He’s standing at the bar, surrounded by a group of desperate looking late-stage teenagers. They’re all giggling like he’s the funniest man in the world and I despise every single one of them. But it’s not the fact that all three girls combined probably equal my weight. I guess eating’s not the norm anymore in this society.
I think he’s watching me. Shit, pretend to be looking anywhere else, please don’t, oh God. We made eye contact.
And this is how it starts. In this shanty of a smoke-clouded bar, brimming to the sides with desperation. Why did I even decide to come here?
After tilting his chin ever so slightly towards the ceiling he twists the right side of his lips up in a cruel smile and let a puff of smoke billow up towards the heavens. That is, if heaven could even possibly exist in a hole of misery like this. They say that God is everywhere, but He can’t possibly be willing to admit a seedy bar in a broken city like this is one of His creations.
“So, it looks like miss powerful business woman managed to make room in her busy schedule to come find me,” he says, scaring the shit out of me, nonchalantly brushing his body up against mine.
Long enough for me to notice the faint hint of his Jean-Paul Gautier scent, but not long enough for his nicotine billows to linger.
“This is actually just a pit-stop. Work never ends for the rich and famous,” says I in my best Carrie Bradshaw attempt, playfully reaching for his cigarette. He doesn’t need to know I don’t smoke.
“I know right,” taking one quick puff he passes it in my direction just as some rail-thin blonde passes by, making him forget he ever started smoking.
Taking my cue, I smother it out in a nearby ash tray, before he hands me the next in what I imagine is a line of drinks from, probably Mommy and Daddy’s credit card.
“What are you having?”
“Some girly drink that probably wouldn’t interest you.”
“Au contraire, cherrie. Everything about you interests me,” there go my cheeks, giving me away in all their blushing glory. He picks up on that, gently putting his arm around me as I let down my guard. Not going to lie, it’s kind of a good, albeit superficial feeling.
“How is it that I’m lucky enough to be with the most beautiful and amazing girl in the room?”
Not very likely, honey. She’s standing over there.
Well, that’s what I would have said if I had any balls. Instead this came out: “Stop,” blushing even more than before.
And then he moves in for a kiss. I know I shouldn’t. This isn’t right, he’s probably done this every night with a different flavor of the week.
Buuuut, it has been months since I’ve been kissed. Oh just shut up brain. But he does it for me, leaning in and brushing my hair out of my face and tucking it neatly behind my ear. Oh my god, that kills me, how did he know?!
And then just like that, I forget everything surrounding me, everything behind me, and everything that lies ahead of me.
Even though I’m only 24 years old, this is one of those kisses that changes everything. Everything. My eyes are closed so tightly I can’t think, just feel and appreciate. Damn, he’s good. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
He pulls back and looks at me, perhaps in a different light. Maybe he knows I’m falling right into his hands.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says, voice trailing off like he wants something else. “Come back with me, tonight?”
Pushing away and regaining some control, I give him the sultry eyes and walk towards the dance floor and pull some move completely out of my ass. I can feel his intense stare, and it just makes me tap that much more into my current reckless state. I guess the hunter is now the hunted, isn’t he?
Flash forward two hours into the night.
I let myself get too drunk to notice what was going on and now we’re freezing hand-in-hand and stumbling down the streets together.
“Yeah, but
I glance at him sideways, “It’s too much for me. I prefer it quiet. You know, and intimate.”
Magic words. He picks up the pace and frantically searches his coat for the key to his – and when I say his, I mean only as long as the lease holds up – apartment.
You know, having the power to say exactly what I want and then making the night happen just as I’d envision is a power that’s always eluded my desperate grasp.
Tonight is no exception.
The cards fall as I’d expect them to. And next thing I know, his arms are wrapped around me and we’re cuddling ourselves to sleep. Together.“I wish I could just hold on to you forever, like this,” he whispers into my ear.
Yawning like a lost little puppy, I curl up into him and the false comfort he provides, and subsequently fall asleep.
* * * * * *
Daylight breaks in between the cracks of the blinds and it must be at least
Catching a glance of myself in his full-length mirror, I smudge away the careless traces of eyeliner that adorn my face. But, something’s different.
And then I notice the letter.
“You’ll understand because you’re a busy and important woman. Work, all day. Bisous, Jarrod.”
But, it’s Sunday.
And then I remember my initial mission. I’m in his house, alone.
Opening the curtains, I imagine I’m letting in the first light since he’s moved in. Natural lighting serves this room a justice that’s probably never been experienced. It almost seems as if a normal person resides here. I can picture two people laughing happily on this bed, she straightens his tie and he kisses her on the forehead before rushing off to work. Early morning pleasures like that make him forget it’s only
Shaking my head, I get back to the desk and look around for something out of the ordinary. What I don’t know, but I’m still going to look.
Fruitless hours drudging pass just as the morning hours did, with the same dead-end result. I forget what I’m even doing here, and then my phone reminds me.
The text reads, “All niter. C U l8r.”
Great, another girl gets to experience his charm tonight. I have physical proof that I meant nothing.
And just like that, without any explanation whatsoever, I fall to the bed, dropping my head into my trembling hands and begin to weep.
* * * * * *
Back in the office the following Monday, things go back to normal.
I’m a relentless journalist, digging up the city’s dirt and putting it on display in an international publication.
I still have the first email saved on my computer from him. And in that instant, I swear off social networking sites for good. There’s something shady about people who only want to meet other people on the Internet. Why can’t you meet women in public? What are you trying to lure them away from and possibly into?
Those questions are way too deep and complex for my pathetic sobriety levels. Drinking with the girls was probably a bad choice last night.
But God was it fun.
Maybe I should keep the email. I still am not convinced that he’s clean. There’s something about this Jarrod kid that gets me thinking. He makes me feel dirty and nervous at the same time. That’s probably the best way to explain it. Like how any one of those white-collar, my-mom-and-dad-still-pay-for-my-expenses types live.
This could be the reason why women universally go for older men. Babies are, just that, babies. I think I’ll leave the cradle robbing to Demi Moore, thanks.
And then the municipal sirens fill the air, shattering what once was a peaceful moment shared between me, my coffee and the thoughts of tabloids dancing in my head. This can’t be a good sign. Sirens in an affluent neighborhood?
Immediately my mind begins racing.
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