Interludes

Chapter 2 - The Day of Reckoning

"Forever."

The very inkling of this word reduced me to cringing now. Forever. Ha. Forever existed for those lovers who had been aloof to the world when it came to their love. For those couples, to whom joy meant merely the free-spirited laugh of their partners. For those boyfriends who deemed keeping their lady happy more than just a bouqet here, a gift there. For those women who knew better than to let their man not realise that love is a game. That there are rules.

Was I not in love? Had I been playing pretend since before I touched another woman's body - in a manner not decent for a committed man? Not wanting to let go of the security of her love, to be able to bank upon her? To use her as an emotional trash-bin and to know that I had someone's body at disposal for my bouts of action?

The questions didn't seem to stop. And the answers didn't seem to come quite easily either.

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'Az?', a sleepy voice inquired.

I hid my face in her hair. Always smelt of the Garnier she inexplicably used day after day. Always smelt of home.

'Azman? Anthony's on the phone for you.' Her voice re-iterated, less sleepier now. 'AND it's 8 am. Wake the fuck up.'

I half-sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes open, staring at her doing her hair up in a bun. Her plump lips dry from sleep, dimples co-existent.

'Correction. It's 8 AM on a SUNDAY morn. A layman's 6.' I took the phone from her. 'And why'd he call on your phone?'

'Because you, Captain Obvious, have not been mindful enough to charge your own phone.' She chided playfully, making the bed.

'Hello, hello sunshine, what's playing on the mind today?' Anthony chimed on the end of the line.

'Could you oblige me, for God's sake, and refrain from addressing me as that? 'Morning.'

'Ha, good morning.'

'If you called me at this hour on my only day off from work , to only wish me a good day, I swear you're not going to be such a happy man in the gut soon.' My irate self at work.

'Haha, actually not.'

'Then WHY, you moron?'

"Because,' said Anthony; slurring the 's', ".. there happens to be a lucrative project in the offing."

I nearer-to-reality dropped the phone. "What. The. Hell. Are. You. Talking. About."

"Yes, mister, and for that we need to meet for coffee tomorrow. WITH none other than, Mr. Quentin Tarantino's secretary."

I did not have the pluck to muster a response. Dumbstruck, I stood, phone clenched in fist.

"Well, one of them at least."

He could not have been serious. Anthony could not have been serious. The awards posessed by Mr. Tarantino outnumbered me in age. THE man. THE director of Django Unchained, and just pure classics. THE Quentin Tarantino. Willing to audition a mere theatre major like me for his next. Unaware of all that transpired around me, I dropped the phone.

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And that, precisely, was the moment that changed everything.