They had just been introduced. She steps over to the bar in her lily perfumed fancy. He followed and offered to get her a drink. She smiled, “Sex on the beach, if it’s on the menu, but whisky on the rocks will be just fine”.
In a movie, this is where the man would clear his throat, maybe run a hand through his hair before finding the voice enough to start: “ I think –”
She looks at him without breaking her gaze and he returned it with a rueful laugh, a cynical curl on his lips that was made to kiss and please many women. She’s forced to fill in the blanks. She does so with a word that starts with an “A”.
It was remarkable that for the minimum of words exchange, yet the awareness of each other registered completely. There was a certain proximity in their conversation and it took a while to get there.
Above the blaze of guitar strings and drum skins, the pounding of the music, drink in hand he quirks a brow and in a nonchalant slightly amused voice, grinned “Cynic!”
“Ah! The kettle calling the pot black? Do you know when you scratch a cynic, underneath you find a disappointed idealist?” she shot back.
They laughed, holding their drinking glasses watching the crowd dance. The music was much louder now. He had to lean his head much closer to her to talk. She could trace the lines on his face, etching of experience and the firm jaw of character.
Great sex like great conversation and great art was a rare and valuable commodity. He had matched her mark with the second, she wondered about the first.
“What does it matter if he is or isn’t”.
He was too different. Here’s a man with a quirk of irony and a twist of humor served on a bed of lyrical eloquence matched with surprises. It was hard to ignore.
The night hypes up and winds its weary way straight past the witching hour, into last call, and 1 a.m. The drinks have been watery, the buzz shifted from lightened to heighten emotion pressing in, to not go back alone.
Condensation on the glass of whisky he hands in front of her gives the illusion of badly cut diamonds weeping. They sat next to each other in his quiet, darkened room where they had ended up. They fell into a low, intense conversation. He told her how he had lived through some very painful lessons that had taught him to appreciate life and love.
He brushed the hair off her face and said it was important for him to tell her that he was married. Having a family had changed him.
She was about to say something further when he muttered, “Sometimes you don’t get to marry the person you love, so you just love the person you are with”.
She leaned towards him, nodded, as though taking this in. But who knows? Maybe he was right. There is some kind of lesson there, she thought.
Already vague about what he had said, she looked back, eyes misty with the blankness of total understanding, she kisses him.
It was a little odd, but looking into those pensive green eyes she felt as if she was seeing him for who he really was. There was something about him that told her that she had been waiting all her life for this moment.
The next second, his hands slide up her body, she pulls him against her. Her long shapely legs wrapped around his waist he carries her to his bed. Limbs tangling, they roll under the sheets. As the warmth of his body hits her skin, she realized that she was in paradise creating heavenly, pulsating sensations that they are one and in the center of all that exists, destined for oblivion like all else in the universe.
For these moments, now. Not for the moment she first saw him at Subway, near her hotel getting his morning coffee that week. But for these moments after. Forget about guessing what he was thinking. Forget about trying to imagine what this moment will have the day after.
Once you know that the earth is round, once you know that it revolves round the sun, there’s no going back. He waited for it to happen. She anticipated it. They both wanted it.
For both, these moments of anticipation may be the best chance they have.
* Excerpts from: Her Word Is*