The Meeting of a Detective and an Actress.

A Subway. 8/2/22 6:13 am.

Some days you wanted to kill your partner. Yes, even when you're both cops, detectives if that made the thought worse.

A huff left my lips as I ran a hand through my shaggy hair, staring down at the spider cracked screen of my phone. A pop echoing from my spin while I shifted on the vinyl seat. Okay, so I wouldn't kill him, still…I looked down at the text.

:Ur probably mad- but you two should give it a try. I believe in you buddyyyyyy. Don't be mad.:

Don’t be made. Another bitter, tired breath echoed from my secluded position at the back of the subway car.

Don't be mad. My rolling eyes moved from the phone screen to the window I’d awoke against a matter of seconds ago. After back to back shifts at the station and a double homicide, all any cop wants is to sink into his bed for 12 hours. That was the plan. At least it had been, until Randy, my partner, supposed friend, had opted to leave me sleeping on our subway rather than wake me at my stop. I’d awoken and froze, my exhausted memory not saving the bleary moments of the two of us boarding the train, especially the moment he left me. Now here I sat, in a car that didn't stop near my apartment for another hour and half.

Don't be mad.

Yeah, right. I yanked on my trench coat pulling it across my chest, my boot tapping against the metal floor. Of course I knew why he’d left me here. It didn't take a genius, something Randy clearly wasn't. He'd been telling me to make this very trip for months now. Apparently I needed to work on my pronunciation of the words “drop it”.

Randy: as good of a cop and detective he was, the man had a thing about Ex-wives. Which was fine, he just needed to focus on his own. Not mine.

A year ago Kim and I had gone our separate ways. The sting had left that truth a few months back. The only one still hung up on the untimely demise of our life together was Randy. Since his own wife had left him, he'd been set on seeing that everyone else's romantic lives were fixed because the one relationship he couldn’t seem to make work was his own.

Maybe he'd pulled a stunt like this on the poor woman.

My calloused fingers rose to rub the last of the sleep from my eyes as the subway doors opened, an unintelligible voice echoing across the intercom.

Randy was too much like Kim, like all women, save a few I wasn't sure hadn’t come straight from above, a gift to the souls on this earth to keep the faith of a few lucky men.

No, once a woman got an idea in her head nothing you could say or do was good enough if it didn't fit within their mold.

I looked back at the text.

A woman would always get what she wanted, and just like Randy they always saw another angle you were an idiot for not seeing, or believed you should have seen and acted on.

Never an equal, I was always the idiot for trying too hard, or not enough.

But not today, or ever again when it came to women. I was done with the figures I was never good enough for. I’d ride this train out in silence, get home, then tomorrow Randy-The skirt of a dress filled my lap, I flinched as the fabric was followed by a purse, one which felt more like a brick than a handbag as it landed on my knees.

In a blur, my mouth open, though no immediate words or thoughts came, I was instinctively clutching the handles of the leopard printed purse, keeping it from falling to the floor, while edging away from the figure who had all but collapsed within the seat beside me. Nearly on me.

After a breath, the echoing intercom above doing nothing to prompt me into a comprehending state, a shocked confusion seemed to take hold. The figure’s back was all I saw, her head of curls the closest I came to her face, though she seemed to be searching up and down the aisle for something, unaware of me entirely by the way she leaned out of the seat.

My brow furrowed even deeper, instinctively scanning the car before my gaze hitched on the white knuckled grip I held on the bag. Shaking my head, I loosened my fingers, scanning her back once more…

“What are you wearing?” The nearly accusing question left my lips before I realized I’d even found my voice. Her dress was something inspired by the 50’s. The full skirt of sky blue, dotted with white spots clashed with the red curls cascading down her back. It certainly clashed with the leopard printed purse, which I now realized was also overflowing with papers from every pocket and zipper.

Dragging my eyes from the hideous print, I looked to her.

No response, only the same sense as before that she was searching, her heels tapping on the metal floor. A nervous tick, one which momentarily drew my attention as a cop more than her out of time clothes.

“What are you looking for?” The first sign of her realizing I was there came when she jumped at my low, questioning tone.

Her eyes, I noted, were a vivid green as they cut over her shoulder, distracted as her equally so voice answered. “Cassy.” She pivoted back to scanning the car, her shoes picking up tempo.

“Why?” My eyes jumped between her tense figure, and before I realized it, also to the many faces in the car, myself trying to see who we rode with, as if I knew what this Cassy suspect looked like.

She stopped me in the act of rolling my eyes at myself when she answered. “She doesn't like trains.”

“Why?” I heard the ever curious cop within, ask while forcing myself to stop scanning.

“Because.” She leaned further into the aisle. My mouth opened again, in the same moment the phone she clutched in her hand lit up, the woman read the text with devouring eyes.

“Crap.” Pivoting, the figure faced properly in her seat, bent over the screen. Her red curls brushing my chin.

I edged away, the purse momentarily slipping off my knees. My chest tight, I re-gripped the handles, yet not before a handful of papers slipped out the front pocket, washing the floor at my feet in white.

Clearing my throat I bent, trying to retrieve them with the little space we shared. I found my eyes looking up at her as I grappled for the parchments. Her cheeks were flushed over the screen with what I could only recognize as anger in a woman. The familiar feeling of condemnation slipped across my chest.

Well, if she was angry about me dropping her papers, she had another thing coming.

I forced my eyes from the red in her cheeks,and began shoving the papers back into the bag, my hands slowing momentarily as I caught sight of the half-dozen glass starbucks coffees sitting between her feet, all contained within an old fashioned milk basket.

“...with Daryl.” She seethed, pulling me from another layer of confusion.

“What…what?” I heard the near desperation in my voice as I straightened, papers in both hands. She ignored me, of course. I felt my eyes roll at my own question, watching as she seethed, seeming both angry and disappointed. Not I sensed, at me though, rather at the phone in her hand.

It was the cop within that had me leaning over. It was a very short text, one describing how this Cassy has gotten a ride with her Daryl fellow. After another tense moment while her red-panted thumbs hovered over the screen, a short text with at least two smiling faces and four hearts was sent.

She gave an exhausted sigh.

Licking my front teeth I looked above the heads in the car, scanning for another empty seat. A man shifted three rows up, revealing an open spot by an old woman who looked too blind to oppose me taking the position. I glanced over, defeat was written on the round face of the woman beside me. If she thought me wrong for moving I could easily claim grandson asylum.

I looked down at the papers in my hands, then to the overflowing pockets of the purse. Hesitantly, my eyes cutting from her to the open seat ahead, I tried to shove them back into the groaning bag.

”Oh! I'm so sorry about that.” Her vibrant green eyes had widened, a flush of deep embarrassment taking over her full cheeks as she seemed to have finally realized the odd situation. “Here, thank you so much.” She shoved the phone within a pocket of her dress, all but kicked over her collection of coffees, bumping them so louding the man ahead of us cursed, all the while yanking the purse and papers from my hands. Our fingers brushing, hers as calloused as my own.

I blinked at the speed of her movements, she kept her head down, huffing at a loose curl as she bent over the bag, violently returning the papers to their place. Swallowing, my hand rubbing the back of my own red neck, I forced my eyes from the sight of her struggle, I shifted to face the fogged window, the only sound between our seats the groaning of her purse as she wrestled it.

The man ahead of us looked back with disgusted confusion at the noise, I kept my eyes on the glass. I'd move as soon as she wasn't trying to fight a handbag. Randy was going to get an ear full…Her figure stilled, gently placing the purse beneath her seat, I watched the foggy reflection in the window. My head tilted at the figure beside me, I could just make out the fidgeting hands on her lap.

“Again.” I jumped, turning my head as she spoke, her eyes avoiding my own, “Thankyou, I promise I'm not usually that insensitive to the people around me. I swear.” She flashed a hesitant and soft smile. Dimples appeared in her full cheeks. My flist clinched on my knee. I should have returned the gesture, but after the sight of her dimples, by the time I could think to order myself to participate, she had swallowed and taken her gaze to the filled aisle of people.

Guilt and embarrassment radiated off of her as she fingered the hem of her dress. I blinked out of the hazy feeling in my head, as though I was still looking out the window.

Now she felt like the idiot for trying too hard. Great. My hand moved to rub my neck again, I watched the figure beside me fidget, her heels tapping on the floor. Every action that of an uncomfortable woman.

In that same moment my own discomfort seemed to grow stronger than it had all morning. Yet I certainly couldn't care what this woman thought…no not with her antics and her position as a complete stranger. Still…I stopped glancing towards the empty seat ahead, rather I swallowed and felt my gaze continuing to stray to the calloused fingers picking at her hem.

“I-ah, sorry, I guess the morning train isn't helping my thoughts chug along any quicker.” Now my face was flushed as I cleared my throat, she relaxed slightly against the seat, glancing my way. “You have nothing to apologize for.” I finished, forcing a calm into my bones I didn't feel.

I hadn’t tried to joke in…a very long time. Kim had always been the funny one, me, I was the one lucky to get the joke.

“Well we both know that's not true, but thank you for being so understanding,” She rolled her head towards me, her curls pressed against the seat back, “I swear I thought that seat was empty when I threw the bag at you.” A slight laugh escaped her lips, a throaty chuckle before she went on. “I actually didn't want to be on this train at all, let alone like this…” She waved a hand towards the curls, dress, and heels.

In that moment a beam of the fogg seemed to have faded from the glass, for a stream of sunlight shone through the window and cascaded down the side of her curls.

“Like what?” I forced a laugh too, even though I oddly felt tighter than I had my whole twelve hour shift.

“Ah, thank you again,” She flashed a grateful look, “you're willing to ignore the woman out of time practically falling on you.” She sighed, her finger absently tapping the pocket that held her phone. “I only offered to ride the train for Cassy.” She went on as if I should know this Cassy, and despite feeling stupid I found myself nodding along to her words. “But she ditched me for a ride with her ex. Daryl.” The disgust was obvious.

There I went again, nodding.

“Ah, hey, there's a way to look at it, because of Daryl, you have to put up with people like me.” She nodded with mock pride to herself. “That makes me feel slightly better to blame this whole embarrassing situation on him.” She allowed herself a moment to enjoy her own humor before cleaning her throat and taking her gaze on an absent stroll of the aisle.

A somewhat comfortable silence fell between us. We could ride the train out, go our separate ways and unless she was a prone overthinker, neither of us need ever remember this encounter again.

At least we could have done that….I told myself it was the cop within me when I spoke again, prodding the bear of socialization, with a woman no less.

“Here I was thinking I was the only one who didn't want to be riding this train.” Rather than the laugh one might add to such a statement I choked for a moment on my own breath, I hadn’t meant to be quite so honest.

“Oh, you hate your job don't you?” A comforting, understanding grimace crossed her rosy face.

The last of my guard slipped, I couldn't help but squint at her. “What?”

“Oh.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…it's Monday. You must hate your job if you don't want to be here.”

“Ha,” The laugh at her soft, rushing and nearly breathless tone caught me by more surprise than I thought a laugh could.

“Actually,” I had to force down the humor in my face lest she think I was laughing at, rather than with, her. “I think that's some very good deduction skills, and could probably be applied to just about everyone on this train.”

A smirk crossed her lips at the unenthusiastic faces which covered the train. A Monday indeed.

“Not you?” She turned to me, though rather than demanding, a look I'd seen thousands of times, she held simple curiosity in her eyes.

I swallowed at the unfamiliar sight, forcing my gaze to meet hers. “Um, yeah, See I'm a cop.” I pulled back the trench coat to reveal the badge across my chest. Hearing the pride that entered my voice whenever the greatest passion of life was spoken of. “I love what I do. My partner, we’re detectives, he didn’t wake me at my stop so here I am.” With my thumb I knocked on the foggy window beside me. “In this paradise for the next hour or so.”

At her laugh I felt myself relaxing deeper against the hard seats. A flash of something akin to fear streaked across my chest. But why? We were only two people talking, passing the time on a train together…

“Well I’m glad you're not one of the Monday haters.” Her voice drew my gaze. “I've known plenty of those, even been one. I’m lucky to have survived.” The smile took the sting out of her words.

“So you don't hate your…Job?” I winced at the questioning tone as I couldn't help but look from the glass coffees, the stuffed bag, to the out of time attire, though the foggy sunlight took that chance to accentuate just how well she wore it.

A scandalized look crossed her face. “No! I love it.” Her face seemed to light up for just a moment, and in that time I could only stare. “I’m an actress, with a local theater.” Her joy momentarily faded as she looked past her curls to me, clearly braised for judgment.

I swallowed, getting past a fresh wave of nerves. “And from what I hear you love it.”

With one line her smile returned, she even laughed as her cheeks reddened at her own passion. Just as quickly a prideful feeling I didn't have time to analyze washed away the fear. “I truly do. Oh!” She bent, pulling one of the papers from the purse. “Here.” She placed the slip in my hand. “We’re doing a production a friend of mine wrote. We opened last weekend, so far the critics don't entirely hate us.” She laughed, love for her work filling every breathless word. “So naturally we’re thrilled.”

I chuckled, examining the theater bulletin for the week's performances.

“We started as a small workshop, but when it was over, none of us, every writer and actor, no one wanted to leave.” Her throaty voice painted a picture, one so intoxicating it momentarily pulled me from something as pale in comparison as a sheet of paper. “Of course there are only twelve of us, so maybe that had something to do with our sticking odds. Nonetheless, tonight’s show uses every one of us. Which is how I prefer it.” She pointed to the cover of the page. “Then no one is left out.” Her simple explanation barely met my ears as I followed her gestured down to the bulletin before me. Painted across the front, in the same dress of sky blue, the same dreamy eyes beneath a sheet of curls, was the woman beside me.

Miss Val Valentino, as the cast list read.

The star of the show, dressed in a spotlight, a passionate smile on her face rivaling those of every other cast member standing behind her as she took her final bow.

Val. A name to go with the woman.

My eyes strayed to her, to Val, the title fitting. She held an older air, a classical look, a presence, but above the outer looks, it was her passion, clearly on stage and off that had me…She blinked under my examination, only then did I realize I'd been staring.

My neck burned. “So…you do the same show every night, like more than once?” I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes at myself. Once again the idiot for trying too hard. In this case I’d ment to move on, not ask something so stupid as that.

She blinked her vivid eyes, I waited for the wave of condescending judgment.

“Actually it kind of feels like a different show every night, we practice anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, and perform for just as long, but every night there's a new crowd and new motivation, so that's a yes a no.” She, Val, had only a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Motivation?” It was a word you lived and breathed as a cop, now I was hooked on it again, only for a different reason.

Seeming pleased with my question, she nodded. “We delicate every show to something, someone. It can be anything, one night it was for my friend's deceased mother, the next in honor of his wife finally letting him pick the middle name for their daughter.” Val shrugged with humble amusement, as if she didn't entirely understand the concept either, yet loved it as much as she loved her work. In the same way I loved mine.

I cleared my throat. “And tonight?”

Again her blue and white spotted shoulders rose and fell. “Well it's my night, so I haven't decided yet. Though I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to suggestions. Maybe grace in honor of the man willing to forget me throwing that monstrosity on him?” She laughed, waving a hand towards the bag at our feet.

I could do nothing but laugh with her, not because the joke was so funny, but because I found I liked the sound of our voices mixing.

I watched as her smile faded slightly, her eyes widening, a hint of tension seemed to wrap around us as the intercom above our heads echoed. I quickly looked away from the sight in her eyes to the page in my hand. If I was right I knew what that look ment-

“We truly are like a family.” She rushed to fill the silence as soon as the intercom faded, I nodded, my eyes on the slip of paper. For a moment neither of us spoke, I heard a sigh leave her before going on, calmer than before. “See, I know it might sound ridiculous, but I get them coffee.” A soft laugh met my ears.

I could do nothing but roll my head towards her. “How would that be ridiculous?”

“Sorry I guess I should rephrase that, I get them all coffees and bring them in a basket as if I'm the milkman.” Her cheeks turned red as she gestured to the basket at her feet. Our eyes meeting, the hint of tension forcing my tongue to move before I could think.

“Well then the pictures I've seen are wrong, cause you're not like any milk man I've ever heard about.” I rushed on. “That's a good thing.”

She blinked for a moment before a streak of red raced up her neck, an amused look transforming her face. “Of course, I figured as much, thank you.” She glanced from me to the bottles at her feet. “I actually started the tradition recently, but I’ve found if you give people something to drink you'll have friends for life.” She admitted, relaxing back into her seat. The tension remained as our eyes caught.

Mine darted away first, while my lips moved before my mind could. “So you have a sticking power of your own?”

Her head quickly lifted, after a second the amusement transformed into a bashful smile. “I uh, well I suppose it depends on the day, the circumstances, who I’m trying to get to stick.” A flustered shrug followed, the sight causing my chest to tighten as she looked back down at the bottles, her gaze darting my way beneath her thick lashes.

Because why start now, my tongue moved before my head fully could. “My… ah, I had someone introduce me to those a while back.” I waved a hand towards the drinks. Kim had been the one who liked them, she’d hated that the only flavor I preferred were the holiday specials. Yet the pleasant surprise on Val’s face made me thankful I knew anything about the coffees.

“Really? Do you like them? I prefer the seasonal drinks above everything else. See,” she bent retrieving a seasonal wrapped bottle, “I buy these in bulk when they're in season, then I drink them till the next round of holidays.” She gave the bottle a prideful look. “This is my last one till it's time to put up the tree in a few weeks.”

Val’s attention was caught on the bottle, the only flavor I’d ever liked, while mine was everywhere but, I could only stare, at the dress, the hair, the look in her unsuspecting eyes.

I was on a train rushing along tracks, yet my mind had never felt so slow, while my heart never so fast. The intercom announced something I couldn't hear. Just the feeling of our laughs weaving together filled me. Val said something. Maybe about the drink, or her stop for all I knew.

She was looking at me, hesitant questioning in her eyes.

“Uh…yeah,” I looked to the bottle, “they'er all really good.” Maybe that worked, maybe it didn't. The air between us seemed to grow thicker.

“Well I'm the one holding my last bulk christmas coffee, so I'll have to disagree with you on that.” She smiled, and shifted, as if to replace the bottle on the floor.

At her look, her words, something finally snapped.

I shot to my feet. “Excuse me, I-” my eyes darted around the car, “I need to use the facilities.”

“Well-now? Okay.” She blinked, her words rushing together, confusion and a hint of dare I believe hurt in her eyes as I stumbled over her bottle and down the aisle. I didn't look back till I’d yanked the pocket door shut behind me.

I braced my hands on the minuscule sink, my tanned knuckles now white. What was the matter with me? I looked into my own eyes, the eyes of a cop, of a man who was always sure of what he knew. I lived and died on fact.

But this…I swiped at my forehead, resisting the urge to yank my trench coat off for how tight the space felt.

I didn’t want anything to do with another woman. I met my own dark eyes. I hadn’t wanted anything to do with another women

Now, here was this one. Val, a woman with a laugh that made me want to do the same, a half a dozen bottles that I wanted to know who they were for, a-a woman who affected me.

I huffed, craning my neck till it popped. The intercom blared about a stop.

Fear streaked down to the tips of my fingers. Her passion was the only one I'd ever found which rivaled my own about my work. Her theater family, as much as it would have absolutely pained me to admit an hour ago, sounded as though it resembled something of my and Randy’s relationship.

None of this made any sense, either I was wrong about women, or I'd found one of the lucky ones, meaning for a split second, while I was in her presence, I was one of the lucky men. But did any of that even matter? Did this one moment on a train matter at all?

The intercom blared again, the train groaned to a stop.

But this feeling…I swallowed. Was this how it truly felt, to be drawn to someone? To be wrapped in their every word? Kim and I had never had this. I'd never felt this.

And now…I met my own eyes again. Now, all I could do was go back out there to her, or with every intention of leaving as if I'd never known her.

As if I'd never known Val. I licked my lips. Everything about this felt ridiculous, why did the feeling of never knowing her…seem so wrong.

The train began rolling again.

Because it was wrong, I'd been done with women, but I didn’t want to be done with this one. Which sounded absolutely crazy. But why did it feel even more crazy to have come to any other conclusion?

I splashed water on my face, ran my fingers through the shaggy hair atop my head and shoved the pocket door open before I could allow myself to remain hiding any longer.

New and remaining faces greeted me as I weaved towards the back of the train.

This was ridiculous, I had no idea how to move forward, or even if the idea of ever seeing me after leaving this train appealed to her at all, still….she affected me like no one ever-I froze.

Val’s seat was empty. Just like that, everything seemed to slow for the first time all morning.

I turned. Scanning every face. Disappointment rushed over me. I wasn't done…but she was gone.

I swallowed, avoiding the few looks sent my way as I collapsed into the seat she’d occupied.

I braced my hands on my knees.

This was ridiculous. I shut my eyes, needing to do the same to all other surroundings as I tried to get my bearings.

Something shifted to touch my boot as the train took a curve.

It rolled away, then came back.

I opened an eye, expecting a forgotten umbrella, or soda can. Rather I gently bent to retrieve a christmas coffee bottle. A bulletin wrapped around it. Scribbles on the page caught my eye.

:My stop came, I couldn't wait on you. Thankyou for being so understanding, and for riding this train with me. I got the feeling you might like this, and I don't know if you like theater, but if you're ever around stop by and see what we are dedicating our next show to.: A heart finished the words.

A feeling of hope and amusement wrapped around my chest. Was this…excitement? It certainly seemed so. I gazed down at the bottle for some time, only able to think of-

“What are you doing here?” The familiar voice cut through my mind like a knife.

Kim. My eyes rose. She stood above me, suit in perfect condition, not a hair or nail out of place. As always she looked good and towards me, annoyed. Yet for once her condescension didn't seem to penetrate and find its way in.

“Riding a train, what about you?” I lifted a brow.

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes, when I gave no reaction that only seemed to annoy her further. “Well, how have you been?” It sounded like she expected me to barely be hanging on.

I looked down at the bottle. “Good, really good.”

“Is that so?”

I stood, edging around her, the empty seat beside the lovely grandmother in my sights. “Yes, I’m going to see a play tonight.”