Music: Piece of Love, Picasso
Mood: Wide-eyed
Drinks: A facsimile of Milo
It finally happened.
It finally, finally, finally happened.
I had a dream about Tom Felton.
I blame the chocolate-cookies-and-creme milkshake I had before I fell asleep at four p.m. It was definitely that disgusting concoction that did me in.
I feel pervy, I really do. He's... *checks calendar* sixteen! Oh God, he's only sixteen!
Okay, okay, let's start from the beginning. How is it possible that I could have a dream about him? The v. last thing I watched before drifting off to sleep was 'Minority Report'. I remember giggling at the lovely sight of Colin in specs and a suit. *sighs deeply* He's perfect <--- so how did this get translated into the boy who plays Malfoy?
*screws up face in concentration* Oh no. Oh, no. Now it's coming back to me. BEFORE 'Minority Report' the second Potter movie played on a different channel. And I watched the behind-the-scenes documentary. *groans* So that's how it works.
Right. Let me write all this down. How did the dream go?
I'm a young actress who has completed a short telly stint on a drama (not soaps, mind you). Mam calls on my mobile and tells me off for not visiting her for some sort holiday, blah blah. *answers mobile* And there we go, I just received another voicemail asking why I haven't called her yet. BTW, I would love to, only I ran out of minutes. Have to buy a phone card tomorrow. Do not think I care not for my own mother. I do (just a wee bit, hehe).
Back to the dream. I'm telling her I've been extremely busy with work and can hardly take any time off to see her. Fine, she huffs. At least go to this one party. I might not be able to see you, but at least you will socialise! Evil woman, her.
Off I drive (quite badly) to this gathering. It's freezing badly and snowflakes cling to my hair, giving the impression of frozen dandruff. Why hadn't I thought of buying a woollen cap? I have no idea. I'm never that practical, I think as I nearly trip into the closed door. Nothing could be more mortifying that having the neighbours recognise you and then laughing because someone famous they know is a complete clutz. I rap urgently on the door and shiver, waiting for someone to answer. Loud laughter blares out the open upstairs window and I gaze upwards suspiciously. Hopefully it isn't one of those parties where Mam's drunken male friends dress up as hideously ugly women and sing showtunes.
The front door swung open and a couple I am convinced to have never met before smiles and hugs me. FYI, am a conservative person in public and hate hate hate public displays of affection unless: 1) snuggling with my bloke, 2) snogging Colin, 3) Mam pinches me and makes me hug someone. A few air-kisses later I am navigated through the massive party unfolding inside. It must have been a wild masquerade party because I was the only one dressed like a sane individual. The couple who apparently owned the house were dressed like disgustingly cute high school sweethearts with matching his and her sweaters, although that was probably their own faut. There were children dressed as pumpkins, cats and witches. There were adults dressed as RuPaul, Boy George and a few lords and ladies.
I escaped from the cute couple's clutches and sat myself on a bench just outside the kitchen. Too much alcohol, I could just about smell it everywhere. Mixed with the smell of Indian takeout and the claustophobic manner of the party, I was feeling exceptionally nauseous. Let me not forget the children. Oh God, the children were making up for the lack of music by screaming at the top of their lungs and messing about. I rested my hands on my temples and groaned. Beside me a mummy shifted. I stared frankly. Erm, it said. Noisy, innit?
No shit, Sherlock, I muttered. The mummy shifted its weight and grunted. It was the sort of grunt men made when they were obviously lost for words but wanted to make a contribution to the conversation. Pitying the poor bugger, I decided to continue. Well, what are you doing here? He shrugged his shoulders. Was invited. You?
Before I could reply the cute couple had spotted me and pulled me to my feet. There you are! We were looking everywhere for you, darling. Come, come, have something to eat in the kitchen. I glanced over to the mummy, But I'm sort of busy. Right, nodded the mummy, we were having a conversation.
It's just as well, said the young woman. We saw him, you know. She bobbed her head urgently.
Who? I asked.
You know, Ben, answered the young man. At my blank reaction, he decided to press on. It's horrible when exs show up at a party, but you shall have to get over it.
Ex? I blinked. Ben?
He's in there darling. Maybe you should drop in and say hi, be civil, you know.
Who the fuck was Ben, I wondered. Could it be that I dated someone without my own knowledge? Jaysus. Out of curiousity I decided to follow the cute couple into kitchen, leaving the mummy all alone. As always the amateur cooks were present, ladling food into casserole dishes to the ravenous guests. A couple of surly servers stood around, waiting for a chance to head out for a smoke. One of them smiled at me but was quickly reproached by amateur cook #2's pudgy hand. There, however, hanging around the wines stood the mysterious Ben.
Oh, I said. That's Ben? He's just some bloke I went on one date with. He was a complete prat that night, so I said goodbye and never spoke to him again. The couple exchanged looks. Is that so? He told us the both of you were a couple for two months before he left you.
The edge of my lip curled and a cheek muscle twitched, giving the impression of a painful smirk. He WHAT? Sensing an even larger disturbance, the young woman grabbed my arm and dragged me out. We'll get to the bottom of this, she promised and disappeared back into the recesses of the kitchen in a flash. Meanwhile, anger boiled up in me. I stomped about the guest room, raking my hands through the expensive velvet curtains and kicked at soft cushions laid about the floor. How DARE that bastard tell such LIES about me! When I get my hands on him, he's going to lose that--
You all right? The mummy asked, stepping inside the room. You're looking a bit pale.
I'm so mad I can hardly speak, I managed to choke out.
Ah. The ex, eh?
NO. He took a step back. Sorry, I meant... Stupid bastard's gone and told everyone about this non-existent relationship we supposedly had. Why would he do that?
Because he thought it would impress his friends, that he dated a famous actress.
I'm not that famous, I snorted. And he said he dumped me. Me! Pompous arse. I ran a hand through my hair and glared at his bandaged face. So the cat's out of the bag. You recognised me.
He nodded, unfolding his arms. From afar I wondered just how tall he was, more than six feet? And I could hardly see through the bandages. Hey, I said. It must have taken a while for your costume. He nodded again.
I walked towards the drinks table. It's just, he said as he followed me, I'm a fan of your works. Really, I am.
I picked up a glass of champagne.
It's quite funny, actually. I think we have met before--
I threw the drink in his face. Words that he had meant to say next exploded in one giant cry of surprise as he stumbled back. Then I merely pushed him onto a sofa and straddled him. He said something then, and I ignored him as my hands clawed off the bandages. I hadn't realised how crazy it all seemed until the last of the scrap of gauze was out of the way and a younger man lay staring at me. Apologies immediately tumbled out. Sorry, I am so sorry, I didn't mean-- I don't know-- Forgive me, I--
He tried to sit up but I was still on top of him and I blushed, sliding off the sofa. I am so sorry, I repeated. Sometimes I just don't know what I'm doing. He couldn't reply, just sat there with his mouth slightly open so I excused myself and left the room. What. Is. Wrong with me? I angrily asked myself out in the hallway. Couldn't I behave myself for just one night and not scare off people? I gasped. And was that Tom Felton I had assaulted?
Watch it, someone growled. Watch yourself, you sl-- Oof. I looked up from the floor. Honey, drawled Cleopatra, handing me a hand. Be careful. Thanks, I muttered as she proceeded to size me up in a glance. Her head lolled to one side, you look frazzled. Here. Her head jerked toward the kitchen. You need a drink. I tried to leave but her surprisingly large frame nudged me in the other direction. And hand me a cuppa, will you sweetie?
The swinging door sucked me in. Half a second transpired before I realised what had happened. I was supposed to ignore Ben! DAMNIT. He was right there! Standing at the sink with one of those soppy brats. At the time I was too harried to process the appropriate emotion (anger) to deal with him, and instead cooed inwardly as he washed the child's dirty hands and sang her a tune. A moment passed and he set her down, patted her head and saw me. Hello, he said. I grinned stupidly. Hello, BEN. You're doing well?
Oh yes, he nodded. I stepped forward. He continued, and that's my daughter there. Crap, I thought. So much for using him as a punching bag.
The door swung open violently with a bang, causing the both of us to turn our heads sharply. It was Tom.
I hadn't realised an awkward pause had occured for some time after Ben suddenly coughed. My eyes left Tom's to find Ben picking up his little girl. Erm, he said. I see that the both of you might have something to talk about, erm, nice meeting you.
Yes, nice meeting you too, I replied absently. Tom stood to the side to let them both through.
The door shut behind him.
What the hell was that? I asked.
Thought you might do something rash.
I snorted.
He smiled. Do you constantly do that when you haven't an answer to something?
I snorted again. No.
He was definitely getting too close. Two more steps and--
After you went aggro on me, I was afraid you would cut his head off. I started to disagree, but could only manage to freeze in place with every step Tom took. All I could think of was that Police song, 'Don't Stand So Close To Me'. Are you all right, he was saying. His concerned gaze calmed me enough to feel safe in leaning forward and burrowing my fingers in his shirt. He was tall enough, I remember, to make me stand on tiptoe.
The kitchen door slammed open again. Caught unawares, we both whirled at the intruders with crimson faces. It turns out the more inebriated guests were continuing their search for more alcohol. Oi, pointed out one guest I had already met. You forgot my cuppa, girl!
We need to leave, I said and grabbed Tom's wrist. Where are we going, he shouted over the noise. Good point, where were we going? Without thinking I blurted out, to the roof. Lucky for us there was no way of getting up to the said roof, as it was a tiled house. We stood out on the balcony and shivered. Guess I was wrong on that point, I ventured. He shook his head and wordlessly led me into the closet. And there amongst the designer clothes and matching shoes we had an intense snogging session.
In all honesty, he didn't look sixteen. A bit older, in fact. And I was a twenty-something girl who giggled when he tickled my sides, then was occupied with leaving a trail of kisses on the back of his neck. At some point we both had our shirts off, but it all changed when he yelped after I nipped him affectionately. We took one look at each other and burst into laughter. It was quite a strange event for the both of us to indulge in. I might have done something instinctual as that with Colin, but not with someone I liked. He felt the same way, and spent the better part of the night snuggling in that stuffy walk-in closet.
Fast forward a few weeks. One of our friends was hosting a lunch at his place, and Tom decided to help make some appetisers. Being the ADD-afflicted adult I am, I did my best to break his concentration. I am pretty sure that included me snapping up the goods and stuffing them all in my mouth. It may also have included flicking rubber bands at his bum before he dropped the tomatoes and chased me about the kitchen. I was laughing as he wrapped his arms around my tummy and picked me up when the friend came in v. somber. It's in today's bloody paper, he said, throwing a copy onto the table. Page twenty-six.
I moved out of Tom's grasp and quickly flipped through the paper. Page twenty-six seemed drab enough, but upon closer inspection brought some rather bad news. The gossip columnist not only mentioned our (secretive) relationship but hinted at a link to a mafia boss. I handed the vile thing to Tom. You're kidding, right? I looked to the friend, what is this bullshit?
Slanderous bullshit, he said. I've already called the publicist. Tom frowned. It's got to be some sort of mistake. It is, I agreed, resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked into my eyes. What do we do now?
Only I never found out what happened, cos I woke up. I switched on the telly and the second Potter movie played again. THAT nearly gave me a heart-attack. Wot a coincidence, eh?
...
3:32 a.m.
Head hurts. Stupid slag is smoking downstairs. Told her off but she cares not.
Think I might have another dream with Tom?