“Are you sure you don’t need help carrying your things?
“If I got them in here all on my own, I’m sure I can get them out.” Roxanne looked up at Lincoln, who was visibly nervous as he talked to her. She flipped her hair non-chalantly and gathered up the last of her things. Lincoln reached out his hand to say goodbye.
“Don’t we still have an elevator ride together?” She questioned, peering through her frames.
“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled, looking at the ground. As soon as his eyes hit the ground, all he could see were the shoes. Her ankle sat perfectly, connecting to her model-esque legs. They weren’t skinny, more athletic, like a dancer’s. Her preferred the girls who had some power under them.
The elevator ride was all small talk, schools, hometowns and such. Lincoln wanted to pull out all his old flirty tricks, but he was stuck back in his middle school days. She did most of the talking, which was lucky because Lincoln could not have been more inept at this point. Roxanne would do one small action, and he was suddenly trapped in slow motion and locked on her. The way she would brush her hair out of her face, lick her lips, or turn to make eye contact. The way she would shift her weight, cocking a hip to each side periodically.
The elevator landed on the ground floor, and the doors slid open, nearly silent.
“Stay there.” She told him, while she set some things down on a nearby coffee table. She reached into her wallet and pulled out a business card.
“You’re new in town. If you want some advice on where to go, some company or both, give me a call. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” She had the look in her eyes that brought Lincoln to his knees. They were pale green like the shoes. He felt a little dizzy.
“Thank you, you as well. I’ve never been to L.A. before, actually, so I will take you up on that phone call.” He smiled at the business card, then at her. She shook his hand and walked out.
On his ride back to the hotel, Lincoln stared at the business card, letting the thoughts from the day pour through his head. When he arrived at 535 South Grand Avenue, an ambulance and cops cars were sitting out, lights flashing. Lincoln went to the concierge and asked what was wrong.
“Our head chef had a heart attack- he’s in stable condition, but we have to shut down the restaurant for tonight because of all the hubbub that happened before the attack hit. Some of our line cooks were- um, getting a little heated about something and started fighting. Some kitchen equipment got damaged. We are extremely sorry for this inconvinience.” Lincoln merely blinked at this news.
“So…your restaurant is closed?” He asked, dumbfoundedly.
“Yes sir, Mr. Stanford, we truly regret that news. We could organize you a reservation at another restaurant?” The concierge asked, already pulling out the restaurant brochure.
“I’ll take the brochure up to my room. Thank you.” His eyes were in outer space as he took the brochure and went straight to his room.
He turned on HBO but didn’t watch it, or listen to it. He left the brochure open on the perfectly made king size bed and traced his fingers all over the business card. Their conversation replayed in their head, leading himself into an inner argument. “She said I should call if I wanted company…but she couldn’t possibly- no, she couldn’t, I’m sure she has some plans for tonight…” He started dialing the number anyway. His heart pounded in his chest as the phone rang.
“Roxanne Warner speaking.” That confident, melodic voice spoke back clearly.
“Ms. Warner? It’s Lincoln. The restaurant at the hotel is shut down, and you said call if I needed restaurant advice or…” He hadn’t spoken like this, trailing off awkwardly, in years. He wanted to yell at her.
“Or some company? If you’re asking where you should go to eat, I’ve got that, but if you’d like some company, you should ask now because my evenings fill up very fast.” Lincoln couldn’t assess if she was flirting- the way she spoke was so straightforward, as if these were facts and not a part of the game. Either way, it made his heart race even more. He took a deep breath.
“Ms. Warner, I was wondering if you would like to show me a place to eat and join me for dinner if you aren’t busy this evening.” He could barely keep his voice from cracking.
“It’s Roxanne, and I would be happy to join you. Meet me at Angelini Osteria at seven o’clock sharp. I’ll make the reservation.”
“Thank you. Roxanne.” Calling her by her first name felt strange, even though she had addressed him as Lincoln after he had asked her to.
“You’re welcome, Lincoln. See you at seven, then.” Were her final words before hanging up the phone. Lincoln flopped back on the bed, heart still racing, asking himself why he was suddenly so utterly lame.
All there is for now. Did my first AP today, and I'm doing two more. This is the part where I send me to bed, I'm staying up too late!
