© 2020 Victor Cabana
It's HIM!
Deb's exclamation to herself is immediate when the glass of wine is placed before her and she follows the waitress's eyes as she announces, "Compliments of the gentleman." Indicating the man in the corner booth. The man Deb had noticed often as she chatted with her friends at their usual Friday Happy Hour gathering. Awfully good looking to be sitting alone in the bar, just reading. Her interest had piqued further when he had gently rebuffed the advances of several attractive women.
As he strides closer she is even more intrigued. He is striking, not just handsome. Tall, broad shouldered, lean - almost gaunt, slightly curly black hair combed back, dark grey piercing eyes, sunken cheeks, perfectly fitted navy business suit, and a fluid walk, oozing confident athleticism. Maybe mid-thirties. The smile is warm, as much in his captivating eyes as his sensuous lips.
"Hello, my name is Emil Kyriakos."
Of course it is; you're a Greek god.
"I wonder, might I have a word with you?"
Deb feels the deep, mellifluous voice resonate inside her, stirring things up, but though she has no plans - John had seen to that, damn him - her innate caution flares. "Actually, I was just about to leave."
Damn it, Deb, why are you so guarded? This is very interesting. Why shut it down?
"Oh no! Please don't leave. That wine is very good. I believe King Estate Pinot Gris might be one of your favorites. Is that not so?"
OMG! It is! How could he know? Is this some kind of con? What's going on?
"Well, it is, but I really do need to be going."
"But it's written right here," he gestures to the small book in his left hand -
Hmm, no wedding ring or telltale white, untanned circle -
"that, though you do say it, you really have nowhere you need to be. Is that not correct?"
Well, yes, that's right, but this is weird, maybe creepy.
"Is that what it says? Really?" Deb is surprised by how cold, accusatory her tone is.
Emil recoils, distressed. "Please accept my apology. I know this must appear very strange, but I promise that I am not a threat. Look around. Though the crowd has thinned there are still many people. You're completely safe. Please allow me to explain. May I sit while I do?"
He's right; this is my favorite hangout, Joe's behind the bar, Alice is serving drinks, all as usual. Why am I always so wary, so controlled? Come on, Deb, be daring. For once in your life. I love his voice, that accent...
"All right, just for a moment."
"Many thanks. When my afternoon meeting ended early and I had nothing else scheduled, I browsed in the used bookstore, the one just up the street. I discovered this, in the back of the store, covered in dust, hidden amongst other books. Here." He hands it to her.
My, what strong hands, you have, Emil. The better to... No, don't go there, Deb.
The small booklet is ornate, tooled-leather bound, with gold leaf trim. There is no writing on the cover. Deb opens it and finds the title, Scenario, written on the first page. There is no author or other information given.
"It's very nice," Deb says as she turns to the second page and sees: "Dear reader, if you have come upon this volume it is not happenstance. It is ordained by fate." The text, like the title, is in large, beautiful calligraphy, and though tempted to read on, she feels it would be rude to do so in his presence. She closes the book and hands it back.
Her heart flutters and she blushes slightly when she sees that he has been staring intently at her face.
"It's certainly a nice book, but I fail to see..."
The infectious smile comes back to those sensual lips. "Ah, then you didn't read far enough. Where did you stop?'
"'It is ordained by fate.'"
"Please, read more, or may I, just a bit? It will explain everything, I believe."
How intriguing. OK, Emil, read on. I'll sit here and bask in your voice. Nod, Deb. All right, it's OK that I smiled, too.
His voice is even deeper, more resonant, "If you are interested in adventure, in discovering your true fate, purchase this book." He turns the page, saying "Of course I was fascinated, so I did." His eyes flash to hers. They smile, replete with whimsy and enthusiasm for the unfolding mystery.
He reads, "Now, as the new owner of Scenario, play it out, follow the script. At 5 PM adjourn to a nearby bar on this very day, the one in which the book is acquired. It is foreordained that there you will have a most interesting and enlightening encounter. You will know with whom when you see him or her. After that person's companions have departed, order your fated friend a glass of wine. King Estate Pinot Gris will be a favorite."
"See, it's right here," Emil says, leaning close and showing the passage to Deb.
My God! It is! How is this possible? Hmm, that's nice cologne.
"I'll read on: When the wine is delivered, walk to the table and introduce yourself. Your new friend will aver that he or she must go, has things to do. This will not be correct. Point that out and meet his or her natural skepticism by revealing this book. Be persuasive, as your friendship, your similar views on important matters, the congruency of your personalities, is fated. Encourage him or her to read this in the book for him or herself, or read it aloud." Emil stops and tilts the book to her, pointing to the passage he has just read.
Deb leans toward him, enjoys another faint whiff of his scent, and finds herself hoping that her perfume, applied early this morning, has survived the work day. She sees enough to confirm what he has read, and closes her mouth when she realizes it is agape. "Goodness. That is amazing."
"It truly is, isn't it? This curious little volume accurately predicts your taste in wine and that you would say you had to go when you really have no pressing appointment. I cannot imagine how this is possible. Please, may I stay just a bit longer so we can determine if we do, in fact, have similar interests and attitudes? As prophesied?"
God, I certainly love hearing his voice, that accent, and this situation is very appealing. Come on, Deb, be daring, for once in your life.
"What did you say your name was?" She remembers perfectly, but wants to hear him say it again.
"Emil Kyriakos, at your service," he bows his head ever so slightly and accents the first syllable of his first name and the "ah," of the last.
"Greek?"
"Guilty as charged. My father was born in Athens, and my mother, well, my mother is a woman of the world. She is highly intelligent, very beautiful, and athletic, just like you. Let me guess - tennis?"
Oh my God! Is he psychic?
"Is that also in 'the book?'"
His delighted laughter is infectious. "Ha! Intelligent and witty, in addition to being beautiful. No, it's not in the book, but I am observant. You are obviously fit, athletic, spend time in the sun, and your right forearm is slightly more developed than your left. Ergo, you're a tennis player. Now, you have me at a distinct disadvantage. Might you divulge to me your name?" The last sentence is delivered sotto voce, asking for the key to the clandestine conspiracy afoot.
Deb feels the warm flush in her cheeks when he calls her beautiful. She knows, no, she believes, that it is not true. She feels like an over-the-hill 34 year-old matron whose biological clock is racing far too fast. Her driver's license says she is 5' 7" and 117 lbs. But she lied about the second number. Just a bit. She's heard herself described as lithe and shapely with that "je ne sais quoi" appeal, and under truth serum would admit that she does like her legs and ass. But buying B-cup bras all her adult life makes Deb doubt that "shapely" applies, despite her broad shoulders, narrow waist and rounded hips. Her face is classic, long and noble, her nose perhaps a bit too prominent, her lips full and lush, and the hazel streaks in her almost too large green eyes perfectly compliment her auburn hair. But his saying it, deeming her beautiful, feels a soothing salve on an open sore, the one inflicted by John's frequent nitpicking and harping.
"I'm Deb, Deb Mason." It sounds flat and banal to her, especially in comparison to the exotic Emil Kyriakos.
"Ah, Deborah. The Old Testament judge." Though she has disliked her given name since childhood, when he elongates, and seems to savor every syllable, on his tongue it is melodious, alluring, even wonderful. "Do you mind if I use your full name. It's very lovely, like its owner."
She feels the blush again. "It's fine."
Having surveyed the bar, which now is nearly empty, Emil says, "Alas, it seems that happy hour has turned melancholy. I wonder, Deborah,"
I love the way he says it!
"Might I entice you to dine with me this evening? I am a visitor in town, have nowhere to go, no one to meet, and am enjoying your company very much. Please say 'yes.' I read ahead in the book while waiting for your colleagues to depart and it predicts that we sup together. What say you?"
Deb is torn. Her erect nipples pressing against her bra are tingling, direct evidence that she is aroused by, highly attracted to, this Greek god. By his refined, old-world charm, his appealing accent with his oh-so-proper English, and his powerful physical presence exuding maleness. But the situation with the book is odd, perhaps suspect, and she suddenly feels her customary caution overtake her when her internal guardian angel whispers,
This can't be real and could even be dangerous.
"Does this actually work?" her voice is harder, more cynical than she intended and Deb is dismayed at its timbre. And his reaction.
Emil's face is perplexed, suddenly concerned, "Does what work?"
"This pick-up technique you've been using on me. Emil, you are charming but, really, this mysterious book approach is just too much. It's off-putting. I'm afraid that I need to go. Now."
