The intense sun reflected from the white of the tent would have blinded me except for the sunglasses. Stepping out of the car I was struck by the contrasting colors; the rust red cliffs surrounding the valley, the green of the pasture offsetting the brown of the sage brush laden hills in between, the pure white of the tent and pasture fence, the off white of the parking lot gravel. The first impression of solid colors as my eyes surveyed the hills and valley changed as my eyes adapted from following the blacktop ribbon of the road. Reds blended to browns, browns to grays and greens, greens to grays and browns. Nearer in, the caterers were backed up to the tent unloading food and drinks in preparation for the party about to begin.
"There's Shelly," my wife Kathy said "we're only 20 minutes late. Practically on time, for us," she laughed. "Will you be OK?"
"Of course, I'll be fine. You just take care of what you've got to do and I'll be fine." Kathy walked off toward Shelly with a wave. I waved back when Shelly's hand acknowledged me, and then turned my attention back toward the big top. I saw cases of beer, maybe some was already cold. Just what I needed.
The party was a wedding reception. Shelly and her new husband Ken had been married out of town the previous weekend, and this was their big hometown party. Just outside of Las Vegas, the location was a perfect "old west" portion of Nevada that gamblers and show goers never see. Maybe fifteen hundred feet above the valley floor, the temperature was definitely cooler than it had been when we left town. The promise of a wonderfully cool, but not chilly, evening seemed to show that Shelly and Ken knew what they were doing when they planned an outdoor reception in September. Kathy was supposed to help with the guest book and greeting, which left me to fend for myself.
The shade under the tent, in contrast to the bright sunshine outside, made it seem almost dark. I pulled my glasses off, and wandered over toward the boxes of beer and soda. I must have looked obvious; one of the girls said "the cold ones are over there" and pointed to several large tubs of ice -- and beer. I took a cold one and slid into a corner to watch the happenings.
Kathy and Shelly had known each other for years. When Kathy was in High School, she had been Shelly's babysitter during the summers. They had become good friends, and remained so, despite the age difference. Shelly had moved to Las Vegas about 5 years before, but when she called, it was an automatic that we were there. Ken and I had hit it off OK, but we didn't have twenty years of history behind us. This was their party however; I was just along for the ride.
The caterers were swift and efficient. I soon found that my corner was where the dance floor was to be set up, so my chair departed back to the stack. Grabbing a new beer, I departed to investigate our surroundings and wander the meadow. The uphill slope toward the back of the meadow enticed me to see what was at the far end. I was wondering if it was used for horses or what when I realized I was about to step in a cows calling card that answered my question. It wasn't fresh, but still, I began to watch my step a little closer.
Approaching the upper edge of the pasture I stopped and looked back and realized we were actually on a steeper hillside than I'd first imagined. The entire valley sloped down from above, optical illusion made it look flat if you didn't take in the whole picture. Now, from my vantage point several hundred yards further up the hillside, I could see the entire valley, and through the pass, the still sunlight bathed city of Las Vegas in the far distance. Here the shadows had begun to encroach on the harsh midday sun and, with the shade, the temperatures began to ease.
I found a man gate, designed so that humans could step around and through the fence, but animals would be locked in. Stepping through, I was instantly into the sage hill. Following the trail for just a few yards I came to the edge. From there it descended to the next valley. Another pasture was visible in the distance, seeming unnaturally green against the dry brown contrast of the sage. That one was complete with cattle. I wondered if they might have been the cows that left the pie I almost found.
A large boulder provided a seat, which I used as I surveyed the valley and hills. The layers in the hills were plainly visible; and like many places in the west the bending and sloping of those layers told of the mighty geologic forces that had created the scenic wonders that we see today. Just over the crest of the hill, the sound of the party creation disappeared, the road noise disappeared, and the sight of Las Vegas disappeared. If not for the fenced pasture and cattle far below, I was probably looking at the land exactly as it had been for thousands of years. But, my beer was gone, and although it was cooling down -- it was time for another.
Walking down the pasture I could see the still sparsely populated parking lot had nearly twice as many cars as before. Glancing down the road into town, I could see for maybe ten miles. Whereas before it was empty, now I could see several cars coming our way and surmised correctly they were all party goers on their way up. I meandered into the tent and found everything now set up; the first attendees already wandering around and greeting each other.
I grabbed another beer, and found myself waved over by Ken who introduced me to several of his friends and relatives. For the next hour, as more and more people arrived, the introductions and "So tell me once again, who do you know?" questions occupied my time. My beer gone again, I headed over to the drink area to find a bottle of water. I fished one out of the tub, and turning saw her for the first time.
She was walking across the pasture from the parking area. Her husband walked beside her, each with one of two young children in tow. Her medium length black hair contrasted with the white off the shoulder blouse which covered her breasts but, even from the distance, I could tell left a tremendous amount of cleavage visible. A colorful Mexican style full skirt hid the rest of her body from sight, but somehow I had no doubt that she was well proportioned everywhere. She reminded me of someone... I couldn't quite place it. A movie... Marisa Tomei? Oh yes, Catherine Zeta Jones in Zorro.
I took my water and moving to a corner table sat and admired the young mother as she and her family found a spot. How old was she I wondered. 28? 30? Easily ten years, or more, younger than me. The children were what, maybe 5 or 6? Yeah, probably 30 was a good guess. Wow. If only I'd met her...." I became distracted by something else, and then the call to "come and git it," and when I looked back she was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, I was in no hurry and there was plenty of food. Another beer, some more socializing, and then the suggestion again that it was time to get in line.
I turned toward the line and as I did, my eyes locked for an instant with those of the young mother. It was one of those fleeting things, one of those instances across a room where you know someone was looking at you, and you know that they know that you know. Her eyes moved, but not before I had seen through her eyes and into her mind. I was instantly sure, but when she didn't look back immediately, I began to doubt. She'd been looking at me, I knew it. The faint hesitation, the slight flush of embarrassment as she knew she'd been caught. Or had I just imagined it, was it wishful thinking? As I examined her from behind, the gentle curve of her backside where the skirt fell away, the slightly visible bra strap through her white blouse, I found myself fantasizing. She turned; perhaps she felt my eyes examining her. Her gaze swept the tent, and I caught just the slightest of hesitation as she swept across my face, her eyes locking for just an instant with mine.
I became distracted with conversation, but later as I began to glance up toward her I caught her turning away. Again, one of those slightly awkward movements that said she was looking away just because I was looking up, otherwise she wouldn't have been looking away. "Damn," I thought, "could she be interested in me? God she's gorgeous."
The small talk continued around me, distracting, but not so much that I couldn't observe her and her family. Her husband was ahead of her and the two kids; with them -- but yet -- not. She spoke to the daughter, picked up the son, put him back down and said something to her oblivious husband. He turned, momentarily took the sons hand, and then moments later turned away and forgot his son again. Although they stood together, it was obvious they were in two groups: him, and the three of them.
I'd just filled my plate with food when suddenly Kathy was by my side, taking my arm and steering me toward a table where she and our hosts were already sitting. I socialized with everyone, but my mind was on the black haired young mother that had caught my fancy. Kathy had graduated us to drinks of spiked lemonade (or was that diluted vodka?). I emptied mine, and noticed that hers was nearly empty. Taking both, I stood to head toward the drink table for refills. As I looked up, the young mother was picking her way between the tables, a young child in each hand. They arrived at the table where she helped them each get a drink, and when she bent over to retrieve a bottle of water just as I got there, I was treated to an unobstructed view of her bare chest and cleavage. She straightened up, realizing I was standing and waiting. As her eyes met mine, there it was again - that flash of recognition, the electric spark of desire, and the shock of me unexpectedly being so close. She flushed slightly, an awkward pause even though nothing had been said. There it was again, and now I was sure.
"Cute kids" I said, giving her a way out.
"Oh, thanks." Her voice was as intoxicating as her face. She busied herself getting the kids and their drinks pointed back toward the table.
"Have you tried the lemonade?"
