Amid the Noises of Coming and Going

There was sunlight creeping in through the curtains as my eyes struggled open. The air was warm and pressed upon me like a weight. My vision wandered, fuzzy, then focused. I was sideways, or the room was. Using some deductive skills, fairly impressive for my hazy state, I figured the likelihood of the room being sideways was very low. I could feel the soft plush feeling of the bed beneath me. I was lying down. There were soft grey shadows on the walls with the straight edges of curtains. There were harsher ones in unfamiliar shapes. This was not my room, not my bed.

My muscles moved lethargically in the haze that accompanies a night of sleep, as I readjusted myself to look around.

I was in a hotel room.

The cream Victoria print walls, the watercolour paintings were all suddenly familiar. I had seen them before. But I have never been in this room.

Beside me, under the crisp white of the sheets was the contour of a man, turned in the other direction, his breathing that of a slow restful sleep.

It didn’t take a genius for everything to add up; clothes strewn on the floor, the thin layer of sweat blanketing my skin, the man beside me. And just like that, snippets of memory came into focus in my mind like someone had pressed rewind.

Falling asleep facing the floor to ceiling window, the view from the 43rd floor, the lights, the arm around my waist, falling on the bed, stumbling into the room, drinking at the bar, the man buying me drinks... James. James.

My head suddenly started spinning as the image crossed my mind. His smile as he spotted me sitting at the bar and as he said my name “Clementine”.

I remembered how at that moment I realized how much I had missed his voice. I remembered the shock of seeing him after a year. Now I knew where I was: The Hilton. We had come here a year ago but the room had been much smaller.

I needed a cigarette, and some coffee. The coffee they leave in the room always sucks. So I slipped out of bed. James didn’t even stir, he just slept on his stomach with his arms circling his head. Waking up beside him was a very welcome surprise, but it brought complications I didn’t need. It was easy to see exactly how this was going to play out, and I hated it.

I slipped on my jeans and tried to find my shirt among the scattered clothes on the floor. Unfortunately I had no luck. So I improvised, slipping on his t-shirt and covering it with my jacket. I hated wearing men’s shirts.

There was a card key on the dresser that I was sure he wouldn’t mind it if I took. I was going to come straight back after all.

The air outside was warmer than it had been the day before. I almost didn’t need my jacket but I wasn’t about to take it off. The Toronto streets were busy with their usual hustle. Reflecting on the day before, I knew I should have expected James to be around here. The Toronto International Film Festival was happening, and James is a huge film festival fan.

I wondered if he had a new movie premiering because he hadn’t the year before, the week I met him. I pulled a slender cigarette out of the pack and lit it with my Bic lighter as I walked the streets. The first drag always felt the best. I knew there was a Starbucks on Adelaide. That was where I had first met him.

The walk was a nice way to get some space to think. It had sucked when we had done this last year because I fell in love with him. I mean, what girl wouldn’t? He’s James Franco. He’s a fucking charmer. He could spend hours having a stimulating conversation with you about whatever: movies, music, literature, the fucking world. He had this amazing way of seeing the beauty in the littlest things. The things that everyone else missed he saw, he was curious about everything. Oh yeah, and he had a killer smile.

It took about ten minutes of walking before I found it. At Starbucks I picked up my usual extra shot skinny caramel macchiato, and decided to be fair and grab him a drink as well. There couldn’t be anything crueler than drinking Starbucks beside someone while subjecting them to that crap that tastes like ground up cardboard.

The streets were busy, as they always were around the time of the film festival. Everyone seemed excited any time this town got any sort of recognition and during TIFF we got quite a bit. Movie stars and directors could sometimes be spotted around town. Not James. He always kept a low profile. When I first met him at the Starbucks I hadn’t recognized him until we were walking in Queen’s park and he told me. No one had even known he was there. The combination of his sunglasses, newly grown moustache, and the hat he wore, made him hard to recognize.

I lit up another cigarette as I walked. It was a bad habit I always said I was going to quit but never did. It helped me relax too much. In times like these I needed the comfort it promised me.

I thought after he left last year I was never going to see him again and I had gotten over that. It hurt at first but I didn’t think about it any more. Was it going to take as long to get over this time? Had this made it even worse?

I knew I was just some girl he slept with when he was in town but I loved him. We had only spent two weeks together last year but somehow I felt like I really knew him.

...and then I kicked myself for sounding like such a stupid fan girl.

I stopped walking at one of the red mailboxes near the hotel and placed the coffees on top. I would have to finish the cigarette before I entered the hotel, not that I was in any rush. What’s the point of hurrying myself into an awkward situation? I’d take my sweet time.

As I blew the silvery blue smoke up into the air I felt the tension in my body float away with it. I was able to reason with myself. This was a silly crush. He was a movie star. I didn’t know him.

Feeling slightly better about the whole situation I stamped out the cigarette and entered the hotel.

My ears popped going up the elevator. I missed the room on the 17th floor from last year. I wondered why James had opted for such a big room this year, and so high up. Perhaps it was his way of symbolizing he’d moved up in the world since the last time he had been there. The last year had definitely been a good year for James. He was everywhere.

I opened the door to the room with one hand and the smell of his cologne and our sweat settled over me as I stepped in. I hadn’t noticed that when I woke up.

Now, do I leave a note on the coffee an put it on his bedside table? Grab my stuff and leave? Or should I wake him up?

I didn’t particularly want to talk to him. Not when I knew it would probably be awkward. I was just another girl in love him. As far as he was concerned I should probably just join the fucking club. However, I didn’t really get to choose whether to wake him or not because when I put the coffee down on the bedside table I realized the bed was empty. Then I heard the toilet flush, the tap run, and finally the bathroom door open.

James walked out in his boxers. His hair was a dishevelled heap of curls piled on his head.

“I thought you’d run off with my shirt.” His typical prince charming smirk rested on his lips. Fucking great.

I shook my head, “Just getting you some coffee.”

“Thank God. The coffee here sucks.”

I slipped off my jacket and threw it on a chair and looked around for my shirt so I could get out of there.

James went straight for the coffee and sat on the bed. “Looking for your shirt?”

“yeah.”

“It’s in the bathroom hanging on the towel rack.”

“Oh.”

“You’re not leaving are you?”

I looked at him. Did that mean he wanted me to stay? Or that he was trying to seem nice? The puzzlement must have been written on my face.

“I, mean, you don’t have to dash if you don’t want to, but if you have other things to do I understand.”

“Uhhh--“ how do I say no to James Franco? “Sure, I can stay a bit.”

James’s smile consumed his face and he pat the bed beside him. He made no attempt to cover his barely dressed body and the sight of him made me bite my quivering lip. I placed my coffee on the table beside the bed and crawled beside him.

The look on his face was disapproving, “Jeans to bed, Clem? That’s not fun.”

I slipped off my jeans but left on his shirt and curled up beside him. When the skin of my leg touched his, my heart started racing at a pace akin to sprinting and I couldn’t help but squeeze him close to me. His strong fingers ran through my messy dark hair tangles and between us we warmed each other up with the heat of our bodies. His skin and his scent were so comforting to behold, I just wanted to lie like that the rest of the day, tangled as lovers would on the 43rd floor.

“You’re awfully quiet Clem.” James said softly in my ear after a few minutes passed. I was just enjoying his skin against mine and the moment here with him. I knew there would be a sense of withdrawal when he left but the feeling of now was too much to leave room for worry.

“mmmm? Am I?” My words came out lazily and without effort.

James nestled his nose in my mop of hair, “Yeah. Something on your mind?”

“No, I’m just... comfortable.”

I could feel his smile against my hair. In my mind’s eye I could picture it. So many women fell weak at the knees for it. His smile was his most famous physical asset. But while all the women marvelled at his smile (which I certainly did love) it was his eyes that captivated me. They were thoughtful, wise eyes where a twinkle always danced, only a hint at the man beneath the surface; like the tip of an iceberg is only a glimpse at what lies beneath the water.

“I was wondering, I’m here for a week, do you want to do this again?”

Have sex with him? I wondered at his meaning, or lie in his arms almost feeling cherished?

“Mr. Franco, are you propositioning me for sex?” the tone of the question came off playfully as I turned my head to look at up at him. Those eyes I was talking about suddenly became shaded with hurt. --oops.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant, you know, spending time together. We can go out, or do whatever you want. You know this city better than I do.”

I thought for a second, “and what if the place in this city that I really want to be with you, is right here? Like this?”

Oh shit, I thought, I sounded like a crazy. He doesn’t love you, stop acting like this is more than it is.

“I’d ask you if you were some sort of mind reader.”

Way to turn on the charm Mr. Franco. Now you just might never get rid of me.

“I have class at 4.”

“Well that gives us about 5 hours,” James smirked and planted a subtle kiss on my shoulder.

..and just like that there was no hope for me.