The Actor's One & Only

Chapter 22

"I'd a horrendous day today!" she heard him exclaim in despair late one evening, as he returned from work and slumped onto the bed on his back with his head buried in her lap, replacing the day old newspapers and the book on how to cope with loss which he'd bought for her that'd previously occupied it. "Aye? What happened?" she enquired in a concerned tone, gently running her fingers through his hair as he stared up at her with his amber eyes. She could tell he was growing impatient waiting for that big break. It was all he ever dreamt off. Flying off to L.A., hanging out with the stars and working his arse off till he received a star on the Hollywood walk of fame. "I died." he replied with a sigh, much to her confusion. "Hmm?" she demanded an explanation, in the hopes that she wasn't cradling the head of a dead man walking!
"Ya know, my character died, I meant." he explained on noticing her confused expression. "Oh? That's a shame. Sorry for yer loss. What was the movie bout?" she enquired, curiously. "Just a docudrama bout the Busby Babes...the United plane crash an' its aftermath. I played one o' the Busby Babes who didn't survive! Atleast it pays tribute to football's finest...An' also, some o' the bills, eh?" he replied, forced to make his peace with playing minor roles.
"It's a wonder ya got the role. I mean, yer football skills are shite! Remember in third grade, ya were hit in the balls so hard, ya had to sit the game out an' then ya were too scared to even be near a football?" she teased , determined to lift his spirits up.  "I was so close to erasin that memory! Thanks for remindin me,love. Yer s'possed to cheer me up, ya know?" he groaned, rolling off since she complained about her legs falling asleep.
"I haven't been feeling so cheery myself, alright? It's not fun bein cooped up in ere while yer out there havin a ball doin what ya do. I miss watchin ya do that! I miss listenin to ya practice yer lines in yer trailer, miss bein a part o' those pranks ya play on yer co-stars in between takes...just the whole process...." he heard her confess, wistfully. "I told ya, ya need the rest, like the doctor ordered. Ya just lost a baby, love." he whispered, squeezing her hand tenderly as he spoke. "An' bein cooped up is s'possed to make me feel better bout it?! I need some air. I need to get out." she retorted through clenched teeth, pulling her hand outta his comforting grasp.  "I'm sorry, Ruthy. Listen, I'll just wash the makeup off before it burns my face off, yeah? When I'm back, we'll talk, I'll read ya some o' my scripts...Will that make up for it?" he assured, before running off to the bathroom. He heard the door slam over the sound of running water. He quickly dabbed at his face with a paper towel before returning to the bedroom cum kitchenette, finding her gone. Looking out the window, he could see her running across the snow paved streets, still in her flimsy PJs. "Ruthy? Ruthy, no! Ya dunno the city that well to run off like that!" he called out after her, following her but losing her as she turned a corner.
"Bollocks, I dunno London that well to run off after ya! Oi! Stop!" he muttered under his frosty breath, clutching the jumper he'd brought along for her. "Bloomin hell, where'd she go off to now? Ruthy!! Ruthy?!!" he cried out in all directions, much to the surprise of passersby.
He finally found her in the Scottish pub some distance from their flat. "There ya are! Ya had me worried sick, even if it was for just a minute or two. Ya could've gotten lost. D'you want yer mum to bite my head off? Do ya?" he scolded her over the loud juke box which was belting out old Scottish ditties, pulling her in for an embrace before showering her with a million kisses on finding her enjoying a beer at the bar. "Just shut it an' sit down, ya pansy. I'm sorry for runnin off like that. I just needed some fresh air." she apologized for her actions, pulling him down onto the chair next to hers. "Well, this isn't a scene outta Bridget Jones' diary where ya can run off in minimal clothin an' live to tell the tale. Yer bound to catch a cold, pneumonia...or quite possibly, yer death! Now, put on this jumper." he advised in a grim fashion, handing her the jumper. "Can't believe ya remembered that movie." she exclaimed with a chuckle.  "How could I forget? Ya made me watch it twice when it first came out, didntcha?" he grunted. "I'm not apologizin for that. Bartender, one more beer, please! The game's on, love." she ordered as the burly Scot behind the counter approached them, turning on the volume of the lil screen above the bar where a football match was playing.  "Good to have ya back, Jack!" the bartender greeted with a jolly grin, slamming a mug of the frothy beverage down in front of Jack. "Hiya, James." Jack greeted back with a dimpled grin, pulling the mug closer before taking a sip from it.
"Small world?" Ruth enquired with a raised eyebrow at the exchange of friendly greeting between her fiance and the fellow Scotsman. "No...I just used to work ere to pay for my actin classes for a while. Slept on the cot in the back, free beer an' a lil bit o' home on the telly there...brilliant! So, who's playin?" he reminisced, flashing her a toothy grin, before wiping off the froth moustache over his upper lip and turning his gaze upwards to the telly."Raith Rovers! Only the best team ever! Woohoo!"  she cried out, excitedly. "I might've been hit in the balls, but I think ya were hit in the head at some point. Yer bein ridiculous if ya think that's the best team, lass! Aberdeen F.C. all the way!" he disagreed, chanting the name of his favorite team, which was also the favorite of everyone else at the pub who drunkenly joined in his chant. Ruth felt all warm and happy herself just by seeing her Jack all cheery again, smiling to herself in a satisfied manner while she sipped her beer.