The Hooker and the Hermit
Page 18
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-R
March 15
12:45 a.m.
Ronan,
It’s Twitter, not “twatter.”
Twatter sounds like a very specialized vibrating tool of some sort. ;-)
-SML
March 15
12:52 a.m.
Twitter, twatter, fudder, motherfucker, I don’t care what it’s called.
I could be interacting with real people instead of this pretend interacting. How do you do this all the time? I would lose my mind.
-Ronan
March 15
7:18 a.m.
Dear Ronan,
I honestly enjoy it. I love interacting with people online. I feel like it’s a safe haven where people are free to be who they really are.
-SML
March 15
8:15 a.m.
Explain, please.
Why can’t you be who you really are at a doughnut shop or in the park? Why do you have to be online? I’m myself everywhere I go. It’s not limited to a pretend world created by nerdy perverts masturbating in their parents’ basements. You know the Internet was invented by porn-mongers, right?
This shite makes no sense.
***
The second gift arrived mid-afternoon on March 15. This time, Tony didn’t call. He just showed up at my door with the gift in tow. Rather, I should say gifts in tow.
“There’s a lot more downstairs.” Tony gave me a confounded look then surveyed the inside of my apartment. “I don’t think they’re going to fit.”
I glanced between him and the five men behind him, all with armfuls of flowers. Daisies, roses, lilies, sunflowers, irises—every kind of commercially available stem was represented. I gaped at the scene then turned my stunned expression back to Tony.
“What-who-where—”
“There’s a note.” He clumsily pulled a card from his pants pocket, dropping a magnificent arrangement of peonies and hydrangeas.
I picked up the felled flowers then took the note, ripping it open and scanning the contents. Of course, it was from Ronan. It read:
Dearest Annie,
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I’m using my hand
But I’m thinking of you.
- Ronan
P.S. Just to clarify, I’m using my hand to write this note…get your mind out of the gutter.
I choked and then choked a startled laugh. Then I choked again as the hallway full of flowers came back into focus.
Ronan Fitzpatrick was completely crazy.
“What do you want us to do?” Tony shifted uneasily, his black eyebrows pulling together in a plain display of anxiety.
“Um….” I struggled, glancing from left to right as I searched my mind. It was no good. Everywhere I looked, I saw flowers. I squeezed my eyes shut so I could think. “Just—just give me a minute….”
Tony was right. Just the armfuls of flowers in the hall would never fit in my cozy little apartment. Plus, it would be such a waste, having a jungle of flowers to myself. Really, they needed to be shared….
“Wait! I have an idea.” I opened my eyes and gripped Tony’s forearm. “Do you think there is any way we could have these sent to Memorial Sloan-Kettering? Distributed to the patients?”
He nodded thoughtfully, slowly at first but then with more conviction. “Yeah, yeah. I can make that happen.”
“Let me know how much it costs. I’ll be happy to reimburse you.”
He gave me a relieved smile. “Thanks, Ms. Catrel. I’ll let you know.” Then he turned back to his compatriots. “Okay, guys, back down stairs. We’re sending these to Sloan-Kettering. Come on.”
I watched them march back to the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors closed behind them that I realized I was still clutching the peonies and hydrangeas to my chest.
***
March 15
10:55 p.m.
Dear Ronan,
LOL! @ “porn-mongers.”
You are very funny.
In a way, your last email is correct, but in another more accurate way, you are wrong.
The online environment is unique, and that’s a very good thing.
Rather than be judged by what they look like or their ability to speak in front of a crowd, people are judged by the merit of their ideas and words.
-SML
March 16
12:02 p.m.
Dear Slovenly Miss. Lazybones,
People should be judged by what they look like—not 100%, but it should be taken into account. If you work hard on yourself, take care of yourself, then it’s a reflection of the person within.
People are more than just their brains. Like it or not, assuming a person has control over their personal appearance, the body is just as important.
If you ignore your body, you are ignoring an essential part of yourself.
-Ronan
***
The third gift arrived late in the afternoon on March 16.
I was just returning from my walk in Central Park when Tony called to me before I could make it to the elevator.
“Ms. Catrel! Wait—wait a moment.” He jogged over. I’d never seen him jog before.
“Oh, hi. Thank you again for your help with the flowers yesterday.”
“No problem at all, Ms. Catrel.” He made me a little polite bow then glanced over his shoulder. I followed the path of his eyes and found a very pretty lady in a very nice suit walking toward us. “So, this lady here”—Tony lowered his voice and threw a thumb over his shoulder— “she’s from Cartier, and she—”
“Ms. Catrel?” the woman asked with a wide smile. “Are you Ms. Annie Catrel?”
I nodded, shrinking back a little. She was so very pretty, sleek even. Her makeup was impeccable in a way I’d never mastered, even when I’d dabbled with eye shadow and lipstick in the past. She was also very tall, with very black hair, and very blue eyes, and very white, straight teeth.
“This is for you.” She reached into an attaché case and withdrew a red velvet box, pushing at me until my hands automatically lifted to grab it.
“For me? What is it?”
She gave me a very nice smile. “Compliments of Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Then she turned and left, her heels clicking and echoing on the stone floor.
I glanced from Tony to the box. He shrugged then sighed, “So…this guy, this Mr. Fitzpatrick, is he going to keep sending you gifts? I mean, not that it’s any of my business. But if he is, we should maybe set up some kind of system for receivership if you’re not in the building.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Tony. I honestly don’t know what’s going on.”
“Really?” He sounded both skeptical and amused. “Ms. Catrel, let me spell it out for you: I think you’re being wooed.”
My eyebrows jumped, causing Tony to chuckle. Then he turned and left me, too.
I gripped the box tighter and made my way to the elevator, feeling a buzzing sense of unease. In my hands was a velvet box from Cartier, hand-delivered by the store, compliments of Ronan Fitzpatrick.
Back in my small living room, I placed the box on the coffee table and went to my room to change. I decided that, whatever it was, I had to send it back. Part of me didn’t even want to open it. What was the use of opening it when I couldn’t keep it?
But curiosity eventually overcame the better part of valor. I sat on the couch, took a deep breath, and then opened the box.
There was a note. I picked it up. Beneath the note was a delicate gold necklace with an attached gold and diamond pendant. It was breathtaking. The pendant was comprised of a series of intricate knots; I recognized them as Celtic, but I had no idea what they meant. A larger diamond was set very tastefully within the center of the knot; as well, several smaller stones were set in highlighted relief along the outside border.
It was really quite magnificent. Refined, understated, subtle, and yet must have been outrageously expensive. I quickly closed the box, setting it back on the table, then turned my attention to the note.
It read:
Dear Annie,
I saw this today, and it reminded me of you. Do not even think about trying to give it back to me; I’ll not take it. You’ll have to donate it to charity if you don’t want it. It is freely given and comes with no strings attached. Though, if you decide to model it for me while naked, I’ll not complain.
-Ronan
***
March 16
7:30 p.m.
Dear Ronan,
I cede your point about the physical being an important part of self; it’s important to be healthy, I agree. But I don’t understand spending hours primping or spending hundreds of dollars on clothes that go out of style after two months. Extremes—in either direction, ignoring the physical or giving it too much importance—I think are counterproductive and dangerous to overall well-being.
Though, you must admit, in-person interactions are fleeting. But online the interaction is preserved (basically) forever. Nothing is fleeting because it can be revisited anytime you wish.
Give it a chance!
- Slovenly Miss. Lazybones
March 16
11:15 p.m.
Dear Secretly Miss. Lonelyheart,
If you want to preserve in-person interactions, all you need to do is record them…. I’ve done this in the past, each time with stellar results.
It sounds to me like, as much as I need lessons in social media, you need lessons on how to truly live. When’s the last time you experienced any kind of in-person interaction that left you breathless or excited? Nothing online can come close to experiencing the touch of another person, a kiss, a caress—or the anticipation of these things.
March 15
12:45 a.m.
Ronan,
It’s Twitter, not “twatter.”
Twatter sounds like a very specialized vibrating tool of some sort. ;-)
-SML
March 15
12:52 a.m.
Twitter, twatter, fudder, motherfucker, I don’t care what it’s called.
I could be interacting with real people instead of this pretend interacting. How do you do this all the time? I would lose my mind.
-Ronan
March 15
7:18 a.m.
Dear Ronan,
I honestly enjoy it. I love interacting with people online. I feel like it’s a safe haven where people are free to be who they really are.
-SML
March 15
8:15 a.m.
Explain, please.
Why can’t you be who you really are at a doughnut shop or in the park? Why do you have to be online? I’m myself everywhere I go. It’s not limited to a pretend world created by nerdy perverts masturbating in their parents’ basements. You know the Internet was invented by porn-mongers, right?
This shite makes no sense.
***
The second gift arrived mid-afternoon on March 15. This time, Tony didn’t call. He just showed up at my door with the gift in tow. Rather, I should say gifts in tow.
“There’s a lot more downstairs.” Tony gave me a confounded look then surveyed the inside of my apartment. “I don’t think they’re going to fit.”
I glanced between him and the five men behind him, all with armfuls of flowers. Daisies, roses, lilies, sunflowers, irises—every kind of commercially available stem was represented. I gaped at the scene then turned my stunned expression back to Tony.
“What-who-where—”
“There’s a note.” He clumsily pulled a card from his pants pocket, dropping a magnificent arrangement of peonies and hydrangeas.
I picked up the felled flowers then took the note, ripping it open and scanning the contents. Of course, it was from Ronan. It read:
Dearest Annie,
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I’m using my hand
But I’m thinking of you.
- Ronan
P.S. Just to clarify, I’m using my hand to write this note…get your mind out of the gutter.
I choked and then choked a startled laugh. Then I choked again as the hallway full of flowers came back into focus.
Ronan Fitzpatrick was completely crazy.
“What do you want us to do?” Tony shifted uneasily, his black eyebrows pulling together in a plain display of anxiety.
“Um….” I struggled, glancing from left to right as I searched my mind. It was no good. Everywhere I looked, I saw flowers. I squeezed my eyes shut so I could think. “Just—just give me a minute….”
Tony was right. Just the armfuls of flowers in the hall would never fit in my cozy little apartment. Plus, it would be such a waste, having a jungle of flowers to myself. Really, they needed to be shared….
“Wait! I have an idea.” I opened my eyes and gripped Tony’s forearm. “Do you think there is any way we could have these sent to Memorial Sloan-Kettering? Distributed to the patients?”
He nodded thoughtfully, slowly at first but then with more conviction. “Yeah, yeah. I can make that happen.”
“Let me know how much it costs. I’ll be happy to reimburse you.”
He gave me a relieved smile. “Thanks, Ms. Catrel. I’ll let you know.” Then he turned back to his compatriots. “Okay, guys, back down stairs. We’re sending these to Sloan-Kettering. Come on.”
I watched them march back to the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors closed behind them that I realized I was still clutching the peonies and hydrangeas to my chest.
***
March 15
10:55 p.m.
Dear Ronan,
LOL! @ “porn-mongers.”
You are very funny.
In a way, your last email is correct, but in another more accurate way, you are wrong.
The online environment is unique, and that’s a very good thing.
Rather than be judged by what they look like or their ability to speak in front of a crowd, people are judged by the merit of their ideas and words.
-SML
March 16
12:02 p.m.
Dear Slovenly Miss. Lazybones,
People should be judged by what they look like—not 100%, but it should be taken into account. If you work hard on yourself, take care of yourself, then it’s a reflection of the person within.
People are more than just their brains. Like it or not, assuming a person has control over their personal appearance, the body is just as important.
If you ignore your body, you are ignoring an essential part of yourself.
-Ronan
***
The third gift arrived late in the afternoon on March 16.
I was just returning from my walk in Central Park when Tony called to me before I could make it to the elevator.
“Ms. Catrel! Wait—wait a moment.” He jogged over. I’d never seen him jog before.
“Oh, hi. Thank you again for your help with the flowers yesterday.”
“No problem at all, Ms. Catrel.” He made me a little polite bow then glanced over his shoulder. I followed the path of his eyes and found a very pretty lady in a very nice suit walking toward us. “So, this lady here”—Tony lowered his voice and threw a thumb over his shoulder— “she’s from Cartier, and she—”
“Ms. Catrel?” the woman asked with a wide smile. “Are you Ms. Annie Catrel?”
I nodded, shrinking back a little. She was so very pretty, sleek even. Her makeup was impeccable in a way I’d never mastered, even when I’d dabbled with eye shadow and lipstick in the past. She was also very tall, with very black hair, and very blue eyes, and very white, straight teeth.
“This is for you.” She reached into an attaché case and withdrew a red velvet box, pushing at me until my hands automatically lifted to grab it.
“For me? What is it?”
She gave me a very nice smile. “Compliments of Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Then she turned and left, her heels clicking and echoing on the stone floor.
I glanced from Tony to the box. He shrugged then sighed, “So…this guy, this Mr. Fitzpatrick, is he going to keep sending you gifts? I mean, not that it’s any of my business. But if he is, we should maybe set up some kind of system for receivership if you’re not in the building.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Tony. I honestly don’t know what’s going on.”
“Really?” He sounded both skeptical and amused. “Ms. Catrel, let me spell it out for you: I think you’re being wooed.”
My eyebrows jumped, causing Tony to chuckle. Then he turned and left me, too.
I gripped the box tighter and made my way to the elevator, feeling a buzzing sense of unease. In my hands was a velvet box from Cartier, hand-delivered by the store, compliments of Ronan Fitzpatrick.
Back in my small living room, I placed the box on the coffee table and went to my room to change. I decided that, whatever it was, I had to send it back. Part of me didn’t even want to open it. What was the use of opening it when I couldn’t keep it?
But curiosity eventually overcame the better part of valor. I sat on the couch, took a deep breath, and then opened the box.
There was a note. I picked it up. Beneath the note was a delicate gold necklace with an attached gold and diamond pendant. It was breathtaking. The pendant was comprised of a series of intricate knots; I recognized them as Celtic, but I had no idea what they meant. A larger diamond was set very tastefully within the center of the knot; as well, several smaller stones were set in highlighted relief along the outside border.
It was really quite magnificent. Refined, understated, subtle, and yet must have been outrageously expensive. I quickly closed the box, setting it back on the table, then turned my attention to the note.
It read:
Dear Annie,
I saw this today, and it reminded me of you. Do not even think about trying to give it back to me; I’ll not take it. You’ll have to donate it to charity if you don’t want it. It is freely given and comes with no strings attached. Though, if you decide to model it for me while naked, I’ll not complain.
-Ronan
***
March 16
7:30 p.m.
Dear Ronan,
I cede your point about the physical being an important part of self; it’s important to be healthy, I agree. But I don’t understand spending hours primping or spending hundreds of dollars on clothes that go out of style after two months. Extremes—in either direction, ignoring the physical or giving it too much importance—I think are counterproductive and dangerous to overall well-being.
Though, you must admit, in-person interactions are fleeting. But online the interaction is preserved (basically) forever. Nothing is fleeting because it can be revisited anytime you wish.
Give it a chance!
- Slovenly Miss. Lazybones
March 16
11:15 p.m.
Dear Secretly Miss. Lonelyheart,
If you want to preserve in-person interactions, all you need to do is record them…. I’ve done this in the past, each time with stellar results.
It sounds to me like, as much as I need lessons in social media, you need lessons on how to truly live. When’s the last time you experienced any kind of in-person interaction that left you breathless or excited? Nothing online can come close to experiencing the touch of another person, a kiss, a caress—or the anticipation of these things.
