The One That Got Away.

Overnight Bags

"I'm not getting rid of you tonight, am I?" Kelly says as she drives down a dark residential street.

"Nope. May as well just go back to your house, stay the night there."

"First of all... no." Kelly's first thought was of her neighbors. The chances of them knowing who Jared Leto is, probably slim. The chances of them knowing a strange guy just spent the night... Yikes. As The Trailer Park Turns, her husband liked to say about the neighbors.

"Then stay at my hotel."

"No, that is wildly inappropriate. We'll stay at my studio. You can take the couch, I'll take the floor."

"I'd rather have the floor."

"Even better. But I am going to need to stop at my house for a few things. Oh, but you probably need clothes or something from your hotel?"

Jared laughs, "That's a good point... I'm not sure where my suitcases ended up. They're either at the hotel, or they made it to Miami."

"When are you going to Miami?"

"Well, now I'm not. Unless you go with me?"

Kelly shoots him a 'fat chance' look.

"What's your husband's name, anyway?"

"Josh." 

"What does Josh do for work?"

"He's in the aerospace industry."

"Ah, should have figured. Central Florida and all."

"Yeah."  

Kelly pulls into a depressed, unsightly neighborhood. A couple of crackheads are gathered on the corner at the stop sign. One lights a glass pipe and takes a long hit. An old man in a wheelchair sticks a needle in his arm and slumps over. 

"Your husband works in aerospace and you guys live here?"

"Welcome to Orlando, home of the lowest wages in the country and an outrageous cost of living. But no state tax so.. yay?"

She pulls up to the faded grey, wood-framed rectangular residence. The driveway is short and narrow, there is no garage or carport and the shabby lawn, mostly comprised of weeds, is slightly overgrown. 

"Um, why don't you wait here."

"No way! I wanna see inside!"

They enter and Kelly flips the lights on. The house is much nicer on the inside than the outside, cute even. Small but cute. Immaculately clean. The flooring is laminate, not real wood, but in good shape. The walls are painted stark white and the decor minimal. Front and center in the tiny living room is a 70-inch flat screen.

"Wow, nice tv."

"Got a 65 inch in the bedroom."

"Really?"

"Sure why not? It's like having a movie theater in your bedroom," she says immediately realizing with shame that this man has an actual theater at his house- or compound as some people call it.  

"Hey, you got a dog?" Jared says hopefully as he spots a photo of Kelly and a little dog. 

"Yeah, right behind you."

He turns around and sees a little decorative wooden box sitting on a table; PRETZEL etched into the top of the box.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. When did he die?"

"Last year, no wait, year and a half ago. He was 15. He was my little Mr. Pretzel."

While Jared noses around, Kelly grabs a backpack and fills it with things she needs: Contact solution and case, eyeglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, pair of jeans, tank top, sports bra. Then she realizes she doesn't wear pajamas and sleeping in panties only would be inappropriate. She decides to grab a large teeshirt and the ugliest terry cloth shorts she can find.