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Ben Cook, as in, the Ben Cook---from Newsies. Who also happened to be the person I drenched with scalding hot liquid during a meet-and-greet. And now, a year and a half later, he was standing three feet away from me...giving fashion advice...?
What was I going to do?
My heart thundered against my ribcage, threatening to burst out of my chest. Anxiety and panic surged through my veins as nervous thoughts cycled in my brain. What do I say? Do I pretend like I don't know him? Do I ignore him? Do I slap him and run? How about I just run? Oh, where was Ginger when I desperately needed her?
Within the seconds of awkward silence, I'd been anticipating the sudden realization of who I was to wash over him and contort his expression into one of horror. But, as the seconds continued, that didn't happen.
Had Ginger been correct after all? Did he forget about me?
Just then, I realized I was wearing a large, shaded pair of sunglasses. No wonder he didn't recognize me! I felt like the Phantom of the Opera. Hiding behind a (not so, in my case) peculiar mask---my previous identity unknown to the public. Or at least to Ben. Either way, I felt like an entirely different person: mysterious, outgoing, and---for some odd reason---flirtatious.
My fangirl side seemed to have faded---for the time being---like vapor rising into the air---it simply evaporated! Was it because of abrupt boost in confidence, knowing Ben had no clue as to who I was? That had to be it.
"Are you now Boston's new fashion advisor?" A playful grin spread across my lips as I watched his reaction. I doubted if my response was the right now, and hoped I had come off as rude.
"Yes, couldn't you tell?" he gestured to his outfit of a pink button-up, tan khakis, and tennis shoes. He released an amused chuckle, apparently proud of his clever wit.
"You look vaguely familiar," I said, tapping my chin with my index finger. I rummaged through the memories of when guys would flirt or strike up conversations with Ginger. Her body language, voice inflections, and little quirks like twirling her golden hair around her finger or something of that flirtatious nature. Goodness knows I didn't have the confidence or skills to attempt those, so I merely poised my hand on my hip and hinted at a smirk. "Were you in some commercial lately?"
If I had learned anything from Ginger, it was when unexpectedly encountering a celebrity of any profession, to pretend to not know who they are. Toss around some ideas before settling on one---the wrong one.
"Celebrities are constantly bombarded by obsessive fans and paparazzi, so making them feel like you don't have a clue who they are intrigues them. They don't want to date a fan, they want to date a human who likes them for who they truly are," That's what Ginger would recite over and over to me. Little did she know, I'd been storing it into the depths of my mind---in case a chance meeting should ever happen.
