The Meeting

It was beautiful to be sure. The sunrise seemed a bit tentative. As if the sun were checking out the area before it decided to risk a rising. The first rays, like exploratory scouts, were spreading out throughout the city. Filtering through the byways and across the rooftops. The tops of distant cathedrals were cast in golden fury, like royal crowns floating on the darken sea below.

As he looked out on the city his mind drifted back and forth between so many different times and places. He thought of her. His perfunctory wife. Thought about how many years they had slept together. Sometimes they slept together. Sometimes they slept apart. But it really didn't make much difference. Even when they were together they were apart. He imagined it now. His bed at home. Or at least at what passed for a home. Sometimes he had trouble distinguishing home from office.

$40,000. Or at least that number stuck in his mind. He thought that he had it correct. He was quite sure that this was the number. The amount he had paid for that bed. Carved cheery wood. Of only the finest variety. Four posters at the corners. Hand carved with intricate patterns. And a roof of lightest silk hung delicately from the corners. A light caramel color, made to match the dark hues of the cherry wood. A thick comforter topped off the bed, finished in a matching caramel color.

A super king-sized bed. Not just a plain king. Gave them lots of room. Room for what exactly? How could two people, who spent so much of their lives in what was naturally such an intimate environment, be so distant? They slept together but apart. Each hanging off of their own side of the bed. An imaginary line of demarcation running down the middle of the mattress. If they ever touched it would be by accident. And back to back.

As he watched the scouting rays found a wider and wider home. The sunlight began to soak into the cracks. Following the roadways and flowing down the rivers. The city was beginning to come to life. And as he watched his thoughts once again turned to Layla. And once again a spear of pain found its way to his heart. Just the point touched him as he thought again about how he had missed what could have been the most important meeting in his life. And he wondered if he had missed it on purpose. He didn't think so. But he wondered. He asked himself why he would do that? And he came away without an answer. At least not an answer that he chose to acknowledge. But in his heart he knew. He knew that he was afraid. He didn't know of what. But there was something. Layla awoke so many emotions in him. And they were so intense. Some were driving. Some were lovely. But with it all also came the fear. He knew it was there. But what he didn't know was what he was afraid of. Alan was a man who rarely experienced fear. And it made him feel uncomfortable.

And as he looked out the closely drawn shade he thought about the day before him. Would she really come? And what would happen if she did? And did he really want her to come? Of course he did. He wanted it more badly than anything he had ever wanted before. He could feel it tug on him. He remembered the first time that he saw her. The sound of her sweet voice. The sway of her body as she moved across the stage. The light that reflected in her eyes. And more than that the light that danced within her eyes.

If he were discussing this with an outsider he would characterize her in more formal terms. He would talk about various forms of attraction. How he had experienced this form or that. And the extent to which he had felt it. Akin to Hollywood producer evaluating a new starlet in terms of her potential for superstardom. It would be a rather dry, rather analytical presentation. But in his heart he knew this was all BS. He had fallen for her. Like an anvil dropping from the sky. The first second that he saw her.

He had met attractive women before. Plenty of them. But this was different. Doubtless, part of it was simply physical attraction. She was a compelling sight, that much was for sure. Alan was a man who was reticent to admit that he experienced desire. "Attraction". Now that he would admit. It was such a safe word. A fairly neutral word. But more than that it was a word that allowed him to remain in control. Attraction didn't have that connotation of losing yourself. Cars could be attractive. Boats. Houses. Even stocks could be attractive. But you didn't toss your life away for them. But this was different. And he knew it.

And what was worse is that the first time that he knew it was when he discussed it with her. He remembered the first time that they talked. Her voice. If possible it was even more compelling in simple conversation than it was when she was singing. He found it hard to concentrate on what she said because he became so lost in the sound. It penetrated to his heart in wave after wave of overwhelming impact. Sometimes it was so intense that he would actually lose track of what she was saying. He knew he gave the impression that he didn't care enough to listen. He wondered if she really understood what was happening with him. He wondered how she would react if she understood.

But most of all he remembered that first conversation on desire. Their conversations had been quite general at first. Quite safe. All the standard questions. All the standard answers. New York. Blue. Steak with new potatoes. No, don't care for Calamari. Yes. I am married. Gone with the Wind.

But as time moved on their conversations become more intimate. Deeper. More real. Then the time came when she began to discuss desire. Even that conversation was safe at first. A very unsafe subject. But they handled it like a researcher studying small pox. Very clinical. But the conversation had quickly deepened. They shared knowing laughs. There were innuendos. That they both clearly understood. Those double meanings. Thrown out to test the waters. They allowed each participant to go a little further without taking too much risk. Throw out a test. Evaluate the response. See if she is thinking what I am thinking. If not, there is always the safe side of the double meaning that allows a dignified and safe exit. And he understood that likewise she was testing. Is he going where I am going? And all along the way it was safe. Because they had not yet reached the point of no return. Each of them could exit with their hearts intact.

But then came the moment. He remembered it like it was only yesterday. She had asked him a question for which there was no double meaning. No way out. It was the conversation where the word "attraction" had been replaced by the word "desire". He remembered how his heart had quickened when he heard it passing from her lips. He felt his heart jump and his blood flowed noticeably warmer. Even then it was fairly safe. She had introduced it as a discussion topic. At first she had been the quintessential anthropologist. Discussing desire as it occurs in humans. Not people. Not real people. Not two particular people. But as the conversation moved on she had become more direct. Then she asked him directly. Had he ever experienced desire? Real, down to the bare metal, desire?

At first he thought of lying. It had always worked before. But for some reason he abandoned it in this case. And he began to hint at the truth. But it was Layla who had finally broached the question. And she stated it so simply. "Alan, have you ever wondered what it would be like to be with a woman whom you totally desired, if that woman desired you as much as you desired her?" And at last she had finally laid it out there. "Alan, have you ever wondered how you and I would be together? Do you want to find out?"

As he returned from his reverie he looked back at the city. And the fear inside him again began to grow. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He was not a man that experienced fear as a frequent emotion. He was much more likely to be the feared rather than the fearing. He was the hunter, not the hunted. Even uncertainly made only infrequent visits, to say nothing of blatant fear. But this time he was afraid. And he knew it. But he really didn't know why. Or of what, exactly. He knew that he was afraid she might reject him. And he was afraid that she might not.

As he thought about it he wondered if he should really go to Reading. What if she didn't come? Why would she come? Would he come if he were she? In a way he hoped she wouldn't. She had become a perfect person in his mind. Flawless in every way. It was an image that no real person could live up to. If she didn't come she would remain perfect forever more. But in his heart he knew that he wanted her to come. He wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted before. But should he really go? It was such a dumb thing for him to propose. It had seemed so right at the time. But now, examined in the cold hard light of day, he realized that it had been an impulse. Something he hadn't really thought through. Hadn't considered the consequences. Hadn't weighted the options and considered the consequences.

No. This had been an action of his heart. He had meetings scheduled for every hour of the day. Things to go. People to see. Decisions to make. What would happen to them? What would happen as a result? He hadn't even stopped to think of them at all. But should he reconsider now? There was still time. He hadn't taken that last step. His mind struggled with his heart. And for a moment it seemed to be winning. But then he saw her in his mind. Once more moving across the stage. He body moving in silky tandem with the music. He felt her voice drilling down into his soul. And he closed his eyes and looked inside his heart. And in that moment he knew the answer. He knew the answer to the question that she had asked him. And he knew that for the first time in his life he had felt real desire, and that he felt it to the depth of his soul. He let the feeling linger. Let it soak down even further into his being. Felt the luxury of it expanding is existence. And for the first time in his life, Alan really felt alive. A moment later he was on the phone, calling for his driver.

There was considerable traffic on M-4 and time began to drift as Alan stared out the window, watching the city and then the countryside slide by as if in a movie. And as he sat he began to wonder about her. He wondered what she was really like. He wondered what she liked. What she didn't like. He wondered so many things about her. But most of all he wondered about her hopes and dreams. What were they? Had her dreams come to find her, or were they still out there, waiting to be discovered? What hopes, what dreams, had she given up along the way? And were they really gone?

He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was? Did she know how desirable she was? Probably men had been telling her in no uncertain terms since she was about 14. Surely of this much she would be aware. Would he simply be one more man reciting an often-heard mantra? Did she feel anything for him that was different that she had felt for a thousand other men? Surely she must, or she would not have come to see him. As he realized this he felt even worse for having made such a mess of things.

He wondered what she would claim if she could claim just one thing, one experience, one feeling in the world. What would that one thing be? As he thought about her he began to think of all the things about her that drew him to her so strongly. More than her voice, her beauty, her mannerisms … it was the intelligence that came through in ever discussion. More than simple intelligence, perhaps the key was insight. Like beautiful women, Alan had known many intelligent people. He lived with them. They were his life. But, again, with Layla there was something different. She had a certain sense about her, a certain way of understanding how people felt, how they acted. Why they did the things they did. And Alan realized that it was something that he had never had.

And he wondered if she knew that how intelligent she was. Again, surely she must. And he wondered if she felt that people saw that in her. Or did she feel it was missing. There were things that she had said. Little things. Things that made him wonder. And just for a moment he wondered what people thought of him. Did they see him as intelligent? He dismissed that in a moment. He knew they did. It came with the territory. One thing that Alan never lacked was a feeling of being substantial. He was immune to any doubting in this area. He spent all day being substantial. That is all he ever was.

But did she feel the same thing? Did she know how substantial she was? And for just a moment he realized that this was something he could give her. He had wondered from the moment he left for England what gift would be appropriate. What could he give her that would convey how important she really was to him? What could he give her that would make her realize how he felt?

She had given so much to him. And she probably didn't even know it. Alan was substantial. He had power. He had presence. He had confidence. He had control. And he had money. A whole host of women had been attracted to him through the years. Some, he suspected, were attracted to his checkbook. Lots of them, if the truth be known. And plenty of women were attracted to anyone in power. He knew that his appearance was attractive. Again, no small number of women had mentioned that to him. But deep down inside he had always wondered. All those women had come and gone, but still he wondered. He wondered if any of them really felt that he was truly desirable. If he hadn't been rich. If he hadn't been powerful. How many would still have wanted him. Wanted him as a MAN. As he thought about all the things that she had done for him, he realized that most of all Layla had made him feel desirable. She had made him feel wanted. She had made him feel alive. He wished he knew what was the greatest desire of her heart for then he would strive so hard to give it back to her.

But as the car approached Reading he realized that the truth was he would probably never be able to find out. For she would almost certainly not come to join him. He wondered several times if she would call. But she hadn't. So there was little chance that she would come. It was really stupid to miss all those meetings, to flake out on so many important people, for nothing. He realized, as the car pulled into the Oracle shopping center how slim that chance really was. But whatever chance there was he must take it. And the importance of the second was growing by the moment.

He walked the stores of the mall as he checked his watch. One hour remaining. What if she was out there and he was missing her? His footsteps quickened. He walked into a clothing store. And he wondered what he should buy. It would have been tough enough if he had been in Chicago. For more years than he cared to remember his life had been bound up in three pieces suits. Granted, he had several different styles. And whatever tie the current fashion dictated. But he realized as he stood there that he had no idea what people wore. Normal people. People who just went about their lives. Living them day-by-day. And he wondered what she would like. What would she find most attractive. He chuckled to himself as he admitted the truth only the voice that lived inside him. What he really wondered was what she would be most likely to want to touch. What would drive her to run her fingers along the material? To feel the texture?

His eyes finally fell upon an open weave denim outfit. Dark blue pants and a light blue shirt. His eyes fell to the big silver buttons on the heavy fly. But most of all, his gaze fell to the thick seams that gave the pants their style. Made of several pieces of different kind of denim – stitched together with heavy seams that ran like snakes around the legs. The top of the pants ended in two big triangular flaps that folded to the side. Below them was the fly with its big silver buttons. He realized as he looked at them that they were intended to convey a quiet message. The flaps gave the appearance of pants that were unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top. "Suggestive" would probably be the word. Not blatant. Not screaming. But whispering.

Then his gaze moved up to the shirt. An open collar and a heavy weave. And it too was riddled with heavy patchwork seams. As his eyes moved up and down the seams he was lost in imagination for a moment. In his mind he saw her coming. Coming to great him on the bridge. He could feel her warm embrace as she grabbed him and held him close to her. He could feel her body close to his. And even though they stood in open public view, he could feel the first tentative movements of her fingers. He could feel them moving down his side. Feeling the seams in his shirt. Her long slender fingers moving in tight circles on his chest. He felt his arms drawing her body closer to his own. He could feel the course fabric of the shirt as it moved against her breast. Then he felt her fingers moving lower.

Feeling the denim of the shirt between her fingers. He felt himself drawing her face to rest on he hollow of his neck. As her felt her lips first touching him he felt her fingers moving lower down. She ran them along the seams at the outside of his legs. Slowly moving up and down. Up and down. And he felt the coarse fabric move against his skin. Her drew her face up to meet his. And he gazed into the depths of her eyes. Drinking in her soul. And he felt her hands sliding across his legs as he drew her lips to his and kissed her gently on the mouth. And the taste of her lips was even sweeter than he could possibly have imagined. And as he kissed her with a building passion he felt her hands exploring the fabric once again.

Her fingers, light and gentle, moved across his leg. He gasped for air as she began to once more feel the seams. But this time on the inside of his thigh. He kissed her stronger and stronger, and held her body even tighter. His own fingers began an exploration. Only they had slipped inside the light fabric of her blouse. He could feel his fingertips lightly touching her naked skin as he felt the silky fabric slide over the back of his hand. Her fingers moved lower and lower and he slid the edge of his finger up and down her side. He could feel her finger following a seam.

She followed it up the inside of his thigh. He knew where it ended, and his heart began beating even faster. He kissed her harder and harder. Feeling the sweetness of her lips moving against his. He fingers moved her. And her touch grew firmer. The side of his finger reached the bottom of her breast. He was surprised to find that it was naked. He drew in a breath as he first touched it. Feeling its creamy softness. Just as her fingers reached to top of the seam. He drew her body to his, almost crushing her to him. He knew that he wanted her in so many different ways. Many of them having nothing to do with physical desire.

But right now that was gone. He wanted her body. He wanted to feel her naked body against his. His whole body was filled with desire for her. Raw, animal desire, unalloyed by any other. He kissed her deeply and moved his lips passionately about hers as his fingers moved up and he stroked the side of her breast as it crushed against his chest. He felt her fingers as they began slowly stroking the fabric up and down beside his now-throbbing organ. And in a fluid motion he moved his leg between hers. As his fingers moved up and took her hardened nipple in his hand he began to slowly twist it as he moved his leg up and down against her mound.

As he felt her fingers begin to slowly untwist the buttons he thrust his leg up against her and felt her tighten her thighs around it. His fingers moved about her incredible breast. Probing. Exploring. Feeling. He felt her heartbeat quicken as he felt her fingers sliding slowly down into his now-open fly. His member was desperate for release. Desperate to find her. To merge with her. And he almost cried out as he felt her silky fingertips when then reached the head. He could feel a deep throated groan building in his soul as her fingertips moved along his pulsing shaft. His fingers moved more swiftly at her breasts. Pulling. Feeling. Kneading. Her fingers thrust down and she had almost reached the base of his shaft when ….