Something to Love
Short Story
There was a ring around her head as she walked in between the two Corinthian columns. The setting was a get-together at the local art Museum, which was a large square with marble chairs and tables. There was music, and at that particular moment Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” was blaring out of every boombox, earphone, and phone receiver in existence. There was a myriad of well-dressed socialites who were bobbing their heads at the would-be jokes. Of course, none of them were funny.
This is why her entrance caused me to stare: she might not have been the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen but her eyes lit up the room with that scintillating quality known as intelligence. You can have gorgeous; I will take bright every single time. The question of course is could I deliver as well as receive? It was an intimidating moment, and I would have to see whether I measured up.
However, I had to make my way over to the entrance, and at first, she ignored me. This was not unusual, so I waited my turn. After she had dismissed a dozen suitors, she looked down her nose at me. I will admit that making a good first impression is one of the lower skills on my list.
“The orchestra left when they could not fit the piano through. It seemed that the janitors didn’t know about pulling the legs off, one by one.” And then at that moment a small curl moved up on her lips, and she was vaguely amused.
It was at that point that some limp semblance all a conversation ensued. At least I kept the jokes rolling from out of my jacket pockets, because normally I hung out with a few friends who at least made flippant even if no witticism was actually told. What can I say, we imagined ourselves to be funny even if it weren’t.
We moved up to the bar and I paid for both of us because that was the manner that I was brought up. Her face reminded me of the Shanghai Opera stars, though of course the originals were all male and she was not. In a big city, you have to know what is real and what is fake.
She then asked: “ so what do you do?” this was a serious conversational breakpoint for her, and I had to answer with dignity.
“ I am centered around the world to do consulting for the major clients. I heal computers with people's problems.”
She giggled. Progress was being made.
-
A week later we were in my car. It wasn’t the Mustang muscle car gobbling down petrol, nor was it a Mercedes with its sleek form, but it was a BMW Z4. It had two seats. And made the most of them. We were spinning our way to the Rockport Music Festival with the piano on tap. It was obvious that we were both having a good time listening to Liszt, Beethoven, and Prokofiev. We giggled at the antics of the piano player who enlivened the score with musical jokes. I could see that amusement was high on her list of “happy things” and I tried very hard to oblige.
On the way back we laughed, and I took her out to a chic-chic place which was also not expensive. It seemed to be going rather smoothly. I was my best self: seemingly handsome and devil may care. I imbibed her sweet polished black hair swiftly swishing from side to side. I expanded in my business clothes and played a merry fiddle just like Wormwood in the Screwtape Letters.
Looking back I felt almost secure in my suit. I had everything that I wanted. But in my pocket, there was a note with pink lettering on it.
We laughed and I took the bill.
It was her back shadow that seduced me.
-
It was a conversation that we did not want to have. I left her apartment and she was crying. I thought that the word “yes” would be the end of it. It was, but not in the way I expected.
-
We were out on the Swan boats and I was distracted. She was trying to reach me but I was talking about going for business overseas. She saw that look on my face that said that it was not only business.
We landed the boat and she slipped away.
-
Then one day a bit over a week had gone by, and I was leaving on the distance trip tomorrow. There we were avoiding the eyes and standing outside of her place of work. She was involved in the immunological testing of new pharmaceuticals. And I noticed by asking her questions that she was extremely fine at picking the promising lines.
But there was something wrong. Her face was cast in the darkest light possible and I could not see why.
Each new that I made to restart the conversation was closed down. Almost brutally. And then I simply asked her “What is it that you want?”
“You know what I wanted and you know you cannot provide it to me.” The look on her face was completely blank.
Then she turned away and I would never see her again.
It then crystallized that I should have done what she wanted because I knew that there were very few chances to snare such an intelligent face and a mind that went with it.
The next time someone asks the unwritten question, you must make sure she will say yes to. It is the only way to get something to love.