Episode One

Forty Love

Every summer there is that moment when the air gets steamy and everything is lush and green. When the days are long and lazy and it brings me back to other times in my life. Days that feel so distant they appear in my mind in a kind of fuzzy focus. Happy, soft memories echoing through time hanging in the breeze like a morning mist over my garden. A song floats in that hazy summertime air and I’m back. The smell of popcorn and fried food fills the atmosphere with a mixture of music and excitement. Remembering the first time I saw him, he walked with such intention, older more than ten years my senior, and when his blue eyes met mine they almost sparkled, putting me a little off balance. He was a tall, good looking sort of man with an easy confident way about him, and I had to force myself to focus when he was around me. He leaned back in his desk chair lacing his fingers behind his head, contemplating the script we had just pitched to him, and I had to remind myself not to stare. He had long attractive fingers for a man, artist’s hands. Had he noticed I stole a glance just a few seconds too long? He was English with an intoxicating accent that had a tendency to distract me. Running his fingers sharply through his longish, brown hair that reminded me a little of a thirty-something Paul McCartney. I was nervous, and the tension rose into a distinct knot in my stomach. Partly fear and dread of him suddenly breaking into fits of laughter put me on edge, but he didn’t laugh. This was a good thing too because I would have literally flatlined if he had. He looked at me through sharp shrewd eyes as if to size me up. Clearly he must have realized I had absolutely no business even being here. 

“How could he not see right through me?” I’m thinking.

I’m Just barely 25 years old, single mother of a four year old daughter, failed relationship with high school sweetheart, and surely he could tell. My experience at this time in the world was clocking in at zero to none. Only now he’s staring straight at me, and I gulp silently, he’s expecting an answer to a question I was not even paying attention to. What was the look on his face exactly? He wasn’t annoyed. Amusement was a better description. There goes the sparkling eyes thing again, and he is literally smiling at me! Directly.

“Oh Christ!” silently panicking. 

“So?” he tossed over his grey metal desk.

So what? I have no idea. I’ve got nothing. What did he say? I’m sitting here like a fucking school girl all tongue tied and distracted! What is happening? I question myself in silence as heat floods my face and I know I’m blushing, it’s something I can never control. I know I’m looking silly and immature and how would anyone take me seriously? 

This is when Maggie notices my dilemma shoots me an eyeroll and jumps in. Older and much wiser was Maggie, also from England, she had met Llewlen Bradford, “Taff” as we call him, at work and instantly struck up a conversation. Taff  had connections in many areas in the entertainment industry, and she had talked him into this meeting. She was my writing partner, and we had spent most of the winter writing a screenplay together. Very slowly and reluctantly he moves his gaze over to her with a strange look. I don’t think he really likes her much, but I let out a slight sigh of relief, happy to be out of the spotlight for the moment. That was how we met in the spring of what would  be the sizzling summer of 1995. This is how I furtively refer to it in my own mind now, and sizzle it did. 

***

Sometimes I worry about what people would think of this; older man, younger inexperienced twenty-something woman. Funny, I think of myself as more of a girl. Technically though, I am a woman. Oddly I don’t feel like that. Looking back on things I realize that this experience was more than just a silly cliché and it was a defining time for me. Like an aimless alien rock hurtling through deep space on its lonely route, and suddenly another alien rock intercepts its path knocking it just slightly off course, forever changing the trajectory of its future. In the beginning it's just a small adjustment, but over time that one defining contact becomes more and more dramatic. That brief moment in time widens the path between what was, and what is to be, exponentially. Mostly I keep these thoughts to myself because I don’t want my secret tainted by the judgments of others, and maybe I am romanticizing it in my mind’s eye after all. For me it will always be a time of discovery and a reset of how I viewed myself and others. He came into my life at just the right time and it guided me in a direction I desperately needed to go. 

The days were hot the nights even hotter. I found myself excited to go to work each afternoon. Subtle as it was, there was a shift, something different was at play. No one really noticed those few extra moments I took paying attention to the details. Choosing a particular shade of nail polish or customizing my so-called uniform just a little beyond the edge of the dress code. Dedicating a few extra moments to styling my shoulder length, light chestnut-brown hair. Why was this suddenly so important? 

Mom, being my current title, what did it matter what I looked like anyway? My world was different now and could never be the same as before. I had given away whatever that special something was to a boy who clearly didn’t value it. My never ending quest to heal and fix him was as fruitless as a teardrop in a vast, dry desert. Somewhere in this process I had lost me. That is, if I had ever really been there in the first place. For the moment I was focusing on the immediate task at hand, hiding in a constant state of hibernation. Always denying the obvious, and any hint of what I really wanted my life to be. Obligation was reigning over any thoughts of freedom or future aspirations. Unworthy was the word lurking in the depths of my subconscious wagging its dark punitive finger at me. How was I to know a chance encounter would set off a chain reaction that would embolden me to take the proverbial bull by its horns and finally entertain that my future was mine to make. He would never know the true impact or significance of our time together. Later it would fade into the past quietly, a secret, a whisper spoken into the wind. 

***

My transformation would start out as an ordinary part time job. A small family style outdoor entertainment venue that came alive in the summer. Throngs of tourists and a fair amount of locals would flock to The Atrium to see musical acts, comedians, attend festivals, and bring their children to see a weekly children’s theatre performance. Happy, fun, and upbeat was the usual atmosphere. Underneath this veneer was something more. Family. This made an impression on me being a child of a nasty protracted divorce. Most everyone I worked with really wanted to be here, and it was palpable. For the first time in a very long time I felt I fit into something larger, something special. At the center of it all was this man, this amazing and wonderful man [emphasis on the word man]. An exotic kind of creature I had never before encountered. Everything at The Atrium seemed to revolve around him. When he marched through the crowd with his two way radio in hand sorting this problem and that, it was kind of a marvel to behold. We all looked up to him and he oozed confidence and control, but not at all a micromanager. A simple directive was usually issued and we were all mostly left to carry it out in our own way. As hands off, as hands on was his management style. He had a gentleness about him too, a most attractive contrast. In one day he would execute a complete production from start to finish. Loaded in and loaded out, just in time to grab a couple of cocktails over discussions of the day’s events. He skillfully balanced the details of this well-oiled machine in all its intricate machinations. Taff was a people person, a fuser of sorts. Streetwise and charming and a walking encyclopedia of classic rock facts and trivia, many of his best anecdotes first-hand accounts of his adventures in England and later in the States. His husky voice thick with a distinct English brogue that didn’t hurt either. Many a night over cocktails were spent with Taff regaling us with his tales of all the entertainers and shows he had been involved with over the years. I was enthralled with his every word and he was a mentor to all of us. He was always trying to give a troubled kid a start, and many of those who worked for him went on to bigger and better things. Many ended up touring the country or the world, and he was modest of any praise in this regard. When he looked at me, he saw me, and this was completely beguiling.

Then there is Jack, Taff’s latest young protégé on the production crew, only slightly older than me, dedicated and hardworking. Jack ran the day to day of the productions themselves, sound, lights and that kind of thing. Friendly and very easy to talk to Jack quickly became a good friend, a title that would ultimately be a huge disappointment to him. For me he never had more than a brotherly quality. It’s not that I didn’t want to think of him differently, he was safe and someone you could always trust, but the chemistry was just not there. For a guy, Jack was a bit on the short side for my taste, and I was not thrilled with the fact that he was a chain smoker. Although, truth be told it was more than that, but never the less, it became abundantly clear from the start that Jack had set his sights on me. One night over drinks we were comfortably chatting about the evening’s events when he suddenly turned serious.

“I find you very attractive.” He announced, a simple matter of fact delivery.

Before missing a beat he countered with, “Do you find me attractive?” this time his voice getting darker with intention.

Frozen to my spot, I’m completely void of any coherent response to his untimely confession of affection. Taff sitting just on the other side of him engaged in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize, suddenly looked directly at me, eyebrow raised quizzically. The signature eyes twinkling at me, anticipating my answer. At this point someone came to summon Jack to another table and the man talking to Taff  joined them. Distracted, Jack retreated without an answer to his query. Rescued briefly from circumstance I relaxed, Taff slid over towards me, still with a partially raised eyebrow.

“He’s nuts about you,” he tosses out there as if to test the waters.

“Yea, he’s a really great guy,” I reply.

It was the only lame response I could manage, lackluster at best in its delivery. Taff regards me for a few seconds more. 

“It’s all I ever hear from the guys on the crew,” he confides.

This is almost conspiratorial as he casually sips his drink, a white Russian I think. Taff appears nonchalant and completely comfortable in his skin, not a trace of awkwardness to be found, and he never fails to catch me off guard, 

“What’s all you ever hear?” I counter.

I’m completely faking my air of nonchalance. I mirror a casual sip of my margarita right back.

“You have them all worked up and bothered,” he chuckles, “What with that tennis skirt!”

Twinkling blue eyes motioning down at my lap. Automatically, I roll my eyes, not letting on at all that I had carefully chosen said skirt for the main reason it was maybe just a tiny bit shorter than all the others I had considered. Why was I doing this? There are names for this kind of girl. Since when had I become this kind of girl, the kind I had been warned about not becoming.

“Oh please,” I shrug defiantly.

The effect of my margarita was starting to round the edges of my inhibitions. Not as surprised by this disclosure as I should be, I’m feeling a little flattered by all the attention. Apparently somewhat achieving the goal I was unconsciously setting somewhere in the depths of my subconscious.

“You have us all praying for wind,” he casually casts over his shoulder.

The final comment delivered as he stands, joins Jack and pals in their conversation. He glances back at me briefly with a cool look almost disinterested, but the eyes still dancing with amusement.

“Us?” I’m contemplating carefully as I drive home that night, “Who exactly is us?” 

***

Usher Supervisor was my title, and this was no small thing in my mind. Too serious for my own good most times, I may as well have been knighted by the queen herself. Each day I would hold a brief meeting with all of the volunteer ushers. Some of these ushers had been around for years. In exchange for their services, they saw every show for free. Off I went with a couple of dozen newly minted grandparents that I was in charge of organizing for each performance. Making my rounds throughout the various shows, making sure there were plentiful playbills, and sorting any issues upwards, if needed, made the time pass quickly. Without a doubt it was the best summer job I had ever held, and again the team aura that permeated the atmosphere there enveloped me and I looked forward to every day of work with an eagerness that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

And so it was a meeting to pitch a speculative script that would morph into this unbelievable summer job. I arrived at work one steamy July afternoon, and headlining that night was another of those famous English rock bands Taff had connections with. The Atrium was all a buzz with anticipation. Taff was at his most imperious on this particular afternoon. As I unpack a box of shiny, new playbills, I catch a glimpse of him rounding the corner of section A1, and I peer up at him through my hair blowing in the breeze. Walking briskly towards the hospitality building his face is focused and a bit steely. He’s consumed in his thoughts and I find myself wondering what he’s thinking. Obviously some glitch or detail required his personal attention. Just then he catches my eye and slows his pace just a bit. My gaze locked into his keen blue eyes, and in the space between us the air instantly charged. His demeanor changes only slightly and something I can’t quite translate eclipses his expression. This is when I feel the heat rise up over my neck and flood my face and I know I’m blushing. Again.

“What the hell?” I swear under my breath, “Every god damned time!” I’m scolding myself now as I nervously smile and look away.

“What is it about this man that reduces me to a fidgeting teenager with just a look? Does he realize? Did he notice?” I think.

Turning towards section B1 I realize he has now passed me completely and relief sweeps over me. Convincing myself this is just plain ridiculous I refocus on the task at hand.

“I’m letting my imagination get carried away with me,” I decide. 

It takes about an hour to organize the ushers at their posts, and once soundcheck is over it gets quiet. Soon the invasion of ticket holders will begin. They start trickling in slowly at first. Lines begin to form as the opener performs their set. The air is thick and hot and the smell of food from the snack-bar fills the area between the Atrium and the office. Jack is engaged in a serious exchange with Taff right next to the office. There is always a little tension at this point and Taff reaches up with his two-way and points over towards the sound booth in section D1, seemingly explaining something to Jack. I’m gazing at Taff’s long graceful, but strong looking arms, tanned in the summer sun, as Jack nods and turns heading back towards the sound booth. Jack must have noticed my subtle voyeurism, and as I’m heading toward the office he breaks into a wide grin, my natural response is to smile back. I feel a little badly because I don’t want to give him the wrong idea and I wasn’t really looking at him. He’s such a likable guy and I feel a genuine affection for him. Taff misses none of this, and is clasping his hands together as if in prayer as I walk by and briefly looks up to the sky. I shoot him a look of disgust, and turn a bit haughtily away and keep walking straight into the office. Truth be told, I’m not nearly as appalled as I should be. I’m wondering what this means exactly.

“Is he praying for wind? Or is he trying to signal that Jack is praying for wind? It’s just a stupid tennis skirt, get a grip already,” is my inner monologue.
In a place where I never would admit, even to myself, I’m hoping it was the former.

***

I’m petite measuring about five foot two first thing in the morning. Cute and perky were always the words boys would use in connection with me. I’ve always had an athletic build, not too thin with fit, muscular legs. Think high school cheerleader and that’s me. I’ve always tended towards the more feminine looking styles. No pleated mom shorts for me. The dress code was navy blue shorts or pants and a white top. One day at Marshall’s I scored this navy blue tennis skirt on clearance. It was the only one, and it was a perfect fit! I knew I was pushing the boundaries of the acceptable uniform code, but no one seemed to mind, certainly not Taff.

It never failed, every day I wore it, I could feel eyes following me everywhere, but there was only one set of eyes that mattered to me. Blue eyes that seemed to catch fire when they flashed in my direction. When our eyes met there was this undeniable connection. It was getting to the point where I could no longer blame it on my imagination, nor could I deny what I was feeling. Deep in my mind my mother was there, reprimanding me for my behavior and worse her mother, my Grandmother, who I referred to as “The Grand-Monster.” Picturing Grandma Blanche coming out on the front step in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, matching slippers, and rollers in her hair while I was saying goodnight after a date was a clear memory.

“Get in here now! The neighbors will think you’re a trampy little pants chaser!” she would howl into the dark.

Then there was my Mother’s favorite sermon, one that was always delivered at the kitchen table while smoking two cigarettes that she had not realized she lighted over her customary coffee. As they burned, the cigarettes slowly turned into one long ash protrusion before she would give one a tap and take another long drag. 

“Now Scarlet you mustn’t let any boy have your virginity before you are married,” she would admonish me, “It’s a sin in the eyes of God, and girls who have fallen in the eyes of the Lord will give their very souls away to the devil and forever be a sinner,” she punctuated this with another drag, exhaling towards the ceiling.  

A part of me wanted to show them both, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. I had fallen in love with the wrong guy and had a child. The scarlet letter was already forever etched onto my soul. How fitting was my name? At this point I may as well do what I want as it was ordained anyway. With that realization I had decided what I was going to do even if I didn’t really know it yet.

***

One steamy and uneventful evening we wrapped up load out earlier than usual. Over to the tavern we all went to gossip about the day’s events. Drinks were always on Taff, and secretly, I looked forward to this nightly ritual. Our communications were mostly limited to wanton looks, and an occasional, not so accidental, brush of the hand. With all the action at work we were never alone together. On this particular evening, either by chance, or the mere fact that we waited everyone else out, we found ourselves the last two people at the bar. 

“I’m knackered,” Taff revealed.

he raked his fingers through his disheveled brown hair absently. It was the kind of hair that only looks better the more disorderly it becomes. Organized chaos, oddly similar to the way he manages the many pieces of the Atrium’s components. Perhaps it was at this point that he noticed I wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying. Distracted by thoughts of him lifting me off my stool and planting me on the bar in front of him, had my focus elsewhere. 

“What about you?” he asks with a penetrating look. 

“Umm well,” I stall, sipping my margarita, “not really,” I shrug. 

I wanted to blurt out that I could literally rock his world all night long if he let me. Nice girls aren't supposed to say such things, so I smiled sweetly as he continued to scrutinize me in such a way that bordered on mindreading. 

“Do you know what gas stations in town are open this late?” I change the subject, “I’m on empty.” 

“I think the one right off the highway is open twenty four hours,” he suggested with a concerned look. 

“Alrighty, I should get going,” I announce, taking the last dainty sip from my straw.

“Hang on for a minute, you shouldn’t be stopping alone, I’ll settle the tab and follow you there,” he says with a genuine regard for my safety. 

“Ok I’ll meet you outside,” I readily agree. 

***

The streets are mostly deserted in this part of town this time of night. Driving from the tavern to the gas station I wonder what he’s thinking about following dutifully behind me. Pulling up to the pump he swings round behind me and is there directly to pump the gas for me, like the English gentlemen that he is. Mesmerized again by his strong capable arms, I find myself imagining them around me, and I roll down my window peering out at him. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” I offer.

“Chivalry is not quite dead,” he casually jokes. 

“Clearly not,” I allow, smiling graciously as I hand him my debit card for the pump. With a plunk of the gas cap door, he’s at my window again.

“Are you good from here?” he asks.

“Yah sure, it’s not far, I’ll be fine,” I reply. 

Just then he slowly lowers his head towards mine, and I know it’s going to happen long before his face reaches mine. He gives me loads of time to abort the kiss, but I don’t. My eyes flutter shut and butterflies flicker in my chest as his warms lips gently meet mine. All the longing and tension from the weeks of the continuous passive seduction explode between us. I’m not sure how long it lasted. We were both enveloped in a torrid of emotion for what seemed to briefly pause the space/time continuum. The spell was broken as a car pulled in on the other side of the pump. Cold air rushed into the widening space between us as he pulled away. As I open my eyes he is looking intently at me seemingly gauging my reaction. His look I can only describe, as cliché as it may be, as ardent and simmering just beneath the surface of his composure. Audaciously, I mirrored his look and shot it right back at him. His eyes glimmered at me in what I took as one hundred percent enchantment. This was when I thought he was mine, and now it was only a matter of logistics.

***

Work for the next few weeks continued as usual. Anticipation was building, and how no one noticed what we were up to, I will never understand. We circled around each other like planets in separate orbits, but locked into one another with a strong magnetic pull rivaling centrifugal force. It was a lusty attraction that I had not yet experienced in life. Work was a dance that we engaged in throughout the day. Colors were brighter, smells more satisfying as if somehow everything I was doing was enhanced. Working through the day’s tasks efficiently, with a perpetual smile plastered to my face. Guarding my naughty secret not all that precisely, exchanging looks and witty comments with him any chance I had. Every communication weighted with double meaning. We were nearing the end of the summer and before long the whole place would be packed away and shut down for the winter. An end of season cookout and bonfire on the beach was planned for a rare night off.  I took extra care getting ready that afternoon managing all the details. Legs shaved smooth to perfection, check! Right down to my favorite pair of lace panties and matching bra under a flattering wrap around skort purchased just for this particular occasion, and a light airy cap sleeved blouse to match. My skin was a warm golden bronze from all the days spent sitting on the beach in early afternoon watching my daughter play blissfully in the sand and water. Streaks of blonde from the sun kissed the edges of the hair around my face. Bright water-colored blue eyes stared back at me in the mirror and even I had to admit it was a good look. Keeping the makeup to a minimum, I applied a small amount of lip gloss. I was satisfied with my ensemble as I slipped into a cute pair of white sandals. A splash of my favorite perfume and I was good to go. I arrived at the beach at dusk as things were just getting started. Jack was already there and spotted me immediately. Looking around nervously for Taff, only to realize  he wasn’t there yet, and my heart sank a little. I worried maybe he wouldn’t show, but surely he wouldn’t miss this. 

“Hey Scarlet,” Jack greeted me with a smile.

“Jack,” I smiled back. 

“I was hoping you would be here,” he disclosed.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I answered agreeably.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Taff plodding onto the beach in the distance. 

“You want something to drink?” Jack asked hopefully.

“Sure, what have you got?” I answered a little more cheerfully than before. 

I selected a bottle of hard lemonade from the cooler and Jack popped open the cap for me. I took a small swig as daintily as one can do from a bottle, watching Taff approach the girls from the front office. He had spotted me immediately from a ways back, nodding at me with a brief lift of his eyebrows. Even from this distance I recognized the expectant look I had come to realize was just for me. Jack was chatting about some facet of the last show. Truthfully I wasn’t paying much attention. The boys from the crew had rigged up some music and Taff was now in a discussion with one of them. He always made his rounds to everyone else and presumably leaving the best for last. 

“Will you be back next summer?” Jack queries, and this jolts me back. 

“I don’t know,” I respond without thinking.

I hadn’t thought much about anything beyond my present circumstances, and I hadn’t been asked. When I thought about it, other than looks and comments nothing had really happened in the last month beyond that one kiss. Doubt started to seep into my mind. Am I making more of this in my mind than it really is? Taff  hadn’t mentioned anything about the future, and now this seemed an ominous and foreboding thought. 

“You know Taff is going on tour?” Jack boasted, and it hit me like smack! 

It must have registered on my face because Jack shifted nervously from one foot to the other. His demeanor softened a little. I took a deep breath and a hearty swig of my lemonade. This is just typical for me. Tears are burning at the edges of my eyes, but adamantly I refuse to open the gates. “Ridiculous,” I hear my Mother’s reproach in my subconscious and imagine the sardonic smile rounding the edges of her wrinkled smoker’s lips.

“I told you Scarlet this is exactly what happens to ‘those’ kinds of girls,” she would say. What did I expect anyway? We were going to run off and live happily ever after? That is just not reality and certainly has never been my reality. 

“That’s cool,” I shrugged. “Are you coming back next summer?” I ask changing the subject abruptly.

“Well actually, I am getting promoted,” Jack boasts happily.

“That’s great Jack, good for you,” I answer with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
I force a happy look for him. Just for good measure I give him a quick hug. To say he looked pleased would be an understatement. Usually I kept our exchanges very basic and controlled, so I don’t feel like I’m leading him on. And as we embrace I look over at Taff who is clearly watching our transaction. Taff looks warily in my direction.

“Listen, Jack I’ve got to get going will you say goodbye to everyone for me?” I ask.

“Sure, are you ok?” he looks concerned.

“Yah, I just have an early morning, you know ‘Mom’ responsibilities,” I respond weakly.

“Right, of course,” he answers, “I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers.

“Please,” I agree.

At this we walk off in the direction of the parking lot. I don’t allow myself even a glance at Taff, but I’m imagining several different scenarios of reactions including anger, hurt and maybe even jealousy. Hopefully. Driving home I let go of it all and the tears start to flow and I feel stupid and ridiculous.

“You silly little girl I tell myself, what did you think? Pull it together, how old are you anyway? You can’t compete with his career success and you can’t sit around like a pathetic child waiting for a man to save you. When will you ever learn and besides, NOTHING REALLY HAPPENED!” 

***

The next few shows I move robotically through the days with a kind of cold efficiency. Even the ushers are a little confused by my sudden shift in countenance. Performing my job with an unemotional precision I was almost kind of proud of, if not for the fact that my motivation was a little childish. Those days Taff regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Several times he seemed like he was about to confront me, but then thought better of it. That was just fine with me! I was done with men and boys in general for a while. I skipped the after-hours cocktail sessions the last couple nights of the season, and planned on doing so the last night as well. Moving on was my new motto, and I was committed to my plan. The last night was the longest and in addition to load out everything had to be packed away for the winter and moved into storage. We all had a job to do to wrap up for the year. It was a long night and we were all exhausted or “Knackered” as Taff would say. The box office girls were all getting ready to leave, and I was just about to do the same, when Taff appeared in the office door. 

“Scarlet I’d like to speak to you,” he motioned out the door.

“Yah sure, I’ll be right there,” I counter blandly.

Meandering in his direction, as I know he gets impatient and doesn’t like to be kept waiting, I feel a little pleased with myself. Again, childish, but whatever. 

“This way,” he turns and walks out of the office.

***

I follow him across the grounds towards hospitality, noticing that the crew has pretty much buttoned everything up and they are all heading for the parking lot with a wave and a smile. We arrive at hospitality and I’m a little conflicted about going in. It’s the one place that virtually no one is ever allowed, and I have only been in one room of the building maybe once or twice at the most. It’s always locked because this is where the talent resides for the day when they are here. It’s the one rule Taff was unyielding on. The talent were to be left alone and given their absolute privacy. The building contained several rooms, a kitchen with laundry facilities, a dressing room with a seating area, and even a hotel like bedroom with a bathroom and shower. We enter and Taff closes the door behind us. There is a small mini fridge and stocked bar in the dressing room.

“You want something to drink?” he asks heading to the fridge.

“Water please,” I reply politely.

He opens the fridge and grabs two waters. Handing one to me, he sits on the couch raking his fingers through his hair like he does. Was HE nervous? I defrost slightly as this triggers the memory of the day we met. Reluctantly, I perch myself in the chair across from him. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he starts, carefully parsing his words, “If you are interested in this job next year, it’s yours,” he concludes.

“I don’t know, how soon do you need to know?” I ask coolly.

“Well, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” he ventures.

“Save it, I already know you won’t be back here next year!” I pounce like a cat.

It’s here that a wave of understanding replaces the expression of curious confusion that was there previously on his face. He relaxes a bit and I can see he is considering what to say next most carefully. I know I have no right at all to be angry, but I am. It now occurs to me that it’s a combination of the pent up tension and prospect of what might have been, but then eventually wasn’t. The abrupt end to a fortuitous connection that was disconnected before it was consummated. I am willing myself not to cry, and this is no easy achievement because I am a crier. Movies, concerts, and anything remotely emotional, and I am predictably moved to tears.  He is taking in all of these thoughts playing across my face, this I know. Predatorial he is with his instincts and I know I’m not concealing much of anything from him. There is a distinct alteration of mood in the room as he rises and slowly moves towards me. He gently takes me by the shoulders and I stand too. Looking directly into my eyes, once again giving me plenty of room to exit he reaches up to touch the edges of the hair brushing the tops of my shoulders.

“You are lovely aren't you?” he whispers, a question as much as it is a statement.

All at once I let go of whatever I was harboring just below the surface of my self-control, and I know where this is going. Truth be told, this is where I wanted to go from the beginning, from that first day. I bought the ticket, I boarded the flight and I am taking the trip, and he knows it. For only the second time since we’ve known each other he kisses me, and it’s a formalization of all of the pent up frustration of our summers-long flirtation. Electricity, the likes of which Nicola Tesla would have been impressed by, ruptured all boundaries between us. The kiss transformed from leniency to urgency as we locked our sights on one another. A kind of movie magic took over as time warped and there was only me and only him in a kind of cosmic bubble. Our embrace only broken for an instant as I stepped back slightly, kick of my shoes and socks and slowly unbuttoned my white peasant blouse, and remove my tennis skirt. Looking directly at him as I’m standing there in my white lace décolleté bra and panty set contrasted by my warm summer’s bronzed skin. 

“Bloody hell!” he swore removing his shirt. 

***

Traversing the twenty or so steps from the dressing room were a blur. Then we were on the bed and then it suddenly dawned on me that it had been a long time since I had been with anyone so intimately. How long exactly I tried to calculate unsuccessfully, and he must have sensed my slight apprehension at this point, because he drew back just a bit giving me a moment to catch my breath. He traced the strap down to the lacey edges of my bra with a single finger. My pulse quickened to a healthy trot as our eyes met. By the third kiss I was undone, and there was no turning back. Like choreography, the last of our clothing was gone and I was lost as our bodies mingled and all sense of time evaporated. He had the touch of an experienced man not of an awkward boy. He slowly worked his way down my torso methodically and expertly before he grasped my waste and lowered his mouth to the curve of my neck. Warm and sensual was his mouth against my skin. Chills tingled down my spine branching out as they roiled through my limbs and even my scalp. He took his time with each step and although he seemed feverishly motivated in what he was doing, he wasn’t rushed. I raked my hands over his chest and moved my hands through his disheveled hair and grasped it slightly to signal I wanted another kiss.

“You are my naughty girl aren’t you?” he murmured. 

His pupils were dilated and his eyes dark with frenzy, and it was in this context that we moved forward into the next phase of physicality. Never before had I known that it could be like this. He was fluid in every movement and when he touched me it beckoned my response to him. My bare skin glistened and as we moved together there was a rhythm to it like music. There wasn’t a confluence left unexplored that night, and as we lay spent, I felt a simple peace wash over me. I snuggled up to him as he drifted off to sleep, and as his breathing evened out, my mind wandered. 

***

Outside the quiet confines of the building the sun was about to break the horizon. Creeping quietly out into the dressing room collecting the shrapnel that was our discarded clothing, I had to suppress the urge to laugh. Once dressed I returned to him and gently touched his shoulder. He turned and looked up at me sleepily.

“I have to scoot, my roommate has to get to work,” I divulge, “She’s going to think I’ve been abducted.”

“Ok then,” he sits up as if he’s going to kiss me, and wraps his long arms around me pulling me back down on the bed playfully, “You don’t think you can escape that easily do you?” this elicits a sudden surprise giggle from me. 

“Seriously, I have to get back, she’s probably alerting the authorities as we speak!”

“Right,” he smiles his eyes doing his signature sparkle, “You are a good Mum.”

His words echo in my head and I don’t think he has any idea how meaningful this statement is to me. I am a good mom, but I am also so much more. One more kiss. I’ve lost count now, but it is a kiss of goodbye. There was an appropriate finality to it for both of us.

“Taff?” I ask.

“Mmm?” he replies.

“I am happy for you, and your tour,” I smile.

He grins and his eyes connect with mine one last time, and I realize no one has ever really looked at me this way before, and he has now set a new standard for these looks. The next time a man looks at me this way, it will be my future husband, but that is another story for another time. Over the years he’s always willing to lend support in any new creative project, and he keeps loose tabs on the many careers he has supported to fruition. His eyes still sparkle, and I still have a tendency to blush.

***

“Greyma!” my grandson’s voice snaps me back to the present. 

“Give me some sugar!” I tease, as he giggles and climbs onto my lap. 

“Greyma, will you marry me?” he asks dreamily. 

“Absolutely,” I respond immediately, hugging him close.

I leave my reverie and my memories for another time as I feel thankful for a life well lived and for the family I always wanted, that I now have. My daughter looks at me curiously as I swipe the wistful tears of happiness from the corners of my eyes. 

“Happy tears,” I share.

She nods, smiles and gives me a big hug, and I return her embrace.

“How’s the story coming?” she asks.

“It’s just about there, but I think I’m going to need a pseudonym!” I admit.

The End