“Uh-huh.”
“Wow, I’m actually jealous.” She put her card away, and then it seemed our little heart-to-heart was over because she was all business again. “Okay, well, I need to be getting back to the office now. Please check your email when you get home, and Gerta will be in touch with more information over the next few days.”
She stood, and so did I, blocking her path out of the restaurant. “Why Gerta?” I asked, voice low. “Why not you?”
“I’m…it’s just that I don’t usually work directly with clients, Mr. Fitzp—”
I put my finger on her lips before she could finish the sentence, and she went utterly still. “What will it take to get you to call me Ronan all the time, huh?”
She inhaled deeply and then took a step back so that I was no longer touching her. She leaned forward as I retreated but then caught herself.
“I can’t call you Ronan all the time. It would be unprofessional.”
“But you want to. You’d like very much to call me Ronan all the time.”
Her large eyes settled on my lips and then dropped to my neck. “We have a business relationship. What I want is immaterial.”
“Not to me. I’d like to give you everything you want.”
Annie’s gaze jumped to mine, and she blurted her next question like she hadn’t really meant to ask it. “Why?”
“You’re very real, Annie. I like that you’re without pretense. I like that you’re both smart and sexy as hell without a lot of fuss. I like who you are.”
“You don’t know that. I could be terribly fussy. You don’t know me.”
I felt my mouth hook to the side. “Then tell me.”
There seemed to be a conflict in her eyes, and I knew she was struggling to remain reserved. I could have killed to know what she was thinking.
At last, she glanced away. “As I said, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Gerta will be in touch.” Her voice was low, soft, and trembled a little. With that, she quickly sidestepped past me and shot out of the restaurant.
I stood there, indecisive, considering whether or not I should go after her. I didn’t want to be pushy, though, so I slumped back down into my seat. I decided that I should wait for her to make the next move. I had kissed her. She knew I wanted her now, so the ball was well and truly in her court. The problem with this plan was that Annie was so skittish, I could be waiting a hundred years for her to make a move.
What I needed to do was figure out a way to entice her without pushing. Pulling out my phone, I found a new email from my sister, Lucy, telling me about her day. There was another from Gerta with all the Twitter info, but I thought that could wait until tomorrow.
When I got home, I worked out for a while and then ate dinner. I was lonely, and my fingers itched with the urge to call up Annie. It would have been pointless, though, because Gerta was always the one to answer, and Annie was always conveniently busy. That evening my phone pinged with an email alert, and I almost didn’t even bother to check. Being as bored and lonely as I was, though, I found myself having a look eventually.
What I found surprised the shit out of me. The Socialmedialite had decided to reply to my last message, and it was nothing like what I expected.
March 13
Ronan,
Can I call you Ronan? Ronan, you need an intervention. Sorry in advance that this email is so long.
I'm going to be blunt: you need to chill out, Ronan. Relax. You are seriously overreacting. Take a step back, and really, really think about what's actually going on here. Since you like numbered lists, I will use that format.
1. Being featured on my blog—especially how I featured you on my blog—is not a bad thing. It's a good thing. You could have used it to send me an email to highlight a charity near and dear to your heart; instead, you sent me hate mail. :-\
2. You should know better than to email random, faceless bloggers. I could be a 67-year-old shut-in, male, ex-postal worker in the Bronx with a penchant for ginger cats. I could be a vindictive nut. What if I'd taken your email and posted it online? That would have made you look completely crazy and added to your woes.
3. I'm not going to post your email online because I’m not a nut, and you seem like (despite your short temper) a nice person, if perhaps a little too honest and earnest about your feelings. Sometimes it's best to keep your feelings to yourself. You don't need to share what you're feeling every time you're feeling it. Keeping your emotions circumspect will keep you from getting hurt by the cruelty that is most people.
4. You need to relax about all this media bullshit. Do as the song says and Let. It. Go. Just, let it go. Focus on the positive, and IGNORE THE NEGATIVE. Sorry for shouting at you, but—like I said—from the research I've done about you, you seem like a nice person.
In summary, let me know if you want me to highlight any charity in particular, never send emails to people you don't know personally, share your thoughts and feelings only with those you trust, and let go of the negative, focus on the positive.
I sincerely hope you take my advice.
All the best, The Socialmedialite
The first time I read it, I was angry. The second time, my anger slowly began to deflate because, although she was coming across a little bit high and mighty, I could also see that she was trying to be kind, and I didn’t know how to handle that. She had given me advice. Good advice. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve left our correspondence where it stood. But it was late, and I was lonely for company.
I was homesick, but at the same time, I couldn’t go back yet. There were too many bad memories there, too many painful feelings. And Brona was there. I didn’t want to be in the same country as her, not yet anyway. It was sad, but I think I would have replied to the Devil himself right then, I was so desperate for someone to talk to. I wanted it to be Annie, but I’d settle for this online blogger.
March 13
Dear Socialmedialite,
Thank you for your advice. You didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my anger. It was simply a case of bad timing. When I saw your article, I had been holding my tongue for weeks, allowing people to write lies about me and never once fighting back.
I guess you’re not as bad as I made out, are you?
Believe it or not, I am trying to let it go. In fact, I’m in what you would call media training at the moment. So this is progress, yes? It’s boring as fuck, but at least I’m trying.
Regards,
Ronan Fitzpatrick
P.S. Are you really a 67-year-old ex-postal worker shut-in from the Bronx? Because that visual is totally killing my buzz. I’m imagining you as a sexy librarian dominatrix type. I don’t care if you’re not. Picturing you that way is what makes me happy, so you’ll just have to live with it.
P.P.S. Any charity for disadvantaged children works for me.
I knew my response was overly friendly and personal, flirtatious even. What was I on? I was feeling reckless and hit “send” before thinking it through; then I regretted it. I went back and forth on this until I saw a new message come up in my inbox.
Ronan,
Feel free to visualize whatever you like. It doesn’t change the fact that I have a scruffy beard, beer belly, and a gigantic tattoo of a topless mermaid on my arm.
SML
I laughed and immediately hit reply.
SML,
Just out of curiosity, what cup size is the mermaid?
Ronan
I went and made my night time protein shake. When I returned to my laptop twenty minutes later, I saw her reply.
Go to bed, Ronan.
And so I did.
Chapter Seven
The Fake-out: When the photographer pretends to be taking a picture of one thing (perhaps a group of people or a tourist attraction) but is instead taking a picture of something or someone else.
Best for: National monuments, locations of interest/note.
Do not use: If there is nothing interesting nearby.
Annie