The Love Club

Chapter Twelve

Walter pulls up in front of your apartment complex honking the horn of his forest green Porsche. Sally rushes to the window, using a gentle finger to draw the curtain back. You watch her examining him while you buckle your Mary Jane's and tug at the bow in your hair and she finally turns to you unimpressed and frankly, disappointed.

"He could at least come to the door," she says, folding her arms across her chest disapprovingly. "Tell me why you're going out with this guy again? He looks like a total yuppie."

You couldn't disagree as you peaked over Sally's shoulder to see Walter lazing back in his seat, arm propped against the glossy green and shoulders draped in an expensive cashmere that wouldn't look out of place on a golf course or country club. A small voice echoes around your head asking, what are you doing? He is exactly the type of person we have ran away from. You push the thought away, immediately shaking it from your consciousness. Walter is nice and handsome, and you enjoy the same things, you remind yourself.

It didn't take long for you to realise you had been completely and irrevocably wrong and the more Walter talked about himself the more you began to wonder if this date was a huge mistake.

"I don't necessarily want to be an actor, but it was either this or my father's oil business and my grandmother had always told me I had a face for film. The lesser of two evils you could say. This will be my third picture you know" He tips his head back, laughing that snooty laugh you hadn't heard in months.

Smiling politely, you glance to your right at the busy drive in rolling your eyes when you are sure he can't see you, praying for the film to start. You chance a look back at him and are surprised to see him watching you expectantly and you have the sudden realisation that he is thinking you should say something.

"You're really lucky," you hum, "should be proud of yourself."

"That's not what I meant," he snaps, that charming smile disappearing into something else more hostile and violent.

You play nervously with the bag of popcorn on your lap just to give your fingers something to do. You had lost your appetite some moments ago and the smell of buttery sweetness was beginning to turn your stomach. "Of course," you offer him a tight-lipped smile, watching him from the corner of your eye. "I only meant to be so young and to be working on your third picture is an incredible achievement."

Seeming to have stroked Walter's ego just enough that his lips turn up at the corners, you let out a relieved breath, thankful for the crackle of the projector as the film begins to play. Walter settles into his seat and stretches an arm over the back your chair, his attention turning to the screen. Eventually he seems to grow board and his hands turn their attention to playing with the ribbon in your hair which leads him to begin tracing soft lines down your neck with his forefinger. Something deep inside of you screams for him to stop, his touch sending your skin scrawling. You do all you can to not shake him off entirely when you turn to him and lean closer whispering, "Would it be awful to ask for another Cherry Coke?"

Walter eyes your lips for a moment, trailing his eyes with great effort to look at you. His gaze his hazy and dancing with the promise of seduction. "Sure thing, doll."

You watch him climb out of the car and make his way to the concession stand and let out a breath you had not realised you had been holding. Your head falls back onto the hard leather, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Nothing like the soft worn seat in Old Goldie. The fabric warmed you like hot coco with extra whipped cream and marshmallows on a winter's day, moulding around you like melted butter. I could sit there forever, the thought jolts you back into reality and you blink up at the screen as if waking from a trance.