"That's supposed to be my line." I motioned the bar tender, inviting the stunning beauty to order.
"I'll have a 'blurred orgasm' thank you." She smirked her wink.
What the...!!
"So, Princess..." I inquired inquisitively. "There are lots of other wealthy guys here, and some are pretty good looking too. A girl like you could attract anyone." I picked up the JD, more as an attempt to hide my nervousness than the desire to drink it. "Why pick me?"
"Okay, so you've got me pegged have you mister? You think I'm some wanton slut out to pick up a wealthy man, and perhaps burrow into their pockets?" She looked disappointed, and that surprised me. God she was intoxicatingly beautiful. "I'll admit I'd like the company of a man, but if you think I'm seeking more than just intelligent and pleasant conversation then you've entirely misjudged me." That statement was delivered with feeling and what I could only determine as sincerity. Those amazing eyes examined mine. "Yes. I'll admit I'd like to meet a wealthy man, and live happily ever after. What girl doesn't ever dream of that? I'm just a poor simple girl after all. But, any man I intend to spend my life with would need to be clever, interesting, caring and faithful. Being wealthy would, undeniably, be the icing on the cake, but all those other attributes take precedence." She paused to breathe. I was frozen... spellbound. "So, Mr Jack Stevens, if you do not fit any of these requirements, and are not seeking intelligent conversation then tell me now, and lets not waist anymore of each other's time." She crossed her arms beneath those magnificent breasts and sighed!
God I loved a take charge woman! This one made me dizzy. Her purple foggy vodka mix arrived, complete with a stupid umbrella and a forlorn strawberry floating on a creamy froth topping.
"Well, that having been stated, perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm Jack Stevens, but I guess you know that Miss..." I paused giving her opportunity. She was smiling from behind that bloody umbrella.
"It's good to meet you Mr Stevens, I'm Jillian Tomlinson, but everyone calls me Jill." She placed the drink and extended her hand, fluttering those lids knowing we'd already hugged, but offering the hand anyway. I clasped her offering and stupidly turned it over and kissed the back of her wrist. "You're Jack and I'm Jill." She giggled and that was it. I was hooked, landed and definitely about to be gutted.
The memory of my girl laughing and flicking that gorgeous hair back behind her ears as we conversed for hours is still chiseled into my memory banks, but strangely little else is. That memory, of our first meeting and that glorious night chatting on the mezzanine is still fresh and seems to have become 'fresher', like my brain had clung to it, revisiting that night over and over again as if that memory was the key to this blackness. But the dark has dissipated. There is a light. I hear a sound and it is a sound I barely recognized; the sound of a human voice. Like some foreign language it permeated my foggy consciousness. The sound kept up its rhythmic repetition and recognition finally dawned.
"Jack, Jack... can you hear me Jack? Jack, Jack... can you hear me Jack?" It made sense. I was Jack and someone was calling me.
Then the face of what I initially misunderstood to be angelic materialized, my preconception of a 'fluffy white angel' morphed into a focused vision of shiny black perfection. This angle eclipsed the story picture books. Why were angels depicted as white Caucasian blondes? My recognition of the one shaking me and calling out to me right now, was beautifully black and her smiling face was framed with long crinkled black flowing frizz.
"Oh my god... you're awake!! I'll call the doctor." The dark angel disappeared.
I recognized the sounds as words, but I struggled to understand meaning. The light was unbearable, and my awareness hurt. The darkness swept over me again but I could still hear sounds. Another voice sounded firm and instructional whilst the angel's voice bordered hysteria. Weird sensations seemed to prod and poke at the extremities of my world as the deeper voice demanded compliance.
Thinking back on that period of disembodiment I now realize I was experiencing the pain and confusion of waking from a deep and numbing sleep. Sensations slowly returned, conscious memory and understanding seeped back into my mind like slow moving all enveloping treacle. My brain was sparking once more as life returned.
My angels name was Kathy. She was a dark skinned beauty dressed in white, the uniform of St Augustine's Memorial. Her beautiful teeth blinded me but her smile radiated warmth. Big brown eyes examined me curiously. Kathy fussed and mothered about excitedly, explaining that I'd been asleep for nearly six years! That news was almost incomprehensible. Kathy explained that I'd fallen down the stairs in my home and hit my head, or more my neck and damaging the Reticular Activating System. Evidently the RAS is responsible for consciousness, and reawakening the body from sleep. Mine was damaged, along with further damage to my spinal column. The doctor has since told me my lower body is permanently paralyzed. Hips down; kaput!
Anyway it took three months to regain any semblance of proper functionality. It took the best part of a week and almost constant tears to come to grips with the reality of having missed nearly six years of my life, or at least six years of everyone else's!
Three days after that initial return to a world that had left me in its wake a similar angelic presence seemed to be examining me, only this one was porcelain skinned and appeared to have an aurora of brilliant red hair shimmering about and framing her flawless face. Shiny red lips whispered things I had no comprehension of, and deep green 'cat' eyes looked in on me somewhat curiously.
It took time but that image became my wife and when recognition finally dawned, I cried and attempted to hug her to me, in desperate need to feel her touch and to breathe in her essence.
Some memories eventually returned and I recalled her smiling face and those sparkling eyes shining from beneath the lacy veil signalling her pleasure and utter happiness. Our wedding day had been the happiest time of my life without question.
Thinking back I've realized that our union worked well, like we were two jigsaw pieces inadvertently discovered and found to fit together. Jill will freely admit that she was seeking out ('hunting' might be a more accurate description) a rich husband, someone above her station as they say. Her own family was poor, barely middle class and broken. Her parents had split when she was five and she hadn't seen her father for over ten years. I on the other hand had also scored above my weight grade. I knew I was 'plain' and certainly this spectacular creature could have chosen any man on the planet, but, as she continually reinforced, she wanted a loving caring faithful man and of course he had to be rich!
She wasn't one bit embarrassed about admitting that fact and I respected her for being so upfront. Jill was an intelligent woman, so conversation and mutual interest were paramount. We spent almost a year going out together, six months of which we were engaged. Yes, we just clicked.
Before I proposed I embarrassingly admitted my problem with regard to the dysfunctional plumbing. Don't get me wrong, I can satisfy my wife in the bedroom but having kids of our own would likely never happen. Jill just shrugged that off, claiming she wasn't really into kids anyway. But I could tell she was disappointed. We married privately and we've spent three wonderful years together. I worshiped my wife and the way her eyes lit up every time she saw me reaffirmed that she loved me too.
Although my work commitments stole precious hours away from her, we still spent quality time together and Jill busied herself in our new home, a modern six bedroom gated villa on the north shore. She'd organised the landscapers and workers who transformed the grounds to her design and installed a magnificent horizon pool. Jill was a natural when it came to decorating and transforming the mansion and within a year of purchase the place was a show stopper. I continually praised her ability and my beautiful princess glowed with pride and satisfaction. She had nested and now appeared content.
Two months spent waking up and readjusting meant we'd talked a lot, reliving the fun times including our first meeting; the fine details of that night still imprinted like a carved stone tablet onto my sketchy memory.
The last conversation we'd had, there in my hospital room, was equally chiseled in stone.
Jill stood demurely alongside my best friend Carl and both of the people closest to me appeared flighty and fidgety. I feared what was to come.
My best friend Carl and I were polar opposites. We were schoolboy buddies and friends thereafter. Carl befriended me when I offered him 'protection' money, to 'ward off' the bullies who seemed to delight in finding someone weaker than they were, a spoiled little rich kid who dressed impeccably and was dropped off at school by a chauffeur driven limo. Carl was the son of Swedish immigrants and his father had built up a profitable construction company the profits of which enabled sending their child to an expensive private school. Carl actually refrained from accepting my protection money once we'd entered college, insisting I help him with his class work instead. Problem was the guy was so fixed on his football that he never attended class anyway, so helping him became a non-requirement. He dropped out and went off to work for his father, eventually getting the boot for laziness, stupidly thinking and believing that his father would give him a free ride. His Dad had worked long and hard for everything he had and expected nothing less from his son. Carl had started up his own business as a building contractor but struggled due to work commitment and focus. I'd introduced him to Jill prior to our marriage and invited him to be best man, which he'd happily accepted. My wife had employed him many times when constructing the gazebo, the changing rooms out by the pool and a very elaborate El-Fresco and BBQ area. I admit he'd done a great job and Jill seemed very pleased with the result.
I had seen him a few times sitting quietly beside my hospital bed, seemingly examining every piece of plastic piping, the blinking monitors and myriad snaking equipment; everything... other than me, or at least my eyes.
So this day Jill was dressed in a blouse and jeans and her long toned legs appeared to be painted in blue denim. Her body was tight and perfect, like she'd undertaken a rigid exercise regime for the past five years. Her breathing however seemed strained, a little tense and tad raspy. But what had me painfully swallowing huge lumps of tainted air was the sighted knowledge that they held hands, their fingers entwined.
