You have saved for this. You have waited. And now you're here.
You walk up to Henry Cavill to get your autograph. You're a Comic Con goer, and the extra security makes you uneasy and feel that something's off, but it's for Cav, right?
You slide you...
Neither of us had eaten anything of substance since that morning so we ordered in before we got off the train in LaPlata, MO.
"Watch this, Cav." she said softly.
I knew what she meant. Staff would be coming in.
Two people came to bring our table setting. One supervised. Really?
Of course, I took pictures with them and only asked that they do not release the pictures until the train got to Los Angeles, promising rave reviews if they could just keep us under their hats a till then. They readily agreed before leaving, and I crossed my fingers. We ended up sharing our entrees, something I am not quite used to doing, but seeing as it made her smile, I said yes. We both sampled and tried, rated them as if we were food critics, and laughed at ourselves a bit. We needed to laugh.
"You said this was all over a MILF?" Janelle asked as she mixed her cranberry and apple juices in one tall glass.
"Yes, but not what you think," I told her with a chuckle. "I think it's about the Mountain Lion Fund Project?"
"What?" she said, but then quickly got it. "Oh."
"You know I support animal rights?"
"Yes." She nodded, sipping her newly made drink. I could tell it was too sour by her expression. She poured more apple.
"I decided I wanted to support an animal rights charity here in California--"
"Because you have a house in California," she said, and took another sip. She smiled this time and took a couple of swallows.
I wanted to tell her she is doing a basic 2/3 apple, 1/3 cranberry drink. Did she know that? "I started doing some charity work with them in regard to a stretch of land around a mountain there to turn into a reserve, a habitat for mountain lions."
"And the land is rich with something?" Janelle guessed. "Prime real estate?"
"I heard rumors," I admitted. "You don't look surprised."
"I'm from Chicago," Janelle shrugged. "Many of our neighborhoods are on a cycle of being bought out and sold out to one group or another. My neighborhood started out as Scandinavian, became Jewish, German and Italian, then Polish, then Latino and African American and now....yuppies." She smiled, and tilted her head to one side. "That doesn't really happen Europe, does it?"
"No," I chuckled.
"I guess that's why you're old world and we're new," she shrugged, holding her fork of food. "You guys are settled like trees and here we're always shifting, trying to find places to plant roots and grow."
"Hmm," Again I felt like picking her brain. She was a bit of a conversationalist if not a philosopher.
"Sorry, Henry." she said softly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."
"Thanks, Janelle."
My actions slowed. That was the first time she called me by my name. I liked it. Cav did sound cool but I liked her calling me Henry.
We finished just in time to detrain. It was dark.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and took Janelle's hand, leading her through the station and out the other side. Standing with motorcycles was a group of four men.
"Yo, Kent!"
"Hey, Cavill!"
"Hennnry!"
I started laughing as I greeted some of the Kansas City Chiefs. I lucked out one day when we were talking motorcycles on the sidelines, and found they had a group that cruised the interstates. It was a best kept secret; I rode with them from time to time on the open road, like one of the guys. I slapped hands with them like it was the end of a game.
"Now, seriously, man, what is going on?" one asked. "Do you know what they've been showin' on the web all crazy?"
"What's with all the secrecy?"
"And uh, who dat?"
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to other men to make you draw that line. "She's with me, okay, guys?"
