She only ever seems to complain about it when he's out of town anyway. And here he is, on his way to the airport. Bittersweet: that's how he classifies the whole visit. And sure, Charlotte sets off some little fireworks for him, but she's just a kid. A beautiful kid, an enjoyable kid, but a married kid: that's what he felt like around her too. A married kid. A wrongly-married kid and he's never had a lot of scruples but the ones that stick with him stick strong when he's around her. She's got an innocence that's beguiling.
Apparently he had no scruples at all when it came to the lounge singer, the redhead. But she isn't the one on his mind as the car winds slowly through Tokyo's crowded streets, the signs still as incomprehensible to him as they were when he arrived; he casts an idle glance at the crowds. This place is backwards, that's the problem with it: it's day when it should be night, crowded when it should be empty, noisy when it should be quiet, confusing when it should be straightforward. If it hadn't been for Charlotte, he...
"Can you pull over a second?" The driver isn't about to say no, not to the American movie star, and the door... sticks. Stupid automatic doors! Finally, it opens and he leaps out (kind of like that scene he filmed when he was 28 and in great shape) and makes his way past all the diminutive Japanese people with their umbrellas held up against the misty sunshine and...
"Charlotte!"
She can't hear him, though, not until he's right there, right by her side. Her eyes, puffy and red, stream with tears.
"Why are you crying?" No hello, comrade, let's bust out of this joint or any other fooling around: just the question.
"I'll miss you." Her voice is heavy.
It's so simple, so poignant, so... sad. His wish is coming true: he gets to go home, where he can... eat more like Japanese people do than he's done his whole time here. But Charlotte gets to stay with her photographer husband, the one who leaves her behind to go off gallivanting around the countryside. They say that like attracts like and he knows even if the age difference were smaller, he's no better than that. It's exactly what he's done to Lydia.
That doesn't change the attraction. "I know, I'm going to miss you, too."
Maybe it's unfair but now that he's leaving -- really leaving, as in the limo is waiting, Mister Harris -- he caves and gives Charlotte that kiss he's been aching to deliver this whole time, ever since she smiled at him from across the bar. And he hugs her too, holds her close, whispers that thing that always makes girls laugh right into her ear before letting go.
She's not crying any more.
When he makes it back to the car where the doors open on cue this time (all it took was the one rehearsal), she's smiling.
And then she's lost to the crowd, and the doors automatically lock, and when he leans back in the seat and nods to the white glove-clad driver, he only looks back once but Charlotte's nowhere to be seen.
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Date: 2008-01-28 11:02 pm (UTC)She only ever seems to complain about it when he's out of town anyway. And here he is, on his way to the airport. Bittersweet: that's how he classifies the whole visit. And sure, Charlotte sets off some little fireworks for him, but she's just a kid. A beautiful kid, an enjoyable kid, but a married kid: that's what he felt like around her too. A married kid. A wrongly-married kid and he's never had a lot of scruples but the ones that stick with him stick strong when he's around her. She's got an innocence that's beguiling.
Apparently he had no scruples at all when it came to the lounge singer, the redhead. But she isn't the one on his mind as the car winds slowly through Tokyo's crowded streets, the signs still as incomprehensible to him as they were when he arrived; he casts an idle glance at the crowds. This place is backwards, that's the problem with it: it's day when it should be night, crowded when it should be empty, noisy when it should be quiet, confusing when it should be straightforward. If it hadn't been for Charlotte, he...
"Can you pull over a second?" The driver isn't about to say no, not to the American movie star, and the door... sticks. Stupid automatic doors! Finally, it opens and he leaps out (kind of like that scene he filmed when he was 28 and in great shape) and makes his way past all the diminutive Japanese people with their umbrellas held up against the misty sunshine and...
"Charlotte!"
She can't hear him, though, not until he's right there, right by her side. Her eyes, puffy and red, stream with tears.
"Why are you crying?" No hello, comrade, let's bust out of this joint or any other fooling around: just the question.
"I'll miss you." Her voice is heavy.
It's so simple, so poignant, so... sad. His wish is coming true: he gets to go home, where he can... eat more like Japanese people do than he's done his whole time here. But Charlotte gets to stay with her photographer husband, the one who leaves her behind to go off gallivanting around the countryside. They say that like attracts like and he knows even if the age difference were smaller, he's no better than that. It's exactly what he's done to Lydia.
That doesn't change the attraction. "I know, I'm going to miss you, too."
Maybe it's unfair but now that he's leaving -- really leaving, as in the limo is waiting, Mister Harris -- he caves and gives Charlotte that kiss he's been aching to deliver this whole time, ever since she smiled at him from across the bar. And he hugs her too, holds her close, whispers that thing that always makes girls laugh right into her ear before letting go.
She's not crying any more.
When he makes it back to the car where the doors open on cue this time (all it took was the one rehearsal), she's smiling.
And then she's lost to the crowd, and the doors automatically lock, and when he leans back in the seat and nods to the white glove-clad driver, he only looks back once but Charlotte's nowhere to be seen.