Pink Shades of Words: Walk 2016 (3 page)

It took many years and a lot of heartache for me to realize that Matt was one of a kind, a man who would have always loved me with his whole heart. I gave that up for something empty, yes exciting and sexy, but stunningly short-lived. If I’d known then what I know now I never would have let my first love go. It still hurts when I remember a mutual friend telling me that Matt was a wreck for at least a year after our breakup, refusing to get out of bed some days, drinking too much and angry at the world.

If I’d never betrayed him we would’ve seen Alec Lowell that fateful night, holding hands as we swayed to our favorite songs. We also would’ve gotten married and lived what I’m sure would’ve been a good life.

I lift up the page for the LA Weekly once again before sliding open the screen on my phone to input the website address from the concert ad page. It only takes a minute to secure my ticket, but I have to wonder—how long will it take for me to get over my regret from that night long ago. Maybe I never will.

Two and half weeks later I wind my way through an up-and-coming area of downtown L.A. until I find a parking lot a block from the theater. I clutch my purse to my chest as I walk toward the gathering crowd. What was I thinking coming by myself to this area of the city that’s still very rough around the edges? You can almost smell the desperation in the air.

Yet when I approach the venue, most of the people surrounding me are young and hip, many looking like they have a buzz on and are ready to have a good time. As I line up I turn to a woman, and a young man that looks like he could be her son, standing behind me.

“I’m so excited,” I can’t help but share.

She smiles widely. “I know! Can you believe it? This is his first tour in forever. Last time I saw him Sam wasn’t even born yet.”

“He hasn’t been to L.A. in over ten years,” her son reports like someone who’s spent a lot of time on Alec Lowell fan pages.

I smile. “I feel so lucky I got a ticket.”

As I scan the rest of the line I’m fascinated how this musician has attracted not just fans like me, but a new generation of followers. Maybe his quirky avant-garde approach is timeless. My heart flutters as I pull my ticket out of my bag for the attendant letting us in.

Once inside the theater I walk to the center of the lobby and look up at the stunning architectural details of this vintage theater. There’s intricately carved surfaces from floor to the high ceilings, all finished in a burnished gold. The Spanish Gothic design has arches, balconies, elaborate metal work, and ornate light fixtures. It’s a temple of the arts in the grand decadent Hollywood style. There’s something special to observe everywhere I look. I slowly ascend one of the grand staircases to the second floor and I stop at the bar to buy a glass of wine. I’ve arrived early so there’s at least thirty minutes before the show starts.

I take the merlot and stroll over to one of the arched shallow balconies to take in the view of the lower level. Below people are huddled in pairs and groups, buzzing with excitement. I love people watching, the young girls donning vintage 50’s dresses with cinched waists and full skirts paired with young men sporting full beards and elaborate tattoos. The trends these days are so different than when I was their age. I smile at the swirl of colorful characters.

My gaze travels upwards and I notice a lone man, half-cast in shadow, standing in the Juliet balcony directly across from me. He also appears to be fixated on the crowd on the first level. I’m drawn to him for some reason I can’t pinpoint, other than his smart dress and long lanky build. When he steps closer to the balcony rail and into the light I gasp, every muscle in my body frozen. I blink several times as I study him in the distance. I swear it’s either Matthew Richardson, or his doppelganger with the same auburn hair and dark eyes. If only he was a bit closer so I could tell for sure.

The man’s gaze moves up and before I can step back and hide out of view, he sees me. My heart is pounding as my fingers tighten around my wine glass. Is it him? Judging from the hard, long stare he gives me I have to think it is. His expression remains neutral, his only movement lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip, all the while his gaze never wavering.

What is he doing here anyway? The last I’d heard from mutual friends he was living in Northern California with a big development job at NextWave. I was secretly proud of him that he had achieved his dream, but now, seeing him in the flesh makes me realize that he has aged even better than I’d imagined. His lanky frame has filled out, his looks enhanced by the sheer confidence in his stance.

I’m just about to give him a feeble wave when his gaze drops back to the crowd below. He must be waiting for someone.

My mind is twirling in a complete conflict on what to do. I tell myself I have to go say hello to him. Once his guest arrives and the concert starts there may not be another chance. This is fate, not just that we’re both here, but that there’s this quiet moment with only a handful of people on this level of the theater with us.

I slowly walk toward him, the entire time keeping my focus on his position through glances from each arch opening I pass. I can’t tell if he’s aware of me coming closer, but he doesn’t move. I’m about eight feet away from him before I stop.

“Matthew?”

He turns toward me and I give him a soft smile.

From this distance I can see the surprise in his eyes as if he can’t believe both that I’m here, and that I had the courage to approach him.

“It’s been a long time,” I say.

He lips are pressed in a straight line. “It has. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m still a fan. So how could I resist? And how about you? I heard you were living up North.”

“I am, but I have business in L.A. fairly often.”

I nod and then there’s an awkward pause.

“So you’re still a fan?” I ask him, desperately trying to make conversation when he isn’t making it easy.

“I am,” he says as he glances on either side of me. “Who’d you come with?”

Out of pride part of me wants to lie, but I can’t. “I came alone,” I say.

He gives me a long look as if he’s trying to figure out an appropriate response when his phone rings. He reaches into his jacket and glances at his phone’s screen.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I have to take this.”

I’m swept up in disappointment to be dismissed, but I accept it because isn’t that what I deserve? I shattered his heart as a young man, and the fact that decades have passed doesn’t mean he owes me anything.

I gaze at him one last time. “Good to see you, Matt.” And I turn and walk away.

With one hand on my wine glass and the other tightly gripping the railing, I make my way down the stairs and retreat to one of the reception rooms. I’m fighting back a feeling of panic making me want to rush out of the theater and head to my car. Somehow in my big idea to come to this concert and make peace with the past, I didn’t anticipate the past slapping me square in the face.

“Are you okay?”

I look up and recognize the woman who I spoke with briefly in line.

I give her a weak smile. “Not really. I just ran into an old boyfriend who things ended badly with. It was really awkward, and honestly I’m not sure I still want to stay.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “But you can’t leave! You were so excited to be here.”

“I know. Maybe I just need to calm down.”

She gives me an encouraging smile. “Besides, this show is sold out and this place is packed. The odds are in your favor that you won’t even run into him again.”

I sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

Although they haven’t flashed the lights indicating that it’s time to take our seats I decide to go find my seat early. It seems like the perfect place to hide out until the concert starts. I’m disappointed to see that I’m in one of the last rows in the corner with some obstructed view, but knowing I was lucky to get a ticket at all, I decide to set aside my disappointment. I settle into my seat, sip my wine and scroll through Instagram and Pinterest to keep myself occupied. Anything to keep my mind off Matt and all the feelings seeing him again stirred up.

A few minutes to eight, people start filing into the theater of their own accord knowing the posted start time is approaching. I do my best to avoid looking for Matt and whomever he is meeting up with, but I fail when he steps into the aisle to the left of where I’m sitting and scans the theater with his gaze. I sink further down into my seat hoping to disappear right as he looks my way.

When our eyes connect he quickly looks away like it didn’t happen, and continues down the aisle. This second slight doesn’t sting as much as the first. I suppose that’s progress.

As Matt moves closer to the stage I can’t help wondering where his date is. They must really be running late. He pulls his tickets out of his pocket, rechecks them and then finds his seat and sits down.

I finish my wine as I watch him from afar. He periodically checks his phone, but continues to remain alone. The theater is almost full now and abuzz with anticipation when a man takes the stage and makes an adjustment to the microphone.

“Excuse me folks, but I’ve got an announcement. There’s a delay with the show due to an accident in the car transporting Alec to the theater. Alec is fine and insists on carrying on with the show, but it may be another twenty or thirty minutes until he arrives. We apologize for this delay. Feel free to mill about and visit the bar until then.”

A minute later I see Matt working his way back up the aisle. He stops at the edge of my row and looks over at me with a neutral expression. “I’m going to get another beer. You want another glass of wine?”

I try to keep my mouth from falling open. “Sure, that’d be great thanks. Merlot please.”

He nods and moves on.

I twist my hands together as I wait, trying to imagine what his gesture of offering to bring me a drink means. It’s doubtful that he’d offer that if he hated me. Back in the day one of his friend’s warned me never to contact him again or he’d unleash a firestorm of fury on me. I remember my heart shriveling at that warning, but I followed the advice. My deeply rooted self-loathing for treating him with so little regard was already more than I could handle. Matt’s hate had the potential to break me.

Several minutes later when I notice him stepping back into the aisle, I stand and move toward him. I smile warmly as I reach for the wine.

“What do I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I know he’s referring to the cost of the wine but I can’t help but bristle. He’s wrong regarding the bigger picture. I owe him so much and I always will. In the rawness of my youth, Matt made me feel special, both beautiful and not just smart, but clever. No one since has made me feel as extraordinary.

“Thank you, Matt. I’m happy to get the next round if they make us wait longer than expected.”

He doesn’t reply but takes a swig of his beer. He looks toward the front of the theater and I’m wondering if he’s still waiting for someone, but then I realize his gaze moves to his seats and then he looks over where my jacket is still draped over the back of mine. His expression is tense—conflicted, and I can’t imagine why.

“That’s your seat?” He scrunches up his face.

“Yeah, I know it sucks. But I bought the ticket late. It was just a twist of fate that I even found out about it.”

“How’s that?”

“My damn chiropractor was late, so I was paging through LA Weekly, beating back the urge to snark at the receptionist.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “You always were impatient.”

I give him a pretend smirk. “Hello? What about you Mr. Now or Never?”

He shrugs with a crooked grin. “Yeah, I can’t deny it, but you used to get a lot louder than I ever would.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of wine. “Guilty as charged.”

“So have you mellowed out?” he asks.

“About some things, and I’m worse about others. So I guess it’s a wash.”

He nods as his gaze moves to the front of the theater again. “Hey, I’ve got an extra seat and it’s a hell of a lot better than your crappy seat. You’re welcome to it.”

“Really?” I ask, overwhelmed by the gesture.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

I step back and grab my jacket. “Let’s go.”

He gently takes my elbow as he steers me down the aisle and I swear I feel something akin to an electrical charge every moment he’s touching me. The feeling makes me wish I were younger, still holding on to the shine of my youth. These days I’m referred to as an
attractive
woman. I’ve stayed in shape and although there are some fine lines around my eyes, they’re still bright and full of curiosity and a desire to have new experiences. But L.A. is full of men who want the single note of twenty-year-old super-models, not the complex orchestration of a woman who’s lived a rich life.

I sit down in the seat next to Matt and smooth out the folds of my dress. It feels decadent to be in the second row, center, and with this polished man who projects something I never imagined Matt would. I struggle in my mind to define the feeling and then it hits me. He’s successful and he wears it well. But there’s something else...I sneak sideways glances as he checks his phone. There’s a faint stubble along his jaw and his long fingers comb through his thick mane of hair, giving Matt an edge he didn’t have in his youth.

Whatever he’s reading is making him tense as his strong jaw takes on a sharper edge. Holy hell. I get it like a jolt of lightning.

Matt is sexy.
His features have hardened, melting away his boyish charm. He’s always been brilliant, but now seeing this confident, commanding man he feels like another person entirely. It’s wrong for me to want him, yet for a moment I think I’d give anything to be in his bed one more time.

He slips his phone back in his jacket pocket. “Sorry about that. We’re in the middle of a tough negotiation. I shouldn’t even be here.”

I arch my brow and tip my head. “Why are you then?”

There’s a long pause as he looks deep in my eyes. “Bucket list,” he finally says.

I gaze into his dark eyes. “Me too.”