With his reputation, a quiet Saturday morning was rarely a thing that actually could happen, and in his line of work those Saturdays at home were few and far between. What he thought would be a quiet day, a day with no interruption that should not be so difficult for a single man, was anything but -- all caused by one woman walking into his building, The Sycamore.
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The doorman saw what she was wearing, a simple white sundress against her pale skin. He saw the look on her face, how her lips were parted slightly, her eyes open wide, and the way she shifted her weight back and forth between her feet. She clutched a purse that hung over her shoulder close to her side and looked up as he stopped her, following his duty to determine who she was here for. All she could stutter was "I have a business card." The doorman's eyes changed to a look of understanding when he glanced at it and he stepped aside, pushing the door for the 17
th
floor.
What am I doing? I can't do this! It's Saturday morning!
The thought raced through her mind even as the elevator door closed behind her and she rose through the building. She looked at her dress, straightening and flattening the front of it a few times. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and the coldness on the back of her arms. A thin sheen of cold sweat had formed on them. Shifting back and forth, she followed the advice her friend had given her. "Take a few breaths on the elevator ride up. I promise you, you won't regret visiting Mr. Page." She did as was suggested. It didn't help. She was still anxious and quite meek at the moment. Another thought dashed through her mind.
Why am I even doing this? I don't know this man!
The door opened and she stepped forward automatically, her feet carried her over the smooth wooden floor to the first door on her left. 1701, just as the card had directed her. An eternity of maybes passed through her mind as she waited in front of it for a good reason to either leave or push the button. She had neither and that scared her more than anything. And then it dawned on her. That fear. That thrill. She could have both at the same time. She would lie and make something up. Her friend and coworker, Denise, had told her to meet this man, but never specified on what terms. Maybe she was just a fan of his art? Or needed to borrow a cup of sugar?
That's stupid...nobody actually does that
. The doorbell rang and she looked quickly in response to the sound before the realization struck her and send a cold snake down her spine -- she had rang the doorbell without even realizing it.
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He stood from his table; a pencil drawing of a sparrow within a cage was passively demanding his attention while failing to hold it for more than a moment. Just as well, he had been staring at it for a half hour now. He buttoned his black shirt, he moved to the door, his bare feet making soft sounds against the clean wooden floor as he stepped across his home. Grasping the handle he opened it to meet...her.
"I think you're a really great artist cup of sugar please?" she blurted out mistakenly in an instant, and immediately he could see the red embarrassment on her face. He looked quizzically at her light hazel eyes. His icy blue gaze gripped her mind with a natural, effortless intensity. Her lips fell open as her breath was stolen in that moment. He stepped back from the door and leaned his head to look at her state of dress. Her light reddish hair flowed like a silken river down just past her shoulders, thin ginger streaks highlighting her face; the white dress hugged her forms and curves; her purse was in front of her like a shield. He stepped back from the door and extended his right hand to gesture her to come inside.
She quickly stepped inside, her feet carrying trembling legs and knees into his apartment. She tried to speak again, the nervousness of the cab ride and the elevator ride making her stutter slightly. "Good morning, Mr. Page. A friend of mine from the school told me I should meet you. She knows I like art and she said I should see your work. She said you're quite close friends and that you knew I was coming?"
He gave the woman a soft smirk.
Denise...I'm going to have to have a talk with her. It has to be her.
"And did Denise tell you anything else about me?" he asked while watching her expression closely.
She blushed and looked immediately at the floor, her body refusing to let her make eye contact with the man. She took a deep breath involuntarily and goosebumps rose on her arms. She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her with a finger to his lips and a very soft "shh." She was immediately flustered, but fell silent in an instant.
"Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable." He was already closing the door behind her and turned to walk away into the kitchen. She looked around his apartment, attracted to the post-modern feel of it. A few pieces of artwork hung from the walls, some paint and some pencil. A replica of "The Starry Night" hung above his fireplace that was radiating warmth in the cool fall morning air. There was no television, which surprised her, but an off-white leather couch and two black leather armchairs that faced
Oh God now that's a view...This apartment is gorgeous!
She saw the view from his living room, high on the 17
th
floor and looking over the skyline of the city. It was breathtaking.
"Sit," his voice came crisply from the kitchen. She looked around, unable to see him anywhere.
How does he know where I am?
His voice left no room for interpretation or question. She sat on the couch and waited politely with her hands in her lap, her back straighter than before, her posture trying to be perfect until she caught herself and relaxed a bit. Just a bit.
He interrupted her looking around his home a few minutes later by coming back carrying two mugs, one with coffee and one with tea. She reached out and took the coffee cup from his hand and he lifted the tea to his lips while she tasted the smooth blend.
Good...we can sit and talk. We can get to know each other
. She smiled up at him and said thank you, but he did not respond, he paced back and forth in front of her on the couch.
"Do you know why you are here?" he asked, that voice infuriatingly smooth again, like silk wrapped around a wooden ball that hit her in the gut every time he spoke.
She nodded, finally glad that she had an opportunity to speak in response to a direct question. Something she could answer with certainty. "My friend...well, my coworker. She gave me your card. She told me to come visit you and see your art and get to know you. She said you were an interesting man." She looked pleased that she was able to answer his question without any hesitation. A moment of control in a morning that had quickly spun out of control for her.