SO THE SONG THAT CAME UP FOR ME WAS LET'S DO IT (LET'S FALL IN LOVE BY CONAL FOWKES.
And here is the crappy thing I wrote based off it. Enjoy. :3 (oh and I wrote this on bloody notepad on my phone so please excuse any errors.)
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New York was a lonely city.
While the glamour and lights were always a welcome experience, living within view of the Empire State Building shattered the illusion and crushed it under the heels of the parades of starving models and wannabe actors who walked the streets.
The plain, brunette woman only moved to the city because of the promise that her dreams of becoming a successful screenwriter would come true. But as the days passed, she only grew poorer, sadder, and lonelier.
To everyone else, she didn't exist. She was just another passerby. And that was the woman's worst nightmare.
The city was new, for the most part, and much of it was still under construction. It made it harder than it already was to be productive. Still she made the most of it.
After a year, she had become a starving artist. After a year, she had finally finished her first masterpiece.
Every press of the typewriter's keys had printed a 133-page script that the woman believed was better than anything the producers in New York had ever laid eyes upon. And she was certain they'd love it.
It was raining that day. She peered out the window once before tying up her work with a silk ribbon, bundling it in a spare sweater, and tugging on her sole, cream-colored peacoat. After fastening all the buttons and popping the collar to shield her face, the determined woman put on a smile and scurried out the door, headed for the biggest showbiz corporation in the city.
By the time she wove her way along the bustling sidewalks, the poor woman was soaked to the bone, and she could only hope her work hadn't met the same fate.
She stepped into the building, dripping and shivering, and met the sour eyes of a stern secretary. Blushing, the woman quickly crossed to the desk and sat her mostly-dry sweater atop it. The secretary looked at it with disdain for a moment before pushing it away from her with the eraser end of her pencil.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her voice monotonous and very shrill.
"Ah, yes." Fumbling for the crumpled sheet of paper in her deepest pocket, the woman nodded. She gave her name, and as the secretary began sorting through files, the woman added, "It's at noon."
Shooting her a slanted glare though her half-moon glasses, the secretary pursed her lips. "I know." With a sigh the secretary reclined a bit. "Go up to the third floor, room 48 on your right. Mr. Smith will be waiting for you; and I suggest you don't keep him waiting."
Nodding so fiercely her hair shook droplets onto the desk, much to the secretary's annoyance, the young woman gathered her things tightly to her chest and raced toward the stairs, taking them two at a time once she reached them.
Though mildly out-of-breath when she reached the top, the woman wasn't fazed. Her smile was still intact, even as she turned a corner just too sharply.
A very tall, very sturdy form bounced into her bundle, sending her tumbling to the floor--and her papers scattering.
"Oh, no," she wailed as softly as she could, immediately scrambling to gather them.
Another set of hands joined the flurry. "I'm so sorry. Let me." Startled, the woman lifted her eyes to meet those of a young man, no older than she.
"Oh. Thank you." Together, they organized the sheets and returned them to the woman's arms.
He rose, offering a hand. She took it gingerly. "Please, forgive me. Let me make it up to you."
Puzzled, she cocked her head. "How?"
"Dinner, tonight, at the little Italian place around the corner?"
Blinking, she found herself stunned and flushed. "But we don't know each other."
"How better to get acquainted than over dinner!" She couldn't argue with that. "I'll meet you there around six?"
"Yes. Yes, that sounds... nice." Smiling, he turned to leave. "Wait! I don't know your name."
Tossing a wink over his shoulder, he laughed. "I guess you'll have to wait until tonight to find out, sweetheart."
She blushed a brilliant scarlet now, though it hadn't seemed possible, and said nothing more. After taking a deep, shaky sigh, she tucked a strand of tangled hair behind her ear and carried on her way.
Two hours later, she left the building on a cloud. The man behind the desk, with his office of gray and bland appearance, was enthralled with her work. He wanted to put it on, a full-production to blow away all others, and the woman couldn't have been more pleased.
She left the script in his office as was his request, and he'd told her he would keep in touch. And she expected him to do just that.
As she stepped gleefully around swamps of puddles, she hummed to herself--a song that was silly and fun--completely oblivious to the world around her.
"You're early."
The voice made her jump and trip, and if it weren't for a pair of strong and prepared arms, she would have fallen. "You startled me."
The man from the hallway grinned, his eyes crinkling around the edges. He righted her. "We'll, when will I ever get the opportunity to do that again?" She shrugged. "You hungry?"
"Lord, yes," she said, stomach rumbling beneath the thin layer of white fabric.
He laughed, taking her hand in his. "Good. Come on in, then. They have fantastic pasta here."
They were seated at a booth by the too-cheery hostess. The man didn't bother glancing at his menu; instead he spent his time staring at his partner. Finally, once she made her decision, she dropped the menu, clasped her hands atop the table, and met his gaze.
"What, may I ask, are you staring at?"
He didn't answer the question. "How did your meeting go?"
"Swell. Mr. Smith said he enjoyed it." She could have sworn the man's eyes bulged right out of their sockets.
"Smith? Smith actually liked something?" He let out a whistle. "You must have the pen of God with you."
Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Why would you say that?"
"Smith doesn't like anything. He hasn't had a client in twenty years, maybe more. So you must be good."
She blushed yet again. "I'd like to think so. But you couldn't know unless you read some."
"Might I sometime?"
"Sure," she answered with a smile before the question really crossed her mind at all. "I-I mean, once Smith returns it to me..."
Eyes wider than before, the man shook his head is disbelief. "He even took it? Wowza, you're in for a treat."
"How do you know?"
"Well, I'm an intern, for starters. Have been one for four months now. I know Smith well enough."
She wasn't convinced. "After just four months? I don't believe you."
Taking a swig of his water he smirked. "Then there's the matter that he's my father."
She nearly spat out her water. "You must be joking." Judging from his stoic stare and how he bit his lip, she knew he wasn't. "You mean you're the son of the most successful employee of the most famous writing corporation in New York City?"
For the first time, he looked embarrassed, playing with his spoon rather than meeting her eyes. "I know, it's hard to believe, but it's the truth."
Then her mind drifted back to a few months in the past, back to an article she'd come across. The headline had read the following-
FROM SCHOLAR TO PARTY BOY: ONLY SON OF BIGGEST PRODUCER TURNED AWRY
"You're the one every news outlet wants to interview. You just betrayed your father," the woman said disdainfully.
Licking his lips, the man shook his head and sighed. "No, it isn't like that."
"So you're saying The New York Times lied?"
"I'm saying they never had the full story."
At that moment, their waitress dashed to their table. "What can I get ya?"
After placing their orders, the woman leaned farther over the table. "So what's the whole story then, hmm?"
Reclining, he placed his hands behind his head. "I'm not sure if I should tell you." Suddenly leaning forward, eyes frantic, he whispered, "You know too much already."
She promptly smacked his arm. "Come now. Don't be like that."
"But you know so much about me,"--he reached out and twirled a strand of her hair--,"and I know nothing about you."
"There's not much to tell."
He grinned, wiggled in his seat, and for what it was worth, he looked like a child settling down for story time. "Tell me anyway."
So she did. She started slow, opening with things about her hometown and her interests. And as the man across from her seemed to grow with intrigue, she found she couldn't stop.
By the time she had told him of her life until the move to New York, she was sobbing, and the clock read that it was after nine.
She hadn't expected to talk for so long, and about herself of all things.
But the man didn't mind, not one bit. He had comforted her when she recounted the trials of her past, and he'd laughed with her when she recalled all the good times she'd experienced.
When the waitress finally brought their check, the man still held the woman's hand, and he continued to hold it as he reached to pay.
The woman stole her hand from beneath his and slapped the check. "No. I'll get it." As she began to dig through a pouch full of loose change, nothing more, his face grew sad, lines etching themselves into his forehead and cheeks to make him look far older than what he was.
Shaking his head, he gently laid a hand over the pouch and snapped it shut. "A lovely, talented woman should never have to pay for anything she doesn't have to."
Flushing, she stammered a quiet, "Thank you."
"My pleasure," he said.
They left the diner hand-in-hand, still talking and laughing as if they'd known each other for years. When they came to an intersection, the man turned to her, taking her other hand in his.
"I hope this made up for my clumsiness early."
With that, the woman became crestfallen. That was all it was, a payment. "Yes. It did. Thank you."
He noticed how she grew despondent in a single second, how her eyes fluttered to stare at the ground and her lips quivered ever-so-slightly.
"Look at me," he ordered softly, his right hand finding her chin to lift it as he spoke. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said much too quickly. "I just... It's late, and I should get home."
Disappointed, he nodded. "Alright. Would you like me to walk you? The streets at night aren't a friendly place."
"You would know," she said, under her breath, but still he heard.
A realization dawned on him. "Wasn't this a date for you?"
Startled she blinked. "Wha-... I'm sorry?"
Clenching his teeth, he shook his head sharply. "Never you mind. I'll walk you home."
It was her turn to take his face in her hands. "I'm going to be frank." The sudden burst of confidence surprised her, but she didn't deny it. "I had a wonderful evening. And even though it was nothing more than a promise you felt obligated to keep, and even though we just met, I think I--"
His lips found hers, passionate and gentle, hot as the planet's core but sweet as an ice-cold pop on a July day.
When he pulled away, she was breathless, and it was much to her pleasure that he was flushed a deep red, as well.
Before she could speak, he whispered to her. "I'm going to tell you two things that are only my opinion--my well-educated opinion." She nodded thirstily. "First of all, your play will become the next hit. Smith will fall for it, and your dreams will come true.
"Second..." He grinned. "Second, we should fall in love."
"I..."
"What's stopping us? What have we to lose?" His eyes were feverish, and they entranced the woman. "So what do you say?"
She licked her lips once before smiling. "I say, let's do it. Let's fall in love."
As they crossed the street, giddy as newly-weds, a trolley barreled down the street at nearly sixty miles per hour. The man pushed the woman out of the way, but he didn't have time to save himself.
Sobbing, she fell to the asphalt at his side and waited for the trolley to return and take her, too.
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(the spoiler parts aren't canon. I just figured I'd make a son story out of all that mush.)
OMG THOUGH. I never write lovey-dovey crap. But THIS SONG (which I adore omg) just screamed love (literally, well not screaming but yeah).
So it's not too bad, I think. It was a good exercise. :D CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE PROMPTS.
