Disclaimer: No profit is made nor offence intended. I know none of these people.
Elijah Wood and various actresses who have all starred with him...
Rating: PG13
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk

She is nervous. She has put weight on since he saw her last. Not a great deal, she's not blimp sized yet, but definitely heavier on the hips. And older. Oh yes. She is nervous. It shows, as she pats her short sleek hair, hopes she looks reasonable.

He signs their autographs, flashes another very sweet smile, makes their day if not their entire year. With one last good-natured wave, he drives off in his new car. The girls wave back, and in his rear-view mirror he can see them giggling and almost collapsing on the sidewalk.

They love him. He loves them. Life is good.

She glances in the mirror, frowns, brushes her long hair off her face and reaches in her bag for lipstick. How long has it been? She doesn't want to think how long. Too long! This is so wrong. So very wrong. And so very, very right. Nervously, she plays with the clasp on her bag, smiles into the mirror, that kookie, pretty, toothy smile. He always said he liked that smile.

He pulls out the note, reads it one more time. Smiles. He remembers perfume and the scent of soap. He has images in his mind of soft feminine tones, of giggles and gentle touches. He was so happy, so wide eyed, then. Will it be as good now? Oh yes, just very, very different...

She is nervous. She hates being nervous, she is a damned strong woman. Why the fuck should she be nervous? Hell with that! She does, however, throw a quick glance in the mirror in the lobby on the way to the room. She is whiplash thin, graceful, feline. Her shoulder length hair is thick and bouncy. Nervous? Hell no.

He enters the hotel, crosses the lobby and makes it to the elevator unhindered, which is a rarity now. Inside, he assesses his reflection in the mirror. Baggy top, jeans, bed head, fluff on upper lip and chin. This feels very strange. But it's a rush.

She sits in a chair by the window, glancing out at the ocean. She stands by the ornamental fireplace, fiddling with the dried flowers in an arrangement. She leans against the big, polished occasional table, surveying the room with her cool, intelligent eyes.

"He's late," she says, and she bites her lower lip. She cuts a quick glance across the room, wishes she was still as thin as that..

"He'll come, stop worrying. He'll be here," she says, and she fiddles with her hair, sucking in a long dark strand. The dried flowers are nearly ruined now.

"Oh please, he's hardly five minutes late. Give the guy a break," she says, and she affects a bored pose, flicking imaginary lint off her immaculate casual jacket.

Jamie Lee sighs.

Julia flutters her long lashes.

Sigourney suppresses a yawn.

The door to Suite 404 opens and he is here.

"Hi Mom. Hi Mom. Hi Mom," says Elijah. And he opens his arms.

"Hi Nat," breathes Jamie Lee, rising from her window seat.

"Hi North," beams Julia, abandoning the flowers.

"Hi, Mikey," sighs Sigourney, levering herself off the table.

All three Moms crowd in for a kiss. Now they are not nervous. Not nervous at all.

Just very, very excited.

The End