by Colet Abedi
“I’m named after my dad’s mom.”
“I always wondered,” he says as he pulls out a Chanel face mist. He gives himself three sprays then holds it out to do my face.
“Close your eyes.” I do as I’m told. The mist actually feels great on my skin.
“Thanks.” I open my eyes and smile gratefully at my friend.
Erik stares at me for a long moment. He knows me well. He has sat with me through endless tirades about my family, about Jerry, about my desire to be an artist, the many nights all blurred into one, giant, alcohol-induced haze.
“So what’s on your mind? Why can’t you sleep? Please tell me you’re not thinking about Jerry the fairy.” He says the last part with a great deal of animosity.
I snort out loud. “He’s not—“
“So is. The man never ever tried to have sex with you—“
“Lower your voice!” I hiss at him in agitation as I look around the cabin.” He says he was being considerate.“
“Considerate?” Erik pauses for a moment. “Do you believe the lies he tells you?”
“Whatever.”
“Oh honey, there is so much you have to learn.” He pulls a lip balm out of his Goyard make-up bag.
I finally ask out loud the question that has plagued me since the moment Jerry and I started dating. “Maybe he didn’t find me attractive?”
“Spare me the mental anguish! Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
I look away from Erik. “You’re my friend.”
“What I find so damn puzzling about you is how you can be so strong and confident about certain things and so insecure about your own beauty.” He shakes his head at me in disappointment.
“Strong and confident because I don’t want to live a lie? I can’t stand law. I’m just so done with doing what my parents want. I want to live my own dream. Nothing makes me happier than painting. Nothing.”
“Exactly. You walked away from law school in your second year and then you dumped the man your parents wanted you to be with because it didn’t feel right in your heart. That’s confidence, babe. That’s someone who knows what she wants and won’t settle. And yet you don’t see the hot woman looking back at you when you look in the mirror. I’m at a goddamn loss.”
“Hot? Please.” He’s right about the confidence part. But come on, hot? Me? That’s not an adjective I would ever use to describe myself.
Erik looks like he wants to strangle me.
“You’re a knock-out. You’ve got an amazing body. You have perfect brown hair, which happens to have its own natural highlights. Most women pay a hair stylist a lot of money to get that color. You’re blessed with great skin, beautiful green eyes, spectacularly long, naturally curly lashes. If you were five inches taller you could have been a model.”
“Thanks, I think.” I laugh again.
“What? Five feet four inches isn’t so bad.” He leans over and whispers, “Maybe I can look into those surgeries that stretch people out. I think they do that a lot in Asian countries.”
The flight attendant arrives with Erik’s drink.
“Thanks.” He says and takes a sip.
“I’m totally serious about the surgery, by the way.”
“I know you are. But I’m completely okay with being average height.”
“Actually, it’s called petite, babe.“
Erik looks over at his sleeping boyfriend. His jet black hair peeks out from underneath the blanket he has draped over him. “Orie could use a few inches. Maybe we can get a two-for-one deal.”
“You’re terrible.” I shake my head at Erik as I look on the sky map.
Only three more hours to go.
2
My eyes are closed again and I’m stretched out in the waiting lounge of the W Spa and Resort. After we landed, we were ushered here by the welcoming committee, which would take us out to the resort in a seaplane. I changed from my plane pajamas into loose pants and a tank top because it’s really hot. Orie, who happens to be a famous hairdresser, has braided parts of my hair and artfully pulled it back, a look he tells me will make me blend right in with the island girls. I just go with it.
It’s early morning in the Maldives and all I want to do is sleep. Jet lag sucks. I’m using my carry-on bag as a pillow, and Erik and Orie are to the left of me chatting away, completely adjusted and okay with the time difference. They look good. Really, really good. It’s unfair. After almost twenty-four hours of flying they look fresh and flawless. Orie’s black hair is perfectly combed back from his good-looking face and Erik looks immaculate. On the other hand, it’ll take a good scrub and a nap to make me feel like myself again.
I hear voices and know that more guests have entered the resort’s private waiting room. I assume they’ll be on the seaplane with us to our destination. The guys are quiet for a moment and I know they’re checking out the new arrivals, evaluating the other people who’ll be at the resort. I decide to take a quick peek myself. I’m instantly glad I have my sunglasses on to conceal my blatant appraisal of the guests.
Wow.
Let me rephrase that. Holy shit.
A vision of a perfect male specimen is in the room. He’s standing in a corner and talking to what I assume is one of his friends. He has light brown hair and cerulean blue eyes that are so bright they make my heart skip a beat. His lips are full, sensual, and he’s got a straight, perfect nose. His face is utterly masculine and hot. He’s tall, really tall, well over six feet, broad shouldered, and is sporting a natural tan that hints at a life spent out in the sun. He looks like he’s in his early to mid-thirties and he exudes worldly sophistication. I stop breathing. I can’t help it. I think I even might have forgotten how. He is the most good-looking man I’ve ever set eyes on. He literally looks like a walking piece of art. Erik puts his hand on my leg and squeezes hard. He sees what I see. I ignore him.
But Erik’s movement catches the gorgeous man’s eye and he glances over him at me. His gaze slowly moves along my outstretched body, lazily assessing me, from my sneaker-clad feet to the top of my head. He stops at my face, staring intently, almost like he can see through me, and I hold my breath again. Does he know I’ve been looking at him? He can’t, I tell myself. He isn’t Superman, he can’t see through my shades.
But his gaze remains fixed on me, staring so intensely now that it makes me incapable of movement. It’s the kind of look Daniel Day Lewis gave Madeline Stowe in Last of the Mohicans, when he literally devoured her with his eyes right before he dragged her off for the epic love scene. It is still one of the best love scenes of all time. I used to imagine what it would be like to have someone give me that Hawkeye stare. And now it’s happening, for the very first time, from the drop-dead gorgeous stranger.
Erik has a death grip on my leg, clutching it so tight that I think I’m losing circulation. Clearly, he’s witness to this most incredible moment, so it can’t just be my jet lag or runaway imagination.
The stranger’s bright gaze moves to my lips and they part of their own accord.
He smiles.
Oh my God! He knows I’m staring. I close my eyes and try to control the mortification that comes over me. How embarrassing!
I count to ten then open them again.
Shit. He’s still looking.
…