Natural Beauty Pt. 01

I opted for the elevator because it happened to arrive just as I stepped out into the corridor. (I was the only passenger boarding on the third floor, so it must stop automatically.) I immediately lamented my laziness, because the car was overcrowded, with four women including the goth-punk pair and two men. We weren't pressed together, but our bodies touched as the car wobbled downwards. It was an antiquated lift which rattled and groaned and traveled very slowly. I happened to be wedged sideways between the two males. The shirts and trousers of the man behind me brushed against my bare back and bottom, those in front of me against my breasts. As in the taxi, it was a peculiar feeling. The fabric tickled but also teased. The descent seemed to take forever. I only just managed to stifle a moan.

The restaurant was a fancy one, with pristine white tablecloths, starched napkins, silver candleholders — all the accoutrements of a high-class establishment. The serving staff consisted of two waiters and three waitresses. Each of the males wore an elegant uniform of black pants and ruffled white shirt, with a spruce-green tie and silver-trimmed vest. The girls were, of course, déshabillé head to foot. They were marshaled by a pint-sized, intense-looking woman, the maîtresse d'hôtel and sommelière, whose only accessory to what nature and a vigorous daily workout had endowed upon her was a gold filigree band encircling her throat.

It was with slightly guilty relief that I scanned the room and saw no sign of Ted and Valerie. Yet I was fretting that I hadn't booked a table because the place was filling up. So I was about to head for the bar to order a counter meal when the goth-punk girls suggested I join them. Perhaps they were just being nice, but Emily and Caitlyn — Ems and Cat, they called each other — turned out to be delightful company, erudite and inquisitive; and I felt a tinge of remorse at having judged these winsome booklets by their offbeat covers. They are both petite and pretty, although I'm not fond of piercings, particularly green-haired Caitlyn's nipple rings. I was a little puzzled that neither had tattoos, but purple-topped Emily gave an explanation that made me smile.

"This is just a phase, you know."

I wasn't sure if she was being serious, because she had a wry sense of humor. Caitlyn was more frivolous; and when a waiter approached she twisted round in her seat to flirtatiously present him with a full view of her body. Yet the way the girls gazed every so often into each other's eyes, I had the impression they were lovers. They seemed genuinely interested in my archaeological work; and I in turn was curious about their motive for visiting Palmira. To get in touch with their femininity, was Emily's enigmatic reply.

I wish I could have spent more time getting to know them. They were setting off in the morning with a hiking party.

"Use plenty of sunblock," I advised.