21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales by Heather Long Page B
Authors: Heather Long
Tags: Marines, Romance
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those parameters because we don’t want to hear it.”
The waitress returned with a pair of walnut apple salads sprinkled with feta cheese, then quickly and efficiently left them to their privacy.
“How can we not want to hear the people we care about?” Lauren picked up her fork and speared an apple slice. “Doesn’t the act of conversation suggest that we want to hear what someone else is saying?”
“Yes and no. When we talk, we want the person we are speaking to, to hear us and share our emotions with regard to the topic of conversation. Case in point, you wanted to relate to my profession so you mentioned what you played on television. It’s not the same thing and you were a bit embarrassed about it, but….” He waved his fork at her when she opened her mouth, the already mentioned embarrassment creeping up to warm her cheeks. “But it also demonstrated that you were trying to empathize with me. You did hear me and you wanted to create a common space for our conversation.”
“And here I thought it a little vain and pretentious by asking you to pay attention to my career, and I hate bringing up my career.” Thank God for dim lighting. I must be beet red at this point .
“But you’re an actress—it’s what you do. Why would it be vain or pretentious to bring up your body of work?”
She crunched the apple thoughtfully, considering her answer. “Because…it’s lame? I have people who come up to me all the time, acting like they really know me or really love me because they saw me in some movie or some program and it gives them the right to this intimate acquaintance with me. I deal with actors and their egos all the time….”
Why is it always so hard to put my thoughts into actual words? Do I really need a script for this?
“At the risk of sounding clinical, you have every right to refer to your career and your experiences for the purposes of conversation and worry about the awkwardness that I might be interested in you only for those experiences.” He chewed a mouthful of salad, gaze never wavering. “For the record, you stole my breath away in Once Smitten, Twice Shy , but any intimacy I want to experience, I want to do so with the woman across the table from me, not the lady on the screen.”
“You’re direct.”
“Best way to avoid miscommunication is to say what you mean. Mean what you say.” The wry hint of self-deprecation didn’t escape her.
“You didn’t sound clinical…okay, maybe a little…but I like that you seem to understand my babble.”
“It’s not babble. It’s conversation. We can talk about your work. We can not talk about your work. You can finish that salad and dance with me. Or we can talk about the Cowboys….”
“That’s a sports team, right?” She hid a smile behind another bite of salad, the sweet tart of the apple enhanced by the smooth, smoky feta and lemony lettuce.
“I know. You’re a Raiders girl.”
“Actually, I’m more of a Lakers girl. I look fabulous on those big screens sitting courtside.” She grinned when he laughed again. She loved the deep, throaty quality of his laugh without any hint of nasal distraction or worse, the polite tee hee of humoring the blonde.
“Been to any games recently? A lot of the guys recorded them. I can check it out for myself.”
“During the playoffs. My agent wanted me to make nice with the lead in the movie I auditioned for—you know, see and be seen, get some buzz on TMZ—and see if the casting director went for it.” The tabloids loved her ringside positioning next to the Hollywood bad boy with his oversexed reputation and permanent bachelor status.
She hated that part of her job. The auditions were professional, but all the ‘play for the press’ made her look like an exhibitionist. Lately, a desperate exhibitionist trying to cling to her youth.
“Did you get the part?” A guarded look came over his expression.
“Nope. I’m actually kind of glad because the man didn’t seem to
The waitress returned with a pair of walnut apple salads sprinkled with feta cheese, then quickly and efficiently left them to their privacy.
“How can we not want to hear the people we care about?” Lauren picked up her fork and speared an apple slice. “Doesn’t the act of conversation suggest that we want to hear what someone else is saying?”
“Yes and no. When we talk, we want the person we are speaking to, to hear us and share our emotions with regard to the topic of conversation. Case in point, you wanted to relate to my profession so you mentioned what you played on television. It’s not the same thing and you were a bit embarrassed about it, but….” He waved his fork at her when she opened her mouth, the already mentioned embarrassment creeping up to warm her cheeks. “But it also demonstrated that you were trying to empathize with me. You did hear me and you wanted to create a common space for our conversation.”
“And here I thought it a little vain and pretentious by asking you to pay attention to my career, and I hate bringing up my career.” Thank God for dim lighting. I must be beet red at this point .
“But you’re an actress—it’s what you do. Why would it be vain or pretentious to bring up your body of work?”
She crunched the apple thoughtfully, considering her answer. “Because…it’s lame? I have people who come up to me all the time, acting like they really know me or really love me because they saw me in some movie or some program and it gives them the right to this intimate acquaintance with me. I deal with actors and their egos all the time….”
Why is it always so hard to put my thoughts into actual words? Do I really need a script for this?
“At the risk of sounding clinical, you have every right to refer to your career and your experiences for the purposes of conversation and worry about the awkwardness that I might be interested in you only for those experiences.” He chewed a mouthful of salad, gaze never wavering. “For the record, you stole my breath away in Once Smitten, Twice Shy , but any intimacy I want to experience, I want to do so with the woman across the table from me, not the lady on the screen.”
“You’re direct.”
“Best way to avoid miscommunication is to say what you mean. Mean what you say.” The wry hint of self-deprecation didn’t escape her.
“You didn’t sound clinical…okay, maybe a little…but I like that you seem to understand my babble.”
“It’s not babble. It’s conversation. We can talk about your work. We can not talk about your work. You can finish that salad and dance with me. Or we can talk about the Cowboys….”
“That’s a sports team, right?” She hid a smile behind another bite of salad, the sweet tart of the apple enhanced by the smooth, smoky feta and lemony lettuce.
“I know. You’re a Raiders girl.”
“Actually, I’m more of a Lakers girl. I look fabulous on those big screens sitting courtside.” She grinned when he laughed again. She loved the deep, throaty quality of his laugh without any hint of nasal distraction or worse, the polite tee hee of humoring the blonde.
“Been to any games recently? A lot of the guys recorded them. I can check it out for myself.”
“During the playoffs. My agent wanted me to make nice with the lead in the movie I auditioned for—you know, see and be seen, get some buzz on TMZ—and see if the casting director went for it.” The tabloids loved her ringside positioning next to the Hollywood bad boy with his oversexed reputation and permanent bachelor status.
She hated that part of her job. The auditions were professional, but all the ‘play for the press’ made her look like an exhibitionist. Lately, a desperate exhibitionist trying to cling to her youth.
“Did you get the part?” A guarded look came over his expression.
“Nope. I’m actually kind of glad because the man didn’t seem to
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