Attractions

I was drunk. I was drunk in Paris on a lovely summer evening, with nothing but a bottle of wine that was almost empty and my cell phone.

We had just finished up a long day of shooting. We were discussing about making a silent video with old effects but Sylvia shot that down as soon as we said the word video. Bitch. Belle and Jonah were in their rooms of our small cottage while I lounged on the front porch, drinking.

Why was I drinking? Because there was only three weeks and four days until we returned home to Chicago and that meant that my exhibit would be showing shortly after and my life would be public.

I grabbed my cell phone and saw I had a message from Natalie. Something about how Patrick was annoying the shit out of her and it was all my fault that she was going crazy.

So I did the most unconventional thing for me.

“Hello?” he sounded surprised.

Then again, I couldn’t blame him. “Natalie says you’re driving her up a wall back in lonely Chicago,” I didn’t bother with a greeting. We never needed a greeting.

“Star?” he tried to not sound so astounded. “Hey,” he said, clearing his throat quietly.

I poured myself the rest of the bottle and took a sip. “How are you?” I asked only less slightly awkwardly than if I were sober.

“Driving Natalie up a wall,” he laughed. “So how are you? Is wherever you are beautiful?” he was still hinting for the place.

I laughed. “Pattycake it’s absolutely gorgeous here wherever I am.”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you Star?”

I nodded, but remembered he couldn’t see me. We were miles and miles apart, of course he couldn’t see me.

“I haven’t slept with anyone here,” I blurted out, running a hand through my growing longer hair.

There was a pause and I wondered briefly if he found someone there. Someone who could rally give him what he needed: a relationship.

“Me neither Star.”

“Okay,” I said, leaning back in the hammock I was currently laying in.

“Star, are you okay?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m drunk Patty,” I groaned.

He chuckled. “Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you! You can’t come and pick me up!” I moaned.

“I know that Star,” he kept his voice patient. “I just meant inside or outside, some place dangerous, safe, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking. “On a hammock outside the cottage in the middle of a field. I’m safe.”

“Okay, good,” he sounded genuinely relieved. “Then lay down and try to get some sleep, okay?”

“I’m coming home in three weeks and four days,” I said for no particular reason whatsoever.

“I’ll be waiting here.”

“Really now?” I asked, settling myself in the hammock for the night. “You, Patrick Kane will be waiting for little ol’ me when I get back?”

“Always,” he muttered it rather than stated it.

“I hope I remember this conversation in the morning,” I said suddenly. “I hope I remembered that I called you and you made me feel better,” I yawned, already drifting off.

“Me too Star. Goodnight love. Sleep well. Call me if you need anything else,” were the last words he said before we both hung up and I fell into a drunk sleep.

I knew I wouldn’t remember the conversation in the morning. I hoped he would forget too. Forget how vulnerable I was for the last ten minutes.