No small mercy that my husband was away, and I didn't have to spin a yarn. I let the gown fall to the floor and stared at myself in the mirror. What on earth is going on, I asked the reflection, my sense of self fading. I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the water would help me compose myself, but the shaking only intensified. At some point, I heard my son yell about leaving for school. Dear God, how long had I been here?
This wasn't the first time I'd been unable to get downstairs in time to see him off. There was only one fix that I knew of -- if only temporarily. I had to hold myself together somehow, so I picked up my to-do list. Emails to respond to, reports to read and a presentation to put together. I raced through it, then called my 3pm appointment to ask if he could come in earlier. He said he'd be by in twenty minutes.
The appointment was a fresh hire for a client. I'd met the boy at a conference and there were formalities I needed to complete before recommending him. He came in casually dressed -- khaki slacks, polo t-shirt, brown snakeskin belt and matching loafers. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm caught my eye. It had been hidden by his suit at the conference. My eye ran up his arm to his broad shoulders and chest. He was in athletic shape but not too built -- just the type of body on a man that gets my engine running. Run it did, because he had barely walked in and I was already undressing him mentally.
I wanted to remark on his clothes. Instead, I launched into simple screening questions and half-heard stories of his childhood, family, education and career goals. The professional in me kept running the process, while the devil in my head kept creating images of what could come ...
"I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you that week," he said.
