I spent the rest of the evening sitting on the couch with Sophie in my lap.
    I wanted to focus on my friends but couldn't stop thinking about what Christian had said and how I didn't have a response for it.
 

   Aside from the obvious defects, Christian seemed like the kind of person that I should have been in love with. He was brilliant, charming, humorous, attractive, eloquent, interesting and stable. Plus, he was over flowing with good intentions. He even obsessed over certain kinds of music. I couldn't understand why I didn't just say, "I love you." It would've been so easy. It would've made sense.
    Adrian sat beside Sophie and I. He participated in the counting games and the I-Spy. He acted terribly wounded when she pretended to reject him.
    Holly couldn't have looked happier.
    I was furious with her. She had been underhanded to Christian, in my opinion, though she claimed to love him, and I was annoyed at the personal stake that she felt she had in my affairs. I could only assume that she was afraid that if Christian were to do just as he had always done then it would mean that she would lose me-- and she didn't want that.
    Adrian pretended to take my nose for Sophie's amusement. I forced a laugh.
    Jared scooped Sophie up from my lap.
    "I couldn't help but notice how fond my child is of you," He stated.
    Emily rolled her eyes as they started for the door, "He's trying to ask if you can babysit on Friday night. We would be extremely grateful."
    "All the juice boxes that you can drink. Two popsicles from the freezer." Jared added.
    "I think that I'm free Friday night," I shot a look at Noah to confirm. From his blank stare, I assumed that I was correct. "Sure."
    Sophie hugged my legs.
    Sara and Noah were the next to go.
    "4 p.m. tomorrow," Noah reminded, "We're shooting through the night. I'll call you."
    Then there were four of us. Adam, Holly, Adrian and myself.
    I was trying to figure out a way to turn the situation around and make it the most comfortable circumstance possible. Unfortunately, the other people involved weren't holding up their end.
    Holly was excited that it was the four of us and focused on that. Adam appeared to be confused by the Christian situation and frustrated with Holly's meddling so he remained silent. Adrian could obviously sense tension, but not understanding why the tension was there, chose to ignore it.
    I was busy masterminding a plan that would get all three of them out of my apartment without hurting anyone's feelings.
    So far the plan consisted of a yawn.
    Finally, I very dramatically said, with a stretch, "I'm tired. I should start cleaning up."
    Adam stood up, "That's our cue."
    Adrian began grabbing wine glasses, "I'll help you."
    Adam sat down, "We'll stay."
    "Adam, you look tired. We should go," Holly said patting his leg.
    "Shouldn't we wait for Adrian?" Adam over enunciated each syllable.
    Adrian looked up, oblivious, "I have my car."
    "Yes. Adrian has his car. Let's go," Holly popped out of her seat, threw her arms around me and kissed my face.
    "I'll call you tomorrow," She glanced over at Adrian, "Don't stay up too late."
    I frowned my chagrin.
    Adam gave me a handshake and a hug, "I tried."
    "I know. Thank you."
    "Don't let him touch you-- I mean, unless--ugh. I'm staying out of it."
    "I won't."
    "Adam!" Holly scolded holding the front door open.
    "Okay! Okay!"

    Then there were two; Adrian and myself.

    I didn't know anything about Adrian but I could've learned loads from reading the papers alone.
    Unbeknownst to me, at the time that I had met Adrian he was in the midst of a very successful career. He was world-renowned as an actor, writer and director as well as rumored to be a phenomenal musician. He was in the top five of every major publications "hot" list but, strangely enough, he wasn't even slightly scandalous.
    Christian had joked that I should become an ambassador for UNICEF because I appeared to take on so much but Adrian actually was an ambassador for UNICEF as well as doing work with his sister for homeless shelters in his birthplace of New York.
    Perhaps demeanor might have said more than news sources ever could. Adrian was confident but not cocky, a true gentleman and easily the most big-hearted person that I had met in my life.
   
    It would have been difficult for anyone not to be completely taken with him.
   
    Adrian and I stood at the kitchen sink. I washed the dishes and he dried them with a dish towel then placed them in whatever cabinets seemed appropriate.
    We were silent for the most part only because I was too nervous to speak. I was dead set on disliking him and opposed to him saying something that would convince me otherwise. Secretly, I knew that my stance would have changed if he were to say anything at all so I silently willed him not to speak.
    "It was a nice party," Adrian commented, casually.
    I cursed him.
    "Yes."
    He hesitated for a long moment,
    "You don't like me, do you?"
    I felt awful. I shut off the running water and turned to him.
    "I do like you. I'm forcing myself not to. I've got this... situation."
    He dried the glass in his hand, "With Christian?"
    "How did you know?"
    "The guy threw you a party and talked to you in the bathroom for about twenty minutes... it wasn't difficult to figure out."
    "Are you mad? Would you like the plant back?"
    "I'm not mad. You can keep the plant but I'll take the flowers back. I might be able to use them in my next endeavor," His mouth slowly slid into a grin that betrayed his straight face, "Audrey, I'm joking. We can be friends. I understand."
    He held out his hand for a handshake.
    I shook my head, "My hand is wet."
    "So is mine."
    "Okay," I slid my hand into his.
    "Fine," He said giving it a shake.
    "Maybe we could hang out sometime," I offered as we shook hands, "I could buy you dinner... as an apology for how awful I've been?"
    "You could just apologize."
    "I'm sorry."
    "You have nothing to apologize for," he smirked and released my hand, "But it is good to get all apologies out of the way at the beginning of a friendship. In fact, I normally start arguments upon introductions just to be sure that the relationship can survive it."
    "Is this our argument?" I asked.
    "No, I'm afraid it's too late for our argument and for that: I'm sorry."
    I laughed.
    "I can't buy you dinner tomorrow night. How about the night after?"
    "The night after is Friday and you agreed to babysit Sophie."
    "Right... you could come with me? Sophie seemed to like you and there was mention of juice boxes. We can get dinner afterwards."
    He seemed to be reading my face. He tucked his lips in and gave a quick nod.
    "Okay. Deal. I'm in."
    I flipped the water back on and finished the dishes but a question plagued me and I knew that I couldn't go any further with Adrian without asking it. I didn't have anything to lose so I just sort of let the words fall out.
    "Did you like me because Holly told you to?"
    Stunned, his eyes grew wide but within a split second all composure was regained.
    "I asked Holly for the introduction," He confessed with a nervous clearing of his throat, "Your film-- It was very moving."
    "Moving?"
    "There's this scene at the funeral when she keeps debating with herself about whether or not to open the urn because she wants proof that her brother is dead. When she does decide to open the urn only to find that there isn't anything there... it's heartbreaking. You're torn because you know that he's dead but you want the ashes to be there as much as you don't want them to be."
    "That's how it felt when my brother died," I murmured, blankly. I was bemused that Adrian understood so much without me having to say anything at all.
    "Your brother's dead?"
    "Yeah. Uh, it's what the film was about," I shook myself free from thought, "Um, when he died, I knew that he was dead because I could feel it but there wasn't any proof of it. I guess really either way, you know, life or death. I mean, there still isn't proof. My sister and I think that our mom is hiding him... his ashes, that is, obviously... because he's dead, you know. I'm rambling... I'm sorry what was I saying..."
    Adrian looked incredibly sad and sympathetic.
    "I'm sorry."
    I tried to make sense of my sudden confession.
    "It's okay."
    "It's okay to talk about it."
    "Yeah."
    I was aloof.
    Adrian held onto the silence for a minute.
    "Anything else need cleaned up? House or emotionally?"
    I exhaled, "I think that everything is in order."
    "Good. I should get going," He hung the dishtowel on the oven door.
   
    It seemed like everyone wanted something from me. Holly wanted me to become the biggest star that ever lived but she wanted me to do these things pending her approval. Christian wanted me to be emotionally selfless in regards to him no matter what the consequences might have been. Noah wanted my complete and undivided attention on the film so that he ran no risk of failure. But how could I give my complete and undivided attention when so many others were requesting it?
    Adrian didn't seem to have an ulterior motive. He seemed to want me to be myself, whoever that was, and that was all.
    "Do you have somewhere that you need to be?" I asked.
    "No, not particularly."
    "You can stay. We could listen to records."
    "I don't want to get you into trouble with Christian."
    "No one can get me into trouble but me. Go pick out some records."
    Adrian walked over to the records and scanned the wall. He looked up with a mischievous glint.
    "Wow," He teased, "I think that you must own everything that Morrissey has ever done. Including," He pulled a record from the shelf halfway, "Morrissey presents the New York Dolls."
    "Is that weird?"
    "I know of a lot of kids who left the New York Dolls alone after Johnny Thunders left the band... but, no..." He pushed the record back into the shelf, "It isn't really so strange."
    I rolled my eyes at the pun.
    "How old are you that you know kids who left the New York Dolls alone after Johnny Thunders quit?"
    "Thirty-one. I meant that most kids won't buy the new stuff or listen to that album of them in Japan."
    "You weren't even alive when the New York Dolls broke up."
    "Neither were you," he winked at me then turned his attention back to the records, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. I was fifteen with a pompadour and a Smiths t-shirt, furiously writing poetry."
    "What would the tabloids report if they knew that?"
    "Probably not much. They don't waste too much time on me since they figured out that I don't do anything interesting."
    "You stay under the radar?"
    He shrugged, "If you don't do stupid things, you won't get caught doing stupid things. In most cases, public interest is with people who are always out or doing unbelievable things. Sometimes there will be a picture of me shopping or coming back from a restaurant but I can't imagine that they are worth much... I always hear good things about Brian Eno but I can't say that I've listened to him. What do you recommend?"
    I pulled out Another Green World.
    I put the record on the turntable and set the needle down on The Big Ship.
    We sat cross legged on the carpet. I tried to keep from staring at Adrian but I wanted to gauge his reaction. His eyes lit up in wonder and an expression of awe crossed his face.
    "It's beautiful," He mused.
    "You can borrow it if you'd like."
    "I don't have a record player."
    "You're kidding?! I thought that you were rock-and-roll."
    "I've been faithful to cassette tapes and CDs. I own some records because I HAVE to own them but I haven't played them. I think I'd like to buy a player, your collection has moved me so."
    "You'll be borrowing this then?"
    "I will."
    "We could go record shopping sometime."
    "Do you have Saturday free?" He asked.
    "I do."
    "How about Saturday? Late morning?"
    "I know of some places south."
   
    Adrian and I took turns playing records and we talked about anything and everything.
   
    I put on Mercury Rev All is Dream and started telling Adrian about this strange dream that I'd had about living in a house with a pregnant friend.

    "My friend had a neighbor who was also pregnant, only the baby had died inside of the womb. The neighbor's husband was planning to cut the living baby out of my friend and when I heard this, I tried to help her escape, but I woke up."
    "You can assume that she's safe then?" Adrian asked with a smile.
    "I guess so. If I'm not dreaming it, then everyone got out okay, right?"
    "Right," He tilted his head back against a couch cushion, "I had this weird one about visiting an abandoned amusement park that looked like the Old West. There was this shop that was full of mannequins wearing colorful wigs and the only way to get in was through these broken windows. Even though the place was broken down and supposedly abandoned, it was full of tourists with old cameras taking family photos with the mannequins. It was like one of those atom bomb testing houses."
    Adrian removed his jacket, revealing first a gray t-shirt then a tiny tattoo on the inside of his left forearm. I caught his arm before he could put his arm down. It was the word 'HOME' written in neat black letters.
    "What's this?" I inquired.
    "Oh that. That is called a tattoo," he jested.
    I smiled, "I know what it is. What does it mean?"
    "It's kind of hard to explain..."
    "Go on."
    "Well, it's intensely personal."
    "I'm a person."
    "And I was kind of drunk but disguising it well... not that it wasn't a well thought out decision... actually, if I'm being honest the decision and appointment had been made before the drinking started and the drinking was because of the needles..."
    "Are you going to tell me?"
    "I was trying to build up a good story... My best friend and I have the same tattoo in the same place. It's over the artery that leads to the heart so that's one version of home. The second version is that since we both have it we know that where the other one is; that's where home is."
    "Did you consider bracelets?" I teased.
    Adrian lifted his right arm to show a thin orange rope friendship bracelet on his wrist. It looked identical to the ones that kids used to exchange when I was in sixth grade.
    "It's dual coverage. This way I can take the bracelet off and wash it... or I can lose my left arm and Spencer's feelings won't get hurt."
    "The friendship remains intact," I touched my finger to his tattoo, feeling how his smooth skin raised up slightly where the word 'HOME' was written.
    "You can keep it, if you'd like. I don't need it," Adrian teased. I looked up, questioningly. He glanced down at his arm. I still had a hold of it.
    I released his arm and blushed.
    "I'm sorry," I apologized, embarrassed.
    "Don't be," He soothed, "So what about you? Any distinguishing marks or ways that you've scarred yourself in the name of friendship?"
    "Unfortunately, I'd be harder to identify at the morgue. I haven't found anything that I'm willing to commit to flesh... I've thought about it but I once ate the last hotdog on the roller at 7-11. It was 3 am and I was with my best friend. That might be commitment enough."
    "More importantly you lived to tell the tale."
    "I still don't know how... I mean, the bun was hard," I looked at the turntable. The needle lifted once it hit the inner groove, "Would you like to put a record on?"

***

    Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds Your Funeral...My Trial was the first album that Adrian had ever truly fallen in love with.
    He was twenty years old and had just started the theatre program at Sarah Lawrence. Unfortunately for Adrian, he was not having the time of his life. He was alone, disillusioned with those around him (as most twenty year old idealists are apt to be) and he kept asking himself if he had made the right decision in going there in the first place.
    One day he took himself to the record store in search of solace and when he walked in he heard the song Stranger than Kindness being played on the overhead. Adrian ran to the counter, he had to have whatever it was that was playing. This was what he needed.
    "It's funny," Adrian told me, "The first time that I heard Nick Cave and fell in love with him and fell in love with a song... I later found out that he hadn't even written that song. He hadn't written the words and he hadn't written the music. This brilliant man that I would spend so much time and energy and dedication on and my introduction to him wasn't even really him."

***



    Afghan Whigs Gentlemen was the record that got Adrian through his broken heart. He wouldn't sleep. He would call and hang up.
   
    "I think that the only thing that I ate that summer was dry cereal."
   
    We laid on our backs and stared up at the ceiling, sharing what was left of a bottle of red wine from the party. We didn't use glasses. We took swigs straight from the bottle and passed it back and forth between us, wiping loose droplets from our mouths with the back of our hands.
    I felt a real kinship for Adrian. A camaraderie, a co-conspirator.
    It reminded me of the friendships that I'd had in grade school. The kind with whispered secrets, skinned knees and picking each other up. At the time, those relationships seemed indestructible and were always looked back upon with a unique fondness.
    I put a Leadbelly record on and I told Adrian about where I was when I got the call that my brother had died and how I didn't have a cell phone then so my sister had to track down what club I was playing at.
    "I remember standing at the bar and hearing her voice in this forced calm. She tried to make it out to be an accident then she went on to tell me that she wasn't sure what happened. I hung up and I walked across the street to a gas station and bought a Pepsi and these disgusting lemon cookies. I told the attendant, 'My brother died', and the attendant didn't respond, then I said, 'Like twenty minutes ago', and then he just kind of mumbled, 'I'm sorry to hear that'. Then I walked back across the street and I played the show and I played every show up until the day before the funeral. Just like nothing had happened."

***


    I told him about growing up in Seattle as we listened to the Walkabouts.

    He told me about his parents splitting up while we listened to Daniel Johnston.

    "I was seven," Adrian turned his face towards me. What an exquisite face! "My sister, mom and I moved in with my grandmother. My dad moved to France. The parting wasn't amicable so I've only seen my dad once since then."
    "When?"
    "When I was eighteen. I took a job as a dishwasher and saved up my money to fly over to see him. It was uncomfortable. Two weeks sitting in a room together, completely silent."
    "Do you speak French?"
    "La cigale n'a pas travaille pendant l'ete."
    "What does that mean?"
    "The cicada did not work during the summer," Adrian smirked, "But don't ask me to order food. We'll both starve."
    "So France is out of the question?"
    "Possibly even parts of Canada... but let's both work on it. If you can learn the food stuff then I can entertain the locals with my anecdotes about insects."
    "I've been to France before. Once on tour. None of us spoke French so we walked around with these guidebooks and dictionaries, looking very idiotic. Luckily, everyone that we had to talk to for the shows either spoke some English or knew someone who did... so what did you eat while you were there?"
    "Pain au chocolat, mostly."
    "Chocolate bread?" I asked, gathering together what little French that I knew.
    "Essentially. It was the only thing that I could remember from French class besides orange juice and coffee."
    "I could survive off of chocolate bread, orange juice and coffee."
    "Great. When do we leave?"
    I smiled, "Tomorrow."
    "Ah... but you have to film tomorrow and the day after is Friday and you agreed to watch Sophie."
    "We probably shouldn't travel with someone else's small child."
    "No, especially not with school on Monday."
    "Some other time?"
    "Absolutely."

    I rose to my feet, taking the wine bottle with me as I stood before the wall of records trying to decide the next one. I have thousands of records, literally well over two thousand, and for some reason it's almost impossible for me to find something to listen to. It's like having no records at all. I'm always looking to listen to what I don't have.
    I settled on Folk Implosion Dare to be Surprised, then returned to my laying position on the floor.
    "What is your relationship with Christian?" Adrian asked, lightly.
    I had to think a moment, then answered as honestly as I possibly could.
    "I don't know. It's confusing."
    "Why?"
    I didn't realize how good of a question 'why' was until Adrian asked it. It was simple and direct.
    "I guess because it feels strong but maybe only because it's rushed. Like I have to make the decision of what it is right now and act on it. Even if I don't know what it is... I mean...," I shook my head, "... I don't know what I mean."
    "Do you like him?"
    "Yes."
    "Is that enough?"
    "What do you mean?"
    He shrugged, "I'm not sure, exactly. I think that relationships are constantly at war with themselves. It's the only thing that is delicate enough to be broken but powerful enough to destroy a person. Very few survive and any born of conflict can't be great for the people involved..."
    "You obviously know a lot about relationships," I jested, tugging on his friendship bracelet with my little finger.
    I rolled over onto my stomach and studied him.
    He smiled, nervously puzzled, "What?"
    "I thought that I made you up."
    Adrian placed his palm to my forehead then shook his head, "You don't feel feverish."
    "You think that I'm crazy?" I asked in earnest.
    "Not at all. Sometimes I feel pretty surreal."
    "You're making fun of me," I whispered, embarrassed.
    The corner of his mouth lifted, "Does it matter? I mean, saying that I am your imagination, maybe a better question is: Why are you making fun of yourself?"
    I felt myself move in towards him, a single strand of his hair touched my face and I sat upright, breaking the closeness between us.
    "Do you want a beer?" I offered.
    "Please."
    I went to the refrigerator only to be reminded that we already polished off the only thing that I had in the apartment suitable for consumption.
    "I don't have any beer," I sadly informed him.
    "It's okay," He was very understanding.
    "There's a 7-11 a few blocks away. We could walk there."

***

    The neighborhood was dark and still like 1970s suburbia. Houses looked as though they had been preserved in cellophane and withstood time, the only thing that betrayed them were the modern cars resting in the driveways.
    Adrian walked beside me with his hands in his jeans pockets and jacket unzipped. The silent scuffle of, on this occasion, a pair of white Keds kept time with my own canvas clad feet and I longed for the sound of his exhale.
    The neighborhoods of my youth weren't too different from this one and I had done a similar walk with friends while in high school.
    We snuck out when we thought our parents were asleep and trekked the streets to the corner store where we bought large quantities of candy and soda. When the first one of us turned eighteen, we gave up the junk food in favor of cigarettes.
    It didn't matter what the purchase was, it was the feeling of a stolen freedom and the friend who was willing to help you get it.
    I was thankful for being allowed to have that feeling again and I was thankful to Adrian for being a part of it. I wanted to tell him but felt that it would be too sentimental sounding. The same way as in high school, if I blurted out to one of my friends, "This feels like 1970s suburbia, in a good way." I would've been met with a good-natured shrug. I knew that Adrian would understand but it was a private feeling.
    Adrian pointed to a house and whispered,
    "They're watching TV. You can tell from the blue light."
    We stood on the sidewalk, squinting at the window until we figured out that the person was watching M*A*S*H*.
    Satisfied, we continued our walk into the bright lights of 7-11, with the bells to greet us at the door.

***

    On the way back to the apartment we noticed the blue light of television glowing from a different house. We weren't aware that we had been trying to guess what was being watched for an abnormal amount of time until the door flew open and a thin man in his early thirties, clad only in boxer shorts called out to us, harshly,
    "Can I help you with something?"
    I squinted at the television through the open door only to be betrayed by an auto insurance commercial.
    "We were trying to guess what you were watching," Adrian answered.
    The man was taken aback. It was an unusual excuse when you believe someone to be casing your house in the middle of the night.
    "It's a True Hollywood Story on Jenna Jameson," The man said. At once, he seemed to get a good look at Adrian because his eyes grew wide and he exclaimed,
    "Holy shit! You're that guy from that movie!"
    "Not one of her movies," Adrian gestured towards the television with his chin, then in a comic sort of way he muttered to me from the corner of his mouth, "I don't have the build for it. I haven't got much in the way of chest hair and they claim that it makes me seem sexually non-threatening."
    I chuckled and Adrian turned to the man,
    "Yes. I am that guy from that movie."
    "Whoa! No one is going to believe this!"
    "Probably not," Adrian agreed.
    "Wow...wow. Do you want to come in? It's a pretty good True Hollywood Story but I've got satellite. You can watch whatever you want."
    "Thank you but we'd better not," Adrian replied, graciously.
    "I understand," The man seemed disappointed then perked up at a thought, "Hey, how about we sit on the porch and have a beer?"
    Adrian and I looked at each other, shrugged and walked across the man's lawn.
    We introduced ourselves and shook hands. The man's name was Matt.
    Adrian and I took a seat on the concrete steps that led into Matt's house.
    "I have Bud Light. Hope that's okay," Matt said.
    "We just bought beer," I told him, "We'd be happy to share it with you. Do you have a bottle opener?"
    "Sure do," Matt walked into the house and we could hear rustling through drawers.
    I looked over at Adrian, his cheeks more red as the temperature dropped.
    "I've never done anything like this before and I don't think that this could happen with anyone else that I know. This could only happen with you."
    He grinned his satisfaction and zipped up his jacket.
    He looked over at me.
    "Are you cold?"
    I hugged my coat-covered arms across my chest and smiled content.
    "Not at all."

***

    The needle lifted off of The Smiths The Queen is Dead when the sun was bright through the curtains.
    The light gave Adrian a warm glow, the aura of a saint, and I was taken by seeing him for the first time during the day.
    "Would you like to get breakfast?" He asked.
    I sat up with a creak, moan, stretch.
    "There's nothing to eat here and we've exhausted the 7-11," I thought about what I was saying and retracted it, "Impossible."
    "I meant go out. I'll buy."
    "But I owe you..."
    "Dinner, which is by far a more expensive meal, and I refuse to settle. I'll buy breakfast."
    "It's a generous offer..."
    "But?"
    I grimaced, "I can't. I have to get sleep before filming. Noah is trying to film this whole thing in thirty-six days and if I look haggard for even one of those days... he's likely to kill me."
    "Thirty-six days?"
    "That's how long it took Hitchcock to make Dial M for Murder. I think that the time frame is becoming more like North by Northwest, which was something like four months. Don't tell him that I said that, though."
    He nodded his understanding, "When do you have to be on set?"
    "Four."
    He sat upright with enthusiasm.
    "That's nothing. It is...," he scanned the room for a clock and settled for the one across the room on the night table, "Seven. If we get breakfast, I can have you back home by eight. That's plenty of sleep, right? What do you say?"
    I contemplated silently.
    "I know of a great place," He sing-songed.
    I was quieter still.
    "Audrey..."
    And, I liked my name better when he said it.
    "Okay."
    "Yeah?" He lit up.
    "Yeah."

***

    Being in public with Adrian was an uncomfortable experience akin to walking around with food on the face or a dress tucked into underwear.
    People turned their heads to stare, some pointed and whispered, some took pictures with their cell phones (two asked to have their pictures taken with him, he obliged and attempted to take the picture himself until I, awkwardly, offered assistance. The young women thanked him with smiles thick with insinuation and thanked me with a bizarre look that resembled a scan) and others avoided eye contact as a means of pretending that he didn't exist. Hardly, anyone looked at him the way that someone would look at a stranger or a friend.
    It made me so uneasy that I slouched down in my chair at the bagel shop and stared down into my coffee. Once in awhile, I would look up and around like I were having a bout of paranoia but eventually I settled into a calm that allowed me to focus on Adrian for a few moments at a time.
    "How do you get used to this?" I asked, still suffering shock.
    He looked up from his bagel, swallowing the bite in his mouth.
    "You never get used to it. Some days are harder than others but it could be worse."
    "How could it possibly be any worse?"
    "Paparazzi on the doorstep, never leaving the house without security or handlers, people screaming or trying to grab at you... I'm thankful for looks and pictures and press on. Besides, you'll have this problem after awhile."
    "I don't intend to."
    "You're too beautiful, Audrey. You've got too much talent. You'll get noticed."
    "I don't know what to say."
    "I'm not sure that it was a compliment so I wouldn't say anything."
   
***

    Adrian drove me home after breakfast, making record time at 7:57 am. He walked me up the stairs and to my doorstep.
    I was uncertain of whether to hug him or wave to him or...
    "A handshake," He offered, obviously noticing that I was at a loss.
    I shook his hand, hard pressed to let go until I felt his fingers begin to slide away from mine. Was I making it up? Was he letting go? Better let go to be safe...
    He walked down the stairs, Eno's Another Green World tucked under his arm.
    Anxiety welled up inside of me.
    "Adrian, don't go!" I cried out to him. He turned around to look up at me.
    I held his gaze for a long time. His full lips broke into a slow smile anticipating what I was going to say.
    "Thank you."
    Was what made it past my throat.
    He gave a nod, "Anytime."