“Ah-kkkk,” is the only way to describe the sound that comes out of her. My Angel has once again tried to jump out of her skin. This time, her clutch gets hooked to a branch of the tree she is hiding in. She then proceeds to wrestle with it.
“Motherfucker, what the hell?” she screeches.
Angel has a mouth on her. Oddly, I like it. With her arms and legs flailing wildly, I realize we are drawing a crowd, so I move swiftly to her side.
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I lean in. “Shh, Angel. Let me help.” Her entire body goes rigid, and I don’t know if I should expect a slap to the face or not. Peering around her body so I can see her face, I have to stifle a laugh. Her eyes have gone cartoonishly large and unblinking.
The second I remove my hand, she talks again, but not to me.
“Oh, my God. Seriously, how is this happening again? What the fuck is wrong with me? I told her, I told her I shouldn’t have come down here. Now I’m stuck in a goddamn tree with Mister Sexy trying to free me. It wasn’t bad enough he had to save me from the valet, then listen to my rambling in the elevator. Now he is here to get me out of a tree too? What the hell? Is he a fireman? Or just an unlucky bastard who is on my schedule. Why, oh, why do I do this shit?” she asks, followed by a muffled, “Geez, please stop talking. Just shut up.”
I still don’t think she has blinked, and I’m not entirely sure if I am supposed to answer her. “Just hold on one more second, I’ve almost got you out of this thing,” I tell her in compromise.
“Muphhed-er-gabbled.”
Startled, I take a step back, worried she is having a seizure. Looking her over, I realize she is fine, but she has her lips pierced between her thumb and forefinger, forcing herself not to speak, hence the mumbled sounds from a moment ago. Cocking my head to the side, I watch her.
“Blink, Angel. Breathe,” I tell her.
In slow motion, she comes back to life, and her mouth takes no time playing catch up.
“Are you a guardian angel? No, a fireman? Unlucky bastard? Why do you keep calling me Angel?” she asks in rapid succession.
I try to answer, but she’s not done.
“Just my luck. The one time I let her dress me up, and I literally stumble into Mr. Sex God himself, multiple times, and I’m running my mouth like a lunatic. Oh, hey, yup, that’s me, just call me Loony. Good Lord, I need a freaking drink. Okay, well, thank you again for saving me. Again. I said that, didn’t I? Well, I mean it. Who knows how long I would have hidden out in there until I could free myself? Sadly, I can’t even say that’s the first time it has happened. Just before I came here, I got stuck in a dress in a department store, and my best friend had to slide under the stall door to get me out. I’m really a mess. Anyway, gotta go.”
I watch in amusement as she attempts to side-step me. I move in tandem with her, then take her hand in mine. A gesture that is so foreign, I pause to look at the connection.
“Ah, I was just kidding about being a lunatic. If you’re planning to turn me in, it’s okay, the front desk has already been witness to my kind of crazy,” she tells me, rolling her eyes but slightly less manic.
Turning to look at her, “I’m not turning you in, Angel.”
“Well, I’m also not a missing child. I mean, I know I look like I could be a child, but I am an adult many birthdays over. I’m actually here for the conference, so you don’t have to go looking for some frantic parents missing a teenager.”
This makes me stop completely. “Has that happened to you before?” Something about the way she said it makes me think it has, and I’m biting my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Ugh, you don’t even want to know how many times. So, why are you holding my hand then? And why do you keep calling me Angel? Oh my God, are you meeting an escort here? It's not me… I mean, I’m not a hooker,” she rambles, shaking free from my grasp.
I’ve been very patient, but I can’t let her leave thinking I’m looking for a hooker. Placing both hands on my hips, I lower my face to just inches from hers. “I am not, nor have I ever ordered a hooker. You said you needed a drink,” turning her to face my table, I say, “that is my table right there. Let’s get you a drink.”
Angel nods but says nothing at first.
“Hmm, I do need a drink. This has been a clusterfuck of a day, but I don’t remember telling you I needed a drink. Maybe you’re the crazy one?” she says as I see the wheels begin to turn.
I know she is about to get on another roll, so I place my hand on the small of her back and gently guide her towards the table, but she stops abruptly.
“How do you do that?” she asks.
I stop to stare at her because I’m not sure if she is talking to herself or me, but after a minute of silence, I realize she is allowing me to speak. The thought puts a genuine smile on my face.
“Do what, Angel?” I ask softly.
“Calm my thoughts,” she replies, looking confused. “Only my best friend has ever done that.” She seems upset by the knowledge.
“What do you mean, how am I calming your thoughts?” I ask, really wanting to know.
“Ah, nothing. Never mind. Let’s get a drink, shall we? I really need to get to bed before I make another spectacle. I hate ordering drinks at places like this, though, they always have stupid names. Why can’t they just say what is in the drink instead of a copper-headed turtle or whatever the hell it is that they call them?”
Holy shit, this girl's mind really does work a million miles a minute. With no filter, it is fascinating to watch. Taking her hand in mine again, she slows down.
“I really only drink vodka sodas or Mules these days. Sometimes wine, but usually only red and only in the winter,” she tells me.
It only takes a few steps to reach the table, and I hate letting go of her hand, but I realize it is highly inappropriate since I don’t even know her name. Not to mention physically impossible to slide into the rounded booth holding hands.
Settling into the high-backed booth, she starts again. “You know, you should probably just cut your losses. Most people can’t handle me for lengthy periods of time. Well, except my best friend, but in all honesty, she has a way of getting me to shut up. Something about her presence. She just places a hand on my arm, and suddenly, I can control the chaos going on up here,” she tells me, pointing to her head.
I stare at her, raising my hand at the same time to signal the waiter who scurries to my side. One benefit of having money, I guess. “A vodka soda, please. Tito’s, if you have it.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else? Appetizer, perhaps?” he asks, working the upsell like a pro.
“Not right now. Thank you,” I tell him, but continue to stare at my Angel, and he takes the hint, backing away.
Placing my arm along the back of the velvet-covered booth, I lean into the cushions, never taking my eyes off of her. I know it’s coming; I want to see how long she can go without combusting. Within thirty seconds, her lip is back in her fingers, and she is mumbling intelligibly. Leaning into her personal space, I take her hand away from her gorgeous lips.
“Don’t bottle up the chaos, Angel. I want to hear it,” I tell her.
“What are you, a sadist?” her response flies from her painted pink lips, causing a bark of laughter to erupt from deep within me.