Love, Lust 'n Geology (2ND DRAFT)

Scene 3.1

Samina yanks open the door of The Bear Paw and rushes inside. A few heads turn in her direction. She bites her lip, silencing her panting, although no one can hear it above the noisy chatter in the room. But there's nothing she can do about her dress, which looks like it's breathing as hard as she is. Thankfully, none of her buttons are screwed up. She rakes her fingers through her hair, straightening it out, then walks slowly and deliberately back to her table. On the way, she can feel Red's eyes on her.

She downs the remaining beer in her glass and pours herself another. She knows she should leave, but feels too dazed to, like she's just survived an earthquake. (It didn't get as far as a volcanic eruption, thank God.) She sits, staring at her glass, trying to recover from what happened or nearly happened, out there.

Tom's dress boots step into her peripheral vision, followed by the rest of him. She keeps her eyes glued to her glass as he walks over, taking up more and more of her field of view.

He slips into his former seat in a single graceful motion. "I'm sorry, I really am. It's just that I thought you ..."

Samina can't bring herself to look at him but frowns and nods vigorously. She'd rather be gagged with an over-sized spoon than talk about It in any way, shape or form. He seems to catch on and stays quiet. Leaning back, he watches her, and looks around. Samina doesn't move, at all, just sits frozen, staring at her glass. Beyond it, Tom's index finger silently taps the table.

Bending forward, he asks softly, "Are you alright?"

Samina bobs her head up and down.

"Are you sure?"

More bobs.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Her eyebrows knit. Of all the questions, why did he have to ask her that one? The Polite Indian wouldn't let her say 'yes' to anyone, for fear of hurting their feelings. But she can't say 'no' either. She feels too shy to. It would be like encouraging him. Besides, she isn't sure she can look him in the eyes right now, and carry on a conversation, after what just happened.

She shrugs. He hesitates, then pushes up from the table. "Okay, bye."

She peeks up at him. His gem-like eyes are clouded with concern. Don't go, she wants to say. It's only shock and embarrassment that's making it impossible for me to talk to you right now. ... I'm not upset at you. It isn't your fault you misunderstood. It's ... mine.

But like a prisoner too uncertain or too cowardly to confess, all she can say is, "Bye." She mouths it. Her voice has abandoned her.

Tom's lips quirk into a smile. He looks relieved, and suddenly revitalized. Reaching behind him, he tugs his wallet out of his jeans and pulls out a business card. With his amused grin back in place, hands it to her, saying, "If the locals get out of hand ... you know, do something that annoys you, you can always give me a call."

Samina glances at the card. Tom hasn't mentioned his work. A colourful, fan-shaped black and mustard logo stands out, the letters O.P.P. in its center. Like most Ontarians, she doesn't need to read 'Ontario Provincial Police,' written in English and French beside it, to decipher the acronym.

Before the Polite Indian can censor her, she cries, with a touch of dismay, "You're an O.P.P. officer?"

Tom's brow creases. "Yeah," he says curtly.

Oh no, she's offended him. "Sorry," she mumbles.

He cocks his head. "That I'm an O.P.P. officer?"

She lowers her eyes. "No, ... of course not."

"Then what?" he asks.

She gulps and shrugs. "Nothing."