Noticing a beautiful woman is one thing. Not being able to stop staring at her is quite another. Not only is it rude but it usually makes the woman who notices uncomfortable. So that Saturday morning in Harvard Square so many years ago was like any other until she came into my range of view. I was sitting at one of the coffee shop's outdoor tables enjoying my coffee and bagel while reading the newspaper and then there she was just as I was about to start the sports pages, my favorite part of the newspaper.
I will do her an injustice by attempting to describe her. She was tall and thin. My tastes generally don't go towards the particularly thing woman however she had these dark expressive eyes that were set off by her even more expressive eye brows. She had a wide mouth with pouty lips. These are lips that men and women dream of kissing. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She was wearing a billowy white blouse and jeans which kept the details beneath them a secret for the most part. Yet her beauty was undeniable and as she sat down I saw more than one man twist his head to look at her. She looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s.
She sat facing me, only a table away, and I looked down at her hands. Her fingers were long and beautiful. I noticed a rather large diamond engagement ring on her finger in front of her wedding band. I thought of how lucky some guy was to have this beautiful creature in his life and how I hoped she was something more than just a trophy wife.
I really wanted to sit there and stare at her for a long time but told myself it was rude and cause her discomfort. But I found it nearly impossible to not keep looking up from my newspaper to look into her face one more time. Each time I looked up she seemed more beautiful than the last. Although she was obviously tanned it was equally obvious that she was naturally dark as someone of Italian or Spanish heritage would be. But as I kept looking I thought maybe she was Turkish or Lebanese. I played these little games all the time but of course almost never was able to satisfy my curiosity.
"Do I know you?" Her annoyance was quite obvious when next I looked at her.
"No." I said remorsefully and in full blush.
"So why do you keep staring at me?"
"Because you're so beautiful."
"Well now there's an original pick up line," she said showing more annoyance and also holding up her left hand to be certain I could see her wedding band. "I'm married."
I should have simply apologized and left before I made things any worse. "I know but you're still beautiful." Now I was annoying myself with the way I was talking. "I'm really sorry. I just find you particularly beautiful and I was debating something with myself."
"What's that?" she asked still annoyed.
"What your heritage is. I was thinking maybe you are Lebanese." I was going to say Italian just to increase my chance at being right at something at that point but for reasons beyond me I said otherwise.
"That's right," she said softening her tone just slightly.
"I'm really sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention. But honestly, I think beauty such as yours is relatively rare."
"I guess I'm not so bad for an old broad!" She said smiling at me for the first time.
My usually ill-advised thought of presenting a woman's age managed its way out when I said, "Being 30 isn't such a bad thing."
"I couldn't agree with you more," she said with a smile, "but I'm 43 and I'll be 44 in a couple of months."
I was flabbergasted. "You're kidding me right?"
"No, why, do you really think I look 30?"
"Yes! Oh course I do. No way you're 43."
"Honey, when I graduated high school Fats Domino was talking about blue suede shoes."
"You're kidding me." I said in almost total disbelief. She smiled in response. I couldn't believe this beautiful woman was more than 12 years older than me and it was at that point I had to honestly admit to myself that I did have desires for this woman. But being the basic good boy rule follower I wasn't about to act on my feelings. She was, after all, a married woman. But I thought if I could engage he in some sort of conversation then I could look at her without her becoming angry. "Are you meeting someone here?" I asked what I thought was a truly dumb question and wished I could withdraw it before it hit her ears.
"I am, I mean, I was, but he's over an hour late so I guess I'm not."
I was confused by what she had just said and it registered on my face. She'd been there only 10 minutes at most so who could she say that. My confusion showed as she replied to it by saying, "I was going to meet my husband here. He was supposedly meeting one of his business partners to have a brief conference over coffee and I was supposed to arrive just in time to get him off the hook as he put it. But I should have known that bastard didn't have a Saturday conference." Anger was rising noticeably in her voice. "He's out with that
fucking
bitch and he think's I'm so
fucking
stupid I won't figure it out and what does he think? Does he think I'll be the good wife and brush off his absence to," she paused, "I don't know what the fuck he thinks I should attribute it to!" Her anger and voice had risen quickly.