(Linda’s POV)
So there we were, in our Hollywood apartment, unpacking our belongings. We had just moved here from Holland. We only took what was most valuable as we were flying abroad and our space and weight was limited. I took some pictures I had wrapped in bubble-plastic and placed them on the mantle of the fireplace. “So much for the living room,” I sighed, rubbing my hands together. “Let’s go for a quick smoke on the balcony before we go and decorate our bedrooms, ok?” Peter nodded, getting up from his knees and bolting into the kitchen. When he came back out holding up two Champaign glasses and a big bottle of Champaign I scowled at him a bit, “Is that really necessary? I don’t feel like celebrating!” Peter gave me one of his pouty looks, “Aw c’mon! We can mourn again tomorrow! But today we have to celebrate our success! We have a stunning apartment, we have perfect jobs and the pay isn’t half bad either! It’s going to be ab-fab!” I hung my head and raised my hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, one glass then.” Peter beamed as he popped the cork and poured us two glasses. I snatched a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the coffee table and opened the sliding door to the balcony. Peter followed after me holding the two glasses of Champaign and handed me one. I took it from him and set it down on the balcony railing. I pried a cigarette from the freshly opened box, put it in my mouth and lit it, while handing the box to Peter. He did the same and we both inhaled the sweet nicotine into our lungs, before we exhaled the smoke. I grabbed my glass of Champaign and took a small sip. I was never much of a Champaign drinker. I preferred semi-sweet rosé over anything. But this was actually a pretty good one, compared to the crap I usually drank on New Year’s. I sighed and leaned against the railing, enjoying the view. Who would have thought a few months ago, that I would actually be living in Hollywood, and working for a very successful agency? Certainly not me! I turned around and looked at our dogs playing happily inside. Peter brought his two Chihuahua’s and I brought my Chihuahua slash Miniature Pincher. They were so good together, even though sometimes Peter’s male Chi’s were trying to hump my female Chipincher. Then I turned to look at Peter, holding his cigarette between his middle and index finger in the “most” gay way, as he took a sip from his Champaign. He was so very, very gay, but I loved him to pieces. We had so much in common it was scary sometimes. I swear he’s my soul mate, but not in the romantic way. “So,” I finally broke the silence, “What time do we have to be at the agency tomorrow?” Peter thought for a second and then handed me his cigarette. “Let me go check!” he chirped as he ran inside to get our appointment letters. When he came back to the balcony he took his cigarette from me and handed me my letter. Both our eyes darted over the paper until we simultaneously read out loud ‘Thursday morning at 9 am.’ “Alright,” I murmured as I put out my cigarette in the ashtray and threw back the last of my Champaign, “We better resume our work then, because we still need to do some grocery shopping to make us some dinner tonight!” Peter put his cigarette out too and stretched, “You’re right, I think I’m going to bed early tonight, my jetlag is being a bitch!” I nodded, because I was bothered by that too. I was so tired, but not just from the flight. I was tired from everything. So we quickly dragged out bags and suitcases into our bedrooms and made them our own in no time. After shopping for groceries, which took like forever, because these American supermarkets weren’t anything I had ever seen before. They were so big! So much bigger than they were back home. After a good hour and a half of shopping, we returned to our apartment with about seven full bags of groceries. When we had put them all away accordingly in the kitchen cabinets and fridge, we started to prepare dinner. Peter poured us another glass of Champaign. “Thanks, this should help me get some sleep tonight,” I murmured as I searched the fridge for some sour cream. We both weren’t too hungry so I decided to make my infamous cold pasta salad with sour cream and smoked salmon. Peter loved that and so did I. I put water in a pot and put it on the stove. I lit the stove and started cutting the lettuce, so that the water could reach its boiling point in the meantime. Peter hopped into the living room and popped a CD in the cd-player. Britney Spears started singing and Peter danced his way into the kitchen, singing along. It didn’t took long before I joined in the singing. This kicked in got your tongue tied in knots, I see. Spit it out ‘cause I’m dying for company. I notice that you got it. You notice that I want it. You know that I can take it to the next level baby. If you want this good shit. Sicker than the remix. Baby let me blow your mind tonight. Not that the lyrics where applying to either one of us. We just loved this CD of her. The water was boiling and I threw in a few hands of fusilli. I gently poured in a bit of olive oil and stirred it gently before I tended to cutting the smoked salmon into little chips.
(Peter’s POV)
I was watching Linda as she was making the pasta salad and my mouth started to water. She was such a great cook! I loved everything she cooked. Sticking around her, I would be sure I wouldn’t ever starve. “I’m almost done here, so I hope you’re at least a bit hungry!” she said. I opened a cabinet and took out two plates. I put them on the dining table and then I went to retrieve some knives, forks and spoons from a drawer in the middle of the kitchen. After I set those down besides the plates, I refilled both our glasses of Champaign and then put the dogs in the playpen to feed them. Linda had always raised her dog to be fed in her pen while she was eating, so I took over that habit. It kept them preoccupied from begging at the dinner table. I walked into the kitchen and Linda handed me the bowl with salad. It looked delicious and my stomach let out a loud snarl. Linda was slicing a baguette and put the slices in a basket. Then she washed her hands, dried them with a paper towel and took off her apron. I smiled as she took the basket and we sat at the dining table after putting the bowl of salad and the basket with bread down. She grabbed a serving spoon, then my plate and scooped it full. She set it back down in front of me as I grabbed a slice of baguette from the basket and took a bite. She scooped her own plate only half full. “What’s up? You love this salad! Why are you only scooping half a plate?” I asked. She indicated at her lower abdomen. “It’s too flabby and I want to prevent it from filling up with fat,” she replied. “I want to go and follow some fitness courses too, just to tighten my body again. I’m only 24 for crying out loud!” I frowned at her for thinking she’s getting fat. She’s gorgeous and she would always be to me. “Don’t worry, I’m eating, am I not?” she sneered. I knew how sensitive she was about her weight and figure. I had always been too. “You know what?” I told her, “If you find some Aerobics classes suiting our work schedule, I’ll join you!” A smile played across her face as she nodded. I knew that would make her happy. After we finished our dinner, I helped Linda wash the dishes and then we went to the balcony for one more cigarette. “You should go and get ready for bed first, I’ll go watch some television until you’re ready,” I said puffing out a cloud of smoke. Linda inhaled deeply before blowing out the smoke, “Thanks, I am so tired I could sleep forever!” After we put our cigarettes out, I opened the door of the doggy pen and flopped down on the couch. Linda went to her bedroom to retrieve her toiletry, before she went to freshen herself up in the bathroom. When she was done showering, pampering and brushing her teeth, she came out into the living room. “The bathroom is free,” She said sleepily, picking up her dog Tink, which was short for Tinkerbell. She gave me a little peck on my cheek and went back to her bedroom. I yawned, stretched and switched off the TV. After taking a nice, long shower, I retired to my bedroom with my dogs, Ben and Jerry, named after my favorite ice cream. I crawled under the sheets and patted the bed, inviting the dogs on it. After we all found a good position, we drifted off to sleep.
