Lions, Tigers and Bears Part 2 ...The Man in the Moon

in #writing5 years ago (edited)





I'm wasting my life trying to romance Grier while being distracted by Frizzy at work.

Maybe I'm dominated by the women in my life, or maybe I'm just afraid to make a commitment to one of them.

I'm not afraid of lions and tigers and bears, but it is possible I could be afraid of love



“You really do look wasted," Frizzy says to me next morning at my desk. “Another rough night?”

I shrug, as if to say, Why Not? And that, of course, is the story of my life.

My feet are up on the desk and I’ve been wasting the morning making The Ultimate Paper Airplane—which I now toss high into the air, watch it circle the office and crash into Frizzy’s hair.



I call her Frizzy because her red hair is a disheveled tangle, which although imperfect, makes her irresistible

She’s busy typing and it’s several moments before she detects the paper missile sticking cock-eyed out of her tresses.

“What’s this?” she says puzzled at first, but then computes a probable scenario and tosses the paper dart back in my direction. “You’re so lame, Cal.”



“It’s Callum,” I gently remind her, but she’s oblivious—too formal, too Celtic, too distant—so to her, I will forever be Cal.

We’re on the tenth floor of offices in downtown Toronto near the lake and I can see the ferry plying its way back and forth between the islands and the wharf. I’d like to be on it with Grier—standing at the prow—I’m flying! Maybe not—I’m no Jack Dawson, but maybe that ship is also going down.

“Oh my,” Frizzy opines in a tawny upper class accent, “Milady Grier hasn’t phoned today—and it’s now ten o’clock, and not a word. Do you think she has a case of the vapors?”



I toy with the notion of hurling a stapler at her, but with my luck it would sail right through that huge glass window behind her, along with my future opportunities at The Buzz.

“What’s on your mind Lover Boy?” she smirks, a silly grin plastered on her elfin face.

“I’m just sitting here wondering how you managed to live so long with your shrewish tongue.”

“Me—a shrew?” she says all innocent and wide-eyed, and for a moment I fall under her spell.



I shake my head and turn my focus back to my frozen computer screen, and wait until my breathing slows.

WHACK! The paper dart hits near my eye.

“Oh God, Cal—I’m sorry—I just meant to tease you, not maim you.”



You do both, I muse wryly, but outwardly adopt my comic façade. “My eye, my eye.”

I clap a hand over my right eye and Frizzy is out of her chair and hovering over me like a mother hen.

“I’m so sorry, Cal—here, let me see.” She pulls my fingers away and sees my eye unscathed.



“Oh, that’s cruel, Cal—that really wounds me.”

“Hey,” I protest, I’m the one who ended up looking like the Man in the Moon with a rocket stuck in his eye.”

“Ah, an allusion to the iconic image from the 1902 film, The Man in the Moon—how clever, and dastardly of you. You made me think you were injured.”



She turns away, and I think she’s crying.

I try to grab her wrist to turn her back around. “It was just a joke, Frizz.”

Her shoulders heave. “You Sir are a cad.”

I finally manage to turn her around to face me, only to see her impish smile. “Gotcha!”



She is so beautiful—her pink skin and huge brown eyes—she takes my breath away.

She’s laughing so hard she doesn’t notice I’m lost—entranced and enraptured at being so close.

Finally she realizes I’m not laughing back. “You are okay, aren’t you Cal?”



“Yeah, I’m fine,” I grunt, and turn back to my terminal. “But, I’ve got my eye on you, Girl.”

“Which one?” she giggles.

Indeed—that is the question.



© 2019, John J Geddes. All rights reserved



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