Come Sail Away With Me

"And what about you, Lance, are you happy?"

"I believe I am. My life lacks a few things, but over all, I'm happy because I choose happiness."

The sommelier, Anton, appears with the selection, pours a tiny amount in the bottom of one of the crystal goblets. Lance takes it up with a flourish, sniffs, eyes closed, smiles, takes a tiny sip rolls it around his tongue and cheeks, finally swallows. "Very, very nice Anton, as you said, quite a nice dryness for a Liebfraumilch." Anton reaches to fill her glass before refilling Lance's, places the bottle in a table side ice bucket and retires.

Lance raises his glass to her. "To new and positive beginnings."

Chastity smiles broadly. "Amen," she says and drinks.

For a few minutes, they enjoy their wine, saying nothing. Eventually, Chas can stand the silence no longer. "So tell me, Lance, why me? You could have chosen anyone. Why choose me? You say you know all about me. Then you must know that I don't date men. I don't sleep with men. I am curious. Why hound me for a date?"

"I'm really not sure, Chas. That's the truth. Certainly, I was taken in by your beauty. You are a very beautiful woman. But No, I think maybe I saw it as a challenge."

"So that's what I am. Another conquest? Another notch on the handle of your 'gun'?"

"No, I didn't mean that at all. Why must you take everything I say so negatively? Must I always be guarded in my speech? I meant, when you said no and kept saying no to all my attempts, it became a sort of challenge to my honor, my integrity. I didn't, don't think of you as a conquest, but as a woman, a possible mate. Certainly, I would want a strong woman in my life to challenge me to be the best I can be. You seemed like a qualified candidate in that regard."

"Good evening Mr. Tollidair. Are you ready to order?"

"I am so sorry, Henri. We have been so busy talking we haven't even cracked a menu. What would you recommend tonight?"

"Our chef, he recommends tonight, the chateaubriand."

"What will you be serving with that tonight, Henri?"

"Ah sir, I am so 'appy you asked. It is tonight, the pasta Alfredo with truffles and the julienne vegetables, also with shallots and truffles. And for the dessert, fresh raspberry sorbet with dark Belgian chocolate sauce. It will be, sir as we say, magnifique." The little dark man with a tiny pointed mustache and adorable French accent has described their dinner with such an obvious love for his work, that Chastity's mouth begins to water.

"Is that okay with you, Chas? Or, would you like to order something different? The salmon en broche is usually excellent here, also."

"Oh no, no," Chastity laughs. "I feel as if I would offend Henri if I ordered anything else."

"Ah ma'mselle, it is true I would be a bit hurt, but, to be offended by a beautiful woman, it is a man's role in life, c'est non?"

"That's fine, Henri, the chateau will be fine." Chas is now laughing heartily.

"And Henri?" Lance puts in.

"Oui monsieur?"

"Would you please tell Anton there will be no need to consult on the dinner wine? We will have whatever he thinks best with the chateaubriand."

"Very good, sir."

"You know everyone here? How often do you come here?"

"I don't know. This is perhaps the fifth time I have been here."

"But you know everyone, everything, the wine, the dinner, everyone's name."

Lance laughs heartily. "I know nothing of wine and very little about French cuisine. As far as the names go, I have a pretty good memory and I always ask everyone's names. I always make it a point to call persons by their names. It's a way of honoring them. Another use of the positive. As a result, everyone remembers me and is happy to see me."

"But the wine, the menu. . ."

"I merely assist them in doing their jobs excellently."

"So, it's all phony?"

"Not at all. It is as real as can be. It is only that I don't choose to be contentious, when I can be compliant and create better outcomes."

"Still seems like you are acting."

"I am. I am acting interested. I am acting involved. I am acting as if I care. I am interested. I am involved. I do care. So why should I act differently? Don't forget Shakespeare, 'All the world's a stage.'"

"And all the men and women merely players," she continues. "What about real emotions, real reactions?"

"That's just it. I do not choose to react. Earlier in the car, I could have chosen to react. Instead, I chose to act, to take the initiative to create a positive atmosphere from the negative one that was beginning. And you see it is working."

"You are the most interesting man." The comment had slipped from her lips before she recognized it as a compliment.

"Well, thank you very much. Ah, the steak has arrived."

Since they sit on adjacent sides of the table rather than across from one another, elbows bump, hands touch, knees and feet sometimes make contact. Much of it makes Chastity feel a bit uncomfortable.

They don't say much for a time, engrossed in the fine food. Chastity loves the way they share one steak instead of each having their own. Almost against her will, she is growing to like this man. Another bottle of wine has come with dinner; a rich red burgundy, not sweet, but full of flavors and aromas that complimented the beef.

About halfway through, he inquires, "why did we start so negative? Why didn't you want to go out with me? What is wrong with me?"

"It wasn't you in particular," Chas manages to eke out around a mouthful of meat. "I just kind of took it for granted," she said, swallowing. "It is always the same. They wine you, they dine you, and they charm and entertain you. And always for the same goal, to get you in their bed."

Lance stops, places his knife and fork carefully on his plate and turns toward her. His dark eyes catch and hold her. "Okay. Let's say for a minute that taking you to bed is my goal. Would it be such a terrible thing for us to end up in each other's arms, in your bed or mine? I am reasonably attractive, in good shape. I smell okay. I have all the necessary equipment. Certainly, it could be said that I desire you, or I could force myself to desire you. I am curious. Why would that be an undesirable result to a fine evening?"

"But," she stammers, "it, that, er, I mean it would be a one-night stand, nothing permanent or personal or lasting. Only a quick, you know, a. . ."

"You mean, just a quick fuck? Is that what you are trying so hard not to say? Hmm." He pauses to take another bite, chews. She waits. She is blushing. She honestly cannot discern if she is more embarrassed by the word he used or by her own inability to say it.

"Let me ask you," he says, daubing at his lips with a linen napkin, "why would you assume anything we ended up doing together would automatically be brief? Have you had so many bad experiences with men that you assume we are all dishonest blubbering sexual maniacs who rush to come and go?"

"Well, no I haven't had many I mean, that doesn't make any difference." She shoves a huge piece of steak in her mouth and chews as if she can gnaw away her frustration. "Tell me," she says, gulping. "Tell me you are not sitting there this moment hoping to get me in your bed."

"I would never tell you any such thing. I am not a liar. Look, you want honesty. Men and women date, they seek each other out. Why? They are lonely, incomplete, driven to propagate the race, needy, horny. We date because we are genetically driven to seek a mate. In modern society, that means a person we feel completes us, makes us whole. And we fail. Over and over again, we fail. Why? In my estimation, it is because we expect too much, too soon. Our training, our myths, our fantasies all tell us we will meet that special person. It will be the first person we become intimate with because we can't have intimacy without commitment. Therefore, we make a commitment, rather, we are forced to make a commitment to get what we need in the short term. But, it is all a lie. How much better it would be if we could all make our own choices, intelligent choices based on information and experience,without all the bullshit."

"You want honesty?" he goes on, "are you sure you are prepared to hear, to accept honesty from me?" He pauses to let her think, spooning the remains of his pasta Alfredo into his mouth with a sensuous grace. All the while his eyes hold hers, not willing to let her off easy. He chews and waits.

She shifts uncomfortably on her seat, bringing their knees into contact. She swallows hard. She cannot look away from those dark dangerous eyes. "Okay," she says, "honesty."

"I want you, Chastity. Of course I do. I want you in my life. I want you in my arms, in my bed. I want you calling my name over and over, as part of me fills an empty part of you. I have absolutely no doubt I can bring you, bring us, together, to heights and depths of joy and satisfaction you have not experienced before. But, I am not a monster who is about to jump on you and take a few moments of satisfaction for himself and leave you. I am aware that all the decisions are yours to make. And, I will make you a promise. Should you decide that we will be together after tonight, and I won't deny I will be lobbying hard for that decision," he pauses, shifts his chair, leans closer to her, "I absolutely promise I will never touch you, kiss you, do anything to or with you unless you specifically ask me to."

Her throat is dry, her voice rasping. "That is never going to happen."

"Good, then we can see each other as much as we want, as much as I want and you will never have a worry or fear, you can always feel completely safe, until. . ."

"Until?"

"Until you decide you want something more from me. Then I will give it. All of it. Myself. Whatever you wish and more than you ever wished for. I would ask only one thing in return."

"And what is that?" Chas asks.

"That you give me a chance, give us a chance. That you agree to an unspecified amount of time, an unspecified number of dates. That you give me the time to show you; I am the kind of man who deserves you. Give yourself the time to admit your need to yourself and to develop the courage to ask for what you want."

"I told you. That is not going to happen."

"So you won't make the agreement?"

"It doesn't matter. I am not going to end in your bed. Calling your name or anything else and I don't need a week, a month, or a year to decide. I don't need any of that. With you or anyone. You picked the wrong girl. I am not interested. I have a life to live. And I definitely don't need you."

"We all need someone, Chastity."

"Not me. Now would you please take me home?"

"As you wish."

The ride to her house is quiet, the atmosphere strained. Lance, totally frustrated by her unyielding negativity, searches his mind for some way to get through. He is convinced that beneath that 'ice queen' exterior there is a deeply sensuous woman, a passionate slut silently screaming to be released. He knows not how he knows this about her, only that he feels her heat deep within himself.

"Chastity," he begins.

"What?" Her tone is cold, combative.

"Do you ever have fun?"

"What do you mean? Of course I have fun."

"Doing what? What do you enjoy? If you could do, could have, anything you wanted in the whole wide world, what would that be? What would it take to make you smile, laugh?"

"What's it to you? Why do you care?"

"If I told you, was honest with you, you would only get angrier. Don't you ever soften? Is there no softness, no acceptance in you? Do you have even a shred of human kindness in you?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I have kindness. I work at a non-profit. I volunteer in a pet rescue. I donate to 'Save the Children'; I smile and laugh all the time. Just not with assholes like you! Is that plain enough?"

"But why? Why am I an asshole? Because I tell the undisguised truth? I have done everything I know to please you, but you continue to get more and more angry with me. I have done nothing to harm or offend you. Quite the contrary, I have been polite, caring, truthful, giving; most women would say I have been charming."

"Well, you know what then? Go on off and drag 'most women' into your bed. It won't work on me."

"I don't want 'most women'. I want you Chastity."

"Why me? Can you tell me that? Why me?"

"Because I know as surely as I have ever known anything, that we belong in one another's arms. "I don't know how I know it. I just do."

"So you're saying what? You are madly in love with me?"

"No, not that, not yet. But, I can see that it could happen. I'd like you to give it a chance, give us a chance."

"It's not going to happen. There is no way you are dragging me into your bed."

"You know, you keep saying that. Do I look like, act like, a caveman? I haven't given the slightest indication of force or violence. In fact, I haven't even asked you yet. Even before I told you the truth about wanting you, you were so presumptuous as to assume I would want you. Aren't you assuming an awful lot? On second thought, maybe that is what you really want, to be dragged forcibly. Is that why you keep bringing it up?"

"You are impossible!"

"Not nearly as impossible as you. Look, we have maybe five minutes until we get to your place. Can I at least get an answer to my question?"

"What question is that?"

"Okay, here it is again. Sit over there quietly. Take four of the five minutes left. Think about it, and then please answer me. What would it take to please you, to make you smile? What would you really like to have or do if it could be anything in the world?"

The time passes agonizingly slow. Finally, they draw up in front of her father's old-fashioned Victorian. Lance has about decided she isn't going to answer when she speaks. Her voice is dreamy and far away. "I'd like to sail away to a tropical isle and be away from everything."

Lance comes around to open her car door while she is still dreaming. He escorts her to her door, saying nothing. She turns to leave him. "Chastity," he says softly.

"Yes, what?" she says, turning back to him.

"I can do that for you, if you wish."

"Do what?"

"Sail you away to a tropical isle. Good night, Chastity." Lance turns and strides briskly back to the gleaming sports car, hops in and roars away.

*** *** ***

Three days later, Chastity is sitting at her desk putting together a new funding proposal to bring Wi-Fi to a poverty stricken neighborhood in the inner city, when she sees Lance Tolladair walk down the hall to the Directors office. She cannot help but wonder why he is visiting. She knows she had behaved like a bitch when they were last together. The whole dynamic is very puzzling. Why had she reacted so negatively to him? He is extremely good-looking, gentle, caring, and honest to a fault. What then?

At the edge of her consciousness, a tiny voice asks the question a bit differently. "What are you afraid of Chastity?" She reaches deep, brings the idea to the surface. What is she afraid of? Certainly not of him, perhaps of herself, then? Perhaps she is afraid she will one day lie beneath him, calling his name over and over as he. . . Her face is scarlet as her hair. Her chest above her ample breasts feels as if it were afire. Her nipples strain painfully against her bra.

Of course, Lance chooses that moment to come loping gracefully, confidently down the hall. He stops in front of her open office door. "Ms. O'Doyle, may I speak with you for a moment please?"

"Certainly," she says, barely overcoming her shortness of breath, "step in."

"Ms. Robertson suggested I speak with you regarding the Kenya project," he says, sliding his long form into a chair beside her desk.

"Concerning what, if I might ask?"

"Margret, that is, Ms. Robertson, believes that ten to fifteen villages should be selected for the trial run on the Wi-Fi installation. We both agree that you are the only person with the expertise to select those village. Do you think you could come up with a list of say 20 locations by a week from Thursday? Of course once the locations are chosen, you will be given full carte blanche as director of the program."

"Since when do you have anything to say about my program?"

"I wasn't aware that it was your program. I thought it was for the Kenyan people."

"Well, uh, yeah, well of course," Chastity sputters, I only meant that I er, well. . ." And now she is truly embarrassed, flushing all over.

"Of course, Chas, everything we're doing here is based upon your ideas, your research, and your hard work. No one has any intention of taking anything away from you."

"I was only asking, I, er, uh. I mean what exactly is your interest in the Kenya project?"

"My foundation, PierceCo, is the funding source for the project, Ms. O'Doyle. Depending upon what you decide, we will be funding your effort at either 15 or 20 million."

"But PierceCo? Who is Pierce?"

Lance begins to chuckle softly. "Ms. O'Doyle, Chastity, Chas. Excuse me for laughing. I don't suppose there is any way you could have known; my name Tollidair, in Gaelic means, 'he who pierces'."

"So your name is Lance that pierces?"

Lance shrugs his shoulders. "I had nothing to do with it. Normally one has no say in one's own name. Apparently, my father had a fondness for puns. Ms. Doyle, Chastity. I don't know what I have done or said to make you react so negatively towards me, but can't we start over and make an attempt to be kind and courteous to one another? It appears, like it or not, that we will be working together." His intense dark eyes reflect Chastity's antagonistic visage back at her. She struggles to regain control.

"All right Mr. Pierce," chuckling, "we'll start over. Thank you so much for agreeing to finance our little project in Kenya."

"You are quite welcome, Ms. O'Doyle. It is a worthwhile project, well thought out and designed and administered by a director with a successful track record; exactly the sort of project our board loves to fund."

She is, once again, victim to his complements, delivered with obvious sincerity in a deep resonant tone. She reddens yet again.

"Would you consent to discussing your list of your selected villages over dinner next Thursday?"

"I, I, er, I'd be delighted and thank you for offering, Mr. Tollidair."

"Lance, please."

"Okay, Lance."

"I will contact you with the details as to time and place. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Yes, thank you. If I'm not in, leave word with our receptionist."

He reaches to take her hand, but instead of shaking, he squeezes it gently, holds it, turns those deep dark eyes on her, and looks deep inside her. "I'll be very much looking forward to it, and to working together with you in the future. I understand there is a wide range of possible endeavors we could work on together, your company and my foundation."

Was it her imagination, or has he held her hand way too long?

"Till next Thursday then, Chastity," Lance says, turns, and is gone.

Chastity stands looking at her hand where he has touched her, for perhaps a full minute before shaking her head, clearing her mind to return to her work.

The eight days until their dinner appointment are filled with activity and creativity. So much so that Chastity has nearly forgotten the deal is to be closed over dinner.

The reminder comes to her with considerable pain. As she reaches across to pick up a folder containing the names of the villages she has selected for the project, her palm is nearly pierced by the message spike on her desk. Pulling her hand sharply away, she checks for damage. As she examines the red spot in the center, she is reminded of the electricity of his touch. She feels a sudden twinge, almost a contraction, along her vaginal walls, and a sharp shot of heat below her belly.

The phone rings. She checks the caller ID. It is him. How could he know she was thinking of him at that moment? His deep, dulcet voice might easily excite her if she were an impressionable female, but she is stronger, better than that. She assumes what she believes is a professional attitude, only a slight hitch in her voice betraying the turmoil inside. "Hello, Lance, er, Mr. Tollidair. How are you today?"