Claire stood at the airport and felt like an idiot. She'd felt like an idiot before, but this was a new high in her forty plus years. Waiting for a man she barely knew, who wasn't expecting her, wearing something a woman half her age would, in heels. low heels, but heels, holding a sign. The sign she had made. Written in bold red lip stick. His name,on a huge piece of white card stock, with his name on it
She had argued with herself for three days about this. Ever since he'd told her his flight number, and the day of arrival. He was here for some conference or other, meet maybe for coffee, he'd said, and she had mumbled something like sure. And then gone into tailspin of doubt and fear. Meet him, not meet him. She was so unsure. And then last night, he'd called from the airport, and she had watched her phone ring on the kitchen counter and not answered it. She'd gone to bed, only to get up every hour to check the progress of his flight.
Then in a mad fit she's looked in her wardrobe found her shortest black skirt, black seamed tights, a too tight white blouse, and the matching jacket to the skirt, bra and thong. And lastly the only heels she owned. Grabbed her bag from the counter and a sheet of plain white card, and run for the tube. It had taken nearly two hours to travel across London to Heathrow, and at each stop she'd nearly got off. But at each stop her indecision had kept her rooted to the seat and she had moved ever closer.
At Heathrow the crowd had moved her along the concourse until she stood by the gateway exit point for foreign flights. The arrivals board had told what her phone had. He'd landed nearly twenty minutes earlier. She'd looked into her bag, and, of course, no pen. The red lip stick was all she had and so in bold red letters she'd scrawled his last name and held up the sign as each new flood of passengers had exited from customs. She had stood there an hour now. She knew how long it took to move though passport control, and customs, and his flight had landed nearly ninety minutes before, he should be close she thought.
Then the fear began again. She was nuts! They'd met online, played a little, well a lot really, and finally swapped phone numbers. The only picture she had seen of him was, in his own words, ten years out of date. A stupid, lop sided grin, under a mop of brown grey hair lean figure, standing between his four children, all of whom were in uniform. Coffee, yes meet him for coffee, later, or tomorrow perhaps. And the sign began to drop as the latest bunch of passengers exited, and froze. She saw him, and her heart lurched a little, but, he wasn't alone!
Her heart sagged. His head was bent, listening intently to some....some....blonde...tart! A mature woman, wearing a white skirt so tight you could clearly see her knicker elastic. Six inch black heels and a white tee that had a plunging neckline that died just above her naval. Damn it, if he dipped his head any closer she could stick her tongue in his ear. As it was he seemed to be pretty intently staring down her clevage. Fuck. She had to get out of here, and then his eyes traveled up, saw the sign, recognition of his own name, and his whole head came up and saw her, and he mouthed her name, "Claire". And somewhere, deep in her soul, a voice wailed, "SHITSHITSHIT!!!,"
Michael was tired, and bad tempered. Tired out of his mind. Somewhere out over the Atlantic this vampire woman had stuck her claws into him was just not letting go. He'd tried polite disinterest, and he'd tried to sleep as he normally would have in the flight, but she just kept talking,and talking. Boring husband, off to see the world. Ex-military, how nice. Still quite fit. She'd made a grab for his arm at that point. But a woman who trowelled her make up on, reeked of way too much scent, and a voice that made scratching a black board sound pleasant wasn't getting a look in, despite her obvious charms other wise.
What was really on his mind was why hadn't Claire picked up last night. He had called from home, and from the airport. He'd thought about paying for the wifi services on the plane just to try and reach out to her, but the harpy in the next seat had been relentless, and now she was following him off the plane and through the airport. Talk talk, bloody talk. And just they reached the gateway she'd made a move, grasping his butt in her claw like hands, and a softly spoken suggestion about breakfast. But Michael had seen his name written in red, held on white card, and the woman who held it, and he had breathed her name, And the world fell away.
Michael walked swiftly through the crowd, the vampires hand on him forgotten. She looked horrified as he steered his course towards her. And when he reached her, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he just stared for an instant. Then he stepped forward and planted a single kiss on her cheek, luxuriating for a moment in the scent of her hair and skin. He pulled back his biggest lop sided grin and smiled.
"Hello,love. I thought you didn't have time to meet me?"
And then the click of heels, and a groan, and Michael glanced around and cheerfully wished the vampire goodbye. He could see the, well whatever it was, mounting in her eyes as she looked Claire over, calculating. A woman her own age dressed in clothing that wasn't new, that had little or no make-up on wearing a single black pearl necklace, to her rings, chains and bangles. Then with a single nod and a wave of perfume, the vampire walked away.
And Michael spoke softly, "Thank Christ you was here, love..", and he turned gave a real, good, look, and taking her face in both of his hands he drew her close, and gave her a long, lingering, kiss.
Clare' s arm hung down by her side's. Her initial panic about seeing Michael for the first time, and the sudden panic he might be with someone, was now subsiding. She now wondering about this kiss. It was, well it was, had, so much passion in it. So many tines they'd talked online, on the phone, and he'd made her horny with a single word, now this kiss. Her own mouth received his tongue almost mechanically, allowing him the access he obviously wanted, and the suggestions it conveyed. He drew away from her, and gave her a big lopsided grin.
"Someone," he said, "has forgotten what she said To me three weeks ago, when I first told her I was coming."
Shit! What had she said? Oh, she would give him a kiss that would knock his socks off. She hesitated and started to move in, but he waved her off, grabbing both her hands in the process. He kissed them both at the wrist, the same silly grin in his face.
"You blew my socks off by standing here. My heads still spinning. This is the best surprise I've had, today."
"Only today?" she replied, trying to talk, "I must be slipping"
"Well, the day is yet young. You've got time to improve on it." And his head dipped again to kiss both her wrists for the second time. And then his head shot up, a slight look of panic crossed his face.
