The Meeting 31

The hotel lobby seemed to be in constant motion. There were people checking in and standing in groups talking. There was obviously a convention under way as many people were wearing name tags. Some were following bell boys with carts loaded with luggage, and a few, like herself, were sitting – waiting. She glanced at her watch again, for the third time in three minutes. Ten past twelve. He was 25 minutes late. She was beginning to feel foolish, how long should she wait before deciding she'd been humiliated enough and get up and leave? Perhaps she should have picked him up at the airport, but there was always the chance of running into someone she knew. It had seemed like an easy plan, meet in the lobby, go to lunch, get to know one another personally. Yet here she was sitting in an overstuffed chair, which was too large to be comfortable, and beginning to feel more and more like an idiot. She glanced over at the reception desk again to see if there was anyone that looked like him checking in. A new group had just arrived and it was hard to see the faces from across the large open room. She had already strolled around nonchalantly and looked at the paintings depicting local scenes on the walls. She had studied the pottery display and the elaborate flower arrangements, and then returned again to the now familiar chair.

She decided to go to the bathroom and maybe he'd be there when she returned. She already had been once to freshen up after the drive and brush her hair. This time she peered at her reflection in the mirror and unexpectedly her eyes began to mist as tears welled up and threatened to spill down her cheeks. "Damm," she thought as she rummaged for a Kleenex in her bag, "that's all I need, to start crying now." She blotted her eyes and the tears receded. She turned and leant back on the marble counter top and stared at the row of stall doors. Now what to do? Half an hour, definitely too long. Now she was not just foolish but ridiculous. She must leave. She knew she must, and preserve what dignity she still had left.

Suddenly her cell phone rang making her jump involuntarily. She had given him her number, but he hadn't reciprocated. She found the small phone and answered it. At once the voice said, "I'm really, really sorry. I had to take a long distance call and just couldn't get him off the line. I'm up in my room, why don't you come up? I could order room service. " "You know I can't do that" she responded quickly. "Then I'll be right down." He said. She flipped the phone closed and headed for the door. She didn't stop in the lobby, but handed her parking ticket to the valet and fidgeted nervously while he went to retrieve the car. She should never have imagined that this could work, it was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done. Imagine at her age thinking a clandestine meeting would be magical and exciting. Now it was just stressful and dumb. She glanced back inside, still no sign of him. Her car pulled up at the curb and she tipped the young man and climbed behind the wheel. She felt disoriented though, and sat trying to collect herself before buckling her seat belt. She had looked forward to this meeting and now it had come to nothing. She had schemed to free up this one day and thought it would be special. Now she had the whole day in front of her and didn't know what to do with it. She put the car in gear, still trying to decide where she was going.

As she looked one last time towards the lobby entrance, she saw a tall figure running towards the sidewalk, he was calling her name. She gently put her foot down on the accelerator pedal brushing tears and hair back from her face simultaneously.

The Meeting – Part 2

His gaze focused on her car as he ran across the lobby. His heart beat rapidly from both the urgency of his sprint from his room and from the sight of her car dissolving into the distance. His first thought was to follow her. But it didn't take long for him to realize that such an attempt was clearly hopeless. By the time he got his car she would be in Liverpool.

He held the heavy glass door open with his right hand as he stood in the opening and watched her Jaguar disappear behind a distant corner. He stood there for a moment longer and watched the corner that had consumed her. It was his first trip to London and so far it hadn't been a happy one.

He walked slowly back up to his room and as myriad thoughts wandered through his mind. One would settle and he would ponder it for a moment. Only to feel it drift away and then he would feel the urgency of its replacement.

At first he thought back to the first time that he heard the final confirmation that he would be coming. The Saint James Hotel. Knights Bridge. All that it implied. All the feelings that it awoke in him. Even the name was romantic. There was a certain ring to the words. They evoked a time when men were men and women were beautiful.

And soon those thoughts were replaced with the memory of the first time that he had seen Layla. She was a beautiful woman. There was little doubt of that. He remembered the way that the sun shone through the golden curls that framed her stunning face. But more than beauty she had a certain something. A certain presence. A something that grabbed him and would not let him go.

He nursed a drink and let his gaze drift slowly across the papers that lay in wild abandon around the room. Stock analysis reports. Quarterly sales forecasts. Legal briefs. Such were the stock in trade of a CEO. Running a company had been his life for more years than he cared to remember. So many years that the Captain's role had become a integral part of who he was. And as he looked at all the paraphernalia of commerce his thoughts returned to the sight of the red jaguar almost sliding around the corner in its hurry to abandon him.

And as he focused on the last phone call the anger began to burn inside him. WHY hadn't she waited? Why on earth had she left? Especially in such a hurry. It was inconsiderate. Damn inconsiderate. Hadn't he told her that he was coming? He had even invited her up. He might understand why she wouldn't come up to join him … to submit to something that was fundamentally his territory. But she could at least have waited for him. Especially after he called and told her that he was coming.

And his anger glowed hotter as he thought about it. It dawned on him that someone like her would have NO idea of how busy he was. Did she have ANY idea of how much he had to do in a day? How would she like to try to get off a conference call just to do a lunch? What, exactly, did she expect him to do? It wasn't like they were haggling over a few quid. There were forty million pounds riding on the outcome of that call. And she couldn't wait a few minutes to allow him to finish.

He mind turned the situation over and over as the sun began to sink lower into the cool haze of the afternoon. And as he thought it over his heart began to soften. He had been pretty late. And it must have been a little stressful not knowing when he was coming. And in his mind he could see her. Waiting in the lobby, and as the image sharpened his heart began to loosen even further.

He walked across the room and reached for the cell phone that he had tossed across the counter. He opened the cover and held it to his ear. The dial tone greeted him and he took it down and studied the numbers. Then he hesitated for one more moment, and slowly dialed her number into the tiny pad. And then moved the phone back to his ear.

The first ring surprised him with its tone. Not like an American ring. That long rolling sound. But instead a couple of quick snaps of sound. More like tiny horns. Then a moment of silence. He wondered if she would answer. He wondered if it was better if she didn't. He wondered exactly what he would say if she did. Then the second pair of horn-blasts echoed in his ear. And once again the silence. And by now his heart was racing. And he could even feel the sweat forming in his palm. Literally. And just as the horn came up for one more round he snapped the cover closed.

He tossed the phone back across the dresser and strode quickly and surely back across the room and out the glass doors that led to the outside balcony. And as the cool air hit him in the face he asked himself what he was doing. He was a powerful man. Many years of fierce competition had taught him that. He played to win. Everyday. It was the nature of power. And that power had become a part of his life force. There were some things that he was, and some that he was not. But two things were sure. He was a man of power, and a man of wealth.

And another thing was equally certain. He was hardly in need of a woman. His thoughts turned for a moment to his wife's face. Mildred. The perfect wife. Everything that every man needed. At least everything that any CEO needed. Dripping in social graces. She KNEW how to run a party. And how to please the A list. And she knew how to impress the clients. More than a few sales had proceeded directly from the application of one of Mildred's smiles.

He thought of how often people found her cold. So what? She was an intelligent woman. That much for sure. A woman of no little power in her own right. And as for being cold, well, sometimes life involved certain tradeoffs. He chuckled slightly as he thought of the response that always waited, crouching and ready at the tip of her tongue. "Well, I may be a little rigid, but remember, even Hitler had his good points. He may have been a little rigid too, but at least he made the trains run on time."

And even though she was a little cold, well, if he was being honest, almost completely cold, she was good for business. And she did provide sex pretty much on demand. How could she not. She understood the rules. The way the game was played. He could pick what he wanted. Pretty much like ordering up from a menu. And like everything else that she did Mildred was good at it. At least in terms of execution. It was obvious that she didn't have much real interest. But she was adept at bringing it to conclusion with increasing rapidity. She even joked about keeping records of how long it took. And striving to beat her own record. Always the competitor. He struggled to smile as he thought of it. But the struggle was growing harder. At least they belonged together. A perfect match. Or at least so it would appear. In fact, he was sure that if took a pole of their friends he would find that they all believed that he and Mildred had it all. By a wide margin.

Then a blast of cold air bit into his face and he stepped abruptly back from the open terrace. He quickly closed the doors and retraced his steps back across the room. Layla was an idiot to walk out on him. Did she have any idea how many woman would rush in to replace her? He was quite sure that Mildred knew. If Mildred wasn't there he could snap his fingers and a dozen women would sprint in to fill the void. Who did Layla think she was?

As he settled back into his leather chair and picked up the forecast for Q3 production at the plant in Madrid. Maybe this trip could be salvaged after all. For all these years he had relied on his plants in Europe to provide a quarter of his annual revenue. But for all these years he had managed to avoid coming across the pond. Who needed it? He had lieutenants for that. He hardly had the time to be running around the world. And it was a long plane ride. And besides, he'd seen the pictures. And he never could quite get it. He could never comprehend all the hubbub that Americans had about going to Europe. As far as he could tell Europe needed paint.

All this way just to meet a woman. He could scarcely believe that he had really done it. What if his VP's were to ever find out the truth. They'd laugh him out of the country. He thought of what he had done and once more found it to be beyond belief. Then he thought of the conversations he had had with Layla. Ever since he first saw her at the conference in New York. His face reddened as he thought of all the things he had said to her. And of the things that she had said to him. And now he had flown all the way over here and she just walked out on him. And even after he TOLD her that he would be right down.

The old anger began to return as he thought of it. And he picked up the report and began to read it over one more time. The columns of figures appeared before him

And it worked. Just like it always did. His mind consumed the numbers. Merged them. Shredded them. Evaluated them. And as he did his anger began to dwindle. He wasn't angry with her anymore. In fact, he didn't think of her at all. His mind was filled now. Busy. Placated.

He worked for another hour and he barely noticed that the time was passing. He was good at what he did. And he knew it. And the effort it took to concentrate on the complex rows of numbers drove her memory deeper into the recesses of his mind. And the drug was effective. As it always was.

But after another hour he glanced up and saw the orange ball of the sun sinking slowly into a layer of fog that clung to the distant hillsides. And as he watched his heart began to find its way back into his existence. He rose suddenly and once again he crossed the distance to the balcony. He stood for a moment looking across the rooftops of London. All the red tile roofs. So many with multiple chimneys sticking out the top. And he saw the tiny backyard gardens. And the little urban parks that occupied the center of so many roadways. And then his eyes focused on the children playing cricket in the roadway not a block away. He saw their tender faces and even in the gloom of evening he could see how intently they clutched their makeshift bats.

And then in a flood of memory he remembered the first time that he had called her. He remembered how he had asked her where she was. And how he had listened as she had described every inch in glowing detail. He remembered the richness of her voice as she talked about the way the light was glancing off the distant rooftops. And he remembered how she had told him of the children playing cricket in the park.

And as his eyes searched the city his heart was once again filled with the wonder of her presence. He felt her like a shadow. Standing beside him even though she wasn't really there. And he felt the mystery of her as it filled the room. There were so many things about her. Some that were easy to grasp. The way her hair curled in locks around her face. The glint of her eye and the shape of her cheekbones. And the way she glided across the floor when she entered a room. And the way her silky dress clung to her body, sliding slowly across her breasts as she turned to speak to him. The way the muscles in her long legs tightened as she climbed the stairs.

Part of her attraction was clear. The feeling he got when he saw her lean over to pick up a box of paper was pretty simple. And fully primal. It took less than a second for him to feel the pressure building in his trim tweed pants. Her body flowed like quicksilver as she leaned over. Her tight skirt rose up revealing more and more of her thigh. He held his breath as he watched it moving. He wondered how far it would go. And he wondered what secrets lay beneath it. And when it stopped he watched how it stretched out over her rounded buttocks.

And the feeling that the movement generated was quite familiar. It was one that had been brought to him by many women. And now small number had been worth the anticipation. The feeling of his penis growing harder. The feeling of the climax building. The feeling of utter pleasure as it exploded. And the accompanying feeling of possession. They were his for the taking. One of the trappings of power. And he knew that when he saw Layla bending over for the box those feelings were really not that different from all the others.

But he knew there was something else. Something he couldn't explain. Feelings he couldn't even believe, much less articulate. Feelings that he certainly couldn't acknowledge, even to himself. As the flood of memories continued he thought back over all the times he had talked to her on the phone. And he finally acknowledged to himself how much his life had changed since he had met her. And as the last rays of the dying sun burst into the western sky he remembered once again how she had shared with him the feeling of her city. And how for the first time in his life he had wanted to come to see it.

But most of all he had wanted to come to see her. He remembered how much he had wanted to once more fill his heart with the vision of her face. How much he had wanted to feel his fingers gently touch her face. How much he had wanted to feel her voice. How much he had wanted to feel her arms around him. Holding him firmly to her breast.

As the darkness gathered round him he strained to hold onto the last remnants of the day. And as he felt her imagined arms folding gently but firmly around him. And as he felt the warmness of her body close to his. And as he felt the warmth of her breath as she whispered "I have waited so much for you coming" his heart grew heavier and heavier by the moment. And as the wave of memories and imagined magic flooded together in his heart he realized that something was happening that he hadn't felt for so many years that he could scarce remember. He tried to stop it coming. He struggled for control. He told himself that this was ridiculous. He told himself that he wouldn't let it happen. But it was all for naught.

As he stepped back from the clinging night he closed the doors in front of him. As he heard them click together he struggled one last time for control but it was hopeless. Then he raised two fingers to his own cheek. And with the fingertips he gently wiped away a single tear. Maybe he never would know what was so special about her. But one thing was for sure. He had lost the most important person that he had ever known. And he would never find her again. Of this much he was certain. And all because of his own stupidity. His own arrogance. His own selfishness.

For the last time he crossed the room. And sat down once again in the massive chair. And the sadness of the moment settled all around him. And he could feel her presence even stronger, even though he knew she wasn't there. And his mind drifted back to Mildred. And the parties. And his so called friends. And all the years of late night meetings. And in one massive wave he felt the emptiness of it all. And in one full moment he realized how useless it all was.

And as the tears built in his eyes, his vision clouded. And his heart grew even more heavy as he realized for the first time why he wanted her so badly. True, his manliness grew in response to her sliding skirt. And he would have been lying if he had said that there wasn't part of him who wanted nothing more than to feel his throbbing shaft slide for the first time into her wet and waiting treasure. But it was more than that. Oh, it was so much more than that. He wanted her in ways that were far more powerful than simply sex alone.

The tears now streamed down from his cheeks, and through his clouded vision he reached out and picked up a tourist book that was laying on the dresser. And as he searched the pictures he realized that he needed her. In ways that he could dare to even imagine. His puffy eyes searched the image on the cover. The beautiful lazy river. The old stone bridge that arched over from one side to another. The lovely green grass that clung to both its banks. And as he held it close a pair of teardrops fell onto the cover.

And when his eyes focused on the white swans that floated on the river he finally realized why he needed her so badly. He finally realized why her power over him was so immense. Before he had met her he would never have noticed the gracefulness of the drifting swans. Before he met her he would never have felt the sunset. She had given him so much. And she had asked for so little. She had made him feel like a boy again. … And then it hit him like a hard thrown stone. Above all else, she had made him feel alive. For the first time in his life.