"Hi! I'm going to be in town for work this weekend. I was wondering if dinner would interest you? I know it's short notice."
I stared at the computer screen. There it was, right next to the picture of his still handsome face. The face I had imprinted into my memory 8 long years before, kept along with the cadence of his voice, the pattern of his breathing, the feel of his hands on my body. I shut the computer and stalked outside to the driveway, smoking quietly and looking up at the few stars revealed to me here in the city. The sky here is never black...only shades of blue or orange or purple.
I thought back to the dream. Unbidden, after so many years and so many miles, vivid, the smell of his skin as he held me close and explained, so carefully, the mysteries he knew of the same stars I now saw wheeling overhead. I have always considered myself a realist, never bought into the hoodoo bullshit of omens or pre-destiny. Even so, at that silent moment it was hard not to imagine as I crushed the cigarette dead beneath my heel that maybe I was caught up in something greater. After all, the stars were.
"All right! Dinner sounds great, but that's it. I'm working hard at being good these days. Saturday if you can. XOXO"
Goodness has never been my strong suit. To marry was the right choice, the good choice. I didn't suspect, in my naivety, that my blood would still sing when I smelled that clean, masculine scent. That the taste of sweat on a hot summer day would leave me so completely disarmed. But months had passed, and now I was good again, at what price and what pain, but good I was.
And now him, oh dammit him! "Just dinner" I whispered to myself over and over as the steam from the bathtub hazed the air. Traitor hands slipped over my soapy thighs, reaching in to caress my most secret places. "Just dinner...", but my body betrayed me as my blood rose. She always tells the truth.
Dressing carefully. Skirt? Jeans? Another humid night, early summer in the south. A sundress then. The white linen, bridal, virginal even...I giggled to myself. My favorite belt with it's winding pattern of birds and trees and flowers. Silky mesh panties and bra, just enough trim of black lace to counteract the implied purity of the dress. As I slipped on my beaded sandles I wondered again what I was inviting on myself, what the stars meant. Why then to shave and trim and wash so carefully? To smooth perfumed lotion over every inch of my body, if it were only dinner? Fantasy, just for fantasy. Fantasy is good right?
I sang along to the song on the stereo as I applied my makeup, transforming an average face into one that I knew men (and a few women) looked more than once at. I eyed myself in the mirror. Beautiful? No. But striking maybe, and that would be enough. I flicked my short strawberry blonde hair a bit more to the side with my fingers, wished myself a silent word of good luck, and headed down the stairs to dinner. Just dinner.
The petite, smiling hostess opened the door for me and I felt the cool blast of air conditioning wash over me. It wasn't difficult to force a smile, to enjoy the loveliness of her glossy black hair, bright dark eyes. I allowed it to refocus my thoughts, to ease my nervousness. Loosen the clutch on my purse.
"I'm meeting a friend, I wonder if he is here yet?" I stammer.
"Oh, he is," she breathes in her lilting voice, her Spanish accent adding to her incredibly exotic appeal. She leans to me, confidentially, like a best girlfriend. "He told me he was expecting a beautiful blonde woman with a mouth made for kissing. I will bring you to his table Erin."
My cheeks burned as I looked at the other diners, she leading me along, her firm tiny ass twitching back and forth beneath the tailored black pants she wore. Blondes? Check. Every restaurant table in Charlotte boasts at least one blonde any day of the week. Beauty? At a place of this caliber (figure him to choose it, I knew he was doing well these days) all of the women under 50 were at least eights, and most of those over 50 as well. I licked my lips...that had to be the only clue. In this age of collagen injections and botox, the natural fullness of my mouth was as unique as the fine smile lines at the corners of my eyes, the soft sloping contours of my breasts, the pucker of skin at the base of my belly from my son.
She had stopped and I quickly raised my eyes from her ass, embarrassed to be caught. And there before me, the face of the man I had loved and loved, and left, and lost. He smiled at me, and I remembered the stars and thought to myself "25, oh god I was 25, he'll see. I'm not her anymore."
Her hand reached out, steadying me silently as she took my elbow. "Is this your blonde, Alan?", she asked coyly, smiling.
"Oh yes, that's her." He reached to me, his hand sliding into mine, warm and gentle.
Once again, she favored us both with her brilliant smile. "Well then we are all well met, and I will see to my other guests. I truly hope you enjoy your evening." With a teasing wink she turned, her long hair swirling, leaving us with the click of her stiletto heels on the hardwood floor.
"Hello Erin"
"Hello Alan. I'm, oh shit, I'm so happy to see you."
One step and I was in his arms. I pressed my face into his shoulder as he held me close, his lips against my ear. "I'm happy to see you too." he whispered while I felt his heart beating against mine through the thin fabric of the black shirt he wore.
My eyes watered and I pulled back, not now, no not now.
"Um, I need a drink Alan." I said.
"Well sit then, and I will buy you as many drinks as you like."
