Part 4
*********************************
“Here you go. Just how you like it,” he said presenting me with a chili dog and a bottle of water.
“Uh…how did you know that this is how I like them?” I asked, looking in his eyes. I was trying to see if he looked down and to the left to determine if he was lying. Or was it up and to the right? I never could remember. So why bother looking at all? Wow, I was a mess!
“Marilyn, I think I might know everything about you,” Robbie said with a little smirk on his face.
“But I know nothing about you and this whole situation,” I said as I waved my arm between us. I was finding myself very flustered.
“What do you want to know?” he asked as he sat down across from me and unwrapped his loaded hot dog and popped his soda can open.
“First of all, how do I know you are REALLY Drew Roberts, Sr.? And why is everyone not fawning over you? And where is all the paparazzi? And how can I trust you? And how do you know everything about me? And why is there a woman’s body in the trunk of your car?” I blurted out all at once. I took a breath and realized that was a lot to say with just one breath.
“Wow, you have a lot of questions, Sweetheart,” he said. He took a long drink of his soda to wash down his hot dog.
“Ok, let’s start with the first question. I can prove I am the very person you believe me to be. I have my IPad in the car. It’s in the glove box. When you get done eating and we are finished with the other questions, you can get it and we will call someone and facetime with him. He can prove I am your Robbie,” he said.
I was waiting to eat my chili dog because I felt like my stomach was in knots and if I dared to swallow anything I might just vomit. So I sipped on the ice cold water.
“As far as your next question goes, people are not “fawning over me” because they are not looking for me. Let me be a little bit clearer. Yes, I am a major film star. Everyone expects me to be in Hollywood or New York right now. Nobody expects me to be here. Many of the local residents in town know me and know that I want my privacy. The ones that don’t know me personally here do not “expect” me to be here. Make sense?” he continued.
I wasn’t quite sure I followed his reasoning, or if he was truly “making himself clear” but I nodded my head as if I understood anyway.
“So,” he went on, “there really is no media here that cares much. I come and go and I have ways of concealing my identity when I so desire.”
He was looking at me so intently that I thought he could read right into my very soul. It was more than a little unnerving, so I looked away. I looked around and took in my surroundings. There were very few people at the park this time of day. It was pretty warm out and I wondered if I closed my eyes and opened them again I would wake up and the last forty minutes would have been a dream. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful dream though? So I closed my eyes and tilted my chin up hoping to catch a little breeze as I enjoyed the last few blissful moments of this dream. There it was. The cool breeze. I smiled and opened my eyes and there sitting three feet away in front of me was none other than Drew Roberts, Sr.! This was no dream.
Robbie just smiled, revealing his perfect white teeth. His signature lightly tinted sunglasses were perched on the tip of his nose and he looked over the rims as he asked, “Are you quite alright?”
Okay. So this was really a famous movie star, or so he claimed, sitting across from me, but I STILL didn’t have all the answers to my questions. “How can I trust you?”
“Sweetheart, trust must be earned,” he said, slipping his glassed back up. “How can I trust that you will not run screaming through the park right now? How can I trust the hot dog vendor not to have poisoned the food? I know you will not scream because it is not in your character. I trust the vendor will not jeopardize future sales by poisoning us. These are things you learn. You will see that you can trust me. I have not done you any harm and I never will. You see, I have been pursuing you since that first time I heard your voice in the emergency room. I heard your telling your mother and father what happened the evening of your accident. I heard the hurt and pain you experienced underneath the façade of strength and resolve. And after your parents left I stood outside your curtain and listened to you as you wept into your pillow. I also heard you when you called that good-for-nothing Michael and asked him how he was feeling. You had so much care and concern for someone who had called his friend to come and get him and take him to the club you two were headed to while he left you on your own to find a way home. Then I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard a little later that evening after all your tests were run. I heard you laugh, giggle even. You had turned on the television very quietly and you must have been watching a sitcom. I vowed to myself that I wanted to have that laugh with me always.”
“So you have been stalking me for four years?” I asked.
“Let’s just say that I have been making sure you have been taken care of and I have been working my way to get to you, or rather have you come to me,” he said as he reached across the table and took my hand.
“You’re a stalker!” I yelled as I jerked my hand out from under his.
“Sweetheart, I want you to know something,” Robbie said in his best reassuring tone. “It looks like stalking, but the majority of stalkers in this world do not have anyone’s best interest at heart except their own. Trust me on this one. Let me show you that I am sincere. Give me time to prove this to you.”
“Ok, then why is there a woman’s body in the trunk of your car right now?” I demanded.
“First of all, there is no body in the trunk. It has been removed. We can go look if you like. But, yes, there was a body there and it is now in a safe place. You must know that it is not just a body. It is a woman. She is alive and well. I will show you that all in due time,” he said. “Now, are you going to eat your food or not?”
I looked down, feeling completely nauseated. “No.”
He picked up the trash from his side of the table and my hot dog and headed to the trash can. I watched him, wondering what he saw in me. I still wondered if his story was true. “Okay. I’m ready to talk to this friend of yours now,” I said, feeling very uncertain of the outcome.
“Let’s get that face time up and running,” he said.
He opened the door and I sat in the seat, but he didn’t close the door. Instead, he squatted next to me, holding the door.
“It’s in the glove box. You will be calling Johnny Legal. He’s the best friend I have,” he said.
I just stared at him. Was he serious? He was best friends with a co-star of his movies?
“Go ahead,” he nudged me.
I reached out and opened the glove box and something heavy fell into my lap. A gun? Seriously?
Friday, April 19, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Crash - Part 3
“I really hope that you didn’t get hurt during the impact,” Robbie said, breaking the silence. He slowed the car slightly and turned his head to face me. “Tell me, Marilyn, are you sure you are okay or do we need to go to the hospital?”
I did a quick inventory of my physical condition. I think I was still in a minor state of shock. I seemed to be fine, but I knew, somehow, I think because of my first accident that sometimes you couldn’t tell until a day or two afterwards if you are truly hurt.
“I think I’m okay,” I said rather timidly.
“I didn’t want you to be scared,” Robbie said. “I remember how hurt you were four years ago when that sorry excuse for a boyfriend you had took that curve too fast and rolled that new car he had just bought. What was he thinking? You were very lucky to have your seatbelt on. “
I was frozen. How did he know about that? I didn’t tell anyone about that for fear of shedding a bad light on “that sorry excuse for a boyfriend” for some unknown reason. Looking back now I think I was trying to protect myself from the truth that he truly didn’t care for me at all. Seriously, what kind of man tried to show off and then wrecks a brand new car and then spends more time grieving the loss of money instead of checking to see if his girlfriend has been hurt!
“I was at the hospital when you were, Sweetheart,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “I was in the emergency room and heard the nurses talking over the charts about the accident. When your dad brought you in that evening to make sure you were not seriously injured, I was in the triage room next to yours. That’s the first time I heard your name being spoken.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, starting to get a little confused. “You mean to tell me that you have known me for the last four years and you are just now meeting me? And how is it you came to be in that hospital? You can pay for the best of care anywhere in the world. Why Louisville? And why, if you were indeed there, did I not hear your name being spoken?”
Robbie reached over and took my left hand that had begun to tremble slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or confusion or both.
“Marilyn, please don’t get upset. I have only your best interests at heart. I did not say that I was the one being treated that evening. As a matter of fact, it was my younger sister. She goes to college here and goes by mom’s maiden name, as to avoid any publicity. She had been to a party and done something stupid. Instead of calling mom and dad, she called me and I flew in from New York. It’s all perfectly innocent.”
Robbie pulled the car into the parking lot of a park. I had been so busy trying to sort everything out in my head that I had lost all track of where we were. He turned to me and removed his sunglasses and revealed his chocolate brown eyes. He still had hold of my hand and brought it up to his heart. He held it there for a few seconds before saying, “Let’s go for a little walk. I am sure you have many questions for me and I would be most honored to answer them.”
I nodded and he let go of my hand, got out of the car and came around to open my door to help me out. When he let go of my hand the shivers had come back again and I felt a little helpless. I didn’t like feeling like that. It reminded me of how I felt when I was left standing in the pouring rain after Michael said he found someone else, someone that could actually make him happy.
Robbie opened the door and I got out. Standing in front of him, inches away from his face, was so much more intimate than sitting next to him in the car and my knees got a little weak.
“Are you quite alright?” he asked once more?
“Think I’m just a little lightheaded because I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” I said. I had to make something up and that sounded like the most plausible explanation. Did I really want to tell him that I had had a crush on him for the last ten years and that I thought I might die from embarrassment somehow while I was so close to him?
“Well, let’s remedy that, shall we?” he replied. He led us to the little hot dog vendor on the other side of the parking lot.
“Why don’t you sit here and I’ll fetch us some lunch?” he said.
I slowly sat at the picnic table and watched him walk to the vendor. I honestly didn’t know what to think. I know my best friend would be so angry that I got into the car of a stranger and just rode off with him. But would she respond the same way if she knew it was Drew Roberts. Sr.? Maybe not. But in a way, I knew she would have a point. Did I even know for sure that this was THE Drew Roberts, Sr.? Or maybe I had just fallen prey to a stalker and I was actually close to finding out what happened to those women who were stalked and finally caught up to?
I did a quick inventory of my physical condition. I think I was still in a minor state of shock. I seemed to be fine, but I knew, somehow, I think because of my first accident that sometimes you couldn’t tell until a day or two afterwards if you are truly hurt.
“I think I’m okay,” I said rather timidly.
“I didn’t want you to be scared,” Robbie said. “I remember how hurt you were four years ago when that sorry excuse for a boyfriend you had took that curve too fast and rolled that new car he had just bought. What was he thinking? You were very lucky to have your seatbelt on. “
I was frozen. How did he know about that? I didn’t tell anyone about that for fear of shedding a bad light on “that sorry excuse for a boyfriend” for some unknown reason. Looking back now I think I was trying to protect myself from the truth that he truly didn’t care for me at all. Seriously, what kind of man tried to show off and then wrecks a brand new car and then spends more time grieving the loss of money instead of checking to see if his girlfriend has been hurt!
“I was at the hospital when you were, Sweetheart,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “I was in the emergency room and heard the nurses talking over the charts about the accident. When your dad brought you in that evening to make sure you were not seriously injured, I was in the triage room next to yours. That’s the first time I heard your name being spoken.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, starting to get a little confused. “You mean to tell me that you have known me for the last four years and you are just now meeting me? And how is it you came to be in that hospital? You can pay for the best of care anywhere in the world. Why Louisville? And why, if you were indeed there, did I not hear your name being spoken?”
Robbie reached over and took my left hand that had begun to tremble slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or confusion or both.
“Marilyn, please don’t get upset. I have only your best interests at heart. I did not say that I was the one being treated that evening. As a matter of fact, it was my younger sister. She goes to college here and goes by mom’s maiden name, as to avoid any publicity. She had been to a party and done something stupid. Instead of calling mom and dad, she called me and I flew in from New York. It’s all perfectly innocent.”
Robbie pulled the car into the parking lot of a park. I had been so busy trying to sort everything out in my head that I had lost all track of where we were. He turned to me and removed his sunglasses and revealed his chocolate brown eyes. He still had hold of my hand and brought it up to his heart. He held it there for a few seconds before saying, “Let’s go for a little walk. I am sure you have many questions for me and I would be most honored to answer them.”
I nodded and he let go of my hand, got out of the car and came around to open my door to help me out. When he let go of my hand the shivers had come back again and I felt a little helpless. I didn’t like feeling like that. It reminded me of how I felt when I was left standing in the pouring rain after Michael said he found someone else, someone that could actually make him happy.
Robbie opened the door and I got out. Standing in front of him, inches away from his face, was so much more intimate than sitting next to him in the car and my knees got a little weak.
“Are you quite alright?” he asked once more?
“Think I’m just a little lightheaded because I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” I said. I had to make something up and that sounded like the most plausible explanation. Did I really want to tell him that I had had a crush on him for the last ten years and that I thought I might die from embarrassment somehow while I was so close to him?
“Well, let’s remedy that, shall we?” he replied. He led us to the little hot dog vendor on the other side of the parking lot.
“Why don’t you sit here and I’ll fetch us some lunch?” he said.
I slowly sat at the picnic table and watched him walk to the vendor. I honestly didn’t know what to think. I know my best friend would be so angry that I got into the car of a stranger and just rode off with him. But would she respond the same way if she knew it was Drew Roberts. Sr.? Maybe not. But in a way, I knew she would have a point. Did I even know for sure that this was THE Drew Roberts, Sr.? Or maybe I had just fallen prey to a stalker and I was actually close to finding out what happened to those women who were stalked and finally caught up to?
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Crash - Part 2
Okay, I thought to myself. Maybe I should just wake up from this dream. But wait a minute…is this really a dream or is this all really happening to me, Marilyn Stevenson, of Louisville, Kentucky?
Let’s review, shall we?
This morning I had determined to get all of my errands done. My day off was precious and I did want to spend the afternoon lounging around in my tank top and cut-off jean shorts. Yes, I realize that style is so seventies, but I really didn’t care. What I did in the privacy of my own home really shouldn’t matter to anyone but me. But for the morning hours of dropping the dry cleaning off, paying the insurance bill (because for some reason I feel it is important that my agent know me by face and name), turning in my computer to get cleaned up, and spending an hour at the nail salon to have my bi-weekly acrylics done, I wanted to look fabulous...because this was the time I would be seen and I did care what people thought of me in public. So I donned my favorite jeans and my favorite liquid knit, peacock blue top. The perfect silver jewelry laying on my dresser and my expensive shoes – my one luxury – were the finishing touches.
There really was no traffic at this hour of the day and I was pleased that I was able to get in and out of each place in record time. I enjoyed the time in the chair across from the oriental manicurist. I am not sure why it is that the majority of the nail techs were oriental, but in a way I rather preferred it. There was no pressure to hold a conversation with him. I was able to enjoy a few articles in my still-unfinished decorating magazine. After shoving it along with my wallet back into my bag, I headed for my car, protecting my freshly painted nails the whole way. I had settled into my car and, after turning it on, found my favorite top forty radio station. It was times like these that I was thankful I was single. I had sole control of the music I listened to, as well as control of the television remote. (But that’s a whole other story for another time.)
I was finished with everything I needed to do and thought it might be a nice treat to get some fast food on the way home. That way I didn’t have to fuss over anything. I rather relished the idea of slipping out of my six inch stilettos and going barefoot. My shoes were gorgeous, but definitely had a time limit of wear. Thinking about my feet made me wish I had spent a little more time and money and gotten a pedicure. But then again, with the money I saved I could buy a new movie - my other luxury, although not as expensive as the shoes. Driving along with the radio cranked up, singing along with the latest dance song, I was getting more than a little frustrated at the car in front of me. There really wasn’t that much traffic and it infuriated me when someone just didn’t know how to drive. This car kept slowing and then speeding up. I began to wonder if he wasn’t lost. I always assumed that if an unidentified person behind the wheel of a car didn’t know where he was going it must be a man. They never did take the time to get directions, for anything, it seemed. I glanced at the license plate wondering, briefly, if I was going to need to memorize the numbers to report a drunk driver, and realized they were from out of state, New York to be precise. Oh, well, that says a lot. Again, I was making a snap judgment.
I wasn’t going to let this idiotic driver ruin my mood. I had beautiful red fingernails and my fingers were tapping along to the beat of the next song. I began making a mental list of the grocery items I wanted to get tomorrow after work. I was going to have a friend for dinner this weekend and I wanted to really impress her. I hadn’t had a chance to entertain a guest properly since I moved here from the Cleveland area. Lasagna sounded wonderful. Maybe some rosemary bread and salad. And for dessert some lemon….
CRASH!!!
It took a few seconds that seemed like about an hour, for me to breathe after the impact of my face went into the airbag. My neck was already beginning to feel a little sore and my knees hurt from hitting the dashboard. I pulled the bag away and found the door handle and simultaneously, with my right hand, reached for my bag. I found it easily for it had accidentally gotten hooked into my seatbelt. I always used my seatbelt ever since my first accident when I was not driving, but it would have cost my life had I not been wearing one. I gingerly stepped out of the car and began to get my bearings when I looked up to see that dark car in front of me – the one with the crazy driver. Why did he stop like that?
The sun was shining brightly and I saw a figure step out of the car. It was a man. Figures. And then I recognized who it was…
Now, here I am sitting in his car, him seated a foot away. His eyes are focused on the road, or it appears they are, for I cannot see his eyes for the sunglasses. I just can’t understand this. It is real. I accept that. But a flood of questions are ringing through my head, as it throbs with pain. Is this really Drew Roberts, Sr.? Does he know I am just a regular woman or does he think I am someone else? Does he know where he is going? And for heaven’s sake, WHY IS THERE AN UNCONSCIOUS WOMAN IN THE TRUNK OF HIS CAR? Will I end up there next?
Let’s review, shall we?
This morning I had determined to get all of my errands done. My day off was precious and I did want to spend the afternoon lounging around in my tank top and cut-off jean shorts. Yes, I realize that style is so seventies, but I really didn’t care. What I did in the privacy of my own home really shouldn’t matter to anyone but me. But for the morning hours of dropping the dry cleaning off, paying the insurance bill (because for some reason I feel it is important that my agent know me by face and name), turning in my computer to get cleaned up, and spending an hour at the nail salon to have my bi-weekly acrylics done, I wanted to look fabulous...because this was the time I would be seen and I did care what people thought of me in public. So I donned my favorite jeans and my favorite liquid knit, peacock blue top. The perfect silver jewelry laying on my dresser and my expensive shoes – my one luxury – were the finishing touches.
There really was no traffic at this hour of the day and I was pleased that I was able to get in and out of each place in record time. I enjoyed the time in the chair across from the oriental manicurist. I am not sure why it is that the majority of the nail techs were oriental, but in a way I rather preferred it. There was no pressure to hold a conversation with him. I was able to enjoy a few articles in my still-unfinished decorating magazine. After shoving it along with my wallet back into my bag, I headed for my car, protecting my freshly painted nails the whole way. I had settled into my car and, after turning it on, found my favorite top forty radio station. It was times like these that I was thankful I was single. I had sole control of the music I listened to, as well as control of the television remote. (But that’s a whole other story for another time.)
I was finished with everything I needed to do and thought it might be a nice treat to get some fast food on the way home. That way I didn’t have to fuss over anything. I rather relished the idea of slipping out of my six inch stilettos and going barefoot. My shoes were gorgeous, but definitely had a time limit of wear. Thinking about my feet made me wish I had spent a little more time and money and gotten a pedicure. But then again, with the money I saved I could buy a new movie - my other luxury, although not as expensive as the shoes. Driving along with the radio cranked up, singing along with the latest dance song, I was getting more than a little frustrated at the car in front of me. There really wasn’t that much traffic and it infuriated me when someone just didn’t know how to drive. This car kept slowing and then speeding up. I began to wonder if he wasn’t lost. I always assumed that if an unidentified person behind the wheel of a car didn’t know where he was going it must be a man. They never did take the time to get directions, for anything, it seemed. I glanced at the license plate wondering, briefly, if I was going to need to memorize the numbers to report a drunk driver, and realized they were from out of state, New York to be precise. Oh, well, that says a lot. Again, I was making a snap judgment.
I wasn’t going to let this idiotic driver ruin my mood. I had beautiful red fingernails and my fingers were tapping along to the beat of the next song. I began making a mental list of the grocery items I wanted to get tomorrow after work. I was going to have a friend for dinner this weekend and I wanted to really impress her. I hadn’t had a chance to entertain a guest properly since I moved here from the Cleveland area. Lasagna sounded wonderful. Maybe some rosemary bread and salad. And for dessert some lemon….
CRASH!!!
It took a few seconds that seemed like about an hour, for me to breathe after the impact of my face went into the airbag. My neck was already beginning to feel a little sore and my knees hurt from hitting the dashboard. I pulled the bag away and found the door handle and simultaneously, with my right hand, reached for my bag. I found it easily for it had accidentally gotten hooked into my seatbelt. I always used my seatbelt ever since my first accident when I was not driving, but it would have cost my life had I not been wearing one. I gingerly stepped out of the car and began to get my bearings when I looked up to see that dark car in front of me – the one with the crazy driver. Why did he stop like that?
The sun was shining brightly and I saw a figure step out of the car. It was a man. Figures. And then I recognized who it was…
Now, here I am sitting in his car, him seated a foot away. His eyes are focused on the road, or it appears they are, for I cannot see his eyes for the sunglasses. I just can’t understand this. It is real. I accept that. But a flood of questions are ringing through my head, as it throbs with pain. Is this really Drew Roberts, Sr.? Does he know I am just a regular woman or does he think I am someone else? Does he know where he is going? And for heaven’s sake, WHY IS THERE AN UNCONSCIOUS WOMAN IN THE TRUNK OF HIS CAR? Will I end up there next?
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Crash - Part 1
(This is the first part of a short story I started. Hopefully through the course of this blog I will finish it and it won't sound totally immature.)
PART 1
I saw the man in front of me, but for some reason it didn't register. I looked back at my car trying to figure out what I should say. But for some reason I couldn't formulate a word, much less a sentence.
"Are you alright?" he asked as he dipped his ever-famous sunglasses down his nose so I could see his deep, brown eyes, shimmering. I couldn't tell if they were reflecting the sun or if the glow radiated from within his soul.
"Um...yeah...I mean, yes," I sputtered.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stop so abruptly," he said.
I vaguely remember driving behind a dark car with tinted windows and getting frustrated with the driver's seemingly distracted driving. The next thing I knew I had slammed on my brakes way too late and rear-ended the car. Thankfully I had my seatbelt on at the time and my airbag had taken the impact of my face and not the steering wheel. I had come to my senses and taken off my seatbelt, checking to make sure I could feel all of my extremities. I got out of my car wanting to ensure the driver in front of me was alright, knowing full well, I would be at fault in this little accident. I walked to the rear of the car in front of me.
My eyes looked down to the body in the trunk of his car in front of me. The impact of my car had dislodged the trunk latch. There was a woman facing away from me and appeared lifeless. I then see a faint movement of her shoulders and surmised that she must still be alive. The question was, "Why is there a woman in the trunk of the car belonging to Drew Roberts, Sr.
"I see you have noticed her. I have a very good explanation for that," Mr. Roberts said as he strode closer to me. He placed one hand on the trunk lid and, while blocking me from getting any closer with the other, shut the trunk firmly.
"I didn't mean for you to see that yet," he said. He looked into my face as if trying to assure me of his concern and sympathy.
I was still trying to register the fact that my favorite actor was standing in front of me when the words he spoke caught me off guard. "Yet?" I asked.
I was frozen to the pavement as if there were lead in my brand new Jimmy Choos. Mr. Roberts (as I could only refer to him) began walking back to the driver's door of his platinum-colored late modeled BMW. He reached in and took out a pad of paper and pen and scribbled something on it, tore the sheet from the notebook, tossed the pad back into his car, folded the piece of paper in half and placed the paper under my windshield wiper. He started back to where I continued to stand, immobilized.
"There is something I need to tell you," he said. He took my right hand and began to lead me to the passenger door of his car. It was a good thing he was standing so close because I thought I might faint right there on the spot. I couldn't remember ever having felt this light-headed.
He opened the door and gently helped me in, handling me as if I were a delicate piece of porcelain. He knelt at the door, getting dirt on his delectable Levis, and quietly said, "Let's start off with introductions, shall we? I already know you as Marilyn. I would like for you to call me Robbie." He gently raised my hand to his lips and kissed my still-trembling fingers.
PART 1
I saw the man in front of me, but for some reason it didn't register. I looked back at my car trying to figure out what I should say. But for some reason I couldn't formulate a word, much less a sentence.
"Are you alright?" he asked as he dipped his ever-famous sunglasses down his nose so I could see his deep, brown eyes, shimmering. I couldn't tell if they were reflecting the sun or if the glow radiated from within his soul.
"Um...yeah...I mean, yes," I sputtered.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stop so abruptly," he said.
I vaguely remember driving behind a dark car with tinted windows and getting frustrated with the driver's seemingly distracted driving. The next thing I knew I had slammed on my brakes way too late and rear-ended the car. Thankfully I had my seatbelt on at the time and my airbag had taken the impact of my face and not the steering wheel. I had come to my senses and taken off my seatbelt, checking to make sure I could feel all of my extremities. I got out of my car wanting to ensure the driver in front of me was alright, knowing full well, I would be at fault in this little accident. I walked to the rear of the car in front of me.
My eyes looked down to the body in the trunk of his car in front of me. The impact of my car had dislodged the trunk latch. There was a woman facing away from me and appeared lifeless. I then see a faint movement of her shoulders and surmised that she must still be alive. The question was, "Why is there a woman in the trunk of the car belonging to Drew Roberts, Sr.
"I see you have noticed her. I have a very good explanation for that," Mr. Roberts said as he strode closer to me. He placed one hand on the trunk lid and, while blocking me from getting any closer with the other, shut the trunk firmly.
"I didn't mean for you to see that yet," he said. He looked into my face as if trying to assure me of his concern and sympathy.
I was still trying to register the fact that my favorite actor was standing in front of me when the words he spoke caught me off guard. "Yet?" I asked.
I was frozen to the pavement as if there were lead in my brand new Jimmy Choos. Mr. Roberts (as I could only refer to him) began walking back to the driver's door of his platinum-colored late modeled BMW. He reached in and took out a pad of paper and pen and scribbled something on it, tore the sheet from the notebook, tossed the pad back into his car, folded the piece of paper in half and placed the paper under my windshield wiper. He started back to where I continued to stand, immobilized.
"There is something I need to tell you," he said. He took my right hand and began to lead me to the passenger door of his car. It was a good thing he was standing so close because I thought I might faint right there on the spot. I couldn't remember ever having felt this light-headed.
He opened the door and gently helped me in, handling me as if I were a delicate piece of porcelain. He knelt at the door, getting dirt on his delectable Levis, and quietly said, "Let's start off with introductions, shall we? I already know you as Marilyn. I would like for you to call me Robbie." He gently raised my hand to his lips and kissed my still-trembling fingers.
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