what does it mean?

While I am still writing, he sends me an email with the subject line, "Stalker." It says,

"My apologies again! I was not trying to intrude :) Forgive me... "

I giggle at this, glad that he is concerned. I head back to his apartment. He has changed into a red wool sweater, brown cords, brown/red/blue argyle socks, and dark brown loafers. His hair is still wet. I pull on my new clothes: charcoal gray wool turtleneck, short pleated pinstriped mini skirt, black stiletto boots.

Clerk says, "I have a friend I want you to meet," which makes me nervous. We walk to a nearby restaurant and meet his friend, A., for dinner. A. is tall, handsome, and funny, but slightly subdued by the flu. A is different than Clerk's other friends, who are of a breed I know too well--aged frat boys, slightly dorky lawyerly types. A. seems more sophisticated, perhaps because I know he has worked in the entertainment industry in LA and NY. I realize that I am slightly intimidated by A., whereas I think Clerk's other friends were slightly intimidated by me.

We go to an Oscars party. I am overdressed. Skirt too young, too short, too sexy. I am horrified to think he could be embarrassed by me. I wonder if I look like I am trying too hard. I wonder if I am.

Afterwards, we walk home. We stand in the dark kitchen, and he hands me a glass of ice water in a tall plastic mug that says, "Strike Night" in bold, red, uppercase font. I take a sip, set down the glass, and put my arms around his neck. We kiss and kiss and kiss. Sweet, kind, warm kisses. The kind where you stop, and giggle, and rub your noses. The kind where you pull away when you feel each other's smile. The kind where you stand absolutely still, holding your breath, lips touching. I put my head on his shoulder, and he hugs me hard, really really really hard, so hard I gasp and hold my breath, so hard I think, don't stop don't stop, so hard I feel a little sad, so hard I think, I like this boy, so hard I think

don't

let

me

go.

I push myself up onto the counter, and he stands between my knees. I put my hands on his shoulder, and kiss his forehead. I lean back and look at him.

What? he asks.

I can't decide, but I remember what my friend V said about me: You are at your most compelling when you are honest, so I blurt, When will I see you again?

That's a good question. My schedule is pretty flexible, but it'll probably be a few weeks. My parents are going to be here next week, and they're staying through the weekend...but after that my schedule opens right up...

And the very good girl wants to pout, But what about this weekend? Why don't you want to see me this weekend? What's wrong with this weekend?

But the very bad girl doesn't. She says, I don't know where my next project will be, but it will likely be a travel project, one in which I can fly wherever I want for weekends for free.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens with your work, he says, and the very bad girl agrees.

Monday
The alarm wakes us at 5:30, and we both groan. He reaches for me, pulls me close and kisses my shoulder a few times, and I am smiling already. I'm glad you came, he says. Me too, I whisper. We lie there for a few minutes, until the alarm sounds again, and I get up.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, suit on. I zip up my suitcase, and look at him, a little boy with the covers pulled up to his chin. I walk over, and he gets out of bed. We hug. Have a good day, I say. He gets back in bed. You too, he says, travel safe...I'll talk to you soon.

I walk away, and open the door, but then I turn around and go back for one last kiss.

Bye, I whisper, this time for real.