The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter One: A Night at the Troubadour

As Taron approaches you in the bright sunshine of the day, you squint at him, trying to take in everything about his appearance without looking directly at him. Looking at him is like looking at the sun, especially after not seeing him for so long. You've imagined a scenario like this so many times and now that it's actually happening, you can't quite believe it. Now that he is a mere few feet from you, you can see that his hairline has definitely grown back, and has filled in nicely with a pleasing shade of brown. He also has a good amount of scruff on his strong jawline and chin. He looks...good. Really good. In fact, you had almost forgotten just how amazingly beautiful he is, and it causes your heart to do a familiar flip-flop. You suddenly wish that you were wearing something other than jeans and a sweater, but it can't be helped. Now standing directly in front of you, Taron is the one to speak first.

"Hello", Taron says quietly as he removes his sunglasses to look in your eyes. The jade color of them out here in the sunlight is stunning, to say the least.

"Hello Taron, it's good to see you", you say in a much too formal way.

"W-what are you doing here?" He asks, searching your eyes with his. You can tell that he's trying to keep his cool, but you see a spark lighting his eyes.

"I work just down the street at a television studio, I come here sometimes on my lunch break...I'm not sure why", you explain, feeling a bit embarrassed at him finding you here. "What are you doing here?" You add.

"Ah, well, we're showing a screening of the movie here tonight", he says gesturing to the old building across the street. "Just fifteen minutes or so. I guess they're making it into a bit of a party. A few of us thought we'd come check it out first, get a few photos."

"Oh, that sounds fun", you say, wondering what the odds are that he would be here the same time you are.

As if reading your thoughts, he adds, "I can't believe you're here. I mean I figured you were here in L.A. of course, but never in a million years did I expect to see you here, today."

"I know, crazy right?" You say nervously. Why are you so nervous?

"I was here in L.A. last month, for awards season...I thought about calling, but I decided not to", he says looking at the ground, and you swallow down a lump. You wish now that he had.

"Oh...", is all you manage to get out. 

"So, how are you? How's your hand?" He asks, gesturing down to it.

You want to say that you still feel an emptiness inside since you left him, you want to say that you dream about him weekly and wake up in a panic, you want to say that you think about him daily, hourly even. But in the end you simply say, "I'm fine. Hand is good. Pretty much back to normal, just a little tingly from time to time."

"That's good, and your job? Are you still working as a make-up artist?" He asks. You hate that you've been reduced to small talk.

"Yes, it's good. Not quite as fast-paced as Rocketman, but good", you say with a smile.

"Great, I'd love to hear about it sometime." His words give you hope that maybe this won't be your only conversation for the foreseeable future. There is an awkward silence between you as you both look at each other, than anywhere but each other. "Well, I guess I better get back", he finally says, slipping his glasses back on and you are disappointed that your chance encounter with him is already ending. He looks toward the Troubadour, then back to you with cautious excitement on his face. "Hey, would you want to... come tonight?" He asks, gesturing to the club.

"W-what?" You exclaim in surprise. You definitely weren't expecting that.

"You should come... to the screening tonight. A few other people you know will be there and it should be fun..."