Chapter 6 - Daniel

I run my hand through my hair once more, tousling it and then rearranging it. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I look at my phone again and I debate whether or not to do what I have in mind.

I slide my finger across the screen, looking for the number that belongs to the contact named Little Monster. I tap on the call icon, but hang up before the call even connects.

“What the hell am I doing?” I mutter and put my cell phone aside, placing it on the table, next to the plate where the pheasant that I just prepared for dinner is screaming for me to eat it.

I take a deep breath and get ready to enjoy the vegetables gratin with cream of milk that accompany the good piece of protein.

I eat three bites of my food and raise the glass of wine to my lips to sip and taste the delicious chardonnay that I use for white meat pairing. I look around and notice the neat my house decoration. The furniture is modern, in black, gray and white colors. About one hundred and twenty square meters distributed in a pantry hall, connected to a large room that leads to a garden terrace, from where I can enjoy the sunset. The center of the house is an open space, without partitions. A narrow hallway adjoins two bedrooms and two bathrooms.

I take another deep breath and let it out very slowly. All this luxury, all this space… but for what? I live alone…

A low growl brings me out of my musings, as a pair of eyes look at me; it's as if the owner of that annoying gaze could hear my thoughts. I look at him and imagine what he must be thinking:

“Alone? And what am I? A zero to the left?”.

I laugh uproariously at my ideas. Dante raises both of his ears, cocks his head, and looks at me like he always does. Maybe he thinks I've already lost my mind.

I look down at my plate and I remember:

“Oh man, friend! Sorry,” I tell him when I realize that I haven't fed him all day. He must be hungry.

Dante is a friendly three-year-old Siberian Husky, who my sister gave me on my 29th birthday, according to her, because it was time to start taking responsibility. The first months it took me a lot to get used to the idea that the life of a child depended on me... okay, I'm not going to lie to you; It's still a bit hard for me to remember that I have to take care of this furry little guy, but I usually keep him in my mind as a priority. Last week I had to stay awake for three nights, taking care of him and trying not to lick the wound left by the castration. Why didn't I go for an Elizabethan necklace? Well, it made me sick to see how the poor man suffered with that thing on.

I stand up and walk into the kitchen, find the bag of dog food, and pour him a good portion into his bowl. Dante doesn't move. He just looks at me and shakes his head to the side.

“Don't even think about it,” I say through my teeth. I sense his intentions. “I won't give you meat today. You gave me quite a scare last week,” I comment, as I go over to him to stroke his back.

I used to give him a lot of wet food, but since he was vomiting a lot a few days ago, and the vet told me he was intolerant to human food, I decided to stick to the rules and feed him a specific diet for dogs.

I walk back to the dining room table, to continue my dinner. Dante follows me and leans to the side of my chair.

Again I plunge into my thoughts.

My sister only comes to visit me very occasionally. I'm also not the type to throw crazy parties at home. And although it is true that I can afford to have a different woman every night, they don't usually stay for breakfast, not because they don't want to, but because I always make the rules clear to them, and one of them is:

I don't usually eat twice in a row with the same woman (unless it's my sister)

“If only I managed to spend seven consecutive nights with the same woman...”

Thought arises unexpectedly. I shake my head hard to get it out.

I am not the type of man to get sad or homesick easily, nor do I let things get to me, much less grieve over loneliness. Get over it! I love solitude! So what the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head again. Since I turned around and left that subway station, I haven't felt like myself. I've been thinking things that I wouldn't think in a million years. Fuck! And Harper? That blessed woman has refused to get out of my head.

Look my delicious dinner and half smiled. I seldom cook for two, and when I do it is for Ryan or my sister Vanessa, who always compliments me and nurtures my chef ego. The times I've cooked for a lady I have an interest in, it just skips straight ahead to dessert, and to action. It's not that I need to be told that I cook well or not. However, once in a while, flattering my culinary skills doesn't hurt.

The women that I put into my bed are just bodies that warm me up and make me think, even for brief moments, about the possibility of having a stable relationship with someone, but I know that is impossible, due to my lifestyle. No woman, no matter how confident she may be, tolerates her man fucking beautiful women and, incidentally, such sexual encounters are filmed and then shared with thousands of people through the web or adult television channels. Also, I am not a man of commitments, as much as I feel the urge to be with someone for a long time, I tend to get bored quickly.

I tried to have a stable relationship once, and it was a complete disaster. I'm not good for having monogamous relationships, I have a hard time surrendering my feelings. Not because I have any emotional trauma, but because it seems absurd to tie myself to a single woman, when my heart is so big and there can be so many.

I look at my cell phone again and I am overwhelmed by an immense desire to call Harper. I don't understand why I feel this. It is a feeling of need, mixed with fear. Fear of what? I shook my head hard and grab the gadget once more. I stare at the screen and think about it for a couple of seconds before I dial the number again. I hang up on the second ring.

“Shit,” I mumble.

Why is it so hard for me to make this fucking call?

I feel stupid and irrational for acting the way I'm doing it, but I can't put my pride aside. I don't call women! They are the ones who call me and demand my attention. Not the other way around.

“Fuck! It's just calling to return something that does not belong to me, and surely, its owner must be missing,” I mutter to convince myself. “If what happened to that girl had happened to me, I wish they would do the same. This is an act of goodwill,” I continue with my monologue.

Dante groans and looks at me with accusing eyes, as if to say to me: Call her, idiot!

I dial the number again, determined to speak to whoever answers, in order to return the sim card to its owner.

“Hello?” On the other end of the phone I hear a boy's voice

“Good evening,” I say. “This is Daniel Ansdell. This morning I ran into Harper at the...”

“Harper?” he interrupts me. “Do you want to talk to my sister?”, he asks.

“Well, actually I...”

“Wait a minute,” he interrupts me again, “I'll let her know. EUN-YEONG!!!” He yells without even bothering to pull the phone away from her mouth.

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel like my eardrums are about to burst.

 “What did you say?”. I frown. Who has he called?

“Just a moment. It's coming,” he says. “You have a call,” says the boy. I know the second sentence is not being said to me.

I hear some babbling from a third person, and I know it's her. I don't understand why, but my heart races and I'm tempted to end the call. However, I immediately dismiss the idea, realizing that it is utterly ridiculous on my part.

“What did you say was your name?” The boy's voice makes me wake up.

“Daniel,” I answer without hesitation. “I just wanted...”

“Okay!” He interrupts me for the third time. “A certain Daniel,” he says. From the low tone I hear in the voice, I assume that the phone has moved away from his face and he is about to give it to his sister.

“Hello?” Hearing that beautiful voice makes my heart start to beat like crazy.

“Hi, Harper, how are you?” I have total poise, although inside I'm a nervous wreck. “I just noticed something.” He chuckled, betraying my nervousness. I clear my throat. “I didn't give you your sim card back, so I'm calling you to tell you that I have it… and I'd like to… give it to you.” I pause and carefully choose the next words to say. “Tomorrow I will be very early in Griffith Park, jogging, if you wish we can meet for me to give it to you.”

“Oh my God! Griffith Park is very big.” Her voice sounds a little higher than normal. “How am I supposed to find you?” she says.

“I can wait for you in front of the observatory around eight," I mumble. I try to keep a certain formal and frivolous tone. I don't want to send her wrong signals. Or do I?

“It's okay,” she replies. “See you then.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Have a good night.”

“Thank you. Anyway,” she replies. I perceive that she is smiling. I do, too.

I end the call with impressive speed. Not because I don't like talking to Harper, but because I feel like a nervous stupid person. I find my hands are shaking and my breath is gasping.

“What the fuck is this I feel?” I think.

Everything happens so quickly that I don't have time to assimilate what just happened.

“I'm going to see Harper again!” The voice of my conscience alerts me. My eyes widen when I realize: "I'll see again that pretty lady who seduced me with that little dress, those asian eyes and that shy and playful smile... and who turned out to be a volcano of passion."

I smile in a sly way when I imagine her in my arms again, but the idea immediately freaks me out. I'm not supposed to be thinking about her the way or how often I do.

I am just being a practical man, as I have always been.

In the morning I will give the sim card to its owner, and that will be it. I will continue with my life as if nothing had happened but a chance encounter with a stranger.