Accidently in Love

His fingers run across his jawline as he examines the piece of artwork hanging on the brick wall. The days-old scruff scratches him until his fingers meet his thumb at the crux of his chin. Deep in thought, Robert wonders why these sporadic lines and splotches of colors are worth $750 as he pans from the handwritten price tag taped to the wall and back to the painting, closely analyzing it through focused eyes. He can’t recall how many times he has looked at it. At this point, he could paint it himself. He could use the $750, at least.

He backs away in a confused shrug and finds the nearest seat to relax in while he continues his wait. The lime green wingback hugs him awkwardly as he resituates his body to match the uneven contour of the mid-century modern furniture. This is just one in a sea of oddly shaped pieces of furnishings that scatter the dining area. His grizzled gaze scans the room and he notices the clientele doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the seating arrangements as him. He rubs the armrests hesitantly. The architecture magazine mocks him from under the cover of a pink cactus in a multi-colored terracotta.

Behind the birch counter, a man meticulously turns leavers, presses buttons, dodges steams and somehow still smiles-ish. His smile is clearly fabricated. Probably why he is in the back. The woman with blue hair and a red smock takes orders as groups of business suits and dog-walkers approach her. Her nose ring shimmers in the morning sunlight while smells of aromatic Columbia fills the air and blend with hints of sweet bitterness. Robert laughs to himself as bike shorts complains about there being no straws available for “environmental reasons”. “Welcome to New York,” he utters to himself.

Fabricated smile shouts his name from behind the counter. As he approaches, he notices the chalkboard sign highlighting the pastries. Feeling a bit hungry, he takes a gander at the LED-lined display case next to him. A giant cinnamon roll covered in dried icing takes up half of the case. It is surrounded by egg tarts, cookies and homemade “pop tarts”. Robert is completely transfixed by the croissant-wrapped kolache, so distracted that he doesn’t even hear the crash. “How in the hell did they get that wiener in there?” He asks the universe as he taps the glass. No response. It isn’t until he shakes off the culinary coma that he realizes everyone has gathered around the large bay windows overlooking the street with worried gasps and peering eyes.

He joins the crowd. Luckily, his tall stature allows him to peer over the wool beanies and iPhones locked on the scene. A blond-haired woman lays face first in the asphalt next to a contorted bicycle as a large bus driver exists the mechanical whale blocking traffic. The motorist waves his hands in the air and shouts outwardly, his musings are muffled through the glass. Reactively, Robert ditches the crowd and heads for the exit.

Robert steps onto the sidewalk in a thud as the heel of his boot contacts the concrete. More groups of people line the streets, rubbernecking while other people walk on by without a care. A woman fights as her dog barks and pulls at its leash, adding to the chaos. Robert rolls up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, tucked at the waist and quickly shoves through the mass. His years of volunteering as a small-town firefighter has trained him for this moment.

Approaching the woman, he bends on knee and taps the woman on the shoulder. “Miss, are you a’right?” He says in a deep drawl. The woman doesn’t respond. “Miss?” He tries again. Still, nothing. He carefully rolls her to her back and brushes her amber hair out of her eyes.

The bus driver confronts Robert, “is she going to be okay? I…I didn’t kill her did I?” Robert extends his arm backwards in the direction of the driver to distance him from the body.

“Let’er breathe.” He watches as the Columbia sweatshirt rises and falls, hesitantly. She slowly opens her eyes.

Robert is instantly transfixed by her emerald eyes. A sea of emotions overcomes him and forces a smirk on his face. “Afternoon, ma’am”. She reciprocates, instantly drawn to his rugged appeal and strapping arms caressing her. “Are ya hurt?”

She shakes her head in a delicate ‘no’, still examining his chiseled face. Hooked.

“Robert Longhand, miss.” Being a gentleman, introducing himself is the least he can do.

She slowly catches her voice, “Su…Susan Tremain,” she forces through grinning teeth. She snaps out of her trance. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No ma’am,” he says as he props her up to a seated position while the flashing lights of emergency vehicles fill the surroundings.

“Well, welcome to New York.”

He chuckles.

“CUUUT!” A voice rings out from down the street, out of view. The crowd instantly relaxes and moseys about the streets like cattle lost in a field. A lanky man in tight jeans and a blue sport coat pushes through the herd and approaches the couple.

“Loved the interaction, loved it. But Steve, what were you doing?” The director loves talking with his hands, for him it emphasizes his point, for others, it’s nonsensical. Steve looks confused. “You’re supposed to react with the accident, not after it. Stop looking at the treats and hit your marks.” Steve was still holding AnnMarie as he addresses him.

Steve looks at AnnMarie. “Did I get it better this time?” For a “professional”, Steve still finds himself nervous in these types of scenes.

She clears her throat. “Yeah, you didn’t manhandle me as much, which helped,” she suggests, stopping to think about it for a little more. “But try not to breathe on me too much, I can smell craft services all over you.”

He cups his hands to his mouth and exhales and sniffs simultaneously. “Damn onion rings,” he says quietly to himself, “I just can’t say no.”

Steve and AnnMarie are well known in the Hallmark Movie crowd and can be seen in a movie once or twice a year. However, this is their first movie together. Steve plays Robert, a rugged out-of-towner in the big city for the first time and AnnMarie plays a lonely college student. Via a nearly improbable happenstance, they accidentally run into each other and romance abounds. If they can get their scenes right.

He backs off the couple and pans the crowd. He points at one of the individuals. “Who is that guy? You’re supposed to stare at the scene of the accident, not the camera the whole time. Get him off the set!” He points to the opposite side of the sound stage.

The director is known to be a stickler.

“And that damned dog? Ruined the whole moment, can we get another one out here?” Hurriedly, a few handlers scurry to some kennels in search of another dog.

“Can we get it RIGHT this time?” The director again pushes past the mass of bodies as he settles back into his chair, places his headphones on and watches the screen in front of him. He inhales and tries to catch his breath.

“Places!” Another voice shouts from the distance. Everyone resets back to their original locations, including Steve who has made his way back indoors trying to find his mark.

The director looks at the stage and the people standing still. Pleased, he yells “ACTION!”

His fingers roughly glide across his cheeks as he examines the hand painted creation hanging on the stone wall. His five o’clock shadow grinds against his fingertips as he finds his chin. Observing the work again, he thinks to himself, $750 seems a bit steep for this painting…