an-unlikely-encounter-blog

[an-unlikely-encounter-blog]

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[an-unlikely-encounter-blog]

An Unlikely Encounter Ch 1

It was hot.

It was really hot.

I woke up this morning, my hair sticking to my face, my body trapped in a cocoon of bed sheets I'd created in my sleep.

I could hear sirens blaring in the distance, the sound of angry caffeine-deprived drivers shouting obscenities greeted me; Just another annoying day in Gotham City.

I spared a glance at the clock. Sigh, I'm late again.

I wonder if today I can manage to find the energy to care. . .

Didn't think so.

It took me ten more minutes of coaxing my body to move for me to succeed in getting out of bed.

"Hey Katherine! You want an omelette, or some pancakes?" called my roommate, Roxanne from the kitchen. God bless that woman.

"How about both?" I yelled back, sleep evident in my voice.

I crawled to the bathroom to take a shower, removing an article of clothing with every step. I avoided looking in the mirror as I always do. No need to work myself up this early in my routine.

I adjusted the temperature of the water to how I liked it and stepped into the tub, where the seductive liquid invigorated my skin until I finally felt more alert.

I exited the shower and brushed my long hair into a messy bun, did my morning routine and got dressed.

As I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by the tantalizing scents of caramelized peppers, cheese, spices, and flapjacks. My stomach grumbled in agony.

I smiled for the first time today. "Roxanne, can you hear how much I love you right now?"

I live in a small three-roomed flat on the fourth floor of a decent-looking, brick apartment building at the edge of the city. Traffic wasn't that bad, and a Starbucks lined every street corner.

Roxanne grinned at me over her shoulder.

"I make you breakfast everyday," She replied. I sighed, "Exactly."

"Well, I'm not sure you'll have enough time to eat all of this," She turned and laughed at the stricken look on my face.

"I mean, weren't you supposed to meet up with an art dealer," she checked her watch, "-about two hours ago?"

I sighed again, "Roxanne, you know I couldn't care less about any responsibilities that I have," I took a seat at the table. "Besides, I'm not gonna miss out on your fabulous French cuisine to talk to some old geezer about how my work should be handled and shit."

Roxanne clucked her tongue at me while adding some salt to the eggs, "Usually at this point I'd laugh at your indifference, but I'd appreciate it if you could help me pay the rent every once in a while. I can't have you getting too lazy on me now." She turned and gave me one of her winning smiles.

"Besides, how are you gonna meet the guy of your dreams sitting on your ass, drawing all day?"

I rolled my eyes at her. I don't think Roxanne has ever had any problems finding the "guy of her dreams," she's so exotic. I mean, I guess in some ways we're pretty similar.

We're both tall, at least 5-8, both well endowed, and our tastes in music is the same. But that's where the similarities end.

Roxanne is slim, with dark eyes and smooth cocoa colored skin. She's social, outgoing, and strong-willed.

Roxanne tells me that I'm beautiful, what with my long shatan hair, shapely legs, curvy figure, slim face, and my big hazel eyes, but I can't see who she's looking at.

When I look in the mirror, all I see is my Turkish background, my pale skin, caterpillar eyebrows, and introverted personality. I can almost hear Roxanne disagreeing with me in my head, telling me to stop being so hard on myself.

"Oh fer sure. I bet I'll find Mr. Right sitting next to the hobo on the subway, holding out daisies and heart-shaped chocolate for me," I muttered sarcastically, munching on my omelette. Roxanne clucked her tongue again. "I wish you wouldn't be so private," she said, " How are you gonna expect to fall in love when you appear to hate the human race with such a fiery passion?"

"It's not just an appearance," I informed her, "I well and truly hate everybody,"

She stared at me.

I swallowed the last bit of my pancakes before I amended, "Except for you of course,"

Now Roxanne rolled her eyes, "Before you go, I wanted to warn you. There have been some reports of attacks in the dark part of town at night. Some people say that the . . . uh . . .. Joker," She hates saying his name, "Is up to his old tricks again,"

This got my attention.

Everyone in town knows about the infamous Joker.

Bombing the Hospital.

Robbing the Banks.

Kidnapping the innocent and forcing others to commit sins in order to retrieve them.

Being so demented and rebellious.

Basically, wrecking havoc in the streets of Gotham. Only, he's been dead for two years.

Or so we thought.

"Dude. Even if I did run into the Joker, what possible reason would he have to hold me hostage? I mean what would he do? Call my mom? She's in freaking Russia drinking Vodka and partying it up. She probably wouldn't even believe that the Joker was on the phone calling her asking for a ransom for me. He only takes interesting or valuable people into custody with him and his goons," I was starting to become bitter at this point, "He'd take one look at me and pass me right on by acting as if he'd never seen me cause I'm so freaking unimpor-

Roxanne slammed her hands down on the counter.

"Girl, you REALLY need some self-confidence," She began, "I don't know how you can look at yourself and not see. Babe, the Joker would see you, and he'd just take you on the spot due to the fact that you are just SO freaking beautiful, that he couldn't help himself."

Roxanne took a close look at me. "And why do you sound so down-trodden at the idea that the Joker wouldn't want to kidnap you?" she asked curiously.

"No real reason. It's just a blow to my ego," I couldn't tell Roxanne the true source of disappointment is that I've been obsessing over the guy for years. In fact, the whole reason for moving to Gotham was to get a chance to see him.

And then he died.

Before she could get any more suspicious, I left the apartment with the excuse of not wanting to be anymore late than I already was. I caught a glimpse of Roxanne giving me the we-will-talk-later look, before I flew out the door to the stairway and outside the building to begin my long trek to the "Coup de la Fleur" art studio on Buckingham Street in the city.

It was about 2:30 P.M. when I arrived.

I entered the studio to an angry looking Jeffrey Parkins, the art dealer for the establishment.

He was wearing an expensive gray suit with a loosely worn blue tie and the first few buttons of his white shirt was undone. His dark blond hair was sticking to his forehead and his face was perspiring. He would be kinda cute I guess, if it weren't for his small mud-colored eyes and his big-ish nose.

He looked like he'd been waiting outside in the heat for a while.

He glared when he saw me, "What happened to 10:00 A.M.?" he said angrily.

I shrugged, "It probably died in the war," I replied, unfazed by his harsh stare.

He looked shocked for a second before he recovered, "You're impossible you know that?"

Again I shrugged, "So I've been told. Listen, do you want my work or not? Tell me now so I can still make the lunch special at Denny's," I'm probably going to regret being so bitchy later.

His dark expression deepened. "I'm sorry, Am I wasting YOUR time?"

I didn't grace him with a response.

There was a long pause.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

He took a deep breath, "Listen," he began slowly, carefully choosing his words, "The only reason why I'm not biting your fucking head off right now, is because I need you for my art show next week. Understand though, that I am NOT the most patient man. You WILL meet ALL of your deadlines when I assign them. If not, I will make sure that you'll NEVER be able to sell your ANY of your art in Gotham EVER again. Are we clear?"

I sighed reluctantly at him, "Yeah."

"Good. Now go away before I fire you," he stated. Wow, this coming from the guy who just told me that he needs my artwork. Good luck holding your threats after that one bub.

I smiled to myself as I strolled out of the building. I mean, I was just interrogated, yelled at, threatened, and complimented in one foul swoop, and the day isn't even over yet. I broke like, eleven different rules with the guy, and got away with it.

I am on fire!

As I walked down the street in search of some lunch, I let my mind wander to Roxy's question earlier. Why DID I care so much? I mean, The Joker intrigues me sure, and he does have a few things going for him in the bad-boy attraction department, but do I have a crush on him or something? Is it serious?

Well, I HAVE drawn quite a few pictures of the Joker's face in my sketchbook.

I continued walking around town, but I wasn't really in search of anything anymore. I was merged so deep into my own thoughts, that my body was moving of it's own accord.

I shook my head at myself. What kind of person had to be messed up enough to have a crush on the most terrifying, disturbed, demented villain in Gotham City? Chuckling to myself as I was walking, I passed by a closed shop with the windows scratched, and the door was boarded up. I turned and looked at my reflection. There I saw myself in my usual attire; Beige boots, a patterned skirt, a mono-colored tank top, my Yin necklace (Roxanne has the Yang), and the light, silvery blue mascara I put on my eyelids.

What kind of person indeed? I guess people are right when they say "It's always the quiet ones . . ."