#plusisze

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.  Did I bump into you?”  Your momentary distress quickly morphed into nervous laughter as you realized with whom the gods had chosen for you to cross paths with.

“Nope, not even a little.  I’m the one who should apologize to you, as I’ve clearly interrupted a highly competitive game of hide-and-seek.”  You snickered and shrugged your shoulders as the back of your dress and each of your hands were unceremoniously yanked by little people who had yet to learn that patience is a virtue.  Maybe that’s why you enjoyed being around children so much - you hadn’t learned that particular lesson yet, either.  

You mouthed “sorry” as you turned your head away, and saw him shake his head, appearing to chuckle as he took off his glasses to clean them.  As he turned towards the other guests, you fell back into the seedy underworld of high-stakes hide-and-seek, but you weren’t likely to forget that moment any time soon.

Tom Hiddleston had just asked you to dance.

As the night wore on, you lost the company of your young compatriots as their parents collected their offspring, thanked you profusely, and carried them off. You were grateful to return to the grown-up world and quickly sought out the bar.  As you sipped on the best gin-and-tonic you’d ever had, the newlyweds and some members of the bridal party found their way over and a chorus of memories, laughter, and challenges rose up.

“C’mon, please?!??!  You can’t say no to us tonight, we’re protected under the “we just got married” statute.  Please????” The drunk pleading by the newly Marrieds almost made you snort Bombay Sapphire out of your nose.  

“You’d better be grateful that I’m in such a good mood.  Give me a minute to go over and introduce myself then I guess I’ll make sure I’m not held in custody on the ‘You Said No To The Marrieds’ statute.”

After a few minutes of getting redirected at each attempt to get away, you took the microphone and cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, folks.  I know you may have had your fill of my singing voice after the wedding today, but I’ve been asked by the newlyweds to close out the night by singing one of their favorite songs, which to be honest, is also one of mine.  I’m told that I cannot deny this request, as it is part of the canon of newly-married law, and since both of them are lawyers, I guess I have to comply.”  As the pianist started the intro, you closed your eyes and swayed.  This one earned you lots of applause (and much-needed gigs) in college, and the words poured out without thought.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream, I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem to me that's everything

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

When the last notes faded along with your voice, the remaining guests whistled and cheered.  Your blush quickly faded as your best friends, including the bride and groom, tackle-hugged you and walked you off the stage in a laughing huddle.  You thanked every person that was kind enough to compliment you, and smiled dreamily as you saw the unmistakable frame of the famous actor in the room talking with your best friends.  

As he saw you approach, his smile widened and The Marrieds followed his gaze to you.  He excused himself, gesturing “one minute” while he visited the bar, and quickly returned on his trajectory to you, now with a bottle of water in his hands.  It seemed to roll off his impossibly-long fingers while his other hand gently encircled your wrist.  You were feeling the effects of the performance high, your drinks, and the long happy day at the same time, which loosened your tongue.

“Thank you very much.  I know etiquette requires me to sip daintily, so you'll need to forgive me while I down this in a less-than-ladylike way.  Please don’t tell my mother.”  His laugh was a rolling baritone, easy and well-practiced, accompanied by eye contact that would usually make you turn away from its intensity.

You checked him out as you tried not to gulp.  Thankfully you didn’t choke or need the Heimlich because drinking bought you a minute to wonder what in the hell Tom Hiddleston wanted with you.  Was he trying to return something you dropped? Was he going to compliment your singing? You weren’t quite drunk enough to ask outright, so you capped the plastic bottle and smiled.

“Thank you, that hit the spot.  It was nice meeting you, but I think I’m going to head back….” His smile dimmed a bit as he recognized your attempt to leave. Reaching out, he quickly spoke over you so you wouldn’t end the sentence.

“Ummmm, no.”

Awkward silence. Crickets.

“Excuse me?” Tentacles of weirdness raced up your spine. Sweat formed on the back of your neck as you formulated your escape plan.

His nervous laughter caught your attention. “I mean, yes, it’s nice to meet you, too and you’re welcome, but….”

Your eyes followed his as they cast downward and then popped back up with a shyer, smaller smile.  “I’d hoped you’d have a dance with me.”

Cue full-on tipsy giggles. “I’d love to, but it seems the band is packing up.”  

He let your wrists gently drop and practically leapt over to the bandstand.  After a few minutes of bowed heads, covert pointing, and close talking, he returned with the smile you’d seen projected on a 50-foot screen.   With a short bow, he held out his hand.

“Problem solved.  Now, if you would be so kind as to dance with me?”  

You put your hand in his as he led you to the nearby dance floor.  You remained completely clueless as to what alternate universe you had fallen into. Maybe you were dreaming.  You’d have to pinch yourself to find out, but Tom didn’t give you the time.  

He pulled you closer, placed one hand respectfully on your thicker-than-average waist, and, taking your right hand in his left, placed it on his chest. You looked up and could not hold back soft laughter.  He quietly asked what you were thinking.

The band was doing a sweet rendition of “Wonderful Tonight,” and you hummed along.  As he turned you slowly, the distance between you lessened.  

“Nothing, just having a wonderfully unexpected dance with a world-renowned actor.  It’s how I normally spend my Saturday nights.”  He leaned back to make eye contact, smiled, and returned to twirling.  His hand had worked its way further around your waist and your hand that was not on his chest had moved to cup the back of his neck.  As the last twangy notes played, you tried to pull away, to quickly gloss over any awkward goodbyes, but he held fast.

“I sound like a broken record, but thank you.”  His face quickly changed from dreamy to serious, which was disconcerting.

“What?” Your face belied your urgency to cut to the chase and say goodnight.

He stepped back and moved his hands to your wrists, his light touch giving you goosebumps.

“I’m curious - why do you keep trying to leave? Have I offended you somehow?” His eyes locked on yours, a sincerely curious look on his face.

“No, of course not, but I figured you needed to go and I didn’t want to make anything awkward.  I avoid awkward at all costs.”

“If anything, leaving would be bittersweet. I was hoping you’d have a drink with me so we wouldn’t have to broach that subject yet.”

Your neutral expression masked your shock.  It was a practiced response after years of suppressing laughter when your students did something hilariously inappropriate.  He didn’t press, didn’t ask again, didn’t change his mind.  He simply waited and looked, bringing front and center how uncomfortable it made you to be seen.  

“Let me freshen up, and I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs in 20 minutes or so?”  You giggled, again, as he bowed and kissed your hand, taking your leave and saying goodnight to other guests.

You started to sober up as you took the elevator to your room, took a shower and threw on the outfit you wore to the bachelorette party 3 nights earlier, thanking God you had sent it out to be cleaned.  By the time you made your way downstairs, you felt more like yourself, more in control, less starstruck.

You smiled tiredly as he stood to greet you, offering you the outside seat on the banquette.  It was late enough that you didn’t need to shout, and you had just the right amount of attention from the waiter and bartender, without attracting fans.  You shared your plan to stay in the area for two more weeks, visiting friends and seeing the sights, while he mentioned he was going to be in town for a few days, as well.

You sipped on a delicious champagne Tom suggested and asked him something that had run in and out of your mind since the days of your high school obsession with Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables.  

“Tell me how you split yourself between the real you and the part you’re playing.  I’d guess that every part you play contains some small piece of you, but how do you reconcile that with being “just you,” being the person that your family and dearest friends know? Is it difficult to become someone else and then return to everyday life?”

He listened, smiled softly, and sighed.  “You’ve just asked the same question that was posed to the very first people to pretend in front of others.”  He went on to explain about the psychological work he has done and still does to prepare for roles, the time it takes to transition back and forth between roles and real life, and some funny stories about times when he’s mixed up the two with memorable results.

The familiar chuckle snapped you out of your reverie.  You saw his loose curls move side to side and wondered why he had stopped talking, then realized you’d yawned several times in a row.  “I’m sorry, I heard what you said, but I think your voice lulled me into another state of consciousness.  It’s very soothing.”

His smile was bright, but tired.  “Are you saying I put you to sleep? Guess I’m not as captivating as I’ve been led to believe.”  He cut off your attempt to explain.  “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been going on but you’ve struck the mother lode - asking an actor about how they prepare psychologically for their life’s work is a question worthy of a monologue.  Didn’t mean to hypnotize you.”

He silently covered your hands with his as you brought out your wallet to pay for your drinks.  “Please, let me.  I invited you, remember?”  Your nod was followed by evidence of your stubbornness.  “Thank you, I’ll just leave a tip, then.” He stood as you did, steadying you while you took your leave.

“Thank you for the dance, and the drink, and the conversation, Tom.  It made this gorgeous day even better.”  You kissed his cheek, noticing he closed his eyes while you did.

“Thank you, as well.  Tonight was an unexpected delight.  Would it be alright if I asked to see you again?”

You smiled and sighed.  “You have my number.”

A deep breath, a mindful mantra, and your feet were on the floor, ready to return to the present.  Before you reached the door handle to to get some fresh air (and a croissant, if truth be told), you spotted an envelope just inside your door and crossed your fingers.

             Darling, I didn’t want to bother you but I wanted you to know I                            hope you’re well.  I can’t assume to understand what you’re going                      through tonight, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here, anytime.                      I’m in room 1008 on the top floor and I’ve made sure anyone who                      needs to  know will let you up.  

             I also wanted to let you know that I’m leaving tomorrow night.                            I’m starting rehearsal for a new play in London and the producers                     called last  night to let me know the cast has to do early press day                     after next.  I don’t leave until 10pm, so if you were so inclined to see                 me tomorrow, I’d love to.  

            Again, don’t hesitate to be in touch if you need a shoulder, an ear,                     or any part  of me that could lend you comfort or support.  That                         sounded quite lecherous, but hopefully you know I don’t mean it that                 way.

            Best, Tom

Without thinking, you double-checked for your keys and phone and made your way to the 10th floor.  You had to request access but once you gave your name, you were waved through.  Your nerves flitted when you knocked, but quickly dissipated when Tom answered and pulled you in for a warm hug, which you eagerly absorbed.  You took a tiny step back and held his hands in yours.

“Thank you for the letter.”  His smile was soft and sweet, his eyes holding concern and care, silently saying the right things.  Your breath was normal as you stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.  “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

His feet stayed where they were while he pulled you so subtly your bodies touched and you hadn’t recalled moving.  His forehead landed lightly against yours and you closed your eyes as he whispered.  

“I would love to, but I have another idea.  What would you think about staying in today?” You slowly opened your eyes to see his smile, inviting and beautiful, and had no doubts about agreeing.  He stepped back towards the living area, encouraged you to follow, and called for room service after asking for your favorites.

Among breakfast, movies, lunch, and packing you laughed and talked and kissed and laughed some more.  As the day ended, you laid your head on his shoulder and watched the sunset through the unending windows that encircled the suite’s front room, and breathed in and out in time with the rise and fall of his chest.  His peaceful silence felt like an invitation.

“He was my first real love - John.” Tom quickly assured you that you didn’t have to speak about it, but you assured right back that it didn’t hurt, it was more like a needle prick, to share this part of your life.

“There was happiness and fun and joy and love.  Experiencing wholehearted acceptance and desire was soul-changing.  He helped me feel worthy, sexy, smart, and perfect for him in almost every way.”  You laughed at the absurd memories of your fights, usually about dirty socks or forgotten to-do lists.

All of Tom’s attention was focused on you, and he seemed to think carefully before speaking.

“He was a smart man who also happened to be incredibly lucky.  I’m a bit envious, to be honest.”  You lifted your head up and placed your hand on his cheek and kissed him gently.

“I’m telling you because you don’t need to be.  After John died, I was adrift, disassociative, locked out of life and locked inside my hurt.  Thank God for my family and friends checking on me, supporting me, helping me stay as healthy as possible.  I did every passive thing I could to stop feeling.  I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t take my medicine - if it hadn’t been for Jason, Tina, my parents and siblings and John’s family, too, I know I wouldn’t be here.”

His next kiss was intimate, slow, and felt different.  “I am grateful to them and to you for fighting to stay.  Sometimes it’s easier not to.” You both sighed at that truth, each with your own quiet examples that did not need to be spoken.

You were hesitant to think about the end of this perfect day, but it arrived nonetheless.  He pulled you to your feet and hugged you, filling you with warmth and comfort.

“Walk me to the lobby?” You nodded and stood back as he gathered up his bag and backpack, checked for his keys and phone, and closed the door.   The ride downstairs was silent, but not sad.  As you walked out into the lobby, your giggle made him stop, turn, and raise his eyebrows.  Your blush was as much from embarrassment as it was from the wine, the kissing, and the late hour.

“We were alone in the elevator, about to reach our destination where we part ways after an emotional experience.”  Laughter left your lips in waves, suddenly finding your own thought hilarious.  Again, wine + late hour + swoony kissing = tipsy in more ways than one.  Tom remained stymied.  It took him a minute, but he lit up when he got it.

“You’re talking about a stop-the-elevator-with-the-emergency-button-and-make out scene, aren’t you?”  You could barely pull in a breath, but you nodded vigorously.  

“I’ve filmed one of those.  Pretty hot, I’d say.”  You straightened up, wiped the laughing tears away, and kept walking to the front entrance.  He caught up with one step of those ridiculously long legs and pulled your arm so he could whisper to you.  “Next time.”  Shivers ran down your neck and back and you grinned at the idea.

Your goodbye hug was warm, but quick.  You weren’t great at lingering or awkward farewells and you’d had enough emotional upheaval to last awhile.  You wished him the best with the play and thanked him for the last week, and he reciprocated in kind.  Addresses were exchanged and inter-continental communication promised.  He slid smoothly into the backseat after giving you one last kiss, and off he went.  

You walked back to your room, soon falling asleep after a wonderful day you would not soon forget.  You woke up a bit sad, but eager to do your last bit of sightseeing and friend visits before returning to the real world.  As you confirmed your plans, you were startled by a knock at the door and the hotel employee who held an exquisite arrangement of your favorite flowers.  The card did not disappoint.

                  To thank you for being you, with me, for the last week.                                       To thank you for your laugh, your joy, your realness.                                           To thank you for enlightening me, showing me new things                                           that astounded.                                                                                             To thank you for making me miss you, as soon as I left you.                               To ask you not to forget, as I am unable to.         -Tom

One of the biggest sighs you ever heard made it past your lips.  A quick picture taken and you were texting away, though it was almost 9pm in London and you had no idea when you’d hear back.  Or if.

You: The flowers are gorgeous, thank you.  The card was a romantic’s dream. Tom: Would you consider yourself a romantic?                                             You:  Hey! I did not think I’d get you in real time.  Deep down, yes, I’m a romantic. How about you?                                                                            Tom: I’ll let the card answer that question. ;)                                               You: He he he.  How are you? You must be exhausted.                              Tom: We just finished the press junket for the day, and I’m about to sleep for 24 hours.  At least.  I came right off the plane to work.                                  You: I’m sorry to keep you from your pillow, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your thoughtfulness and excellent taste - the flowers are perfect and the card - well, let’s just say my ancestors will swoon when they find it among my things. :)                                                                                        You: Goodnight, Tom.  

Before your heart could skip another beat, an unknown London number came up.  Since you knew exactly one person who was there, you took a chance and picked up.

“You’re most welcome.  I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”  A long, loud yawn punctuated the ensuing silence.

“Thank you, Tom.  As always, you’re a paragon of politeness.”  You giggled at your alliteration but quickly got a flood of warm prickles across your skin when he responded.

“I wasn’t going for polite.”  You had to keep up the volley with the only question you could think of, and his answer did not disappoint.

“I was going for honest.  I wanted to make sure you knew that every moment together last week was real for me, as I hope it was for you.”  You must have been quiet longer than he expected, as he checked to make sure you were still on the line.  You went with the first thing that came to mind.

“You hit every note, every day - warm, fun, and most definitely real.”

When there was more silence than talking, you said goodnight with wishes of sweet dreams and promises for tomorrow.    __________________________________

The return to work filled your days and early evenings, while rehearsals, press, and post-production work for films already shot filled his.  You texted or emailed in the mornings and afternoons, but thanks to the 4-hour time difference, had the most luck talking while you ate dinner and he was winding down from his day.  Your conversations recapped the day but ran deeper, into the dreams, hopes, aspirations, hurts, and passions you both experienced.  Each time you hung up you felt emptied of anything false and filled with a growing sense of calm excitement .  It was hard for you to trust that feeling, knowing that life’s strong hands can pull the snuggest rug out from under you without a lick of provocation, but the more you shared, the safer you felt. _________________________________

The work was brilliant.  Pinter was a genius playwright and this was Tom’s chance to go back to his home, the stage.  Zawe and Charlie and him were on stage for the entire play - no intermission and no hiding.  Everything was out there - raw, painful, still.  Rehearsals were paying off and looking really really well - it was just what he needed.  But.

After one week back at work, he was surprised how regularly he thought of you, someone he just met.  The days were a blur of car rides, rehearsals, ADR for his newest film, press, and trying to sneak in some time with his family given they were in the same country, for once.  It was exhausting, but he found himself wanting to know how you were, wanting to hear your laugh and do so right along with you, wanting to hug and hold and kiss all the soft and strong places he knew held equal shares within you.  He loved seeing your texts and more so, your responses when he hit just the right note - be it silly, serious, or sexy.  

Each night, around the same time, he’d call when he got home, usually getting you at dinner.  At first, you apologized for what you called “dull days” compared to his, but he would not hear that and it guided things towards deeper, more serious discussions about everything from world news, work, and family, to hopes, dreams, and fears.  The conversations nourished him, excited him, made him yearn for more.  More than he could have with an ocean between you.                                           ______________________________________

“I wish you were here, darling.” You hadn’t heard that level of frustration in his voice before.  

“Are you alright? You sound different.  Everything ok?”  His smile was soft as he laid in bed, listening to your kindness and missing being near enough to kiss you as thanks.

“I’m alright and not at the same time and in the interest of creating more confusion, I’m only partly sure why.”  Another long breath out and silence.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t, I have a funny story from today that might help you feel better.”  You started talking about a student trying to hide something in his locker to surprise a teammate after school but accidentally left it in the bathroom and the principal was walking by when he spoke.

“I know why now.”  You could do nothing but wait.

“I want to be near you.  I want to hold that luscious, sexy body of yours and show you how much you’ve come to mean to me.  I want to feel and see your laugh, not just hear it.  I want to see you without your glasses and push those strands of errant hair out of the way so I can kiss you senseless.”

Nothing.  Crickets.  Sweat began to drip off his head while his heart hammered with the idea that he’d offended you, that he’d been too frank, that…..

“I want the same thing, Tom.”  He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until you spoke and a new one filled his lungs.  “But I don’t think it’s possible right now.  Maybe after the play closes?”

That wasn’t good enough.  Not nearly good enough, but Tom was ready to call in every favor if it meant seeing you.

“I can’t leave London, but why don’t you let me buy you a ticket? Maybe you could take a few days off?” Something felt wrong as soon as the words left his mouth.  Your tone of voice was new and not one he wanted to hear on a regular basis.

“No, I can’t accept that kind of gift. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity, but if I can’t afford it on my own, I can’t go.  I’m sorry not to see you, but that’s how I feel.”  He sat up in bed, suddenly aware that a button had been pushed, and stammered out an apology that was quickly accepted but just-as-quickly followed by your goodnight. ________________________________

Did you overreact? You knew Tom offered so you could see each other - you both wanted that.  He could certainly afford it, and you couldn’t, and you would have done the same thing if the places had been reversed.  So why the meltdown?

You didn’t want to be indebted to anyone.  Yes, the ol’ trust issues reared their ugly head and made accepting a gift of this size impossible.  You knew Tom offered from a place of sincerity and caring, but what if? What if something changed while you were there and you were beholden to him to get home? What if the week you had together was a fluke, the chemistry misunderstood, the attraction based on circumstances rather than connection?  You needed help.

You and Tom met at the wedding of your good friends, Beth and Peter, aka, The Marrieds.  They were the only people that knew both of you, so you reached out to get an objective opinion.  Being lawyers, your long-time friends, and smug-as-hell show-offs because you and Tom had hit it off at their wedding, made them experts on the subject of you (in their minds).

FaceTiming with them was an event.  The two of them jockeying for position in front of the camera, interrupting each other, and finally listening when you threatened to hang up.  After your synopsis there was no loss for opinions or admonitions about how you were letting your pride get in the way of being happy.  You couldn’t really refute that, but dammit if you weren’t going to try.  

“Guys, I hear you, but I don’t think I’m wrong for wanting to pay for things myself.  I also don’t want Tom to think I’m taking advantage of his generosity - kind of a slippery slope, if you know what I mean?”

“Nope, we don’t.”  Apparently, Beth had been elected the spokesperson for both of them.  You laughed after asking them if marriage had fused their brains together and stony silence was their response.

“I mean, what if it’s a ticket now, then a stay at a hotel, then a Jaguar, then a house and then I’m a kept woman and I’ve turned into Rebecca from the       du Maurier novel.”  You bust a gut laughing at the absurdity of that statement, but returned to the reason you called after you calmed down.  

“I just feel wrong about it.  Whether it’s because I don’t want to rely on someone to buy things for me, or because it doesn’t feel right to accept such an extravagant gift, it doesn’t matter.  It does not reflect my feelings, just my need to be independent.”  There you go.  Once you said that, out loud, your tension and stress around the issue floated away, leaving you in peace.  Shortly after you wrapped up the call and made another one.

Looking at the time, he would most likely be at the theater, but you needed to tell him.  The voice message you were going to leave was practiced and ready.  As the phone kept ringing, you inhaled before leaving it but started coughing when a live voice answered.

“Darling wait, don’t hang up.  Give me a moment, please.”  Clunking muffled noises punctuated by “great rehearsal,” and “have a good evening” preceded Tom’s return.  

“Are you still at the theatre?  I was fully prepared to leave a message, I know you’re working.”  His reassurances were quick and sweet.  He spoke words that sounded like the start of an apology, but you interrupted.

“I’m sorry I ended our call so abruptly last night.  I was caught off guard and I did not react graciously, and for that, I’m sorry.”  You listened to his breathing, in and of itself a comfort.  “I overreacted and in my attempt to figure out why, I called Beth and Peter to get an objective opinion.”  His boisterous laugh surprised you.

“Were you successful in getting that unbiased perspective?”  You had to smile because he clearly knew it was a fool’s errand, which you confirmed, but you had one more thing to get off your chest.

“I called to tell you I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept it, in good conscience.  I thank you, but I’m not at a place where I can feel comfortable about such an extravagant gift.  I hope you can understand.”  He sighed and you could have sworn you heard him say something but you didn’t quite catch it.  You said your piece in the way you wish you would have the night before, and he was still at work, so you readied your goodbye when he started talking.

“I didn't mean to offend, I hope you know.  The offer was born out of missing you and wanting to see you and not wanting to wait.  I am sorry if it was interpreted as a means of controlling you or making you indebted to me in some way.”  You couldn’t have asked for more.  You both acknowledged the other’s viewpoints, apologized, and you considered it resolved, which you expressed in exactly those words, and clicked off feeling good.  _______________________________

Now that was different.  A woman he was attracted to and wanted to spend more time with would not accept a gift from him.  He was pissed when she refused, worried when they didn’t talk, and understanding once they had.  Guess he’d have to employ one of his weakest skills - patience.  Something - instinct, gut feeling, mojo - told him she was worth waiting for. _________________________________

That night, instead of talking, you got to work on a personal project you’d been putting off.  A pile of pictures had laid in a box, under your bed, since you moved.  When you put them in sequence and tucked the last one into the now-finished album, you felt complete.  As you looked over the pictures of you and John with and without dear friends and family, you felt peaceful.  When you put the book away, grabbed your laptop and credit card and began to investigate flights and hotel prices, there was nothing but giddy excitement.