Naked in the Naked City

I squeezed her hand and touched her face, a tactile delight owing to her baby-soft skin and clear blond complexion. "And I'll tell people I met this beautiful chick from Woodstock, New York who bought us a bottle of champagne and persuaded her girlfriend and my buddy to bar hop just so she could be alone with me."

She hugged me, then got up and cut the light. It was far from pitch black—the glow of Manhattan cast a subdued light throughout the room, all shadows and the eerie presence of something happening by chance but somehow also meant to be. She nestled up to me, started to unbuckle my belt. "I really like you, Troy, liked you the moment you ran into me." She chuckled. "You could have fired back at me for scolding you. Instead, like a true gentleman, you not only apologized, but footed the bill for our drinks. I thought that was so cool. It didn't hurt that my attraction to you was instant, that I dig guys with broad shoulders and dark brown eyes and thick wavy hair. It doesn't hurt either that we laugh at the same absurd things, or that you can keep me warm in freezing weather, or that you seem to care about people. You wouldn't be going into medicine if you didn't."

"Lea, if you're not careful," I said, wrapping my thick arms around her, "you're going to make me fall in love with you before the night's out. Not that that would be such a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing at all, because I'm in the same place."

There was more action than words after that. Telling me she was on the pill was about the only thing she said between the time we disrobed and climbed into bed. From then on, we talked in whispers and endearing phrases. Soon, those phrases morphed into moans and sighs of pleasure. She had a fine body, well proportioned and firm and responsive. To describe her comely, feminine form, body part by body part, would cheapen the experience. I will say she smelled great—that Arpege she wore enhanced her fresh-as-the-outdoors-after-a-spring-rain natural scent. She loved it when I took topside, grabbed her firm, round butt and pressed it tight against my crotch. She wasn't shy about changing positions or giving and receiving oral or telling me what pleased her the most and then asking me the same thing. We freely accommodated one another. Our overall compatibility factor, at least for the short term, was off the charts.

After making love for the second time, we stood naked by the window. I stood from behind, my arms wrapped around her, fondling her breasts and kissing her neck and shoulders. "You know, Troy," she said, "I couldn't have dreamed this even if I wanted to."

"Nor could I," I said. "There's eight million stories in this naked city, and tonight we're one of them."

"Naked in the naked city," she said, still facing the window. "Does it get any better than that?"

"Yes. Naked in the naked city with someone you're crazy about, with someone you groove with, with someone you hate to say goodbye to because you might never see them again." Tearing up, I struggled not to break down altogether.

She turned around and said, "That doesn't have to be the case with us, Troy. New York isn't that far from Maryland. And if the bond between us is strong enough, if what we found here is genuine, we'll endure beyond New Year's."

I kept that in mind before dozing off to sleep, snuggled close to Lea. Come late morning, Miles rang our room from the Edison. He and Marie had stayed out to around three, then returned to the room and crashed. They didn't get intimate, he later told me, as much because of fatigue as loyalty to their mates. After checkout, we all ate brunch at the famous Lindy's Restaurant, carrying on like old friends rather than the near strangers we still were. Miles and Marie knew they probably wouldn't be seeing each other again. Lea and I, on the other hand, had something special, potentially enduring, and they knew it. They watched as we said goodbye on the corner of 7th Avenue and 53rd Street.

When Lea began to cry, I held her so tight, I was afraid I'd crack her ribs. Then she pulled away and reached inside her travel bag. "Look, I want you to keep this," she said, wiping her tears. It was the bottle of Dom Perignon. "Notice the bottle...it's half full."

******

Little wonder that I left New York on an optimistic note, excited to see Lea again, perhaps over spring break. We returned to our respective colleges and kept in touch by mail and an occasional phone call. I'd like to report we married and lived happily after. However, the stuff of fairy tales is just that; real life is something else.

We did see each other over spring break and then in June when school let out, both times trying to recapture what we felt in New York. That's the downside of the kind of explosive, supernova type romance that we shared. Young people, especially, are vulnerable to harboring unrealistic expectations after an experience like that. It sets them up for disappointment every time. So it was with us.

The letters and phone calls stopped coming after July. By fall, Lea had become a fond memory, one that could make me smile, not tear-up like what happened in New York.

Even so, I still get wistful thinking back forty-seven years to that incredible New Year's. The intensity of those feelings might be lost to time; but what I felt then remains vivid as ever. I still can't bring myself to throw away that champagne bottle. It remains half full. Of course, the liquid has long since lost its sparkle.