detail, determined to make it perfect. It was admirable-he liked people that took their work seriously-but at the same time, he hated unending silences. “Hugh really isn’t usually late,” he noted.
She scoffed and shook her head, “Is that true, or is this some kind of ‘Brit boys stick up for each other’ kind of thing?”
“Nah,” Rob told her with a straight face. “I’m from London. He’s from Oxford. Our people are as hateful of each other as the Chinese and the Mongolians.” When Lindsay’s eyes shot to his to see if he was serious, his straight face broke and he laughed easily. It was infectious, and soon the artist was smiling and laughing lightly to herself, rolling her eyes at him.
In the next moment, the door popped open and Rita’s voice floated through, “Guess who I found hoarding doughnuts with Alix?”
“Hello, love,” an old-fashioned English accent called, “I’m ready to be made pretty.”
--
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
What?! Rob’s mind snapped. Was it possible to be stalked by a phrase? He’d finished up on set an hour before-around 1100-and had almost succeeded in forgetting all about the two women he’d met so far. Now he was standing outside of Antrim and the tall woman sitting against the brick wall-cigarette in one hand, pencil in the other, poised above a spiral notebook-was bringing it all back.
She looked up at him, “What, what?” For a moment, he wondered if she was some kind of mind reader. Then he took in the way her forehead wrinkled under her brown-and-red striped hair, standing on the line between confusion and anger, and he realized that he’d actually said the word aloud. When he didn’t answer immediately, she exhaled through her nose and looked back at her notebook, “Okay. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”
He shifted awkwardly and brushed a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I just…I was thinking about something.”
“Stressful day in the world of acting?” He started a little, before common sense came back to him. He still wasn’t quite used to people knowing who he was and what he did at every turn.
“I suppose you could say that.”
She took another drag of her cigarette and wrote a quick sentence on her page, punctuating it with a dark question mark, and closed the notebook. “I’ll make you a drink.” She started to stand but Rob shook his head and leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder, gesturing for her to sit back down. She complied, but turned two confused crystal eyes up at him.
He shrugged-he seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Actually, do you think I could bum one of those?” He nodded toward the cigarette in her hand and she cocked her head to the side, fishing the pack out of her pocket and holding it out to him. Marlboro Reds. Not his favourite, but they would do. He took one with a nod and worked the lighter out of the plastic covering of the pack, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag before handing the pack back. He blew the smoke out through his nose and rocked on his heels, “So, what’s ridiculous?”
“Excuse me?”
“When I walked up,” he elaborated, “You said something was ridiculous.”
She glanced back at her notebook and side, flipping through its pages aimlessly. “Writer’s block. I’m trying to finish this chapter for a story, but I’m stuck, and it’s just…”
“Ridiculous,” Rob filled in and she nodded, still not smiling. The actor was struck with a wave of confusion. So far today, he’d been faced with many things he wasn’t used to. Delaney and her forthrightness. Lindsay and her focus in his presence. Now this woman-
“What’s your name?”
“Thalia.” He looked at her, and she took the hint and added, “Azure.”
Thalia Azure-who wasn’t charmed into smiling by him. What a strange day. And then, “Weren’t you tending on Open-Mic Night?”
“I’m tending almost every night,” she affirmed, blowing smoke up to the sky.
He thought for a moment, trying to figure out how else he recognized her. “Your name,” he realized, “It sounds very familiar.”
She shrugged, grinding her cigarette out on the sidewalk. “You might have worked with my brother before.” She struggled to pull herself into a standing position, brushing dirt from the back of her dark jeans. “Dreyton Azure? He’s a songwriter.”
“Oh, right!” Rob nodded enthusiastically, remembering the man. “He wrote the songs for a movie I was in; he’s brilliant. Fun guy, too, your brother.”
“Groovy,” Thalia muttered, looking around. “So, I assume you’re here to confirm your spot?” He nodded, and she jerked her thumb toward the door. “Well, Roger’s inside. While you’re at it, could you tell him I’m going to lunch?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rob said as she began walking away, shocked by how abruptly she’d ended their conversation. Really, he wanted to shout, What is going on with me and women today?
--
“This is-“ Instinctively, Rob reached out and closed a hand over the young woman’s mouth before she could get the last word out. He’d stopped by Musicians Institute to see a music professor he worked with from time to time, but had ended up pressing himself against the back wall of the room while the class took turns playing an assigned piece on various instruments. A young woman in the back row, with long dark hair that fell in graceful curls to her elbows, fumbled slightly over a complicated chord change on her guitar. Frustrated, she’d started to say those words Rob had been hearing all day.
“Mmph,” she cried, green eyes wide and startled. Realizing what he’d just done, Rob quickly drew back his hand and the woman finished her sentence softly, “Ridiculous.”
All eyes had turned toward them and Rob shuffled back awkwardly, “Sorry.”
Professor Herdte smiled kindly and tapped her pencil against her podium, regaining the attention of the many young women who’d taken to ogling the sudden celebrity appearance. “Class,” she said, her voice projecting, but not harsh, “We’ll end early today. Practice, practice, practice, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.” The students started packing up their things, choruses of giggles echoing around the acoustics of the room. The women crawled by slowly, eyes trailing on Rob as they left. Two were brave enough to ask for photos and autographs, which he gave graciously, holding his Charm Smile in place. Once they were gone, however, he rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
The young women he’d startled was still sitting in her seat, playing over her piece again, trying desperately to master the chord change. Rob took a few steps forward and smiled down at her apologetically, “I’m sorry about that. It was kind of a…what do they call it? A knee-jerk reaction?”
She kept her eyes on her sheet music, biting her lip shyly. “I, um,” she mumbled, fingers still moving over her guitar, “I don’t really know.” Even at low volume, Rob detected a faint Texas twang to her voice. It made her shyness seem even more charming.
“Ah, well,” Rob took a seat in the chair next to her, “Anyway, I didn’t mean to scare you or embarrass you.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted quietly, but the pink shade that spread across her cheekbones suggested otherwise. She tripped over the loop once more and growled. It wasn’t what Rob would have expected-she was small and soft-spoken, so he expected her growl to sound more like a kitten purring. He was wrong. This was a true, guttural, utterly frustrated growl. It reminded him of the vampire sound effects they’d had to use on the Twilight set.
He took pity on her. “Here,” he said, holding out his hands. She reluctantly released her guitar to him, careful to avoid touching his hands during the hand-off. “It’s difficult to get, but once you get it right the first time, you’ll have it down.” He started strumming, but then stopped, “Wait-“ a sickeningly familiar feeling washed over him for the third time that day. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I? No, don’t tell me,” he said when she opened her mouth to answer. He blinked and chuckled ruefully, “You performed at Antrim on Open-Mic Night.” When he opened his eyes, she was nodding shyly, cheeks an even darker red than before. He didn’t mean to embarrass her, but it seemed almost hard not to. She would have been perfect in the place of Kristen during the blushing scenes of Twilight; she was good at it. Deciding the lighten the mood, he started strumming again and asked, “So, what’s your name?”
She cleared her throat and inhaled deeply, “Um, Louise. Louise Carter.”
“Louise.” He nodded and played the loop again, “All right, watch my fingers, okay?” He played it twice more, going through slowly at first to show her how his fingers moved, then quicker until he was playing at the correct speed. She watched intently, avoiding his eyes.
“Thankyou,” she said suddenly as he started through it again, “I think I’d like to try it again.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the guitar and handed it back to her, “Of course. Give it a go.” She played through it twice. The first time, she fumbled, but she got it right the second time and gave herself a tiny victory smile. What was different about her reaction to him? Rob wondered, because the other three Antrim girls had showed him something different. With Louise, he decided, she seemed almost desperate to put a distance between them.
At the front of the room, Professor Herdte cleared her throat and smiled, “Robert-did you need to see me.”
He nodded to her, “Yes. Yes, I did.” He turned back to Louise and gave her his kindest, most easing smile, “You’re doing great. I’ll see you around, Louise.”
She glanced at him quickly, offering him the smallest of shy smiles, “Thankyou.” He smirked at her before standing and walking to the front of the room. As soon as he was gone, she laid her guitar in its case and secured it, leaving before he had the chance to turn around.
--
It was almost midnight before Rob got back to his apartment. He’d gone out drinking with a few friends, but no amount of scotch could make him forget about the four women he’d met today. As he stumbled through his residence, stripping off his jacket and boots as he went, he played the separate encounters over in his head. Four women, all different in more ways than one. All with unusual reactions to him. All branching from that one night at Antrim. What were the odds?
As he fell into bed, he closed his eyes and groaned. Only three words seemed suitable for this situation, and they were the words he’d been trying to avoid all day.
“This is ridiculous."
“This is ridiculous!”
Rob turned toward the voice, thinking it was directed at him. It was early morning-the sun was barely peeking over the Hollywood horizon-and this section of the lot was mostly empty. Only a few assistants and extras that would be appearing in the reshoot with him wandered about, heads low, mouths wide in yawning, Starbucks Styrofoam cups grasped tightly between their hands. The person who’d spoken, he realized, was faced away from him. All he could see was the back of a female figure, red hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck, a pencil-he couldn’t help but grin-stabbed between the elastic and her skull, and a mobile pressed close to one ear.
“I just… No. No. Ugh,” she let out a loud groan that made Rob step back about a foot. “You know what? Let me talk to Martin. No, I want to talk to Martin. Hey…it’s a good script, dammit!” She pulled the mobile away from her face and stared at it for several beats, obviously trying to figure out if she’d really just been hung up on. Then she snapped it shut and shoved it into the pocket of her torn blue jeans.
Behind her, Rob could no longer suppress the little chuckle that had been building in his throat-the movie business was a tough and brutal one. Bad for actors, worse for writers. Though he was sure he was quiet in his laughter, the woman spun on him, eyes irritated and impatient. “Hey, you,” she snapped without taking a good look at him, “Do you know where I can find Alix Austin at and holy crap it’s you again.” Rob’s mind had immediately focused in on Alix Austin-the director of the film he was currently working on-so he didn’t register the second part of her statement until a few moments later. Then he blinked and looked her over quickly-jeans, t-shirt, red-brown hair, thick construction-worker boots. He did recognize her, but from where?
As if sensing this silent question, the woman continued, “I was at Antrim a few nights ago. Played the cello. You complimented me. You were there signing up for-okay, stop me when something rings a bell.”
Rob felt himself grin at this. People weren’t usually so forthright with him. It seemed like, nowadays, everyone seemed so desperate to impress him that no one ever seemed to be really real in his presence. He missed that. He missed attitude and true emotion. And then it clicked, and his grin widened, “Yeah, I remember. You did the Tchaikovsky piece, right?” The woman nodded absentmindedly at this, eyes scanning the almost-barren lot-he wasn’t used to not having people’s full attention either. “You were really good; what’s your name?”
“Delaney Callaghan,” she focused on him again, sticking out her hand.
He shook it, “Robert Pattinson.” He dropped his hands back to his sides, shoving them into the pockets of today’s chosen denim jacket. When Delaney raised her eyebrows at him pointedly, he took the hint and shrugged his shoulders. “Alix is probably at Kraft Services; she likes to load up on doughnuts before the rest of us can get to them.”
She let out a breath and nodded, a small smirk tugging at her lip, “Right. Okay, I should go, then. You know,” she sighed heavily, “People to see, scripts to pitch-work, work, work. Thanks for your help. Bye!” Before he could answer, she’d finished her quick words and was walking with incredible speed toward the main building, where Kraft Services had set up.
Rob watched her go, brow furrowed, “Erm…bye.” He turned then, shrugging it off, and started for his trailer.
--
“Okay, this is ridiculous.”
Rob’s eyes snapped open and darted to the left. It was the second time he’d heard those words in the past hour, and he wondered if Delaney had somehow wandered into the Hair & Make-Up trailer, still searching for Alix Austin. It wasn’t her, though. Instead, the woman standing behind the chair next a few feet from his checked her watch and let out an impatient sigh, foot tapping against the linoleum-tiled floor.
Rita, Rob’s hair and make-up artist, frowned and shook her head sympathetically and started in with her gentle Alabama drawl, “Just give him a while longer, sugar. Close your eyes,” she added to Rob, who complied long enough for her to spread a coat of base over each eyelid, then they fluttered open again, long lashes brushing against her fingers as they pulled away.
The other artist rolled her eyes toward the door. “I never figured him for one of those diva, late-for-everything kind of guys.”
“He’s not,” Rita pointed out as she began painting a black eye on her client. “You’ve never worked with a high profile actor before, darling, so you don’t understand: Things come up. He probably got called in for reshoots on the show.”
“I know,” the woman grumbled reluctantly, running a hand through her blonde-and-red hair. “It’s just that I blew off a pretty good modeling job to work on this set, and I have nothing to do.”
Rita smiled, putting down her brush. “Well, here-why don’t you finish up Robert while I run to get us some coffee? Really, I don’t mind.” After a few minutes of persuasion-during which, the swollen purple bubble pasted beneath Rob’s eye started to itch and burn like no other, but he kept silent-Rita left for the coffee machine and the other artist took her spot behind Rob. Once he saw her full reflection in the mirror, his eyebrows shot up, causing the pasted bruise to burn even more.
“I know you,” he told her matter-of-factly. “How do I know you?”
“What? Oh, right,” she picked up a make-up brush and moved around him to finish the colouring on his eye. Up close, he could see the flash of her nose ring every time she moved her head. “I didn’t mention it before because I figured you wouldn’t remember-you came into Antrim while I was performing the other night.” Another one? Rob laughed within his own mind-what were the odds? “I’m Lindsay. Lindsay Colvin.”
“Robert Pattinson,” he replied automatically, desperately trying to fight back the watering in his eyes as the paste began searing through his skin.
“Hm, I had no idea,” she told him with good-humoured sarcasm. “Oh, well, crap,” her ocean-blue eyes narrowed on something, “She put this on all wrong.” She picked up a bottle and let some liquid drip against his skin before gently pulling the pasted piece from his face, careful not to hurt him in the process. Once it was off and the cool air brushed against his cheek, the burning faded almost immediately. “Oh, thank god,” he mumbled quietly as she began reapplying the piece with a different adhesive.
“Better?” She asked as she began repainting the bruise.
“Much,” he breathed with relief. “Oh, by the way, I thought you sang beautifully at the club. ‘The Man That Got Away,’ right?” She nodded absently, entirely focused on finishing his make-up. “Dinah Washington?” He inquired.
She shook her head, “Judy Garland.”
“Ah.” Several minutes passed in silence-Rob noted how entranced Lindsay seemed to be in her work. She scrutinized every detail, determined to make it perfect. It was admirable-he liked people that took their work seriously-but at the same time, he hated unending silences. “Hugh really isn’t usually late,” he noted.
She scoffed and shook her head, “Is that true, or is this some kind of ‘Brit boys stick up for each other’ kind of thing?”
“Nah,” Rob told her with a straight face. “I’m from London. He’s from Oxford. Our people are as hateful of each other as the Chinese and the Mongolians.” When Lindsay’s eyes shot to his to see if he was serious, his straight face broke and he laughed easily. It was infectious, and soon the artist was smiling and laughing lightly to herself, rolling her eyes at him.
In the next moment, the door popped open and Rita’s voice floated through, “Guess who I found hoarding doughnuts with Alix?”
“Hello, love,” an old-fashioned English accent called, “I’m ready to be made pretty.”
--
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
What?! Rob’s mind snapped. Was it possible to be stalked by a phrase? He’d finished up on set an hour before-around 1100-and had almost succeeded in forgetting all about the two women he’d met so far. Now he was standing outside of Antrim and the tall woman sitting against the brick wall-cigarette in one hand, pencil in the other, poised above a spiral notebook-was bringing it all back.
She looked up at him, “What, what?” For a moment, he wondered if she was some kind of mind reader. Then he took in the way her forehead wrinkled under her brown-and-red striped hair, standing on the line between confusion and anger, and he realized that he’d actually said the word aloud. When he didn’t answer immediately, she exhaled through her nose and looked back at her notebook, “Okay. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”
He shifted awkwardly and brushed a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I just…I was thinking about something.”
“Stressful day in the world of acting?” He started a little, before common sense came back to him. He still wasn’t quite used to people knowing who he was and what he did at every turn.
“I suppose you could say that.”
She took another drag of her cigarette and wrote a quick sentence on her page, punctuating it with a dark question mark, and closed the notebook. “I’ll make you a drink.” She started to stand but Rob shook his head and leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder, gesturing for her to sit back down. She complied, but turned two confused crystal eyes up at him.
He shrugged-he seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Actually, do you think I could bum one of those?” He nodded toward the cigarette in her hand and she cocked her head to the side, fishing the pack out of her pocket and holding it out to him. Marlboro Reds. Not his favourite, but they would do. He took one with a nod and worked the lighter out of the plastic covering of the pack, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag before handing the pack back. He blew the smoke out through his nose and rocked on his heels, “So, what’s ridiculous?”
“Excuse me?”
“When I walked up,” he elaborated, “You said something was ridiculous.”
She glanced back at her notebook and side, flipping through its pages aimlessly. “Writer’s block. I’m trying to finish this chapter for a story, but I’m stuck, and it’s just…”
“Ridiculous,” Rob filled in and she nodded, still not smiling. The actor was struck with a wave of confusion. So far today, he’d been faced with many things he wasn’t used to. Delaney and her forthrightness. Lindsay and her focus in his presence. Now this woman-
“What’s your name?”
“Thalia.” He looked at her, and she took the hint and added, “Azure.”
Thalia Azure-who wasn’t charmed into smiling by him. What a strange day. And then, “Weren’t you tending on Open-Mic Night?”
“I’m tending almost every night,” she affirmed, blowing smoke up to the sky.
He thought for a moment, trying to figure out how else he recognized her. “Your name,” he realized, “It sounds very familiar.”
She shrugged, grinding her cigarette out on the sidewalk. “You might have worked with my brother before.” She struggled to pull herself into a standing position, brushing dirt from the back of her dark jeans. “Dreyton Azure? He’s a songwriter.”
“Oh, right!” Rob nodded enthusiastically, remembering the man. “He wrote the songs for a movie I was in; he’s brilliant. Fun guy, too, your brother.”
“Groovy,” Thalia muttered, looking around. “So, I assume you’re here to confirm your spot?” He nodded, and she jerked her thumb toward the door. “Well, Roger’s inside. While you’re at it, could you tell him I’m going to lunch?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rob said as she began walking away, shocked by how abruptly she’d ended their conversation. Really, he wanted to shout, What is going on with me and women today?
--
“This is-“ Instinctively, Rob reached out and closed a hand over the young woman’s mouth before she could get the last word out. He’d stopped by Musicians Institute to see a music professor he worked with from time to time, but had ended up pressing himself against the back wall of the room while the class took turns playing an assigned piece on various instruments. A young woman in the back row, with long dark hair that fell in graceful curls to her elbows, fumbled slightly over a complicated chord change on her guitar. Frustrated, she’d started to say those words Rob had been hearing all day.
“Mmph,” she cried, green eyes wide and startled. Realizing what he’d just done, Rob quickly drew back his hand and the woman finished her sentence softly, “Ridiculous.”
All eyes had turned toward them and Rob shuffled back awkwardly, “Sorry.”
Professor Herdte smiled kindly and tapped her pencil against her podium, regaining the attention of the many young women who’d taken to ogling the sudden celebrity appearance. “Class,” she said, her voice projecting, but not harsh, “We’ll end early today. Practice, practice, practice, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.” The students started packing up their things, choruses of giggles echoing around the acoustics of the room. The women crawled by slowly, eyes trailing on Rob as they left. Two were brave enough to ask for photos and autographs, which he gave graciously, holding his Charm Smile in place. Once they were gone, however, he rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
The young women he’d startled was still sitting in her seat, playing over her piece again, trying desperately to master the chord change. Rob took a few steps forward and smiled down at her apologetically, “I’m sorry about that. It was kind of a…what do they call it? A knee-jerk reaction?”
She kept her eyes on her sheet music, biting her lip shyly. “I, um,” she mumbled, fingers still moving over her guitar, “I don’t really know.” Even at low volume, Rob detected a faint Texas twang to her voice. It made her shyness seem even more charming.
“Ah, well,” Rob took a seat in the chair next to her, “Anyway, I didn’t mean to scare you or embarrass you.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted quietly, but the pink shade that spread across her cheekbones suggested otherwise. She tripped over the loop once more and growled. It wasn’t what Rob would have expected-she was small and soft-spoken, so he expected her growl to sound more like a kitten purring. He was wrong. This was a true, guttural, utterly frustrated growl. It reminded him of the vampire sound effects they’d had to use on the Twilight set.
He took pity on her. “Here,” he said, holding out his hands. She reluctantly released her guitar to him, careful to avoid touching his hands during the hand-off. “It’s difficult to get, but once you get it right the first time, you’ll have it down.” He started strumming, but then stopped, “Wait-“ a sickeningly familiar feeling washed over him for the third time that day. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I? No, don’t tell me,” he said when she opened her mouth to answer. He blinked and chuckled ruefully, “You performed at Antrim on Open-Mic Night.” When he opened his eyes, she was nodding shyly, cheeks an even darker red than before. He didn’t mean to embarrass her, but it seemed almost hard not to. She would have been perfect in the place of Kristen during the blushing scenes of Twilight; she was good at it. Deciding the lighten the mood, he started strumming again and asked, “So, what’s your name?”
She cleared her throat and inhaled deeply, “Um, Louise. Louise Carter.”
“Louise.” He nodded and played the loop again, “All right, watch my fingers, okay?” He played it twice more, going through slowly at first to show her how his fingers moved, then quicker until he was playing at the correct speed. She watched intently, avoiding his eyes.
“Thankyou,” she said suddenly as he started through it again, “I think I’d like to try it again.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the guitar and handed it back to her, “Of course. Give it a go.” She played through it twice. The first time, she fumbled, but she got it right the second time and gave herself a tiny victory smile. What was different about her reaction to him? Rob wondered, because the other three Antrim girls had showed him something different. With Louise, he decided, she seemed almost desperate to put a distance between them.
At the front of the room, Professor Herdte cleared her throat and smiled, “Robert-did you need to see me.”
He nodded to her, “Yes. Yes, I did.” He turned back to Louise and gave her his kindest, most easing smile, “You’re doing great. I’ll see you around, Louise.”
She glanced at him quickly, offering him the smallest of shy smiles, “Thankyou.” He smirked at her before standing and walking to the front of the room. As soon as he was gone, she laid her guitar in its case and secured it, leaving before he had the chance to turn around.
--
It was almost midnight before Rob got back to his apartment. He’d gone out drinking with a few friends, but no amount of scotch could make him forget about the four women he’d met today. As he stumbled through his residence, stripping off his jacket and boots as he went, he played the separate encounters over in his head. Four women, all different in more ways than one. All with unusual reactions to him. All branching from that one night at Antrim. What were the odds?
As he fell into bed, he closed his eyes and groaned. Only three words seemed suitable for this situation, and they were the words he’d been trying to avoid all day.
“This is ridiculous."