The Movie Buff and the Poseur

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

"I can only choose one?"

"How many do you have?"

"Fewer than I thought, Jax. Okay, I am ready."

"Well?"

"Evil Dead."

"Such an esoteric boy choice, Quigley."

"The judgment!"

"I'm judgy, and I am honest about it."

"What's yours?"

"Scream."

"How meta. Hold on. Jax, are we the only two people left in this café?"

"From our movie club, yes. There are some other strangers at the seats by the windows."

"The rest of the other club members took off without saying goodbye?"

"Each one of them stood up from this table, told us they were leaving, and departed by quoting a line from next month's selection."

"I thought they were singing song lyrics."

"That's because we're supposed to watch That Thing You Do!!"

"Which is a musical?"

"Quigley. You've never seen the underrated mid-90s gem, starring Tom Hanks and his non-son doppelgänger also named Tom?"

"I saw the commercial. When it premiered back then, I was probably a few years out of college, pulling a 12-hour shift at an agency job I hated."

"I was in high school. I played the soundtrack on my Walkman constantly. I hope the plot holds up."

"So here we are again. Same as last month. Drinking caffeinated beverages on a Wednesday night. The last man and woman standing."

"Or sitting. Apparently I have many opinions to share about American cinema. I rarely talk this much."

"I am enjoying your perspectives. You're quite the movie buff, Jax."

"I prefer the term 'film nerd', thank you. What type of nerd are you?"

"Is 'general' an acceptable answer? I've never really had a thing, a hobby I was passionate about. Growing up, my parents enrolled me in every activity possible. I never lasted in any of them longer than a year."

"Now that you are an adult, why did you select a movie club?"

"My wife wanted me to get out of the house and make new friends, since she thinks my old ones are boring. I was looking for a low impact organization, no triathlons or mud runs. I could have chosen a book club for men, but reading takes longer than viewing a two-hour blockbuster."

"I love books! Side note: you and my husband would totally get along."

"We're similar people?"

"If he wants to consume a story, he prefers film and video over text, even if the book is short. Though, he does enjoy exercise."

"I work out. Two or three times a week."

"I can tell. I mean, your arms seem... there are muscles, and you are wearing short sleeves. Therefore-"

"You've been checking me out?"

"I did not say that, Quigley."

"And here I was thinking you were interested in me for my conversational skills."

"I am interested in you? According to whom?"

"I will say... I find you interesting, Jax."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you make me feel like a cinema poseur."

"You're welcome?"

"Every month during our group discussions, you know so much trivia about the actors, the directors, the writers, the studios."

"It's called 'internet research.'"

"Beyond facts and figures, there is depth, fervor. Your enthusiasm inspires me to practice my own due diligence before the next meeting, so I can keep up and impress you. Whoa, that was more than I had planned to divulge."

"What was your plan?"

"Secretly... argh, why am I saying this out loud? No, instead I will write it down... on this napkin. And I don't have a pen."

"I do."

"Thanks. I am leaving because I was supposed to be in bed an hour ago. Do not read this note until I have walked through that door."

"Good night, Quigley."

"See you in a month, Jax."

"In two weeks," I corrected, "if you are going on the club field trip to that sci-fi convention. But if you're not-"

"Will you be there?"

"I have never had a reason to attend the con before, so, yeah. I will go."

"See you in two weeks."

...

The following morning, I sat in bed alone, still in my pajamas. I had woken up feeling odd, so I took a sick day and asked my husband to take our kid to school.

Once I had waved to Kevin with Riley in the backseat of his SUV, I had shut the front door and hiked back to the bedroom.

Now I was resting on a mound of pillows and reading Quigley's napkin for the tenth time:

"Make Jax laugh."

It meant nothing.

Yet I had not disposed of the message.

I had a history of overestimating the esteem that guys had for me, based on flickers of unanticipated attention they tossed me on occasion.

I wasn't the kind of woman who had men throwing themselves in my direction on the regular.

This was dumb.

I crammed the scrap of brown recycled paper in one of the many books on my shelf, found my dusty DVD, and turned on the next entry in the club's calendar.

The tale of the one-hit Wonders was easy to follow, yet my mind wandered to the events of the previous night. I picked apart the details of my conversation with Quigley, the beverages we ordered, the phrases we chose, the body language we expressed, the extended duration that we spent alone together after the meeting.

He probably wasn't thinking about any of this. In all likelihood, Quigley was going about his Thursday morning doing whatever it was he did-he had mentioned teaching part time at a college-not cogitating on some woman he encountered once a month at our moving picture organization.

He wasn't even that handsome. Okay, Quigley was definitely cute, but he didn't compare to my husband. Kevin had actually been scouted to model, and he had walked a few runways to pay for law school.

Quigley was no slouch, but considering the man I had vowed to spend my life with, he offered no upgrade over my current partner, either physically or intellectually.

I considered dropping his name in a search engine, Binging it up, but I didn't want to act like a stalker.

I stared at the actors in period garb interacting on the screen with their musical instruments.

My stomach hummed with metaphorical caterpillars wriggling in their cocoons, eager to metamorph into butterflies.

This was silly.

Other women received male attention daily and went about their business. I was the lone cuckoo bananas lady who was reading too much into a series of pleasant interactions with a married man who was not the man I was married to.

I needed a distraction.

I retrieved my Magic Wand from the closet.

Unfortunately I could only think about him.

I burrowed under the blankets, relaxed on my pillow, and placed the toy between my legs. I switched it on, creating a low throb through the fabric of my shorts and panties.

I envisioned him snuggled next to me on the bed, watching me.

I squirmed on the sheets, my toes curling. A moan escaped my lips. My pj bottoms came off, but my underwear stayed on.

I imagined his hand touching my collarbone, gently, tenderly, as his other hand found his own crotch.

My thighs squeezed against the head of the vibrator, creating more friction in my nether regions.

It was just a little crush.

I fantasized about running my fingers across his bicep, down to his elbow, lower to his forearm, then catching his wrist, helping him grip the bulge inside his pants. Our dark eyes locked, we would draw our bodies closer together, our legs wriggling with increased tension, heating up the sheets.

As the Wonders reached a crescendo at a raucous 60s concert on my television, my body clenched with a climax that emanated from my core and washed over my tingling limbs.

In my daydream, Quigley held me until my breathing slowed. He kissed my forehead and vanished from the room, leaving me alone again wearing a drenched pair of hipster briefs in my disheveled bed.

The bed that I shared with my husband, Kevin.

What was happening to me?