It was 7:45 and she was late.  Again.  I guess that really shouldn't come as a surprise -- she's always late it seems.  Yet there I sat alone in the restuarant, fidgeting with my silverware like an idiot.  This was the second time that I had gone out with her and I still wasn't quite sure what to expect.  I mean, we are talking about Angelina Jolie here.  Truthfully, she could be as late as she wanted just as long as she bothered to show up at all.

I checked myself out in the reflection of the spoon.  Sure, I looked decent enough I suppose; me trying every trick imaginable to forget that the suit was rented and the cologne I was wearing was a free sample that I got out of GQ magazine.  I think they called it "Dark By Night" or some such nonsense.  I was a sham but I couldn't let that bother me.  She had agreed to a second date after all and besides, I was the envy of everyone back home.

Of course, no one believed me the first time around.  I produced pictures and they were met with shouts of "Photoshop!" and insults such as "Liar!" and "Loser!" echoed shortly thereafter.  It stung but I wasn't about to let them see me cry.  Besides, if things went well this time around, I could be on my way out and up; I wouldn't need the guys back home anymore.  I'd be on the A-list now; no more food shopping at 7-11 for me.

I was just about to ask the waiter for the time again when a thunderous blow to the back of my head sends my forehead flying towards to the table top.

"Ha!  Gotcha," said a female voice from behind me.  "Hey, sorry I'm late.  I had to drop the kids off at the pool."

"You had to, uh, what?" I managed to reply, rubbing the back of my head and checking for lumps.

"Zahara and Maddox.  You know, my kids?  They have late night swim lessons on Wednesdays."

"Oh, sorry.  I thought you meant something else," I said sheepishly, trying my best to fight off the onslaught of dizziness.

She slid into the booth with a sort of half-leap and plants herself across the table from me, that big grin of hers instantly turning my heart into butter.

"How's your head?  That one looked like it hurt."

"Oh, it's ok," I said with a lie.  "I wasn't really expecting it, that's all."

"Hmm, I hope you're not soft.  I need a man who knows how to be tough; how to take a punch when it comes down to it."  I open my mouth to respond but before I am able, Angelina swings her head around to the restuarant and yells, "Can we get some goddamned drinks over here?  I'm thirsty."  In an instant, every single eye in the place is on us.  "God, I hate this place sometimes.  The service just sucks."

"You-" I start, but stop to regain myself.  "You're not like you are on TV."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" she roared, her eyes growing slightly incensed at the remark.

"I- I just meant that you seem a little less brash," was my weak reply as I brace myself against another flying fist.

"Oh, that," she says nonchalantly.  "That's just some crap that my agent makes me do.  He says it's better for 'perception' or whatever the hell that means.  Truthfully, I don't really even listen to him anyway."

The waiter appears, thankfully cutting short what would have likely been an awkward reply.  "My apologies, Miss Jolie.  I had Fernando on this table and it certainly looked like this gentleman's date would be a no-show.  If I would of had any idea it was you I-"

"Oh stuff it, Roderick.  You know how I tire of your incessant excuses," Angelina snapped back.  "Now get me a damn wine spritzer and bring this guy a bottle of vodka."

"Yes ma'am.  Right away Miss Jolie," Roderick said, backpeddling as quickly as his tiny legs would allow.

Angelina just shakes her head.  "I told myself I would never come back to this place.  The service here is just horrible.  Sometimes I can be a real dummy," she said with a pout, her fist crashing into her temple as mock punishment.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," I manage to say in a lame effort at consolation, "I'm having a good time if it matters any."

"It doesn't but I'm laughing on the inside at the idea that you think I care."

This wasn't exactly going like I had envisioned.  Time to change the subject.  "Say, what was with the order for a vodka bottle back there?  I noticed that you only got a wine spritzer."

"I don't like vodka.  Now stop asking so many damn questions; you're making my head hurt."

This wasn't going well at all.  I had to think of something if I wanted the evening to continue.  As my mind raced for something to talk about, I could feel the silence at the table growing awkward.  Christ, this was worse than the time I had to give a fire safety class to the chidren at the burn ward. Now kids, don't play with fir-- too late.

"Angelina, I want to adopt your kids."

To be honest, I'm not even sure where that came from or why it came out.

"You what?" came the incredulous reply.  "What did you just say?"

Think fast.  "Uh, I said that I once co-opted a pig."

"Why the hell would you tell me that?  You know, sometimes you just don't make a whole lot of sense."

I was about to open my mouth but the waiter's arrival saved me the trouble.  Thank god.  I was running out of room to dig holes for myself.

"Here is the bottle of vodka for the sir and one wine spri--"

"Roderick, what the hell is this crap?" Angelina snapped, interrupting poor Roderick for what seemed like the millionth time this evening.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"You know damn well that that vodka isn't top shelf."

"You didn't specify, ma'am.  I gave you what I thought was the best."

"Roderick, I don't really give two damns about what you think is the best.  Did I ask you for your opinion?  My intentions should have been known without say-- And what the hell is this?" she screamed, finally noting her own wine spritzer.  "White?  You give me white, you filthy son of a b-"

She didn't even bother completing her own sentence.  Before I even knew what happened, she sent her glass flying across the restuarant; it haplessly crashing into table some three down from ours.  In one swift motion, she was standing erect, her arm outstreched and grabbing at Roderick from behind his head.  With a force normally reserved for a defensive football player, she began slamming his head into the table repeatedly.

"I should just kill you right now, you worthless bastard."

A gash had opened up on Roderick's forehead and blood was spraying every which way.  She was like a woman possessed, her fury unrelenting.

"If I ever see you again, I'll do worse than cut ya.  Now get the hell out of here," she said in a rage as she tossed the waiter backwards onto the floor.  "Come on," she said, grabbing my hand, "let's get the hell out of here before I have to start some real trouble."

I can't say that I was left with much of a choice at this point.  I rose to my feet and we made our way to exit; not quite hurriedly but with definite determination.  I was trying valiantly to collect my thoughts and emotions over what I just witnessed.  I knew just enough to keep my mouth shut for the time being; I had done enough verbal damage earlier and wasn't about to go opening old wounds at this point.  Once on the street, she spoke first.

"Where is your car?"

"It's right around the corner, but--"

"Good.  Let's go.  I need to make a stop or two."

After that impressive display of violence, I wasn't about to argue.  We walked to my car and got in.  "Where do you need to go?"

"Shut up and just drive.  I need to think for a minute."

And that's what I did.  I drove.  I don't know about you, but it's pretty hard for me to just drive aimlessly, regardless of what just happened a few minutes ago.  I try not to notice but I'm pretty sure that she's picking her nose in the seat next to me.

"Turn left here and go up about three blocks.  You'll see a yellow and brown house.  Stop in front of it."  I did what I was told but I have to admit that the idea of dating Angelina Jolie was losing it's luster at this point.  Bringing the car to a stop, she hops out.  "Keep it running.  I'll be right back."

There are very few non-violent phrases in tne English language that will get your blood running quicker than "keep it running."  I didn't know what she was up to or why we where here and that only served to make it worse.  Minutes passed that seemed like hours and it took all the resolve in my body not to just peel off and be done with it.  I was pretty sure that she didn't know where I lived.

The sound of breaking glass drew me from my thoughtful slumber and the door to the yellow and black house came crashing open.  A small Asian man is shoved through the door; Angelina and the gun she was holding following quickly behind.  Twisting the gun around and laying it flat in her palm, she sends her right flying through the air and, almost in slow motion, I watch as it connects with the back of the poor Asian man's head sending him flying towards the ground.

"Now, stay on the ground, Chinaman," Angelina said.  "You said that you'd have my shipment ready and now all I am getting are excuses."

"Angelina, please.  I- I"

"Don't even think about lying to me."  Angelina crouched down and pressed the muzzle against the head of the prone man.

"I- No, I never would.  Not you, Angelina."

"Now, I am going to ask one more time.  Where is my shipment?"

"It was stolen by a rival dealer.  I had my best men on the case and still they overpowered us.  Really, there is nothing that I could have done."

"I told you from the start not to cross me.  I told you that I would put you out of business for good.  You know what you did?  You laughed.  Well, who's laughing now?"

"Angelina, no.  We misunderstand.  I beg you, please, no-"

In the case of gunshots, all it ever usually takes is one.  One shot to end the life of the man laying on the ground and one shot for me to realize that I needed to get the hell out of there.  I simply wasn't strong enough to stomach that kind of stuff.  I never did see her again; in person, I mean.  And sometimes, on those cold lonely nights, I think back and wonder if she was late picking up her kids from swim practice.