A short tale of mutual discovery. Please enjoy yourself.
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"I don't dance, Stephanie," he said, "and I don't play childish games." He seemed irritated, frowned at me for a moment as we exited the building, grey eyes under white eyebrows.
His tone was certainly irritating. I had been trying to be polite, after all.
"So, no, thank you. I don't want a coffee, thanks."
Surrounded by refugees from the last classes on a balmy Friday, I tried not to walk too fast. His limp became apparent if he had to go too fast, tried to keep up with somebody faster.
I'd first noticed him when I was a freshman last year. He stood out on campus. He was always well-dressed, well-groomed and neat. I'd never seen him, for instance, with unpressed clothes. Today he wore immaculate white canvas slacks and shoes, a white shirt and a blue blazer. He looked like he owned Hollywood.
Older than his classmates by a generation, while not holding himself aloof, equally he made no particular effort to blend in or make friends. His white-blond hair was half white now and contrasted strongly with his tanned complexion. There was a spiderweb of barely-perceptible scars over his left cheekbone, straying down to be lost under a well-trimmed beard.
Handsome and lean, but with unusually muscular arms and shoulders, he sometimes carried a cane when the weather was cold. He was generally polite, but it was a bad idea to joke about that cane; I'd watched his acerbic tongue flay a loudmouth jock who'd teased him about his age. Tony had left him looking like an ill-mannered two-year-old and done it in such as way as the jerk couldn't even think of getting physical.
Then by some freak of computer coin-tossing, we'd been assigned each other as lab partners this year.
It turned out that a couple of his fingers were very stiff and he wasn't particularly good at stuff like dissecting frogs or working with rabbit innards. He knew what we were supposed to be doing however, usually far better than I did. He did the readings, understood the purpose of each lab session. He was focussed. We made, I thought, a pretty good team.
And he was patient and willing to help. I'd needed that help. Don't get me wrong; I'm actually quite bright. But this was an elective for me; I was a Music major and had signed up for this on a whim. And it turns out Biology is very much a left-brain thing and I'm totally right-brained — intuitive and creative vs methodical and logical. Tony's insight and suggestions had saved me a lot of work. Had he been friendlier, more open, he would have been the ideal partner.
As it was, he made very little small talk, spoke very little about himself. He showed up on time, nodded at the right places in lectures, helped me with the slimier bits in the lab when my gorge rose too much. He was well-spoken and his writing style was crisp and succinct. He seemed intelligent and in in total control of himself, master of his own universe.
Asides from that, I knew virtually nothing about him. I'd never seen him in one of the local shops or bars, nor with a woman of any age. He didn't wear a wedding ring, which might or might not have meant anything and either brushed off personal questions or else gave uninformative one-word answers. He'd mentioned that this was his first Biology course, too.
I'd seen him pulling out of a student parking lot a couple of times after class, driving a boxy old jeep, like one the British military uses. Once I thought it was him behind the wheel of a grey sports car on Western Road but it was gone before I could be sure.
Oddly, while he treated me politely, I didn't get the impression he saw me as, you know, a woman. When you sit next to a boy in class, on a bus or in a cafeteria, they notice you, politely or maybe less so. Maybe it's just a quick glance at your legs or boobs when they think you aren't looking, but they
notice.
I'd never caught Tony checking me out. At first, I thought he was just too old, but that was silly. Then I thought maybe it was that I was too young, but that didn't make any sense at all. I was pretty certain he wasn't gay. But he didn't ever seem to acknowledge me as a young and pretty woman; that was unusual and, frankly, a bit irritating.
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"So, no, thank you. I don't want a coffee," he repeated.
He stopped suddenly enough that I was three paces beyond him before I stopped and had to turn around and go back.
His eyes caught my own, assessing, appraising, penetrating.
Then he blew the socks off me.
"And neither do you, Stephanie."
His eyes locked onto mine. I hate childish staring contests. but I had no idea how to respond to that challenge. So, ok, yeah, I broke first. I'd always thought of myself as a strong, liberated, independent woman. Growing up the only girl among four children, I learned early how to hold my own. I take not the smallest bit of crap from anyone. Really. But those flinty grey eyes called my hand and I had to meekly turn over a busted flush. Blushing like crazy, I dropped my eyes as he continued.
"But if I'm wrong and it was coffee you really meant, Stephanie, then I apologize. I'll buy you a Starbucks at the Community Centre and we can work on your lab report."
A long finger rose, moved to under my chin, lifted gently it so my face was upturned, so I couldn't ignore him. His eyes were riveting, inescapable. I felt like a grounded sparrow watching an approaching cat - too frightened to try to escape, knowing that each moment made escaping that much less likely.
The cat pounced.
"Or," he continued, "if you wish, we can do something less predictable, less adolescent. I'll go to Starbucks, buy myself a coffee and wait there while you go up to your room and pack a bag.
"A
small
bag," he added.
"You've got 15 minutes to do that and get back here. I'll have you back at your residence in time for dinner on Sunday."
Was he blatantly propositioning me? Had he actually taken my offer of a coffee for...
Damn it!
Yeah, fine, whatever. He'd taken it pretty much for what it was, which was certainly more than just a coffee.
I had been intrigued by him. He really was good looking, even for an older guy. He had style, confidence, panache. I found him impressive, a challenge. I wanted to get inside his head, be the girl who could penetrate his veil of standoffish mystery. I'd had some vague idea of getting him to invite me for dinner or something, maybe something more in time. And he'd seen through it in an instant, like I was still in grade school, and punched everything up about three levels without a blink.
I guess I hadn't been very subtle.
Tony examined me for a moment and went hard-ball, full-contact, take-no-prisoners.
"Actually, don't bother packing a bag. Just bring your flute and put whatever it is you think you simply cannot live without in your purse there."
I looked down at it. It was a small purse.
He continued, his voice soft but clear, direct and to the point.
"Don't bother bringing anything else, Stephanie; you won't need anything else. I'll watch your books and laptop while you go do that."
I felt the implications of that resonate all the way down to my toes.
My bruised ego now burned with humiliation and anger. He'd just made it crystal clear that he expected me - on what amounted to a first date, one that I'd more-or-less hinted for — to spend the entire weekend naked. I clenched my teeth.
The fucking
nerve
of the man!
I wouldn't have taken that from anybody else; I'd have had my fingers around the pulsing heart of other boy treating me so.
I wasn't entirely sure why I was taking it from him.
And what did he want with my flute? It was no secret that I was a music student, but it made no sense.
He considered me steadily.
"Or, Stephanie, like I said, we can stay with Plan A. It'll be simpler. I'll even buy
you
