„Mr. Darcy,“ she murmured in awe, stunned and fascinated by Colin Firth’s eyes and voice.
He made a disgusted noise, rolled his chocolate brown eyes back to blue and started walking again. „What is it with you and that guy?“
„Can you do Mark Darcy, too?“ She hurried to catch up with him.
„Of course, but it’s not him telling Bridget Jones – the actor telling the actress – that he likes her just the way she is that makes your heart constrict like that. It’s the thought of someone saying it to you that you love. And that’s right here.“ He put his fist to his heart. „You made that a part of me. It’s what I want, too.“
She couldn’t help it; she glanced at his shoes and his hideous jacket. „You want someone to tell you that they like you just the way you are?“
He cast her a vapid look. „Do not go there. Would it kill you to take even the slightest interest in male fashion? You should have seen my hair before you happened to decide, one random afternoon, that you preferred shorter hair on men in general.“
„Not that many men can pull off really good-looking long hair. It always seems to look stringy or dirty. I don’t think men have the patience to mess with their hair like women do. They’re better off keeping it shorter.“
„I know. I just told you that. But what about the rest of me? Open your eyes, Charlotte. Look around. This…“ He held his hands out to display his getup. „This is the entire extent of memorable male clothing inside your head. And I’d be wearing Dorothy’s shoes barefoot if you hadn’t thought tube was an interesting way to describe a sock. Captain Kangaroo’s jacket, of course, was a big hit with you but…“ He paused to point an accusing finger at her. „Do not for one second think I don’t know why you are so hugely impressed with these football pants. Sure. Laugh.“
She giggled at his indignation even as a telling heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks. A woman passing by turned her head to look at Charlotte – seemingly alone and giggling to herself – and her face grew hotter.
„Ha! Serves you right, you should feel embarrassed.
You’ll never know how close I came to wearing Julia Roberts’ red Pretty Woman dress to your father’s wake, just to make my point.“
„I love that dress.“ She tossed her empty coffee cup in a trash receptacle outside a private gym and caught herself feeling completely at ease with him again.
„And the black-and-white one she wore to the Academy Awards the year she won. I know. Women’s clothes you notice. But I can’t work with your negative images of male fashion, the clothes you think are boring or tacky on men. They disintegrate almost immediately.“
„I see men who dress nice. All the time. How memorable do a shirt and a pair of pants have to be?“
He shook his head. „It’s the texture of the shirt and how you feel when you look at it or touch it. The way it drapes across a man’s shoulders; the way his muscles ripple underneath it and how that makes you feel. The way it fits across his abdomen and tucks into the waistband of his pants, the way the pants hug his ass and how that – “
„Okay, okay. Really memorable. I get it. I’ll try to pay closer attention.“
„I’ll help you.“ He looked down and up the long, drab black wool coat she had on. „You have good taste, Charlotte. You just need to use it more.“
She prickled instantly. „I thought you liked me just the way I am? I thought you were my friend?“
He smiled. „I do, actually. And I am. Friends tell the truth, don’t they? Besides, I can’t say anything you don’t already think. So we both know you could dress better.“
She snorted. „What would be the point of that? What difference would it make?“
„Ah. There’s that defeatist attitude we all know and love so well.“ He slapped a hand to his chest dramatically and looked heavenward. Then he was instantly serious as they started to cross the street just beyond the convenience store. „The point, dear Charlotte, is that you’re never going to get what you want if you don’t make some sort of effort to go out and get it. I know you think that some man, who looks just like me by the way, is going to come galloping up on a white horse and give you everything you’ve ever longed for, but that sort of thinking is as unreal as I am.“
„And the difference is, you’re on your own now. You can do whatever you want. You don’t have to worry about disappointing your parents anymore. You don’t need their approval. You don’t have to worry about who will take care of them, or feel responsible for them. You’ve been a good daughter. But now it’s time to start living your own life. They would want that. They never meant for you to hide yourself away in their ambitions. It just happened. All they ever really wanted was for you to be happy.“
She couldn’t help but wonder, how crazy was she to be taking advice from someone who didn’t really exist? And if she made him and he didn’t exist, did that mean she didn’t exist? No, too Matrix-ish for her. So, if she existed and she made him, then he existed… somewhere. Maybe not in this plane of reality, but…
„Do you have a name?“ she asked abruptly, acutely aware of the real people around her, barely moving her lips, keeping her head movements casual.
He looked startled, then a little wondrous. „You really don’t remember me, even from before, when we were young?“
She shrugged. „I remember my parents teasing me sometimes about imaginary friends but… no, I don’t remember you.“
A slow, scintillating smile curved his lips. „So you don’t remember the name you gave me.“ He whooped and laughed and did a little jig in Dorothy’s shoes. „There, you see? There’s some good in everything, Charlotte. You don’t remember me, but you don’t remember my name either.“ He seemed to grow slightly taller with relief and pride before he told her, „Just call me Mel.“
„Mel?“
„Yeah.“ His gaze wandered as he tested the name. „Mel. I like it.“
„What is it really? Melvin?“
He gave her a sly look. „If you can’t honestly remember, I am not obligated to tell you. And frankly, that name was a flight of fancy taken first by Mr. Leitch and then by you that I have always resented. And, of course, you confused lemons with bananas but you were very young and may not have known the significance of – “
„You mean, you can remember things that I can’t?“ The first line finally sank in.
„Sure.“ He shrugged. „That’s where I come from.“
„Where?“
He sighed like he’d already explained a thousand times. He held out his hands. „You live here. Now. You are aware of everything going on around you. This is your consciousness. I usually hang out on the other side, just beyond the barrier. That’s where everything you’ve ever heard or seen or felt or thought about exists, and the barrier is like a fine film that keeps all that information from flooding your mind all at once. It allows you to reach in and pluck out what you want, when you want it. Like a big boiling pot, let’s say. Everything goes in there, all of it, from the moment your first two cells divide until…“ He used one finger to poke her arm. „Now. And… now. And… now. And…“
„Okay. I get that it’s all there.“
„Most of what you put in the pot settles on the bottom because you don’t need it or care about it. Sometimes a memory or a thought will bubble up to the surface on its own; sometimes you need to stir the pot to get them to rise. There are some, many, that float all the time. Things that have made a big impression on you, say. Images of people you think of often, works in progress, lists of phone numbers, tunes you like – things you want easy access to but don’t want to think about constantly. You pick out what you want, think about it, throw it back in the pot a million times a day or more. Me, you think about a lot. I spend a great deal of time out of the pot.“