She is not as shy as she pretends to be.
She is elegant and quite feminine. Reserved... and... very charming in a Lauren Bacall kind of way - think Bacall in “To Have and Have Not”... now you know what I am trying to say... she’s a woman... all woman. She knows what she has and she knows how to use it. Within the first hour of our meeting each other she has tested me over and over... and over again. So far I have proved myself worthy by indulging her ridiculous behavior... but it is what women do... and I - when I had reached my tolerance point for these little games, smiled - the way I smile when I am about to give a woman the big let down or the “it was very nice to meet you... I hope I never run into you again...” my “frankly my dear, I would have liked to gotten to know you better... but you’ve wasted so much precious time with your fucking little games...” she must have known that smile - perhaps she’s seen it before and put it to memory for future encounters with a would be suitor... she stopped long enough to allow me to be vulnerable and show her my humble, funny and boyish side... but she has already figured out that there is only so much shit that I will put up with... She already knew who I was though was uninformed of the specifics of my life. She works for the last client - the one from the “BIG PROJECT”. We were introduced through another member of the company whom I was advising privately on personal matters. She strolled to our table at the coffee shop like a leopard among a heard of gazelles, many of whom stopped to admire and assess the danger they might be in. She joined us in a new conversation of her choosing until my acquaintance departed... non too soon as I was immediately taken in by this young feline - her walk, her clothes, her hair... the soft delicate tone of her voice and the dull olive hue of her skin. She wanted to learn more about me and I wanted to talk about her... I tried to talk about fashion but she seemed bored with the topic... tried celebrity gossip but she wanted to have no part of that... hmm... what else do women want to talk about... politics? That wasn’t going to happen... so I gave in and opened up about myself to which she responded by opening up about herself... we opened up to the point that we spoke of our dreams and our fears... and as I was letting her believe that she was seducing me by letting me talk about myself - I got her to tell me about her childhood and her deepest secret desire... how it makes her feel to think of it... the joy it gives her... the pleasure she hides deep within her at the thought of her private mental hide-away... oh, dear sweet girl... I’ve been doing this for quite some time now... you didn’t have a chance when you made your way across the savanna... unless this was all your plan... and so we went around and around... and around again, giving and taking here and there until I took her by the hand and smiled - the way I smile before I give a woman my best Han Solo... “well princes... looks like you managed to keep me here a little longer...”
“I haven’t kept you from anything important, have I...?”
I shake my head with a crooked smile and a lazy left eye
“Actually I have about forty-five minutes to get to another meeting... but it has been a pleasure spending this free time with you...”
“When can we finish our conversation?”
“Whenever you like...” I reach into my portfolio and pull out a business card and I slide it across the table to her.
She reads it and smiles... nods her head approvingly... she turns it over and looks up at me...
“There’s no phone number on it... just your e-mail address...?”
I smile.
“Baby steps my dear, baby steps” she laughs - “I am a very busy man... you use that when your ready... I check my mail once at night...”
She isn’t quite sure of what to do or say... you wanted to play a game my sweet... the ball is in your court now.
She looks up at me... I stare into her eyes... I look at her... those polished amber stones... I look past her... and I think to myself in a whisper that only her soul can hear... “take it... you know you want to... take it... I’ll make it better than it has ever been... I will give you that passion that you secretly desire...”
She looks at me... she wants to speak but can’t find the right words... what would Lauren Bacall say in this moment we find ourselves in? I stare at her... my crooked smile beginning to form... my eyes begin to get narrow... she looks at me and I stare at her in silence... she lowers he gaze and places her hand at the bottom of her neck...her cheeks begin to rouge... and her smile becomes insecure... she nods her head in an almost unnoticeable manner... “I’ll drop you a line...” and she opens up her hand bag and places the card I gave her in her wallet - delicately, in the pocket in front of her drivers license... and she takes out her card and a pen... she writes her phone number on the back slowly... deliberately taking her time... almost as if she wants everyone to know what she is doing... I look over to a table of young girls sitting next to us... they smile at me and turn away giggling... young girls...
With as much style and presence as she walked across the room to the table she hands me her card with a flick of the wrist that any magician would be proud to master... I do not look at it. I slip it into the inside pocket of my blue blazer.
I extended my hand to her and she took it... I hold it delicately... perhaps longer than I should have, placing my other hand above it... “we’ll get together soon...” I tell her...
“We will...” she responds - the way women respond when they have abandoned their logic... and their belief systems for the hope of reckless, adulterated... passion.
I excused my self and made my way out and as I disappeared into the crowded city sidewalk I could feel the eyes of a hundred thirsty gazelles following me...
to be continued...
Making love to you was like wrestling an alligator... we stumbled and tumbled over each other to be the one on top. Making love to you was passion... desire... and lust... you are the oasis in the waste land I have been crawling through... on my belly... on my tattered knees.. Weighed down by the pieces of my shattered dreams in glass jars chained to my heart... the wounds of my past - the pain that drives me to my destiny...
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