ding. ding. ding. ding.
The car quietly rings to remind me that the keys are still in the ignition, I grab them before sliding out and walking through the rod iron gate.
It's late morning and the sun is already warm. I start to unbutton the top I'm wearing to allow for a small breeze to sweep through my arms and cool off my body. There's sweat stains under the bra line of the tank top I'm wearing. Fantastic.
I turn the corner and see Charlie sitting on Dina-Pina's patio. I laugh. He's this burly biker dude; beard and all. Lots of heavy silver earrings hanging from both ears. The kerchief. Tattoo on his left forearm of an anchor; and he's sitting there reading Martha Stewart: Living.
I plunk down beside him. He's obviously here to keep watch over Dina-Pina.
"You are hilarious," I say to him as I take off my shirt, and let the tank top underneath air dry.
"Whadya mean?" he says with a twinkle in his eye as he looks up from his magazine.
"Charlie," I start -- we have a good rapport and so I don't mind continuing the joking around, "I'm just gonna be very frank with you..."
He looks at me sizing him up, then assessing the magazine he is reading, before I continue;
"Are you gay?" I say.
There.
It's out.
There's no taking it back.
And, without missing a beat Charlie sings, "Like a bluebird singing in the wind, darlin' ". He winks before returning to his article on how to darn gun-holsters or something. I like that he winked at me. I feel very safe around Charlie.
I kick off my shoes and let my toes breathe. The heat always makes my feet swell in these shoes.
I close my eyes, and nod off for a split second before the front door opens and Dina-Pina walks out with a bottle of nail polish.
"Hey!" she squeals and walks over to give me a half-hug before taking another seat. "How'd your meeting go?" she asks. I like that she is involved in my life. It's really nice to have a friend here.
"It went ok. I'm just really tired -- but he was happy with what I've written; so that's always good."
Dina-Pina starts to apply polish to her nails. She raises one leg and curls it into her on the seat while she does so. She starts to tell Charlie how he'll have to be her body guard when she's a big-time actress. I haven't seen a screen test of her, but if I'm given the opportunity I'd love to get her an audition for something.
"Oh!" she says, and stands while waiving her wet nails in the air frantically. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you this. It's the most weirdly ridiculous coincidence. A detective came by to ask you some questions on what happened when Psycho paid a visit the other night, he left his card. It's on the counter."
She nudges Charlie with her foot, "Char - would you?" Dina-Pina says to him in a sweet whiney voice, and like Pavlov's dog he rises, still engrossed in his decor magazine, and walks inside to get it. She shrugs and motions to me that she can't open the door because her nails are wet.
I think it's funny when people explain the obvious.
"You'll never guess what his name is," she sings to me as she nestles back into her seat and applies a second coat.
Before I can guess, she blurts it out: "Brad!"
We laugh. God certainly has a sense of humour. I lean back and close my eyes. The sun is now above us, and so I let it wash my face with heat for another minute or so. I love moments like this; peaceful. You can hear the wind whistling, the birds chirping in the distance. Even the hum of cars on the street add to the symphony of serenity. It's important to soak up these moments when they are presented to you. I believe it's part of the reason we're here.
