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“Yes, yes that’s perfect” the photographer encourages, resting on one knee while constantly switching his camera horizontally and vertically. The photographer is pale, tall, and skinny; rather lanky. He wears a pair of squared, thick rimmed glasses and judging from his voice, one could only assume he’s gay. Johnny Storm stands in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of light blue, fitted low-rise jeans along with a pair of black and white converse sneakers. With a contrived smile, he glares straight ahead, past the photographer’s shiny bald head; eyeing the clock that hangs loosely on the wall across the capacious room. It’s 7:43. He’s supposed to meet Carol Danvers in 17 minutes and he’d be lying if he said he weren’t a bit nervous.
Carol Danvers. Just being around her makes him uneasy. She’s so uptight all the time and so unpredictable, but yet, even with all her efforts to drive him away, he remains undeterred. She’s one of those girls who play hard to get, and perhaps that’s what he likes about her; he likes the challenge, he likes the chase. There’s something about her, I just don’t know what it is. A few months before his initial death, they bumped into each other in Vegas and, well…one thing led to another. Then she stopped speaking to him after Vegas, and he never knew why. Why? The question still plagues his mind.
Most people would be honored if they were offered to be on the cover of the Rolling Stone magazine, but Johnny wasn’t. It’s just another privilege granted with his sumptuous life style. “That’s perfect” the photographer over exaggerates. Johnny would prefer a female photographer, but nevertheless, he enjoys the praise. “Give me sexy” the photographer demands, while snapping pictures repeatedly. “Maybe put your fingers in your hair or something” he suggests. I can do sexy. The white fluorescent light shines against Johnny’s muscular chest, flawlessly defining and accentuating his every muscle. Sliding his fingers through his hair and tilting his head slightly to the right, he pouts his lips seductively and glares intently into the lens of the camera in front of him. The photographer lowers his camera and gawks at his heroic client. “How beautiful” the man mumbles, as he fumbles with his camera. After capturing a few shots, he announces, “That’s a wrap.”
Johnny’s thankful the photo-shoot’s finally over. He was on set for over an hour and a half; way longer than he anticipated. “Phenomenal. He doesn’t even require photo-shop” the photographer exclaims, while viewing the photos on the monitor. “That was beautiful” he tells the hero. Johnny just smiles and nods in acknowledgement, before rushing off to his dressing room. He dresses quickly, and glances over to a small clock hanging above the mirror in his dressing room. I got 10 minutes. He pulls on his jacket, when suddenly there is a knock at the door. It better not be that weird photographer, he’s been hittin’ on me all night. Johnny opens the door, coming face to face with someone else entirely.
It’s a woman. She’s tall. Really tall. He guesses she’s a model, as she’s undeniably beautiful. With her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied back in a ponytail, her big hazel eyes gaze fixedly at him in adulation. He’s baffled. I definitely wasn’t expecting her. Raising his brows in bewilderment he says, “Uh, can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just…I heard you were in the building and I…can I get your autograph?” she asks. He ponders for a moment before overlooking the beautiful woman and deciding he has a couple minutes to spare. “Yeah, sure. Come in” he responds. He opens the door wider, and steps back, allowing the woman entry.
The tall woman steps into his dressing room, and shuts the door behind her. She bites her bottom lip amorously, captivating his attention. He stares at her lips. He can’t help himself, her lips are lusciously tempting. “So…about that autograph…” he begins but stops; licking his lips as sexual tension pervades the room. The woman moves closer to him; her motives becoming deducibly clear to him. She makes the first move, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. His body heat rises unmindfully as he kisses back without hesitation. Their shambolic osculation entices him irrefutably and not once does Carol cross his mind; he’s focused solely on the woman in front of him. His hands feel up the model’s undernourished body. God she’s nothing but bones. He certainly disfavors her bony structure, but it doesn’t dissuade him. The woman aggressively pushes him up against the door. She kisses his neck copiously before sliding her whole body downwards along his. She drops to her knees and he instantly knows he’s in for a treat. He beams down at the woman in anticipation, as she struggles to unbuckle his belt.
In the Upper West Side of New York City, Carol Danvers waits outside of The Lincoln Center cinema. Dressed up in casual attire along with a scarf and a pair of sunglasses to disguise her appearance, she restlessly taps her foot as she eagerly awaits the arrival of the other hero. This is stupid, why am I even here?, she thinks to herself, while keeping a watchful eye of every passerby. Just then, a red sports car zooms by and precipitously halts not too far away from where she is standing. Maybe that’s him. Carol squints her eyes, attempting to get a glimpse of the person in the driver seat of the vehicle. But her efforts are unavailing, as she sees nothing but the man’s dark silhouette. Fortuitously, another car drives by and the headlights reflect upon the man’s face, giving her a clear view of the man in question. The first thing she notices is the man’s light brown hair, evidently not the man she was secretly hoping it to be. Looking away, she let’s out a low sigh of disappointment as she checks the time on her watch. 8:03. Maybe he’s just running a little late. So she leans up against the cinema’s glass exterior and she waits.
Johnny Storm, driving his red and black 2014 Porsche vehicle, speeds down the street towards the cinema; honking his horn every so often and swerving around and between other cars. Zooming down the street, a few blocks from the theater, the overwrought hero is taken by surprise as the large truck in front of him comes to an abrupt stop. Johnny slams on his brakes nearly ramming his face into the steering wheel. He sits back quickly, gripping firmly onto his steering wheel, with wide eyes. That was close. He inhales deeply and exhales; still trying to grasp the incident he was fortunately able to preclude.That was really close. However, his astoundment immediately turns to vexation as the sizable truck remains inactive. “C’mon, move your truck, asshole” he grumbles as he honks his horn incessantly. Much to Johnny’s dismay, the truck doesn’t budge and he finally gives up, resting back in his seat. He sucks his teeth; growing increasingly aggravated with the inconvenient circumstances. You gotta be kiddin’ me right now. Resting his cranium against the headrest of his seat, he stares up at the inside roof of his automobile, fighting the urge to check the time. He’s late; he knows he’s late, it’s just a matter of how late. Deciding he needs to know, he slowly glances at the dashboard clock. It reads 8:19. Shit. He glowers as his optimism quickly deteriorates. Just then, the large truck pulls forward and makes a right turn, no longer impeding his journey. Johnny speeds onward, choosing to remain somewhat optimistic because maybe, just maybe she is still there.
Moments later, he arrives at his destination. He double parks in front of the cinema and rushes out of his vehicle. The handsome blonde looks in every direction in search of Carol Danvers, but she’s nowhere in sight. He investigates further, pushing past the glass doors of the theater, entering it's vast and grand interior. The place is packed and it would be nearly impossible to find her among the large crowd, so he leaves and walks back to his vehicle.
Back inside his car, he sighs as he rests his forehead against the steering wheel. He considers calling or texting her, but he quickly decides against it as he can’t seem to come up with a good enough excuse. Not like she would even pick up or text back anyway. He raises his head and watches as a man and a woman exits the theater. While holding hands, the couple gazes into each other’s eyes with such endearment that Johnny can’t restrain the intense sentiment of indignation that overcomes him.
Johnny sits back and starts up the engine. Maybe she didn’t even show up. He frowns at the thought of it. A part of him wishes it were true but another part of him wishes it weren’t.