Meet Me In The Hallway

Roughing It

My righteous indignation carried me through the few hours between the tapings of the show I'd stuck around to watch and the after party. I'd gone back to my hotel room in the sky high floor I was put in and looked out the window for a minute. I'd been so angry, but as I rethought the lyrics, my rage dulled and I could recognize the sadness and disbelief on its edges.

I've heard of call out posts, but being in a call out song seemed worse. I hoped that no one, least of all Michael, had made a connection between me and the succubus in Harry's song. I imagined I might have gotten a word, a text, or voice blurb about it. Had my brother decided it was about me, I'm sure I would have. Or maybe not, Styles was not a conversation I allowed.

As I put on my feather decked little black dress and pulled my hair back from my face in defiance of the angel waves my mind kept focusing on the first two lines of the song. "Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see/that I'm still the only one who's been in love with me." He could not believe that right? That I'd not been in love with him. That made my heart seep along the break lines I'd stitched back together.

It also right pissed me off.

In any case, there were lots of words that need to be exchanged between Harry and I.

Somethings never change.

I walked into the bar that had been transformed into a festive exclusive space and couldn't help but admire the opulence, both of the setting and the people. It felt good to be around tall ladies, I didn't tower over these women the way I was becoming accustomed to. I had buried my high heels at the back of my closet. I was so glad to have dug them out for this. I felt braver for them and the dress. The press even mistook me for a model on the carpet, which I took advantage of and preened. Any ego boost is appreciated before you face your famous ex in a room full of intimidatingly beautiful women, some of which he has been at least been rumored to date.

I glanced around and realized I couldn't spot him. No way he was here yet. If he was, we'd all be pulled to his gravity. Harry would be holding court somewhere, or would be in the middle of the small group of children rushing to and fro.

I try to stop the smile edging my lips, but that was a favorite predilection of his.

"They're just honest Mel. Even if they know who I am, that wears off quick and they only stick around if they like me. No guile, kids."

The reasoning was heartbreaking, but the actuality was always adorable. The phone I had retired when I realized he would never call again, was like a limping thoroughbred put out to pasture because of how sweet he was. I couldn't scroll through pictures to find a screen-shotted receipt without picture proof of the best of Harry.

I make my way to the bar and order the themed cocktail, I'll need it, and find a colleague to chat up while I wait.

My anger has dulled, and my sadness has asserted itself a time or two, but the distractions here abound. I'm watching two very lovely ladies in tiny dresses trying to limbo under a makeshift pole. They are having a blast and have clearly been here longer than I have.

The brunette has fallen onto her ass and her blonde partner in crime is roasting her with a champagne bottle. They are both drinking out of it.

A night full of birthday memories and drinking straight from the same kind of bottles rushes back and I again can't understand how he could ever think I didn't love him. I was a fool for him.

The best part was that he was for me too.

The room changes when he comes in. I feel it before I see him. The air has become an electron field. I would assume that I felt this because of our relationship, but I know that's not the case. I've seen it before, but it is still crazy to watch a room full of people, celebrities in their own right, be captivated by his presence. He didn't bask in it always, and I had a feeling he only indulged his self diagnosed narcissism on stage these days, but he couldn't help it. Neither could his admirers.