Bump and Grind Chapter Two: A Daring Dreamer

Welcome to chapter two of Bump and Grind. If you’d like to listen, rather than read, scroll to the bottom of the page.

Bruce Thompson was a dashing combo of silver-streaked brown locks and still-boyish good looks. A tsunami of queasiness swept me away. Our celebrity guest had arrived.

His warm gaze dissolved into a look of amazement. I recalled in painstaking detail the first time I’d laid eyes on him, at my first big audition after graduating. 

Bruce’s acclaim as an actor and director had won him a Tony award for Eureykah Johnson’s recent Broadway smash, and now Bruce was in town with his new pal to direct her gala.

“Karen Peters?” He stepped closer, eyes shining with wonder, and all I could do was nod. “My God, it’s been ages. I can’t believe it’s you! What are you doing here?” He threw his arms open for a hug. 

I stepped into him, hoping I didn’t smell like the uncle to be avoided at holiday gatherings after the night I’d had. 

Bruce folded me into the crisp scent of outdoor air mingled with his own subtle, spicy fragrance. 

“Well… I work here,” I said.

“You do?” He finally released me. An awkward pause sucked up all of the air in the room. 

I’m sure he was wondering how I’d gone from a career-making role with the National Shakespeare Festival to shelving books in a dusty old library. 

“Your hair is a darker chestnut, but otherwise you haven’t changed a bit.” 

White hot shame pulsed through my body. How could he not see how much I’d changed?

“It’s really great to see you, Bruce.” I smiled as hard as my heart was beating. “Can I take your coat?”

Bruce peeled off his heavy wool overcoat and fished out the inhaler. He was put together in a perfectly unaffected way. All he needed was a forest and a dog to romp with. 

“Karen, how are you? What are you up to these days? You pop into my head so often.” 

He didn’t ask if I was still acting. 

“I’m great. Let me go and hang this up. Can I bring you a coffee?”

“That would be lovely. Wow, Karen Peters…” 

His eyes were on me as I walked back to the staff area. Each step felt like an eternity. 

“Our conference room is there to the left,” I called over my shoulder. “Have a look and see if you need anything. Do you still take it black?” 

“How sweet of you to remember,” Bruce said.

“Bruce Thompson has arrived,” I announced to Mrs. Henderson, my voice cracking.

She looked me over, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Much better,” she said. “I’ll take him this. You brew another. You’re going to need it when those noisy teenagers get here.”

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Last week my boss, Malcolm, had announced with glee that Bruce would be here, in the last place I’d ever expect to see him, to facilitate a Shakespeare workshop for local students. I’d thought about returning to bartending in that moment. The money was better, the hours flexible. Did it really matter so much that the library had been a way better move for my overall hea...