DATELINE: Central Aegean Sea. Cyclades Islands. Mykonos. Greece
April 16th 2004.
A picture postcard sun set slowly yesterday over this picturesque island. I am here trying to earn my living. I don’t remember how I stumbled into freelance travel writing, but here I am, twenty years on. I’m here pursuing a paycheck from travel pieces promoting the opening of The Olympic Games, which begin on August 13th. I’ll probably stay in Greece for the duration, basing in Athens for the two weeks of the games. In the meantime, I’m traveling the Greek islands. I doubt I’ll ever get rich from this pursuit, but the world travel is a welcome bonus. Sometimes, other perks arise unexpectedly. April 15th brought one of those.
I had chosen to stay at The Sunset Restaurant and Tavern in Agios Ioannis. It seemed far enough away from the more tourist ridden places to allow me to concentrate on my work. It was not too busy this time of year anyway. Returning from an island tour which I had taken to do research and format my “Mykonos piece”, I sat at one of the tables outside the main restaurant. The white wood framed canopies provided enough shade from the sunset and were airy enough to make sitting outside comfortable and pleasant. I opened my laptop, started to check through my notes and tried to bring them to coherency. The restaurant was deserted, most people preferring the excitement of city nightlife. A waiter brought me the martini he was used to serving me since I had arrived. He busied himself with the other tables, although they were empty, staying close enough to watch my drink.
A light breeze cooled the evening as the sun set into a blue-green sea. Several windows of notes kept me from wandering too far from my task. The attentive waiter replaced my empty glass with a full one. I looked up as he did so. A tall fair skinned blonde seated herself at a table opposite mine. It was probably ten to twelve feet away. I had not heard her arrive. The waiter scurried to attend to her. I studied her surreptitiously. Her golden hair was short and curly, crowning a face from the cover of a fifties movie magazine. Her eyes were blue, clear, and bright .They were framed with lashes with little or no mascara, and a light blue eye shadow .Her lips were lightly frosted pink; covering white, well cared for teeth. She was wearing a crisp, white summer dress. It was the kind with a loose full skirt. It had buttons all the way from hem to bodice. The lowest two of these buttons were left undone. The neckline was fairly deep, drawing the eyes to a lightly freckled chest and the beginnings of a well defined cleavage. Her breasts were full, yet not overly proportioned for her height and slender build. I surmised that she was not wearing a bra. My gaze traveled down her body, looking beneath her table. Her knees were together, the white dress stopping just below them. I estimated her to be in her late twenties. The ensemble completed with medium heeled white sandals. The waiter placed a martini in front of her and retreated. I returned to my writing.
My article was coming along quite nicely when the waiter brought me another martini. As I looked up to receive it, I noticed that the blonde had finished hers also. I indicated that the waiter should put her replacement drink on my tab. He nodded, and took her another drink. The lady looked across the tables and smiled at me. She scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to the waiter. He nodded at the beautiful patron and brought the napkin to me. I looked up from my computer and took it from him. Unfolding it I read what she had written, “thank you”, it said, in an easy flowing hand. It was punctuated with one of those universal smiley faces. I pondered the note for a while, aware that she was looking at me over the rim of her martini glass. The smiley face was interesting, almost mischievous. I looked across and she smiled again. I resolved to be flirtatious and scribbled a reply as the waiter waited. I wrote, “You’re most welcome. But, the next will have a price tag.” I folded the napkin and gave it to the yellow vested waiter/messenger. Then I waited.
The waiter went towards the beauty ten feet or so from me. He maintained a straight face. He had probably been the bearer of many secret missives before. As he handed her the note, I closed my laptop and stared directly at her. I watched her open it. Her eyes widened perceptibly as she read it. Her face went from mild shock to amusement and she wrote on the napkin. The waiter returned to my table. I opened the napkin and saw, “?”.
I looked sideways at her and wrote my answer, folded the napkin and sent the waiter back to her table. The game was afoot as Sherlock Holmes used to say.
I watched intently as she reached up and took the napkin from our trusty messenger, still inscrutable. I watched her open it and read. I watched her face as she assimilated the words I had written and their meaning. “The price per drink is a button”, I had written. “One button undone on your dress for each martini.” I had punctuated it with a winking smiley face. I waited and watched. She looked around the patio. It was deserted except for her, me, and the waiter. She sent him back to me with the napkin. I noticed she did not write this time. I sipped on my martini. Watched her sip on hers, her lips caressing the glass, and I waited.
Finishing my drink, I summoned the waiter and ordered another. I looked across at the blonde and watched her down her drink. She looked at the empty glass, then at me. Her hand moved from the glass to the bodice of her white dress and twisted a button free from its hole. She looked both nervous and excited. The dress opened slightly revealing that the light freckles continued into that gorgeous cleavage and down onto firm breasts. I signaled the waiter with two fingers and he brought fresh martinis to each of us.
When the waiter passed me my drink I wrote once again on the napkin. He placed it beneath the glass containing her martini, and took it to her. She took the drink and the napkin. Stirring the martini with the large Greek olive, she read. “The next button on the skirt of your dress please.” She frowned, but only slightly, and sent the waiter back with the napkin, having written nothing once again. She raised her glass to her pink frosted lips and sipped.
I tried not to rush my drink as I wondered if she was still in the game. A couple appeared at the top of the patio steps and seated themselves two tables behind the blonde. I looked at them, and watched as my “drinking partner” turned and eyed them. When she looked back, she looked worried. I sent the waiter to her with the napkin. On it I had written, “Only I can see.” She opened it and read, giving no indication of her thoughts. Once again she wrote no reply and the waiter placed the napkin on my table.
The waiter attended to the order of the new couple, then hovered off to the side between my table and the one where the beautiful blonde was seated. I watched. She actually finished her drink before me and the waiter looked at her empty glass, then at me. I looked at her and downed the last of my drink. I watched intently as she leaned forward slightly. My gaze moved beneath her table and I saw her reach down and twist a button free of her dress. She looked at me almost triumphantly, and parted her legs a little. The dress drew up across her knees and fell to each side revealing her legs to mid thigh. I signaled “two” to the waiter, and he scurried away to get the drinks.
