Scarlett Cheeks

Someone was knocking at the door. Scarlett sighed heavily and saved the document she was editing. She rarely had unannounced callers, so a knock on the door probably meant it was a vacuum salesman. She jumped to her feet, determined to get rid of her visitor immediately. The article she was working on for the local newspaper, Portland Star, was due by midnight, and she couldn't spare any interruptions. She jerked her apartment door open halfway and poked her blonde head out, ready to point to her NO SOLICITORS sign. But instead she let out a little scream, and then clapped her hand to her mouth, mortified.

"Oh my god!" she squeaked. "Is it you?" Damien Yards, the subject of the article she was working on, stood in front of her. Just twenty four hours ago, she had sat in a press box at Damien's sold out concert, clutching her backstage pass. She had dreamed of meeting Damien since she was 12 years old. After the show, she made her way into restricted area offstage after the show, but had not been able to get within ten feet of Damien because of the other reports.

Now Damien was standing at her door. "Scarlett Waters? Lovely name. May I come in for a second? I might attract a crowd if I am seen!"

"Yes, come in!" Scarlett gushed, opening the door wide. Damien stepped into her living room.

"This is such an honor to meet you! What are you doing here?" Scarlett babbled, feeling extremely foolish.

Damien smiled wider. He perched on the arm of a loveseat. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a pink business card wallet. "Ms. Waters, I wanted to return this to you. You dropped it last night. I regret I did not get to talk with you in person after the concert."

Scarlett took her cardholder. "Thank you! Your concert was amazing! I was just trying to write the review when you knocked on my door. I am a huge fan! But why would you go to all the trouble of returning this yourself?"

Damien said, "Scarlett, may I call you Scarlett?" He didn't wait for a response, but continued, "Last year I read your article of my new album. My publicist, Bryce, gives me copies of interesting reviews. Yours was the most accurate one I have ever read. Since then, Bryce has been giving me copies of everything you write. Last night I saw your cardholder in my dressing room, and knew your name - Scarlett Waters. Since I had your address, I had to meet you before I left town. Your writing is dead on. I am a big fan of YOURS!"

"I don't know what to say," Scarlett said. "I am glad you found my articles ..."

"Useful!" Damien said. "Your criticisms have helped me to improve, and your praise has helped me to acknowledge my talent."

Scarlett said, "To think a small town newspaper reporter would have that much influence. You really need help recognizing your own talent? You must be joking!"

Damien said, "Scarlett, you are one gifted writer. I just wanted to say, thank you." He reached out, catching one of her hands with both of his.

Suddenly and impulsively Scarlett lunged toward him like a crazed fan. Damien stood up, laughing. He held her tight around the waist, so her feet barely grazed the floor. After forty five seconds, but what seemed like an hour to Scarlett, Damien set her down. "Not only are you gifted, but extremely gorgeous as well," Damien said. He kissed the tip of her nose and both her cheeks. Scarlett tried to steady herself, but limply fell against him. After a few seconds, she managed to stand up straight and allow him to move toward the door.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Scarlett said.

Damien said, "I should get out of here before the paparazzi find me." He handed Scarlett a slip of paper. "That's Mike's number. He's my agent. He knows who you are, and will help you get in contact with me at any time. If you ever want an interview with me, it's done! One other thing, can trust you to keep this meeting our secret?"

"Of course I'll keep it between us," Scarlett said. "But I can't wait to talk with you again!"

Damien gave Scarlett a squeeze, and then left. Scarlett watched out her window as a nondescript, dark-colored car sped past. She then sat for an eternity, recounting every precious detail of her night. At 10:00 pm, her cell phone rang, jolting her out of her trance. It was a text message from an unknown number. "Write that paper, love!" Scarlett beamed, blushed, grabbed her laptop, and started writing.