Scarlet Starlet

5 - Charity Man

The engine of Ziggy's car was purring like a delighted cat, and the owner himself tapped the wheel and hummed along with a catchy tune playing on the radio. I wasn't purring nor humming, no, I was struggling to not look stiff as a plank in my seat.

Agreeing to go out with Ziggy was a bad idea, and I should have known it all along. It was my own fault that I was sitting next to a man with an agenda that differed from mine. The nagging feeling that Ziggy had meant the dinner as a date got stronger with every twinkling smile he gave me. If he only had been a rude or uninteresting person - things would have been so much easier. To be honest, I could understand the women who fell for Ziggy's charm even if they knew that his underpants would last longer than they did.

“You're awfully quiet,” Ziggy said, chuckling and nudging me with his elbow.

I forced myself to give him a stiff laugh. “I wouldn't want you to get distracted and end up in a ditch.”

Actually, Ziggy Sullivan didn't appear to be a good driver at all. The car swayed from side to side on the lane and Ziggy cared more about talking than checking the honking traffic around us. Had he found his license inside a box of Cheerios?

The world was a strange place if he had managed to get the license when I had failed miserably twice.

“You've got to have faith in my driving-abilities, honey. It's important for my ego,” Ziggy explained. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but suddenly he started to focus more on controlling the vehicle than on blabbering.

We traveled familiar roads and I enjoyed the view through the car window. The grass was green, the flowers rich in color and the evening sky a shade of indigo. Then there were hundreds of cars with vomiting tailpipes that ruined the picture of beauty. The air back home in Alaska had been of a higher quality and I never had to worry about inhaling too many toxins there. Hollywood was in many ways different from where I had grown up, but it had its privileges as well.

“You have to turn right in the next traffic circle,” I said and leaned back in my seat. When Ziggy wasn't trying to converse with me, I felt so much more comfortable. I didn't have to worry about what to say to sound cool when we were silent.

I admitted to myself the fact that Ziggy was making me nervous. Everything about him was so fascinating, yet terrifying. He was in many ways my polar opposite; confident, handsome and a philanderer. Those adjectives doesn't apply to me. I would describe myself as being a fainthearted and over-analytical person.

Ziggy spun the wheel and turned the car to the right. We were heading towards the Fisherman's restaurant and would be there in just a minute.

“We're almost there,” I said, mostly to myself. “It's the second building to the left.”

Ziggy started slowing the car down and parked it outside the restaurant. There were only two other cars in the parking lot and I was glad to know that the place wouldn't be too crowded. Having paparazzi peering over our shoulders the first time we did something alone would be plain miserable.

Ziggy jumped out of the car and rushed over to my side, opening the door for me. He bowed and I could see bumps of his neck bones stretching the tanned skin. “Let me help you, my fair lady,” he said. I could do nothing but giggle at his silliness.

He reached his hand out and I grabbed it. The skin of it was rougher and hotter than mine and the sensation was similar to a burning one. “Thank you,” I said with a slightly cracked voice.

Fisherman's restaurant was a charming place. The entire building was built of dark logs and the atmosphere was, in my opinion, soothing. Bright lights were banned from the restaurant and the darkness added a cozy touch. Critics with experience and refined pallets used to say that the quality of a restaurant's food was a direct result of its lighting. The darker – the worse. Though, I thought Fisherman crushed that statement. Their seafood was fresh and the sauces to die for.

Ziggy guided me towards a small table for two in the corner of the dim restaurant, and we sat down on cushioned chairs. His eyes were trying to catch my gaze, but I actively avoided the green orbs.

There was a ship in a bottle, placed on a shelf, which I chose to rest my eyes on. “I wonder how it's possible to squeeze the ship into the bottle,” I blurted out to break the ice.

“Is that important?” Ziggy asked curiously.

“No, it isn't.” I forced myself to stop looking at the ship. It would be rude to agree on having dinner with someone and then refuse to look at the person.“The question just raced through my brain to my mouth.”

Ziggy gave me a soft smile and small shadows from a lit candle danced on his face. His lips were curved upwards in two small crooks on both sides. “You're different from the other girls, Troya. I want to get to know you.”