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all-the-things-2020 · 21 hours

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Like I said, Dieter has grown a LOT and being with Emily is helping him stay on the right track.

They are both mature enough to know that they have to work at this to make the relationship stay strong.

This was the biggest bump in their road (I think … sometimes the characters surprise you!) but they are getting closer to that Happy Ending ™️

Thanks for reading and reblogging!

Late Night Talking - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: The aftermath of the encounter with Jonathan.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: references to rehab, loneliness, angst

Notes: This one is more serious than the other chapters but it’s something they had to go through. Things will get more rom-commy after this, I promise!

Word Count: 4300+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

I was still cramming clothes into my suitcase when I heard the lock buzz on the door.

”What the hell was that?” Dieter said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a few minutes,” I said.

”What the fuck? Are you packing? Em, what’s going on?”

I slammed the suitcase shut and turned toward him. “I should be asking you what the fuck is going on. But I have a pretty good idea.”

He just looked at me. He was going to make me say it. “I saw you, Deiter. I saw you kissing him. And if it was up to me you’d get another Oscar for the performance you’ve been putting on these last few months.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, shit … I … he caught me by surprise.”

”He caught you and he can have you,” I said, lifting the suitcase. “I’m going home.”

He stepped in front of me. “Wait. Just calm down, Em. There’s no need to go charging off like this. We have a flight booked in the morning. Can we just talk about this?”

”There’s nothing to talk about! You were making out with someone else while we were on a fucking date.”

”I didn’t kiss him back,” Dieter said. “I swear. Like I said, he caught me by surprise and …”

”If someone surprised me with an unwanted kiss, I’d push them away. I’d tell them to stop, not close my eyes and savor the moment.” My voice shook as my throat tightened. “I believed you, Dieter. I thought you loved me.”

”I do love you,” he said. “I — I fucked up. I admit it. I shouldn’t have let Jonathan get as far as he did. I — oh, fuck!” He dropped to his knees. “Please, Em, don’t leave right now. Give me a chance to explain.”

”There’s nothing to explain,” I said sadly. “And maybe we can talk about this later on but right now … I just can’t.”

”Okay, then, we won’t talk about it, but just … stay the night. I won’t talk to you, I won’t touch you, we’ll just get some sleep and try to fix things in the morning.” His eyes were swimming with tears and as angry as I was, I couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes looking up at me.

”I’ll stay,” I said. “But I can’t talk to you. I can’t even look at you.”

”Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the floor or something.”

”Whatever.” I dropped the suitcase on the floor and went into the bathroom. I washed my face. My eyes were red and my face was blotchy, but I didn’t care. I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the clean bathrobe that was hanging on the back of the door. I had a nightshirt in my suitcase but I didn’t feel like going back out and rummaging through the mess to find it. I was tired and angry and as much as I wanted to get away from Dieter, I knew that going to bed was the best idea. In my condition, it really wasn’t a good idea for me to be negotiating my way around a strange city and airport in the middle of the night. Besides, changing my flight would cost money, as would an Uber or shuttle back to Dieter’s place to pick up my car. My bank account was stretched enough as it was.

When I came out of the bathroom, Dieter was sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, his head in his hands. I ignored him and crawled into bed. I told myself I didn’t care if he sat there all night. I turned on my side so I was facing away from him and pulled the covers over my head. I’d been cold all day, and between the robe and the blankets, I finally managed to warm up. I was still shaking, though.

I’d lain there for at least a half an hour when I heard Dieter get up and go into the bathroom. After a moment, I heard his voice, low and urgent. I knew I should ignore him but the idea that he might be on the phone with Jonathan burned a hole in my brain. I crept out of bed and sat against the wall just outside the bathroom door.

“I fucked up, Freddy,” Dieter said. I relaxed just a bit. He’d called his brother, not Jonathan. “I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed. ”I can’t … I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

I should have gotten back into bed, but I stayed where I was. At that point, I figured eavesdropping was less of a crime than kissing another person.

”I don’t know,” Dieter said with a deep sigh. “I just … he was there when I came out of the men’s room and I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he smiled at me and … you know that smile always made my knees weak. Next thing I knew, he was kissing me and I just froze. And she saw us.”

More silence.

”Yeah, she’s pretty pissed off. Not that I blame her. I did convince her not to go to the airport. I’ll try to talk to her in the morning.”

This time the silence was punctuated by sniffles and sobs.

“Yeah, me, too, man. I finally found someone who loves me for who I am, who doesn’t give a shit about whether I’m famous or rich or making her look good and …” His voice broke. “I fucked up with Mom and I fucked up with Dad and I almost fucked up with you and now … I don’t want to lose her, Freddy. I can’t lose her.”

I crawled quietly away and back into bed. I was crying again myself, but this time it wasn’t because my heart was broken. It was because his was. And it was partly my fault. I hadn’t given him a chance to explain himself. Maybe if I had …

He stayed in the bathroom a while longer, then came out and very gently climbed onto the far side of the bed. I rolled over to face him.

”Sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Did I wake you up?”

”No.”

”Do you mind if I …?”

”No. It’s fine.”

”Good night.”

I waited a long beat, then slid closer and put my arms around him. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” I said.

He started sobbing again, his head cradled against my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up, Em, I fucked up.”

”Shh … It’s okay. You can tell me in the morning. We both need a good night’s sleep.” I ran my fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He calmed down a bit.

”Thank you,” he said, his voice impossibly small.

”For what?”

”For giving me a chance. For not leaving. For ….” His breath hitched.

“Putting up with your melodramatics?”

He huffed out a laugh. “For being you,” he said. “For being real.”

*****************************************************************

For once, Dieter was up before I was. I woke up to find him hunched over his phone, tapping away. He glanced up as I stretched.

“Hey, good morning,” he said hesitantly. “Give me a sec. Just messaging Janice. Want to see if she can work me in when we get back to L.A.”

”Dieter, you didn’t mess up that badly,” I said. “I should have given you a chance to explain, should have confronted you instead of trying to run off ….”

”It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “It’s … I woke up during the night and I wanted … I wanted to use. Like if you hadn’t been there right next to me, I’d have been on the phone looking for a hook up. And believe me, there are a thousand ways to get hold of stuff on a Friday night in New York City.”

”But you didn’t,” I reminded him.

”Only because you were here,” he said. “If you’d left like you planned to … fuck, Emily, I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I thought I’d put him behind me.”

”You aren’t him,” I said. I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. “You aren’t. I would never have fallen in love with him.”

”It’s Jonathan,” he said. “He brought back a shit ton of stuff I thought I was done with.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “Tell me about him. About what happened last night. I promise I’ll just listen.” The morning had brought me a little clarity. I had overreacted.

”I knew Jonathan back in the day, when I was in college,” he said. “We hooked up now and then but it wasn’t anything serious until after my mom died. I was in L.A. and everyone was all about the fucking Oscar and I was self-medicating pretty heavily and he showed up on my doorstep. Like literally, I opened the door one day and he was there. And the first thing he said was ‘I heard about your mom,’ and that was it. He moved in and I thought, ‘Finally, someone cares about me and not just my stupid career.’

”Freddy warned me but I was still kind of estranged from him at the time and I told him to fuck off. I thought Jonathan was in love with me and I was in love with him. We got high and fucked each other and went to parties and yeah, maybe his career got a little boost, but he was there for me. At least, I thought so.

”Then one day he tells me he’s going to London with a producer who’d offered him a role in a movie and a Lamborghini. ‘Nothing personal’ he said. And when I asked why he’d stopped loving me, he laughed and said ‘Love doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.’ And he left, and I got so fucked up I got fired from the film I was doing and everything went downhill for years until I was doing Cliff Beasts and waking up in a hospital bed.”

He sighed deeply. “While I was in rehab, Janice helped me see that Jonathan had been using me, that I was better off without him, that I’d never really loved him. But last night … Em, it scared me how much I reacted to him. How attracted I still was.”

”Attraction is instinctual,” I said. “You can’t really control it.”

”He and I have nothing in common except how much we want to fuck each other,” he said. “And I’m with you now. I shouldn’t have felt that way about him.”

”Feeling and acting are two different things,” I said. “You can be attracted to anyone who ticks the right boxes in your brain. That has nothing to do with fidelity. It’s only wrong if you act on it.”

”I let him kiss me,” he said quietly.

”You didn’t kiss him back,” I reminded him. “You get partial credit for that. And you came after me instead of leaving with him.”

”How much of my conversation with Freddy did you hear?”

”A lot,” I confessed. “I … I thought you might be calling Jonathan, so I was listening at the door. I shouldn’t have.”

”No, it’s fine. I didn’t say anything to Freddy I shouldn’t have — wanted to — say to you. I’m not good at relationships, Em. I did everything I could to make my mom love me and notice me and you know how that turned out. And I alienated my dad because I thought I had to choose sides when they got divorced. I almost trashed things with Freddy but he was smart enough to see that I needed help and he was my number one supporter when I decided to go into rehab.

”And you … I don’t know why the universe sent you to me, Emily, but it did and I don’t want to fuck this one up, because I know this time I have the chance to do things right. The night of our first date, I called Freddy and I told him I thought you were The One. And he told me to wait a year and see if I still felt the same way. It hasn’t been a year yet, but I still feel that way.”

”I think … you’re getting ahead of yourself, Deet,” I said carefully. “We’ve only known each other about four months. We’re still in the rose-colored glasses phase. I … I want to jump in as much as you do, but remember when you told me I could move in? I seriously thought about it, and I talked to my friend Sam and she told me to really think it through, to listen to my head as much as my heart. I think she and Freddy are right. We need to slow down a little. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. If we do this right, if we take our time and put in the work, it can last.”

”It might be hard,” he said.

”I think we’re worth it. You’re worth it.”

He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. “I ain’t worth shit, but you are more precious than anything to me.”

”Not exactly eloquent but I’ll take it,” I said. “And you are worthy, Dieter Bravo. Worthy of love and respect, just like everyone else in the world.”

”You really think we can do this?”

I looked him in the eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I think we can. I trust you, Deet. I just need to stop jumping to conclusions every time I see you near an attractive person and listen to you when you tell me you want to be with me.” I tried to smile. “You aren’t the only one in this relationship who’s a bit fucked up, you know.”

”Maybe Janice can give us a two for one special,” he said, a glint starting to shine in his eyes for the first time. “Not sure if she does couples therapy ….” His face went serious again. “I might need some time to get things straight in my head again. Might even have to go back into rehab for a little while … are you okay with that?”

”I’m okay with anything that helps you feel better about yourself,” I said. “I want you to be happy.”

”You make me happy,” he said, laying his head on my shoulder.

I closed my eyes. “Same,” I said, the only thing I could force out around the lump in my throat. Books and movies made love look so damn easy, but this was hard. This was real. I just hoped I was strong enough to see it through.

***********************************************************

Dieter met with Janice on Monday and checked back into rehab that evening. I got a text while I was at work.

DIETER: Good session with Janice. Checking in tonight. Won’t be able to talk to you for a while but J will send updates. Love u.

Janice called about eight o’clock that night to let me know that Dieter was fine. “I can’t tell you much because of patient-doctor confidentiality, but we had a very productive session this morning and honestly, this residence is just a precaution. I think Dieter just needs a bit of a safety net right now. I don’t expect him to be in for long.”

That was one of the longest weeks in my life. Work kept me busy during the day, although it was hard to keep up the facade in front of Eileen, but the evenings were torture. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on those nightly calls from Dieter. Whether we vented about work or made plans for the weekend or just joked around, it was the highlight of my day. I missed him, missed his voice, the weird faces he made when he forgot he was on FaceTime and I could see him. I missed the feeling of connection we’d built.

Friday night, I lost it. I was alone and feeling sorry for myself and I cried. I cried for me but mostly for Dieter. I wondered if he was as lonely as I was. Outside communication wasn’t allowed during the first week of his stay, so I wouldn’t hear from him until Monday at the earliest.

The weekend crawled by. I caught up on chores and errands, which in theory was a good thing, but by Sunday night, I was feeling even more sorry for myself. A quick peek at Facebook and Instagram showed that most of my friends and coworkers had been out enjoying life while I was grocery shopping and cleaning the toilet and folding laundry. I’d been used to it before I met Dieter — the price I gladly paid for being an independent, self-sufficient single woman — but now it just seemed soul-crushingly dull. I felt myself descending into self-pity and did the one thing I knew could pull me out of the pit. I texted Sam.

ME: Save me.

SAM: What’s going on, chickie?

I dumped it all on her: what had happened with Jonathan, Dieter going into rehab, my feelings of loneliness and futility.

SAM: You’re gonna be okay. You’ve been through worse shit in your life, Em. You should have called me sooner.

ME: I didn’t want to put it on you. It’s my mess.

SAM: How many times have I bitched to you about my life? You’re allowed to tell me about yours.

ME: It’s just Dieter’s going through this by himself. I should be able to do the same.

SAM: Hold up, he’s got a whole fricking team of experts walking him through it. You’re the one who’s by herself.

Sam was right. I’d been trying to navigate this alone, while Dieter had Janice and the staff of the rehab facility guiding him. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed help, too.

ME: Thanks, chickie. I can always rely on you to slap me upside the head with the truth when I need it.

SAM: Any time. And hang in there. I think he’s worth it.

ME: So do I.

***********************************************

My phone rang at exactly eight o’clock Monday evening. It was Dieter.

”Hey!” He looked excited. “How you doing, sweetie?”

”Hanging in there,” I said. “You look good.”

”I feel good. It’s been a lot of work but, yeah, I feel really good. About myself. About us.”

”Any idea when you'll be out of there? I miss you.”

”End of the week, probably. Can you … will you be able to come out to my place next weekend?”

”Of course,” I said.

He grinned. “I’m going one hundred percent sober this time, Em. No alcohol, no edibles, nothing. And it’ll be a lot easier the first few days if you’re with me. Not that I need you to be there, but … it would be nice.”

”I wouldn’t miss it,” I told him. “And you might not need me, but I need you, Deet. I’ve missed you so much.”

”I know,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve got all this support and schedules and really been able to focus on shit and you’ve been dealing with work and real life. I’m sorry, babe.”

”No need to apologize. You needed to do this. And I can already see what a difference it’s made.”

I heard a timer beep somewhere behind him. “Ah, shit, time’s up. I’ve gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”

”I love you, too.”

*******************************************************************

Even though his calls were brief, just talking to Dieter every night made the next week much better. When Friday came, I was champing at the bit all day. Dieter was leaving the rehab facility Saturday morning, and I wanted to be there when he got home, so I was going to make my usual Friday evening trek to Hollywood. For once I didn’t mind the traffic (well, I did, but I was in such a good mood I was able to keep my frustration to a minimum).

The house felt hollow and empty when I went in. The cleaner had been there to dust and sweep but otherwise no one had been in the house for two weeks. It was too neat and tidy; Dieter always left a bit of chaos behind him.

I ordered something for dinner and tried to watch TV but it just felt too lonely without Dieter. Then my phone rang.

”Hey, are you at my place already?,” he asked, squinting at the camera.

”Yeah, I wanted to be here when you get home, but … it’s kind of lonely without you. Maybe I should have driven over in the morning.”

”No, I think … I think it’s good. You can warm the bed up for me.” He winked. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re there waiting for me.”

”Are you excited?” He seemed a bit antsy.

”Excited and scared,” he admitted. “It’s easy to be sober here, but in the real world, it’s gonna be tough. I’m glad you’re going to be there the first couple of days.”

”Me, too. I know this is scary, Deet, but you can do this. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. No matter what.”

After he hung up, I felt much lighter and the house didn’t seem so empty. It was ready to welcome Dieter home. And so was I.

************************************************

I felt like a kid waiting for Santa Claus. I was glued to the security camera feed on my phone, watching for Dieter’s car to turn into the driveway. I’d changed the sheets on the bed that morning, made sure there was coffee ready to brew in the machine, even run to the local bakery as soon as it opened to get some of those scones that Dieter loved so much. Everything was ready for him. Especially me.

I’d done a lot of thinking over the past two weeks and I felt a lot better about our relationship. It didn’t feel as fragile as it had before. I’d always been waiting for Dieter to realize he could do better than me, but after hearing him on the phone with Freddy, I felt stronger. Dieter needed me as much as I needed him. He saw me as a person, not just something that could enhance or damage his image. And I saw him fully for the first time, as a man who had been through some shit, and was doing his best to deal with it. Not a celebrity, not a dreamboat, just a guy. A guy who needed someone at his side.

And truth be told, I needed someone by my side. As much as I told myself I didn't need anyone else, I wanted to belong to someone. Not in the “I’m not complete until I have a man” way but in a “I want someone to have my back” kind of way. I had Sam but she was so far away, and she had a family and life of her own. She was there for me but I wanted — needed — something more. I wanted Dieter.

I was waiting at the door when he pulled up next to my car. He was smiling ear to ear as he got out, grabbed his bags and practically ran to the house.

“God, I missed you,” he said, dropping his suitcases in the doorway and wrapping his arms around me.

”I missed you, too,” I said. He smelled amazing. It wasn’t just his cologne, which was subtle and spicy and woodsy. It was him. I’d missed his scent. I breathed him in until I felt like every bit of my body was full.

We barely had the door shut before he was kissing me. “There’s coffee and scones,” I managed to say in between kisses.

”Later,” he said. “Right now I just want you.”

We messed up the bed I’d so carefully made just a few hours ago, but I didn’t mind. It had only been two weeks since the last time we’d slept together, but it felt like months. Everything was new again and we took our time rediscovering each other.

“You are amazing,” Dieter said afterwards as we lay in bed, knowing we should get up and get dressed but wanting to be lazy for just a bit.

”I didn’t do anything special,” I said. “You on the other hand …”

He shook his head. “I mean, you’re amazing for waiting for me, for listening to me, for understanding.” He toyed with a lock of my hair. “A lot of people would have bailed, especially so early in a relationship. But you stayed.”

”I had to,” I admitted. “You told Freddy you couldn’t lose me. Well, I realized that I can’t lose you. I need you, Dieter. I need you in my life. You’re the piece I didn’t even know was missing.”

He kissed me gently. “Does that mean …?”

”It means I like what we have, where we are right now. I still think we need to take things slowly, not jump into anything but … I think I know where our path is heading and I like it. And I’m looking forward to walking it with you, Deet. Side by side.”

”Hand in hand,” he said, taking my hand in his.

“Cheek to cheek,” I said, pressing my face against his.

”Butt to butt,” he laughed, twisting around so that his butt was pressed against the side of mine.

”Why are you so fascinated with butts?”

”Because deep inside I’m still a twelve-year-old boy,” he said, batting his eyes at me.

”You know, there’s a reason I don’t work at a middle school …” I started to say, but he cut me off with a kiss that was definitely the work of a middle aged man who’d had years of practice. I was more than willing to overlook a few butt jokes for that.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter x ofc #the bubble fanfiction #late night talking #comment reblog #dieter x emily

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all-the-things-2020 · 21 hours

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Yes, Jonathan is a dick! Dieter has grown a lot since he was with him; Jonathan hasn’t changed a bit.

Thanks for reading and reblogging!

Late Night Talking - Chapter Twelve

Summary: Dieter and Emily spend a busy day in NYC … and run into someone from Dieter’s past.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: ~8200

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, body image issues, implied infidelity

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

I woke up first in the morning. A beam of sunlight was streaming through a gap in the drapes, illuminating the room just enough to let me watch Dieter sleep beside me. I almost always woke up before him, since I was used to getting up so early during the week. Even when I “slept in” I was awake long before he was. I didn’t mind; I loved to lie in bed and just watch him as he breathed deeply in and out, his face completely relaxed. He was all mine in those quiet moments; no one else saw him this way and I savored every second.

“You’re staring at me again,” he mumbled eventually. He had a knack for waking up without opening his eyes, which meant he’d caught me watching him on several occasions.

“You’re just so pretty,” I said softly, reaching out to smooth the hair off his forehead.

He opened his eyes just so he could roll them at me. I laughed and kissed his forehead. “You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” I told him. I threw back the covers and started looking for my robe, which had slid off the bed onto the floor.

“Where you going?” Dieter said, his head buried under a pillow to avoid the light.

“Bathroom,” I said. He peeked out from under the pillow. “Are you staring at me, now?” I asked.

He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. “Of course,” he said. “Why are you putting on your robe?”

“Because I’m naked?” I said.

He snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s going to see you, babe. We’re on the fifteenth floor.” Then his face went serious. “Wait, you never walk around naked in front of me. You always put on a robe or your pajamas.” He sat up, the covers falling down to pool in his lap.

“So?” I said, pulling the belt of the robe tight around my waist.

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.

“I’ve got to pee,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I darted into the bathroom and put my head in my hands as I sat on the toilet. It was true; Dieter had no qualms about walking around in the buff, but I’d chalked it up to being an actor. Dressing rooms, quick changes behind the scenes and shooting love scenes in front of dozens of people tended to weed out the prudish folks. I’d seen most of his movies. I knew I wasn’t the only one to see a lot of what I’d seen.

Me, on the other hand: I might sleep in the nude when I was with him, but I always slipped something on when I got out of bed, especially when it was daylight. I flushed and then opened my robe, taking a good look in the mirror. Nothing spectacular, nothing special. Certainly nothing anyone would want to stare at.

Dieter knocked on the door. “Hey, you okay in there?,” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I said, belting the robe and opening the door. He looked at me and reached down to undo the belt.

“Take it off,” he said.

“No,” I said, clutching at the sides of the robe.

He shook his head and pried my hands loose from the fabric. “Take. It. Off,” he said firmly. He slipped it off my shoulders and tossed it back onto the bed. I instinctively tried to hide behind my crossed arms.

“Nope,” he said. “Let me see you.”

“You’ve seen me,” I said, turning to open the dresser drawer and pull out some clothes.

“Glimpses,” he said. “Mostly in the dark. Only in bed.” He wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed the back of my neck. “I want to see all of you.”

I sighed and turned around, pushing him gently back. I spread my arms out and stood before him, unable to look him in the eyes. “There,” I said. “You’ve seen it. Now let me get dressed.”

He tilted my chin up until I couldn’t avoid his gaze. “No,” he said softly. “I want to enjoy the view.” He took my hand and led me away from the dresser. “You are absolutely beautiful,” he murmured as he let his eyes roam over my body. I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling. He frowned. “What’s that look for?”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to lie to me,” I said.

He pulled me into an embrace. “I’m not lying,” he said. “You really are beautiful.” He kissed me on the nose. “Now, as much as I’d love to take you back to bed and prove it to you, we have a busy day ahead, so we’d better get dressed. But we are going to continue this conversation, okay?”

I nodded but quickly put it out of my mind. He’d forget all about it by evening; we were going to a play that one of his friends was in, so we’d be getting back pretty late. And he had a full day planned before that; even without leaving this part of Manhattan, there was so much to see and do.

I got dressed in jeans, a pair of low-heeled booties, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a thick cardigan sweater. “Do you think you’ll be warm enough, babe?” Dieter asked.

“Sure,” I said. “We’re going to be walking a lot; that will keep me warm.” Still, I added a bright red scarf to my outfit, just in case. Dieter was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, a long-sleeved henley, a sweatshirt, and a leather jacket. It would have been too many layers for me, but he looked amazing as always.

After breakfast in the hotel dining room, we walked out into the bright October sunshine. It was very chilly but it was still early in the day and the tall buildings cast much of the street in shadow. I tugged my scarf closer around my throat and tucked my arm through Dieter’s elbow. We were off to explore Manhattan.

“First stop … the New York Public Library,” Dieter said. We headed east down 5th Avenue. Traffic streamed past us, the cacophony of the city a bit overwhelming, but exciting. I wouldn’t want to live in it but for a visit it was stimulating.

We reached the library and I couldn’t help myself. My mouth fell open in awe as I saw the two iconic lions, Patience and Fortitude, lying on their pedestals. I’d had a cat when I was about ten who liked to lie on the arm of our couch in that exact pose and I’d gotten so excited when I saw a picture of the famous New York lions in a magazine. Now they were right in front of me. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture.

Dieter laughed. “Come on, I’ll take a picture of you in front of one of them,” he said. I felt almost giddy as I trotted over to the base of the closest pedestal and turned to look back at him. People were walking past us, all intent on their own business, and he had to wait a moment until it was clear enough for him to get a photo without a random stranger in the way. Then he came over to me, put his arm around me and lifted the phone so we could take a selfie.

“You can’t even see the lion,” I said when he showed it to me. “What’s the point?”

He shook his head. “You know nothing about the art of the selfie, my dear,” he said. “It’s not about the location, it’s about the people in the picture.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket and led me up the steps to the gorgeous Beaux-Arts building. As we walked through the doors into the marble magnificence of Astor Hall, I gasped. It was like heaven. We wandered through the various rooms on all three floors: the cosy paneling and murals of the DeWitt Wallace Periodicals Room, the chandeliers and soothing blue walls of the Map Room, the arches and murals of the McGraw Rotunda, and the piece de resistance, the glory that was the Rose Reading Room.

Everywhere we went, I wanted to touch everything: the shelves, the heavy wooden tables, the spines of the books, the brass lamps on the tables. I felt like a kid in a candy store and it must have shown. Dieter was watching me the whole time, a quirky little smile on his face. I saw him sneak a few photos of me but I didn’t care.

“You’re in your element,” he said quietly as we walked the length of the Rose Reading Room.

“What?” I was too busy drinking in the details of the room. People were scattered around at the tables, all busy with books or laptops or pads of paper and sometimes all three. Only the sound of pens scratching on paper, keyboards tapping, and soft footsteps broke the silence.

“I said, you’re in your element,” Dieter repeated, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Like the difference between seeing an animal in the zoo and seeing it in its natural habitat. You just … you’re different. More alive, I guess.”

I knew I had a goofy smile on my face, but I didn’t care. “I’m a sucker for old fashioned libraries,” I admitted. “Every library is special, but these old ones … there’s just something about them. Like they’re temples to the power of literature.”

“That was downright poetic,” he said. “You’re going to pull out a quill and parchment pretty soon, aren’t you?”

I elbowed him in the ribs. “Goofball,” I replied. We had reached the far end of the room and we turned around to survey the whole thing. He slipped his arm around me and pulled me close to his side.

“I know you’d be happy staying here all day, but we’d better get a move on,” he said. “Next stop: Central Park.”

We caught the subway at 42nd Street and I followed Dieter as he expertly navigated a few subway changes until we climbed back above ground near the Museum of Natural History. We crossed the busy lanes of Central Park West and suddenly we were no longer in the city. We were in Central Park.

It was beautiful. Dieter slipped his hand in mind and led me along the pathways while I gawked at the trees and green, green grass. Back home in California, the grass hadn’t returned from its summer dormancy in most places, leaving the hills and empty lots brown and dry. But what really floored me were the trees. Acres and acres of fall colors, leaves scattered over the paths, golds and reds and oranges contrasting with the green grass and smaller shrubs, and all of it one hundred and eighty degrees away from the gray stone and cement of the city.

He led me through the park until we came to a scene that blew me away. In the distance, an actual castle, and before us an outdoor theater. “This is the Delacorte Theater,” Dieter said. “That’s Belvedere Castle on the other side of the Turtle Pond.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking a little embarrassed. “I … I did Shakespeare in the Park here,” he said quietly. “Not a big part but it was really special.”

We were standing at the top of the amphitheater, looking down at the round stage. It hit me like a ton of bricks: Dieter had stood on that stage. He’d faced an audience that filled the bowl-shaped amphitheater and performed one of Europe’s greatest works of art. I slipped my arm through the crook of his elbow and leaned against him. “Can we go down there? On the stage?”

“Let’s find out,” he said with a shrug. The theater was closed for the season but he clearly knew his way around and found an open gate that allowed us to enter the seating area and make our way down toward the stage. When we reached it, he walked to the side where there were a set of steps and walked up onto the stage. He held out his hand and helped me up beside him. We turned to face the amphitheater and I felt so tiny.

“How do you do this?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Get up in front of a thousand strangers and put yourself out there?”

He shoved his hands back in his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “You just do it.” He got a pensive look on his face. “You start out in these tiny little hole in the wall theaters that seat like forty people and you just do it. Then you get a gig at a larger theater that seats maybe a hundred. And you keep going, until one day you’re on a stage like this.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and gestured to the invisible crowd.

“Who’s being poetic now?” I teased. He glared at me, then tossed his head back and seemed to change into someone else. He paced a few steps away, then turned back to me, one eyebrow arched.

“I wonder that thou, being, as thou sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have cause and smile at no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his humour,” he said. He was an Elizabethan gentleman, a bit of a rogue, with an undercurrent of sadness.

Then he sort of deflated a little and my Dieter was back. He chuckled. “Don John, Much Ado About Nothing,” he said. “I played him in college.”

“That was amazing,” I said.

“Hey! What are you doing up there? Get down!” A workman in blue coveralls was standing at the far edge of the stage. He had a strong New York accent and he looked pissed.

“Sorry!” Dieter yelled. He grabbed my hand and started running. We dashed across the stage, down the stairs and then out through a back gate that I would never have seen. Once we were safely away from the theater, we stopped running and collapsed on a nearby bench.

“Oh, shit, I haven’t done anything like that in years,” he said, laughing.

“I thought you said we could go down there,” I said, poking him in the chest.

“I said ‘Let’s find out,’” he clarified. “Turns out the answer was ‘No.’” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “So, you’re now a real New Yorker. You’ve been chased out of somewhere you weren’t supposed to be by an official NYC worker.”

“So you have to be a trespasser to be a real New Yorker,” I asked.

“Yep,” he said, kicking my foot with his. “Why do you think I’m wearing running shoes? Hmm?”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were such a rebel. I’m surprised you didn’t try to yell in the library.”

“Oh, I’d never profane the sanctity of the library,” he said. “I couldn’t risk losing you.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, then pulled his arm away from my shoulders and stood up. “Come on, we’ve got lots more to see.” He held out his hand and I took it.

He led me down pathways through the beautiful trees decked out in their autumnal colors. I recognized oaks and maples and sweetgum trees — we had those in California — but others were new to me. All of them blazed against the brilliant blue sky, but the air under their shade was cold. As we walked along through The Ramble, I started to shiver. My long sleeved tee and thick cardigan were more than enough for a walk on a winter’s day back home but were proving to be too thin for an autumn day in New York.

We’d been walking for about half an hour, admiring the trees, stopping to kiss and take selfies now and then, and laughing at the antics of the squirrels that were frantically hoarding nuts and acorns. Dieter turned to say something to me and got a funny look on his face.

“Babe, are your teeth chattering?”

“I-I-I g-g-g-uess s-s-so,” I said, unable to control the vibrations of my jaws. A full body shiver swept through my body.

“Aw, sweetie, I knew you wouldn’t be warm enough in that,” he said. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, then pulled me close. “Come on, let’s find a coffee cart and get you something hot to drink.” He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “Your hands are freezing.”

He led me to the nearest bench and sat me down. The wood was cold under my butt; jeans didn’t insulate much, apparently. Dieter stripped off his sweatshirt and took back his jacket. “Put this on,” he told me. “You can pull the sleeves down over your hands.”

I slid into the sweatshirt, which was deliciously warm and smelled like him. It was thick and since it was sized for him, it was far too big for me. The sleeves came way past my fingertips and I curled my chilled fingers into the soft fleece lining.

“Better?,” he asked as he shrugged back into his jacket.

“Yes,” I admitted, “but won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he said. “This jacket’s lined. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’d freeze my ass off if it kept you warm and comfortable.” He pulled me up to my feet and wrapped his arms around me.

He smiled down at me and I couldn’t help but reach up and tangle my hands in his hair, pulling his mouth down on mine for another kiss. We stood there in the woods, arms wrapped around each other, tongues sparring, oblivious to the rest of the world, until suddenly a friendly border collie was slobbering on our knees, bouncing up and down, tongue out and panting with exertion.

“Sorry, sorry,” said its person, a dapper young man in a tweed jacket and field boots. “She’s only a year old. We’re still working on obedience training.”

Dieter dropped down on one knee to ruffle the dog’s ears. She licked his face and squirmed around, her tail flailing through the leaves. “Aw, she’s a beautiful girl,” he said. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“How quickly I’m forgotten,” I said with a laugh.

The dog’s owner shrugged. “She’s great at picking up guys,” he said. “That’s why I got her.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Dieter gave the dog a final kiss on the top of her head and stood up. “She’s beautiful,” he repeated. “You’ve probably got to beat the guys off with a stick with her as your wingwoman.”

“No complaints so far,” the man admitted. “Again, sorry about her interrupting your moment.”

Dieter laughed and slid his arm around my waist. “That’s okay,” he said. “Honestly, we can make out anytime, but how often do I get to meet an awesome dog?”

I smacked his arm. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know I love you, baby,” he said, kissing my cheek. We said goodbye to the young man and his dog and started walking down the path, back toward the more civilized portion of the park, where we might find that coffee cart Dieter had mentioned.

“Hey, slow down,” I said. “My legs are shorter than yours!”

“But I want coffee,” he whined. He turned to walk backwards, facing me. He took my other hand and kept going.

“You’re going to walk into a tree,” I said.

He scoffed at me, but stopped to let me catch up, then slid his arm around my shoulders and slowed his steps to match mine. “I’ll never leave you behind,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about that.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes until a coffee cart appeared around the bend. As we approached it, Dieter glanced at his watch. “It’s after noon,” he said. “Are you hungry yet?”

“Not really,” I said. “Why?”

“I thought we’d go to the Met after lunch, but maybe we can just get a snack now and eat a late lunch instead,” he said. The coffee cart sold pastries, giant soft pretzels and other assorted treats.

“Sounds good to me,” I said. I hadn’t had a soft pretzel in ages and hot bread and a hot drink sounded like an excellent idea. I was much warmer in Dieter’s sweatshirt, but it was still very chilly.

We got coffee (for Dieter) and hot chocolate (for me) as well as a huge pretzel and a gooey sticky bun, then found a bench in the sun. We sipped our hot drinks as I slowly warmed up. I swung my legs across Dieter’s lap and snuggled into his side. We fed each other bites of food, ignoring the looks from passersby who clearly thought we were being ridiculously cute.

After yet another power suited businesswoman rolled her eyes at us, Dieter whispered in my ear. “They’re just jealous because they’re on their lunch break and you’re hanging out in the park with your boyfriend,” he said.

“My hot boyfriend,” I corrected, wiping a bit of syrup off the side of his mouth. I licked it off my finger and his eyebrows went up.

“Speaking of hot …” he said. He leaned forward and kissed me, tasting wonderfully of coffee and sugar and pretzel salt. “Mmm,” he said as he sat back. “You taste delicious.” He leaned back in for another kiss, but I laid my finger on his lips to stop him. A park police officer was keeping an eye on us from a few yards away and I was afraid he’d tell us to stop the PDA and move along. I tilted my head toward the officer and Dieter chuckled. “Yeah, probably should finish up and get going anyway,” he said. “You’re going to love the Met.”

It was probably true, but I knew he could have taken me to see the garbage scows that plied the river and I’d enjoy it, as long as I was with the man I loved. The man who loved me.

*********************************************

The Met was overwhelming, but in a good way. Dieter had warned me that it was impossible to see everything in one visit, or even in half a dozen. When he’d been in college, he’d visited more times that he could count, since (a) entrance was free for anyone with a New York City address and (b) it was warm in the winter and cool in the summer and his crappy student apartment hadn’t had air conditioning or a properly working radiator.

I’d never been a connoisseur of fine art. I like art, and enjoyed museums, and especially enjoyed books about art and museums, but I couldn’t tell the difference between an Impressionist and an Expressionist. I knew what I liked, but I couldn’t articulate why I liked it. Some famous works of art left me shrugging while others sent shivers down my spine. So I just followed Dieter around as he showed me some of his favorite pieces and some of the more famous items in the Met collection.

My brain was stuffed full of paintings, drawings, sculptures, textiles, furniture, and a hundred other objets d’art by the time we staggered back out into the autumn afternoon. “So, what did you think?” Dieter asked as we walked down the steps toward Fifth Avenue.

“It’s amazing,” I said, “but my brain hurts.”

He laughed and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “It takes several visits to get over that,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep coming back to the city until you get comfortable with it.” He patted his stomach. “Now that we’ve fed our brains, let’s feed the rest of us. I know a nice place not far from here.”

We walked a block to an Italian bistro on 84th Street. The crisp black awnings out front were draped with swags of roses. It was late enough that the lunch crowd had died down and too early for dinner, so we had no trouble getting a table right away. We sank into the chocolate brown leather banquette seats of a booth near a window. The cream and light brown striped wallpaper gave the room a classic touch.

The room was pleasantly warm, which was good because I needed to take Dieter’s sweatshirt off if I wanted to eat without dragging the sleeves through my food. An attentive waiter appeared at our table, menus and wine list in hand.

“Welcome,” he said. “Have you dined here before?”

“I have,” Dieter said, “in fact, I worked here for about a day when I was in college.” He chuckled. “But it’s her first time.”

“Then I’ll leave you to peruse the menu and wine list and be back in a few minutes with bread,” the waiter said.

We decided to start with a shared goat cheese salad and a glass of Pino Grigio while we decided on entrees. Dieter finally settled on the linguine with red sauce, while I went vegetarian with gnocchi. We opted for a nice Cabernet Sauvignon with our main courses.

“I’m going to lapse into a carb induced coma after this,” I told him as I dipped a slice of crusty Italian bread into the plate of olive oil and herbs the waiter had brought us.

“No food comas allowed,” Dieter said. “We have an eight o’clock curtain to make.” He glanced at his watch and I took a peek at my own. It was only four thirty; plenty of time to indulge in a good meal and still not have to rush to get changed and to the theater.

By the time we’d finished our salad and entrees, I was pleasantly full of food and wine. “Save room for dessert,” Pedro said, and I groaned.

“I can’t,” I said.

“But you have to try the Nutella S’mores,” he insisted, waving over the waiter. “Can we split a serving of the S’mores, and get a couple glasses of Veuve Cliquot?”

I was only able to manage a few bites of the decadent, gooey dessert but I did finish every drop of my champagne. By the time Dieter paid the check and we stood up, I was quite warm and more than a little wobbly on my feet, but feeling absolutely wonderful.

“Let’s get a cab back to the hotel,” he suggested as we made our way toward the door of the restaurant. “You look like you might trip and fall.”

I giggled. Champagne always had that effect on me, especially when I’d had a few glasses of wine already. He steadied me and stopped at the maitre d’ stand to ask for a cab to be called. We stepped out onto the sidewalk and the cold air slapped me in the face. I didn’t exactly sober up, since I wasn’t technically drunk, but I did straighten up and pull my cardigan closer across my chest.

A cab pulled up a few minutes later and we settled into the backseat. “The Benjamin Hotel, please,” Dieter told the driver, then leaned in to speak quietly in my ear. “Hang on tight, babe, a cab ride through Manhattan is an experience.”

He wasn’t kidding. I gripped his arm with my hand as the cabbie pulled away from the curb without signaling or even looking in his mirror. Three other vehicles laid on their horns and our driver replied with a string of profanity that was only partially in English. The cab lurched into traffic and less than a minute later, the cabbie was swiveling his head around to ask us a thousand questions: where were we from, how long were we in the city, did we have plans for the evening, were we married, did we have a dog, did we want to see a picture of his dog, or a picture of his kids, etc. By the time he pulled up in front of the hotel, I must have been pale with fear, because Dieter squeezed my hand reassuringly as he helped me out of the cab.

“Told you,” he whispered in my ear after he’d paid the fare and the cab had swerved back into traffic.

“No fucking kidding,” I replied, leaning on him more than little bit as we walked inside the lobby. Between the cold air and the hair raising cab ride, I was perfectly sober but still a bit wobbly. We rode the elevator up to our floor and went into the room.

“Make sure you’re dressed warmly enough,” Dieter said as he opened the tiny closet and pulled out a crisp pale blue button down shirt and a dark brown wool sports coat. I plopped down on the bed and untied my boots. I had brought two different dresses, not sure which one I would want to wear. After underestimating the coldness of the New York weather, my decision was easily made.

When Dieter was done in the closet, I pulled out a mid-calf length ribbed knit navy blue dress, with long sleeves and a V neck. I had brought tights and my tall black boots, which paired with either dress. This one would be warmer, though, especially when I added a black pashmina.

Dieter changed his henley and sweatshirt for the button down and a tan cashmere sweater, topped with the sports coat. “Jeans and tennis shoes?” I asked, as I looked over my own outfit, which while not exactly fancy was definitely not super casual.

He shrugged. “It’s not opening night,” he said. I shook my head. Men could get away with throwing on a sports coat and look dressed up. A woman in jeans had to wear high heels and a silky top to look polished.

When I had changed, he looked me up and down. “Better, but you still might get cold,” he said. “This isn’t L.A., sweetie.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I don’t know if we have time to get you a proper coat.”

“I’ll be fine,” I told him. The last thing I wanted was for him to buy me something that I’d never use back home. “We’ll be in the cab and we won’t be outside that long.”

He shrugged. “Okay, but don’t complain if you freeze your ass off.” He kissed me and patted my butt as he crossed the room to open the door.

We went back down to the lobby and ordered a taxi. The theater wasn’t very far away but Friday night traffic is a bitch everywhere, especially in Manhattan. Our cabbie this time wasn’t quite as distracted as the one from earlier, but I was still very glad when he pulled up in front of the Hudson Theatre near Times Square.

It was already full dark and the lights were dazzling. I could see the marquees for all the other theatres in the Broadway district, advertising the biggest blockbuster musicals and a myriad of other plays. I was distracted by all the shininess while Dieter went to the will call window to pick up our tickets.

The lobby was warm and crowded. “Want a drink?” Dieter asked as we pushed our way through the crush toward the bar.

“No, I’m good,” I said. I was still feeling the effects of the champagne and wine from lunch, although the chilly air had almost completely cleared my head. Dieter ordered a bourbon and water and sipped it while we waited for the ushers to open the doors to the auditorium.

“Good crowd,” he observed. “Raf said they weren’t sure how well the show would do after it moved from Off Broadway. Looks like it’s selling well.”

The doors opened and we were literally ushered into a jewel-box of a theatre. Everything was golden: the velvet on the seats, the warm lights and the creamy plaster walls. “Wow,” I murmured as we found our seats in the fifth row.

“Like it?” Dieter asked. “It opened in 1903, I think. I love old theaters.” He settled into his seat, slipping his arm around me.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said, leaning against him, craning my neck to look all around me. “Did you ever perform here?”

“Nah, but I’ve seen a few plays here,” he said, flipping through his Playbill. “Look, here’s Raf.” He pointed at a headshot of his friend Rafael, who was playing one of the five main characters. I’d never heard of the play, a newer avant-garde piece by an up and coming playwright.

“So, what’s it about again?” I asked.

“It’s a non-linear exploration of the family dynamics of a mixed-race woman in a same-sex relationship with a fundamentalist Christian who has been ostracized by her parents,” he said, consulting the front of the Playbill.

“Yeah, I read that,” I said, “but what’s it about?”

He shook his head. “Hell if I know,” he admitted. “Raf said it’s sort of a collection of scenes. He plays the main character’s brother. Each scene is a different interaction between her and her own family, or her girlfriend and her family, or all of them together, and some of them are flashbacks. Actually, most of them are flashbacks, and not in chronological order. He said it was a bitch to work out the characterization because in one scene he’s homophobic, then the next one he’s accepting of his sister, then back to an earlier flashback where he’s an asshole again.”

The lights dimmed and we settled back to watch the play. It was definitely non-linear; after about ten minutes I was completely lost and gave up on trying to keep track of the varying timelines. I concentrated on the costumes and the staging, which was almost dance like, giving the whole thing a dreamlike quality. It wasn’t quite my cup of tea, but Dieter seemed to be following it well enough.

At intermission, he turned to me. “How do you like it?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I’m totally lost. Is that one guy playing the same person all the time or is he a different character each time? And who is that girl with the blonde hair who keeps popping up in the background? Only the main character seems to see her, so is she some kind of metaphor?”

Dieter tried to explain things but ended up admitting he wasn't entirely sure himself. “It’s one of those pieces you have to watch several times,” he said. “Or one of those that only makes sense when you get to the end and all the loose ends are tied up. Or else it means something different depending on who’s watching it. Or what you had for breakfast that day.” He shrugged. “It’s ‘art’.” He made air quotes. “Fucking brilliant if you do it right, and absolutely horrible if you don’t. I’ve always been better at more literal pieces, but Raf likes this kind of shit. Which might explain why I make more money than he does …”

The second act was easier to understand than the first one, which wasn’t saying much. I could see that most of the audience was enthralled, and it was clearly a good piece of theater, just not something I was ready to appreciate. Still, I was tearing up at the end when the main character embraced her girlfriend’s mother as the father stomped off stage.

Dieter pulled out his phone as soon as the house lights came back up. “I’m texting Raf, see where he wants to meet us,” he said. As the rest of the audience streamed out, I fidgeted in my seat.

“I’m going to run to the ladies’ room,” I finally told him. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” I followed the crowd and took my place at the end of the interminably long line outside the women’s restroom. I was still not up to the door when Dieter came up to me.

“Raf said he left my name at the stage door, so we can go straight backstage,” he said. He eyed the length of the line and raised an eyebrow. “Should I tell him it’ll be about an hour?”

“Very funny,” I retorted. “Why do they always underestimate the number of stalls in women’s restrooms?”

The woman in front of me in line chimed in, as did the two behind me and suddenly we were all bitching about how unfair it was and Dieter just sort of faded away like Homer Simpson sinking into the hedge in the popular meme. “Um, I’ll just be over there,” he said pointing vaguely toward the bar.

Eventually, I completed my mission and rejoined him. He was on his phone, but looked up the instant I stepped out of the restroom, so I knew he had been watching for me. “Ready?,” he said.

“Ready,” I replied, tucking my hand through his arm. He led me out of the lobby and then down to the end of the block. Theaters in L.A. were usually self contained, so it was easy to find the stage door, but here in New York, so many buildings shared walls that very often the stage door was on a completely different street and not always easy to find. One thing that all stage doors shared was a certain dinginess and furtive air.

“Why do stage doors always look like someplace you’d dump a body?” I asked. Dieter laughed.

“I guess so the actors don’t get swelled heads,” he said. “Hard to feel too important if you’re stepping over a puddle of urine and ducking behind a dumpster to get to your job.”

A bored young man with several nose piercings consulted a raggedy clipboard before stepping aside to let us enter the theater. There were about a dozen people lined up in the alley waiting for autographs and some of them gave us the stink eye as we sailed past them.

I’d never been backstage at a theater before, although I’d done a few stage door vigils after seeing favorite musicals back home. It was cramped and dirty, a maze of hallways and temporary walls and curtains, bare light bulbs hanging from fixtures that looked like they’d been converted from gas a hundred years ago and never cleaned since. People were walking around in sweatpants and t-shirts, bathrobes, remnants of costumes, and in one case a full tuxedo. Dieter stopped someone to ask which dressing room was Rafael’s and we made our way to it.

“Hey, man!” Rafael cried out as he spied Dieter’s reflection in his mirror. He was a tall, wiry haired Dominican slumped in a makeup chair, scrubbing at his face with a cloth. He looked simultaneously exhausted and hyped up.

“Hey, my dude,” Dieter said. “Whoa, you got a room to yourself? Looking up, man.”

Raf laughed and jumped up to wrap Dieter in one of those one-armed bro hugs. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be movie stars, you know?” He tousled Dieter’s hair and then turned to me. “So, what kind of shit has he been telling you to get you to put up with his sorry ass?”

Dieter shoved him aside. “Behave, Raf,” he said. “This is my girlfriend, Emily, and you’d better be nice to her.”

Raf and I shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Emily,” he said, bowing to kiss the back of my hand. “See, I can be a gentleman.”

“You’re a good actor, asshole,” Dieter said, shaking his head. They bantered back and forth, trading insults while Raf finished removing his makeup and then disappeared behind a beat up screen to change his clothes.

“I told some of the old gang that you’re in town,” Raf said from behind the screen. “Thought we could meet up for drinks, unless you’ve got other plans.” He popped his head out and nodded suggestively at me.

Dieter shot me a glance and I shrugged. If he wanted to catch up with old friends, who was I to say no? “Yeah, we can hang out for a bit,” he told Raf. “Who all will be there?”

Raf rattled off several names of both genders. “Lamb’s Club okay?”

“Ooh, la-di-dah,” Dieter said. “Nice step up from that dive bar in Brooklyn we used to hang out at.”

“Shit, Frankie’s?” Raf said. “That place is still there, believe it or not. Carla’s girlfriend works there now. The food’s still horrible but the drinks are cheap.” He came out from behind the screen dressed in jeans, a sweater and beat up Doc Martins. “Let me text Mike and let him know we’re on our way.”

We walked to the Lamb’s Club, Raf and Dieter both stopping to sign a couple of quick autographs and snap a photo on the way out. The bar was attached to a restaurant inside a posh hotel on 44th Street. The decor was all red and silver, very Manhattan, and the light fixtures hanging over the bar were replicas of iconic skyscrapers.

Raf led us to a group of people crammed into a booth who all jumped up to hug Dieter and shake hands with me. “Mike, Carla, Simone, Bee, Jackson, Steve, and Joey,” Raf introduced them in rapid succession. “This is the Girlfriend, Emily.”

As we all crammed back into the booth, I found myself smashed between Dieter and Bee, who was a petite woman with a mass of curly hair and tight jeans that emphasized her Puerto Rican curves. Simone, Carla’s girlfriend, was on Dieter’s other side, with Carla on her other side, so Dieter was the only guy on our side of the booth, which he didn’t seem to mind.

A waiter arrived to take our drink orders. I started off with a Gold Rush, which featured my favorite bourbon, Woodford Reserve, with lemon and honey. Dieter ordered an Aviation - gin, maraschino and creme de violette - and a dozen oysters. Everyone winked and joked at that, but Dieter acted innocent. “What? I like oysters. You all know that.”

Nods and winks and an elbow in my ribs from Bee followed his comment. Raf ordered an assortment of smaller appetizers for the table: olives, nuts, a cheese plate, and soon everyone was sipping their cocktails and nibbling on the goodies. Dieter offered to share the oysters but only got a few takers. He offered me one and I almost declined, but then remembered our first date and whispered, “You know what you have to do to get me to eat one of those.”

“Yeah, I know how particular you are about what you put in your mouth,” he shot back, winking lasciviously. He slipped the shell against my lips and I forced myself to swallow the thing. I shuddered as it slipped down my throat, and he leaned in to kiss me, the familiar taste of gin and oyster taking me back to June.

“Aww, how disgustingly cute,” Jackson said. Dieter flipped him off and then waved over the waiter.

“Another round, on me,” he said, and the entire booth cheered. I was snuggled up against Dieter’s side, his left arm around me, his right hand busy gesturing as he talked or bringing his drink to his lips. The conversation swirled around me, full of inside jokes and references to people and places I’d never heard of, but I was content enough. Dieter was having a great time, his face lighting up with a mischievous smile as he and his friends remembered old times.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” The voice belonged to a man dressed in tight jeans and a silk shirt that had several buttons undone. His brown leather jacket was draped over one arm. He had dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and was handsome in a definitely-had-some-work-done-but-it-was-done-well way. Dieter stiffened beside me.

”Hey, Jonathan,” he said half-heartedly. “I didn’t know you were back in New York.”

”Just moved back,” Jonathan said, motioning for Raf to scoot over to make room for him. “Which is why I’ll forgive you this time for not inviting me to the reunion.” He smiled at me but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And who’s the new one?”

”This is Emily,” Dieter said. “My girlfriend.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Heard rumors you were batting for the other team again,” he said. “Good for you, DeeDee. Gotta be good for the image.”

”Lay off,” Raf said.

Jonathan shrugged, then spotted the plate of oysters. His face lit up. “I know it was you who ordered these,” he said to Dieter. “My man always did love his oysters.” He winked at me, picked one up and slurped it down. “Remember that weekend on Cape Cod when we ate so many we were almost sick? Turns out there is a very fine line between aphrodisiac and nauseating.”

Everyone laughed, except for me and Dieter. I didn’t like this guy. But I suspected that Dieter did. He was fidgeting, his eyes darting everywhere but at Jonathan … and at me.

“Hey, folks, it’s been great but it was a long day and Emily and I have a flight home tomorrow,” Dieter started to say, but Jonathan cut him off.

”Oh, come on, DeeDee. It’s Friday and the night is still young, even if we aren’t anymore. Who wants to hit a club and go dancing?”

”Sorry,” Dieter said. “We’re going to have to decline.” He turned to me. “I’m gonna hit the restroom before we head out.”

“Yeah, good idea,” I said.

Bee slid out of the booth so we could get up. “You okay?,” she whispered as I stepped past her.

“Yeah, fine,” I lied. Something was going on here, something I didn’t like. Dieter’s energy had changed as soon as Jonathan showed up but I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong.

”So… Jonathan,” I prompted as Dieter and I walked the short distance to the restrooms.

”I really don’t want to talk about it right now, Em,” he said. “Later, okay?”

I nodded and ducked into the ladies’ room, which only had a short line inside. I used the facilities and washed my hands, then headed out. I had barely opened the outer door when I saw them.

Jonathan had Dieter up against the wall at the back of the little hallway where the restrooms were located. He was kissing Dieter’s throat and Dieter … had his eyes closed and his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders. He wasn’t pushing him away. I ducked back into the restroom.

”You okay?” A slightly drunk woman paused while washing her hands. “You need anything?”

”No, yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “I just … I’m fine.” I smiled at her and pushed the door open again. This time Jonathan was standing a few steps back from Dieter, who looked up as I opened the door. His face fell, and Jonathan turned toward me with a little smirk.

I rushed back to the table, grabbed my purse and coat and almost ran for the door. “Hey, what’s going on?” Bee called. She and Raf followed me but I shrugged them off.

“Ask Dieter,” I said. I stumbled outside and headed for a nearby taxi stand. “Benjamin Hotel,” I told the driver as I folded myself up in the backseat. I was trembling all over. That oyster and everything else I’d eaten that day threatened to come back up. This was worse than seeing that video of Dieter and Erica. That had only been speculation; this was proof, right in front of my face.

“Miss, hey, miss,” the driver said. “We’re here.”

I pulled a handful of cash out of my purse and shoved it into his hand. “Keep the change,” I said, not even sure I’d given him enough to cover the ride, let alone a tip.

”You take care now,” he said. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

I went inside and straight to the elevator. The ride up was interminable, as I tried to keep up appearances in front of an older couple who were complaining about the show they’d seen and the dinner they’d eaten. “I’m just saying, if they’re going to charge that much, you should at least be able to see the steak,” the man said.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I wanted to scream at them. Couldn’t they see that my life was falling apart? When the doors opened on my floor, I rushed out and went into the room. The bed was neatly made, the covers turned down and mints on the pillows.

With tears blurring my vision, I pulled open the dresser drawer and started pulling out my things and shoving them into my suitcase. If I was fast, I could get packed and be on my way to the airport before Dieter showed up.

I wasn’t fast enough.

#dieter x emily #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfiction #late night talking #the bubble fanfiction #comment reblog

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