It’s a cool windy day, the restaurant is filled to capacity, the waiters practically fall over each other and yet none of this bothers me I’m too engrossed in thoughts that are deafening. My host doesn’t seem to mind he’s chatting in his usual way about something insignificant, made more magnificent in his deliberation of it. I wonder when the next waiter will come by and perhaps refill my glass; a night as stale as this deserves a modest sense of inebriation.
He says something to me I am unaware so he asks again. “What do you think of this painting?” He must realize I have lost interest so of course he does what he always tries to do, cleverly start another string of boring conversation. “I think its lovely, subtle use of colours, nice texture, so you were saying that you heard from derrick how is he?” Again he continues his rant and I continue the journey through my mind. I look at him I nod; I again feel the resentment that has been gnawing at me since the appetizer. I believe however it had started way before then, possibly since the day after we made love for the third or so time, the day I realized I never loved him and I never could. I felt I was stuck in a world of grave distance and detachment with a man who I stayed with for five years because I thought it was the right thing to do. It’s funny how a child can bring two people bitterly together.
He now speaks of religion, his favourite topic. I suppose I’ll be obliged to answer yet another tiresome redundant question aimed at deepening our benign and cyclical existence. I look at the ring that glimmers on his hand, the wedding band we bought together; it had now come to represent the shackles of our preposterous union. He didn’t mind, he loved that he had me, it made him feel in control, a dominant force in a decrepit relationship. He wore it all the time. I lost mine, well pawned mine. The very next day he bought me a new one I wore it only once. Oddly around that time I developed an allergic reaction to the ring, I even had my doctor examine it. The rash that had developed was grotesque at best puss filled yet dry and flaky on the edges, though self inflicted my Doctor knew better than to disclose that secret, our relationship had become one solid, based on things I knew his wife could not find out. So he advised me to no longer wear jewellery on my left fingers. George was saddened; his consolation however was the pendant I now wear around my neck on anniversaries and other major celebrations. He sees that I have strayed yet again, how pitiful that this man that I lay with at least once a week could not realize I’ve never truly listened to him. I was resolute however to be the diplomat for our son, our precious Harold.
“Yes George, I am here”
“Oh, for a moment I thought you were off in your own little world.”
“No, never, you know your religious philosophies always make me wonder”
“So what were you thinking?”
“Nothing I can put into words, you know you are the speaker I am the listener when it comes to matters of religion, please go on its such a wonderful night and after all our dinner is yet to arrive.”
“Anyway…”
His ego; I at times wish it could change places with his organ perhaps then I would enjoy our carnal duties. Now I’m being boorish he wasn’t small, not large either. His problem was never size just his incredible inability to satisfy me. I was never insatiable still am not, however, our first few rumps in the bedroom were just about the only moments of passion we would ever share. There was never any growth or perhaps room to grow especially with a man you feel so little for. And still he insists on continuing his lecture, after all a man in his position would feel a sense of overall godliness to most average men. He is somewhat handsome. He has good features, strong shoulders deep set eyes, very masculine and prominent jaw line no signs of greys in this his fiftieth year but that was not what made him the envy of many a man. He is wealthy; he had his million dollar idea and put it into place, by the time he was in his twenties he had acquired more money than any of us could ever dream to see. And yet he really wasn’t that bright, he had a good business mind but never bright. His family hated me, well still hates me but now to a lesser extent they realize I am a good wife encouraging him to have his annual examination, ensuring that his books are in order, playing the part of hostess, making sure he is well affiliated with major charities but greatest of all that he helped the little leeches wherever possible.
I suppose having never loved him makes me callous but not loving someone doesn’t mean you can’t feel human kindness towards them. Yes, I care for George, care for him enough not to plot his death making it look like an accident, easily collecting all his insurance funds, rights to his company and anything else I could lay my hands on. A woman in her prime near thirty with a man old enough to have fathered her is apparent, at least on the surface a likely gold digger. But I am certain I am not. I never wanted to marry, he insisted after all I was pregnant with his child. Though he had three more before our Harold, there was no way he would foster an illegitimate heir. Did I mention the others were girls? In his previous marriage to a Caroline he never produced the one thing he really wanted. Once he realized through ultrasound I was carrying a son I no longer had the option to refuse. On a cold January morning we married, our son came in the enchanting promise of an April Spring. I did not ask for any of this it was handed to me on a silver plated platter, beneath, the thickness of lead survived, weighing down on what was left of my freedom. But I am thankful to George, I rarely worry about anything and am pampered and extravagantly taken care of. I look down on my well manicured nails and jewelled right fingers and feel the admirable sense of accomplishment any woman in my position would.
“Oh heck George, have an affair bore someone else” I entirely wish I could say that out loud but never would. I am certain he must have some other means of satisfaction after all we have never done it more than twice in one week since Harold. Though he is getting on in years he still maintains much of the same stamina he had in the earlier days, not withstanding the occasional pill. I lavish him sexually I may not enjoy it but I sure know how to pleasure him in a way not many could. For me it is an art form something to perfect but I always have to put out the effort it doesn’t come as natural with someone you find marginally attractive. However he never notices, well he never mentions it he’s always bragged that I am his best. I do believe I am.
“Claudia aren’t you hungry the food is getting cold.”
“Oh yes I am sorry must have lost track.”
“I met up with Jenkins today, he…..”
He’s unstoppable. He has an air of conceit even while eating, he was meticulous and elegantly pretentious, and his speech was in the same breath formulated from years of refinement and rubbing shoulders with the elite in society. Why it bothers me, I truly don’t know. It was his debonair attitude that first caught my attention. He was the suitor who impressed upon me the joys of wealth I became putty in his hands after a few short months. He is like no other yet I still never learnt to appreciate the qualities I first saw as unequal to anything else. Our life is a fairy tale I wanted to end. Perfect and free of anything less. This is many a woman’s dream: fine dining, handsome husband and never having to lift a finger; blindly rejecting feminist equality because you are treated better than the nine to fivers. But it was never my dream. What was my Dream? I believe it was lost in some journal I kept in my youth that I had decided to burn when I hit adulthood. So in my adult life I am adored and wanting for nothing else and saying this has never made this any easier.
“George”
“Yes, my darling” How I hate when he calls me darling, his little princess or his one and only.
“I think I’d like to go out on the terrace for air”
“By yourself are you sure?”
Suddenly we are interrupted by a couple Gloria and Edward. George’s closet and dearest friends, admittedly Edward was a man I had come to respect over the past two years. Gloria had always been rather so-so; she struck me as neither truly intolerable nor mildly impressive.
“Edward good to see you man, how’s it been I heard you were on vacation”
“Well technically I was actually away on business as it turns out several of my clients were at my hotel, you know me always ready to please the client.”
“Why don’t you take Gloria out unto the terrace with you while me and Edward talk business I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company darling.”
“That’s quiet alright why don’t we just continue dinner, all of us.”
“Claudia you’ve been bored all night I’m sure you women have enough to catch up on.”
He once again manages to display his sexist attitude to women, “all us girls love to chat and gossip”; we’d rather speak about nothing than have solitude and peace of mind. Oh dear, to switch from one bore to another is one thing but to be clandestinely forced to pretend it is something I like is another. Gloria in her light pink dress and total lack of cognizance wears her compensatory feature, her large bosom with proud stupidity. She fumbles a bit; as she nears me I smile my most hollow smile letting her know she was welcomed despite my obvious disenchantment with the proposition to entertain her. What Edward sees in her I’ll never know? He is smart, witty, beguiling, warm and honest. Perhaps my instant indifference to Gloria stemmed from my secret liking for Edward. There were opportunities but we never dared take them. He could never risk hurting such a close and honourable friendship, as I could not risk losing my child. But I had dreamt of it, wished for it. I often wondered what it would be like if George had suddenly met his end to a fatal heart attack, stroke or angry employee. Would Edward comfort me, seduce me and then bed me? Immediately I look at him and he sees the look in my eyes and realizes I am undoubtedly enraptured by his mere presence. Every passing word, glance, gesture, wise remark, made it clear that the desire to consummate what we have would continue to be that forbidden mystery that lingers in our loins as long as we could keep our yen abated. I touch my throat teasingly, roll my neck as if stretching and let my hands slide to the centre of my breasts, he keenly watches. George is gloriously unaware. I motion to the tart to follow she is obligingly insistent on following me and has no outward objection to the ordeal, no the rendezvous.
Outside is slightly nippy but it has oddly warmed with the approach of nightfall. Gloria is sitting in a chair to my right there are two lovers snuggling to my left and I think sardonically “this is what hell must be like”.
“Do you come here a lot?” She looks up at me and yelps in her irritatingly high pitched voice.
“No dear, it’s a new Bistro it opened two days ago.”
“Oh, I thought it was just well kept.”
“Well there’s a sign out front that says now open for business but then, you possibly overlooked that as well as you do everything else I’m certain.” I thought but only said. “Perhaps it’s the antique slightly rustic look that confused you it gives the place warmth, a look that’s a bit lived in”
“It’s nice.”
“Yes, it is”
“I like your dress.”
“Oh I’ve had it for years it seems I’ve worn it at least a hundred times, how is Alan.”
“My son, he’s fine.”
“No not your son Alan the waiter you twit.” A remark I am certain would have blindly been mistaken for sincerity not sarcasm. I refrain several times in our short lived conversation, being pleasant and sociable. It occurs to me that my husband is far more entertaining for he can entertain himself. I speak with Alice but with the realization that I would have better luck having pleasantries with a brick wall. She is nodding with apprehension and hanging on my every word, we speak of nothing and honestly I could care very little less.
“Gloria is that you” A flamboyantly dressed, extravagantly made up female blurts out in a frenzied tone.
“Alexandria it is so good to see you.”
“Do you mind if I take her away your husband tells me you wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind I’ll see you all inside.”
They leave and I am thankful. I become conscious of the emptiness of the terrace and finally feel at peace. I suppose most people were likely already dinning, at the bar or at the front where all the festivities were taking place. A part of the grand opening is live entertainment and some other spectacular thing of sorts. It had all bored me, much like George and more so like Gloria. The Terrace is secluded in its construction it does not project directly from the main door overlooking the large dinning area but instead from a smaller door to the left of the kitchen. Perhaps it is meant to indulge lovers or the more antisocial of its clientele. It has three small bistro tables and two large benches a small pond and exotic plants which indubitably add to its captivating beauty. I watch the large coy nibble on the plant life surely they are trapped; swimming in circles and enlarging to an extent that diminishes the pond’s prominence. What mindless creatures they are feasting, breeding then dying. I am troubled by this close association when I am taken aback by a voice.
“You’re distant this evening.”
“Edward I thought you were with George.”
“No he has new company I told him I would come and check on you so how are you Claudia?”
“I’d say never better, but you’ll know I’m lying and you?”
“Nothing’s change so I guess ok, I’ve missed you, I’ve thought of you a lot lately.”
“Why would you.”
“Why wouldn’t I., you’ve always fascinated me.”
“Edward you’re such a tease.”
“I know, but it put a smile on your face.”
“I suppose you came to see if I was searching for a way over these walls and to somewhere else, you know how I joke about abandoning everything.”
“Yes, I also know you couldn’t and wouldn’t.”
“You are my confident, my friend, my only friend I believe.”
“And that will never change.”
“I know you respect him too much.”
“I respect you too much.”
“We’re back here again aren’t we?”
“Did we ever leave, we took a break maybe but this is always there.”
He touches my hand in a friendly sort of way, I try to smile in an unaffected manner but I could never lie to Edward he is too perceptive. We hug tenderly and I can feel his hardness pressed against me. We were always so well suited. His proud height now towers over me like a protective and consuming cocoon; he lifts my chin lovingly and looks directly in my eager and willing eyes. I have yet to find a love as strong as ours. For the first time we share a kiss, not our usual platonic, chaste kiss, but one with such insurmountable passion I believe our lips will fuse and have no way of parting. He moves his tongue skilfully and carefully in my fervent mouth I taste him and his are lips that exude an atypical pureness; sanctity second only to Godliness. He is rough yet smooth, strong yet gentle and I trust he will devour my very essence, my soul, with this one enduring kiss. He rips himself from me and is shocked by his own reaction we know now there is no turning back.
* * * * * * *
