Finding You

by Jo Watson

  “What happened? Did you… you know?” Had he seriously just walked into the bar and beaten the guy up? I wasn’t sure whether I should be completely flattered by this knight-in-shining-armor gesture, or whether I should be a bit scared of him. Maybe he was one of those guys who suddenly snapped?

  “Of course not. But he did say he was very sorry.”

  “Did he?” I perked up.

  “He said you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes… he said that when he saw you, you were so beautiful that he couldn’t help himself.”

  “He said I was beautiful?” I couldn’t keep the sarcastic skepticism out of my voice.

  “And he says you have the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really?”

  “He also says you should wear your hair down more often.” Dimitri turned and smiled at me playfully.

  “No he didn’t,” I said sharply.

  His playful smile grew bigger. “Just because he didn’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  A strange silence filled the car. What is this man playing at? His actions confused me beyond measure. He had this way of making me feel better about myself, and it felt wonderful, but how much of it was an act? He was the consummate Greek playboy, after all. He’d probably just honed his skills to such an extent that he knew exactly what to say and do to make a woman feel special. But to what end?

  The car finally stopped outside a small, quaint white cave house with a blue gate and white wall. I climbed out too enthusiastically, which I shouldn’t have. It felt like all the alcohol had settled while we were driving, but upon jumping out of the car I seemed to have shaken it all up again. My head felt woozy and my eyes started to blur the shapes around me. It was so bad that I needed to hold on to the car door to steady myself for a moment or two.

  I carefully followed Dimitri into a small, well-appointed courtyard. In the middle stood a blue table and two chairs, flanked by two small olive trees and some bougainvillea, which I had come to understand was an absolute prerequisite in these parts. He took a key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

  “Where are we?”

  “My house.” He opened the door and started leading me inside. I stopped dead on the threshold.

  “This isn’t my hotel,” I said, stating the obvious. I took a step backward as if the entrance to his house was the gates of hell. Dramatic, I know. I took another step back but miscalculated the slope. I wobbled for a second or two and was just about to fall backward when his arm shot out, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled me up. With a thud, my body slammed into his.

  His arm tightened around me, and I could feel the heat of his hand on my lower back. Our faces were close now. Our noses were almost touching, and our lips were mere inches away. The sensations running through my body were enough to make me shiver. I hoped he hadn’t felt that.

  If I were a confident, flirty girl I might have just leaned in and kissed him, but I wasn’t. I had the self-esteem of a tree stump. I was vaguely aware of his hand rising to the side of my head, and I wondered if he was going to pull another twig out of my hair. Instead, he softly pushed my hair back out of my face. My legs felt like they were going to collapse under me, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or my intoxication with Dimitri. I suddenly became very self-conscious, and the proximity to his face was just way, way too much for me to bear. I quickly wiggled my way out of his grasp.

  “I want to go to my hotel,” I said as every fiber and cell in my body shouted something completely different.

  “Take me to your room and have sex with me. Sex. Room. Now. Sex!”

  “I don’t want to leave you there like this.”

  “Like what?” My eyes snapped back up to meet his.

  “It looks like you’ve had a bad night, maybe you need a friend to talk to.” He flashed me a warm, caring-looking smile that almost made me forget my name, what country I was in, perhaps even the planet I lived on. He’d put it so nicely, too. Using euphemisms like bad night and need a friend.

  I was so conflicted right now. I paused and glanced at his little door. It looked so innocent. It was hard to imagine that he even lived here. He seemed more like the kind of guy who would live in a modern penthouse apartment with lots of glass and chrome and marble and phallic-looking pillars, and perhaps a secret sex room. But this place looked rustic. Charming even. Friendly. Maybe it’s his girlfriend’s place?

  “I don’t want to intrude on you and…” I pointed into the room behind him.

  “It’s just me.” His reply was quick.

  I wasn’t sure if this should make me feel pleased, or scared. He was basically a stranger. But he couldn’t be too dodgy; otherwise the travel company presumably wouldn’t use him as a tour guide. Surely they would check someone’s credentials before putting him on the payroll? What am I thinking… of course he could be dodgy. People hire sickos and weirdos and perverted kiddie flashers all the time. And they probably don’t even realize it. I’m pretty sure it’s not the kind of thing that comes up in job interviews, or becomes fodder around the watercooler. So yes, Dimitri Spiros could be as dodgy as fuck!

  “I don’t bite,” he said with another smile that was less panty-dropping and more reassuring. “But if you really want to go to the hotel, I’ll take you.” He paused and looked at me expectantly.

  Walk into a stranger’s home at two o’clock in the morning? Intoxicated! A stranger called Dimitri who also happens to be, by some sick cosmic twist of fate, a hot, charming irresistible tour guide?

  If I were myself I think the answer would have be glaringly, screamingly obvious. But since that Wednesday-morning mental breakdown, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore, and I was starting to long for the reassuring confines of a padded room.

  Perhaps I was having a quarter-life crisis. I’d read about them and apparently they were as real as the crisis that sees your father buying himself a sports car, setting up a Twitter profile, and dating one of your friends. I was also at least three drinks (okay, at least six) over the legal limit, and it was clearly messing with the part of my brain that usually dispensed sound, solid advice. It was messing with my brain full stop, actually. I felt mad and unrestrained and quite frankly, it worried me.

  “So?” he asked again.

  “Fine. But let me just say that I’m a dentist so I’m no stranger to inflicting pain on people so if you dare try anything I’ll…” I slapped my hand over my mouth. What the hell had I just said?

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you are some kind of hot Greek playboy who takes advantage of… Shit!” My hand flew up to my mouth again.

  “Sorry. Sorry! Sorry! I really didn’t mean to say that you were hot, either, like I’m some kind of woman with a lusty crush… Fuck!”

  This time I slapped both my hands across over my mouth and bit my lip to stop it all from falling out. What was happening to me? Normally I had filters that stopped me from vomiting out the first thing that came into my mind. Why weren’t the filters working?

  He laughed. “No worries. I’m a perfect gentleman.”

  “You don’t look like a gentleman,” I screamed in my head; luckily my hands were over my mouth. He held the door open with a smile that seemed to have spread from ear to ear now. I quickly averted my gaze and looked at my ever-so-large feet as I walked into his house hoping to hell that whoever was controlling my mouth would stop soon.

  “So a doctor then,” he suddenly said. “I should have been calling you Dr. Jane Smith this whole time. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I tell you? I mean, it’s not like it’s a big deal.” I wobbled into the middle of his lounge and looked around.

  The interior of his place was just as surprising as the outside, if not more so. I looked around the room, and nothing looked right. It was small and, much like my hotel room, looked like the inside of a cave. On a small kitchen table, a bowl of f
ruit looked like it had been placed perfectly as if he was waiting for Garden and Home magazine to pop around for a photo shoot.

  I glanced to my left to see a small lounge area with a blue sofa and perfectly laid-out scatter cushions. A large bookcase jam-packed with books stood to the left of the sofa—for show? The coffee table in front of the sofa had a vase of flowers on it—flowers? The room was so neat it looked like no one had ever lived here. Everything looked clean and perfect. This place screamed girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend and I wondered where the hell she was.

  There was only one disorganized-looking element in the whole place, and that was the wall opposite the sofa. It was covered entirely in a massive, old-looking map of Greece. Pins and photos and little notes had been stuck all over it. But the rest of his apartment was impeccable.

  Where were the bachelor beer cans on the floor? The self-absorbed pictures of himself hanging on the wall? The hot model panties strewn across the sofa? I looked up and realized that he was watching me.

  “What?” he asked, looking vaguely concerned.

  “It’s so, so… neat.”

  He walked over to the stove and turned it on. “That’s what growing up with six sisters does to you.” His voice had a lightness to it.

  “Six?” I echoed.

  “Sisters,” he said again with a teasing tone to his voice. “I had to take showers at the neighbors’ house. Our bathroom was always busy.”

  “I bet your neighbor enjoyed that.” Oh fuck! I shouldn’t have taken my hands off my mouth. Maybe if I deflected quickly he wouldn’t notice. “Did you know that a shower uses about two gallons of water per minute?”

  He smiled again. “I do now.”

  “I mean, obviously you would use more gallons if there were say, two people using the shower… like maybe you do here…?” Oh God! I couldn’t believe I was trying to ask him whether he had a girlfriend. It was so embarrassingly obvious.

  His smile grew bigger, “No. Only two gallons a minute is used here, unless one of my sisters crashes here after a night out.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t really asking that, you know. I was just starting a fact about water usage and all. Since water is one of our scarcest resources.”

  Dimitri nodded. “Of course. I didn’t think you were.” He folded his big, muscly arms and looked at me. It was only now that I realized what he was wearing. A casual pair of knee-length shorts and a really worn V-neck shirt that looked like the kind of thing he slept in. It was so worn and stretched that the V hung low enough to offer a glimpse of his rather solid, tanned chest. The whole ensemble might have looked casual, but if you put a horse and an emaciated woman in a cardigan next to him, and gave him a polo stick, you’d have a full-page high-fashion spread.

  “I’ll go make the coffee, which I know you don’t drink,” he said playfully, “but I’ll bring you one just in case you change your mind, even though I know you don’t change your mind about things.”

  He moved off and I made my way to the small sofa. My legs were starting to feel like overcooked strands of spaghetti, and my head felt like someone had poured fizzy liquid into my skull. I collapsed into it with a loud thump—so ladylike. But the sofa was soft, the pillows rather fluffy, and it was exactly what my sore body needed. I closed my eyes for a moment and quickly realized it wasn’t a good idea when the room started to spin. I opened them again and let them float around the room once more. They finally came to rest on the massive map on the wall. Something about it drew me, and I got up and walked over to it. The photos that had been pinned to the map looked old. They had tatty corners, as if someone had spent hours looking at them. There were small handwritten notes stuck to the map as well as a dried flower; a few postcards and some small souvenirs, like a key ring, hung from one of the pins.

  “Here.” Suddenly Dimitri was next to me and presented me with a thimble-sized cup of black liquid. I took it tentatively and peered inside. The cup looked like it was full of thick black tar. “And here.” He held out his other hand and presented me with my sunglasses.

  “Where did you find these?” I reached out and took them from him, slipping them onto my head for safekeeping.

  “You must have dropped them on the ground when you were hiding in that bush… I nearly didn’t give them back to you, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, despite the fact that they protect your eyes against harmful UV rays…” He smiled. Did he remember everything I said to him? “… you wear them too much, and your eyes—”

  “I know. Weird.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve got the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  His words slammed into me like a slab of concrete falling from the sky. We locked eyes and a strange feeling worked its way through me—not quite shivers or tingles, but something even more paralyzing. He held my gaze and I felt like I couldn’t blink.

  “Try the coffee.” Dimitri flicked his eyes down to it. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  I raised the coffee to my lips slowly even though I wasn’t sure coffee beans would be any help to me right now. I needed something stronger. Perhaps a lobotomy. I took my first sip and the bitter liquid assaulted my mouth.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, indicating the map.

  “My adventures,” he said.

  “Your adventures? But these photos look really old.”

  He reached out and touched one with care, as if it was something precious and breakable. “They were given to me as a boy. I used to spend hours and hours looking at them and trying to imagine these far-off magical places that I wanted to go to one day.”

  “Really?”

  “I grew up on a tiny island. Only five hundred people actually lived there, so not much happened. For as long as I can remember, I used to stand on the beach and look out at the sea, wondering what the hell was beyond the blue horizon and when I’d be able to see it all. I wanted to leave so badly, I even built myself a raft once and packed a bag of food and a pair of binoculars. I had visions of sailing the seas and fighting pirates.” He chuckled softly to himself as if remembering something amusing. “First wave the raft hit, it broke into pieces.”

  “You must have given your mother nightmares,” I said.

  “I did. I was always disappearing on these huge adventures. These photos were like puzzle pieces to some great, giant treasure map for me. I still have a box of them that aren’t up on the wall yet.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I admitted. Not that I had any desire to see any more of Greece. I brought the coffee back up to my lips and sipped again. It didn’t improve on second tasting, so I just glugged it down in two large gulps before placing the empty cup on the table. It started to work its magic instantly. The black liquid entered my veins and seemed to chase all the alcohol out. Suddenly I felt alert. Very.

  “Whew! Strong stuff.”

  Dimitri nodded with a smile. “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Tell me about yourself. I’ve told you about me.” He walked over to the couch and sat. “I bet you have interesting stories.”

  “Trust me. I don’t.” I sat opposite him.

  “Everyone has an interesting story.” He leaned forward and his eyes seemed to challenge me. “Who is Dr. Jane Smith?” His accent was so gorgeous, you almost didn’t hear the words when he spoke.

  “I’m just a dentist, you know. It’s not as if I’m running around performing cutting-edge neurosurgery on dying children. It’s not that impressive. Trust me.”

  “I think it’s very impressive. It takes dedication and hard work to get through… how many years is it?”

  “Seven. I’ve just finished.”

  “Impressive,” he said again, sounding completely serious. He wasn’t mocking me because I was a dentist and pulled people’s teeth out for a living. Or telling me how much everyone hated dentists, or how much he hated going to the dentist—all the usual things people did when they found out what I did for a living, which did wonders for my ev
er-diminishing self-esteem.

  “So? Who is Jane Smith?” he again.

  “Mmmm… Who is Jane Smith?” I repeated his words, contemplating them as I went. I rolled them around in my mind a few times. I felt vaguely detached from myself now, as if I could look at things objectively. For starters, the Jane Smith I knew, and had known my whole life, wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t ever find herself in a situation like this, sitting next to a man like Dimitri. She would be at home in her neat apartment with the laminate wood flooring, cooking herself a healthy microwave meal, feeding her pet fish, and settling down to read the latest dental periodical and ensure she was ahead of all the latest oral trends. If she was feeling wild and crazy, she might be out having a glass of wine with her friends.

  “She’s not the person sitting here right now, that’s for sure. She doesn’t do things like this.”

  Dimitri studied me for a moment or two, as if he was unsure of what to say next. He looked confused by my answer. “Why?”

  “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. I barely understand it all myself, so it would be a totally useless exercise trying to explain to someone else when I don’t even know what’s going on at the moment.” I was vaguely aware that my speech was getting faster and faster as I spoke.

  “Try me?” He sat back and crossed his legs.

  The coffee buzzed through my brain, making me feel more alert than I had in a few days. “You’re not really interested in all this,” I said quickly, remembering the guy in the bar.

  “No. I am. Really.” He said it so empathetically that I believed him… maybe I wanted to believe him. “Seriously, Jane. I couldn’t be more interested in you if I tried.”

  “Huh?” My mouth dried up again. Maybe it was from the coffee, maybe it was from the way he’d just said that to me. The way it had oozed with charm and the way he had leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and was now cupping his face in his hands, as if he was a child at story time waiting for the teacher to read to him.

  “Fine,” I conceded. “Okay, how do I explain this to you without you thinking that I’m completely mad?”