A handsome, long-legged, ample-breasted Brit would be a nice souvenir, if I was looking for that sort of thing. It was nearing the end of the session, and I was itching to make a hasty getaway or maybe to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her. I’d have to figure out what to say, but it would be a start. We had fifteen minutes between sessions. As it turned out, when they dismissed us at the end of the talk, the hallway was too narrow for the amount of traffic pushing through it. I couldn’t get close enough, but I kept my eye on her when I could.
On the way to the current lecture, she walked into the Gold Room just ahead of me. It was hard to miss my first close-up glimpse of her fantastic tush as I made small talk with a man from Belgium. Unexpectedly, she turned around to converse with someone who had tapped her shoulder. Despite being engaged in conversation with someone else, I was quite certain she glanced my way more than once. I personally could not stop staring. My stomach was doing flip-flops like I was some horny teen who was sure she had spotted her true love at long last. Her milky complexion, light eyes, pronounced cheekbones and tapered jaw made an instant impression on me. I was close enough to notice her irises, bordering on liquid blue, which brightened significantly when she smiled. I wished I had been closer and pushed my way in to sit next to her, but I had hesitated too long, and the seats on either side were promptly taken.
What idiot misses an opportunity like that? Yours truly, that’s who. I consoled myself with the fact that although she fit the criteria on my rusty gay radar, that did not guarantee she was a lesbian. I’d have to get to know her first.
It was a long afternoon. The moment the boring speaker announced a break, I rushed toward refreshments. Dr. Wright arrived first. I made double sure I was right by her side. True American style, I blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“Could this guy be any duller?” I bit my tongue. What if he was a friend of hers? Or worse, what if she thought I wasn’t overjoyed to be here?
She turned, peered quite intently into my eyes, and with a bemused smile, replied, “He’s an arrogant prat. His articles boast of bloody useless data; I chuck them in the bin straight away. He wants sacking, but the bigwigs are soft.” On the podium, she sounded posh, but on a personal level, she was actually down-to-earth and quite relaxed in her choice of words.
“Sacking, as in potatoes?” I asked.
“You’re joking? No, sacking as in fired.”
She helped herself to coffee and a jelly donut.
“Where are the tea and crumpets?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “Tea is over there, and I’m sure you can get a crumpet if you ask.”
“That’s okay, there’s plenty to nosh on here.”
“Nosh? Are you from New York or something?”
“Yes, actually, I am.”
Rachel Smith walked over. “I ate so much for lunch,” she told Dr. Wright, “that it will be near impossible to find room for any of these lovely nibbly bits.”
“Sure you can,” Dr. Wright assured her.
“Well, if you insist.” Rachel placed a cake on her plate and scampered off to mingle.
Nibbly bits? That’s a funny expression, but I immediately zoomed in on Dr. Wright’s mouth and longed to nibble on those nibbly bits, along with other delectable parts, until a scone and cream caught my eye. Catering even provided small jars of authentic strawberry jam rather than artificially colored and flavored red jelly packets that could double as table sugar. I dropped a scone on my plate, sliced it open, and then proceeded to cover it generously with the cream and jam. I put it aside just long enough to pour tea and a bit of milk into my cup—a lovely cup and matching saucer my grandmother would approve—and filled both hands with the takings. I followed her over to an empty free-standing table.
One bite, and bliss exploded in my mouth. This was more like it. I sipped the perfectly brewed beverage. The tea tasted much better in England, I decided. I looked up to find Dr. Wright’s gaze transfixed somewhere around my lips. Unable to quench my sudden desire, I stared right back at her, totally besotted. With her head slightly tilted, Dr. Wright raised her eyebrows and shot me a flirtatious smile that blew me away. She was so damn hot, it was amazing I didn’t boil over at the mere sight of her. I dabbed the corner of my lip with my tongue out of habit.
“We have ‘prats’ in America too,” I said, not entirely sure what ‘prat’ meant, but I figured it wasn’t a compliment. “Do you suppose this delicious tea will be strong enough for the jolt I’m after?”
“I doubt it.” She held up her donut. “That’s why I’m eating rubbish and drinking coffee. I see you chose the scone.”
Despite going back on the promise I had made to myself that the Victoria Sponge and custard was the last treat of the day, I stuck my finger into the decadent cream for another taste—you know, just to be sure I really liked it.
“Oh, yummy. Too yummy for a health professional whose main goal is to guide the public toward improved eating habits, but whatever.” I was fully aware that I was indulging in a sugary, fat-laden dessert and relishing the delightful feel in my mouth as a substitute for other sensual delights—namely having sex with the woman who openly watched me enjoy my cream like a voyeur in heat. What a flirt!
“You like clotted cream then?” she said, her eyebrow quirked.
“I love it, but did you just say ‘clotted’? Why clotted?”
“They use the milk from Jersey or Guernsey cows because it’s higher in fat than milk from other cows.”
“Oh God, now you tell me! So much for being a minor indulgence—this is major. How do they clot the cream?”
“My granny used to make it. She would pour the milk into shallow pans and leave it out for about twelve hours until the cream rose to the top. Then she’d heat it close to the boil until the surface began to wrinkle. She would then refrigerate it, and when it was ready she’d scoop up the clotted cream.”
“It sounds like a lot of work.”
“Blimey,” she said. “I haven’t had a Devon cream tea since I was little. It was a special treat. You can’t come to Devon without having one.”
“You’ve got a point.” I gathered another dollop. “Would you like to share some of mine…to, uh, refresh your memory?”
“It’s a bit rich, but all right then; go on.” Her plump red lips parted in preparation, and my mouth went dry as moisture collected in my pants. I couldn’t take another bite of the scone, slathered as it was with that clotted cream, but I sure could live vicariously watching her devour it.
She didn’t have a free hand and made no move to put down her plate or the cup and saucer despite having a table at her disposal. Could this have been a calculated move on her part? I suspected the answer was yes. I did the only thing I could. I brought the treat toward her waiting lips. Her heated breath made the cream slide off the piece of scone onto my thumb and forefinger. Without pausing, she lapped it up, licking my fingers as she did, which caused a delightful twinge below. After the cream was gone, she lingered before slowly pulling away. One more second and I would have begged for her mouth to take me too. Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as she swallowed, amidst moans of gastronomic pleasure. I shared her bliss but in a totally different way. Still, in that moment, I felt this unbelievable connection.
I immediately dismissed it since there was no way on earth I was going to fall for a woman on the other side of the pond. No way in hell either!
She took a tiny step back and intently gazed into my eyes. With her thumbs hooked into her belt loops, standing tall, yet at ease, she looked so sexy. It’s no wonder I averted my attention to her hands. But that didn’t exactly help: such capable hands, and resting oh-so-close to her crotch, tapping fingertips near her zipper. I slurped my tea, happy it had cooled some, or I would have scalded my tongue.
“There’s only o
ne other cream I enjoy more.” Her voice deepened as she hinted at hidden meanings. The wider she grinned, the redder my face grew. I tried to ignore the aphrodisiac effect she had on me, as my radar pinged with delight.
“It’s stuffy in here,” she said. “Want to get some fresh air?”
“I’d love to.”
I should have said, “No thanks” instead. Her vibes caused every caution signal to practically blare in my ears and blind me with flashing lights. She was coming on too fast.
I hadn’t dated in five years, much less spoken to other women besides my colleagues, so how was I supposed to proceed once we got outside? I didn’t want to lead her on, but I did want to get to know her. What was the protocol for showing interest in a British woman? Was it the same as for an American? Did they have different rules? I followed her blindly.
She led me to a patio overlooking the water. I was acutely aware of her hand against the small of my back, a gesture that hinted chivalry was not dead. There was a tanker not far from shore and a ferry en-route to the peninsula in the distance. It was a clear day. I could see the breakwater and the lighthouse, as well as pedestrians and their dogs. She chose a table, held my chair, and sat down in the one beside me. Was this a typical English gesture? I doubted it. I could have sorely used a book on British social norms.
“Thank you, this is lovely,” I said. “I noticed your binoculars; they look top-of-the-line.”
“They are actually quite good. I got them on offer at eBay.”
“You must be serious about birding then?”
“I am. What about you? Have you seen any interesting wild American birds?”
“A whooping crane, once.”
“That’s brilliant.” She stroked my arm. “Look there.” With a gentle hand she guided my shoulder until I faced the right direction. “See the Cormorant there?”
“Oh, yes, I almost missed him. Thanks.” I absently patted her thigh in appreciation. When her muscles flexed beneath my touch, I withdrew my hand, hoping she didn’t read my touch as encouragement. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go that route—not yet, at least. A small measure of relief came after others had joined us outdoors.
“Where does that ferry go?” I asked, to keep the conversation going.
“Brixham,” she said. “A fishing village. During the Middle Ages, it was the largest fishing port in the southwest. Today it’s still one of the largest fishing ports in England. But most people go there to shop, fish off the breakwater, have a meal, or swim in one of the many coves. It’s a lovely place. You should try to get over there.”
“I hope to do some sightseeing. Thanks.” I couldn’t help sounding stiff, but I was so flustered about this attractive woman’s attention, I couldn’t focus on the conversation long enough to come across as what I hoped was approachable and fascinating. I worried she was already bored to tears by my lack of animation, but then the next thing she said shocked the hell out of me.
“Let’s sneak out,” she said, a devious glint in her eye, when the others were yards ahead of us.
I didn’t mean to gape, but this woman could not be serious. To skip out on part of this groundbreaking symposium was totally irresponsible, especially since she was keynote speaker no less. “That’s naughty, don’t you think?”
“I prefer to live dangerously.”
“I can’t miss the next afternoon session.” I was not about to miss doing everything in my power to ensure the success of this project. I couldn’t let my company down, and I certainly wasn’t going to let myself or Debs down either. And on a grander scale, if I could be so presumptuous, I was not prepared to let the public that could benefit down either. “I’m sorry, no.”
She sighed. Was it a sigh of disappointment or resignation or was she just dismissing me forever more? I hadn’t a clue what she was thinking when she finally said, coolly, “No worries. Cheers, then, yeah.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. Before I could explain, she had the gall to turn and walk away. I had to close my mouth or catch flies, as they say.
We strolled back inside separately, her in the lead. Although this granted me a nice view of her attractive backside, her abrupt change in attitude wounded my pride. At first this pissed me off, but then I thought about missed opportunities and my anger disappeared. Instead I was overcome with sadness, when I should have been celebrating my dedication to work. It was just like me to mess up what could have been a good thing for my private life. Her butch complimented my femme: God, I had loved it when she had led me outside and placed her hand on the small of my back, too intimate a gesture for new acquaintances, a touch that caused an electrical current all the way down to my toes. I still couldn’t get over how she had held my chair and had chosen to sit so close. She was smooth, smart, loved nature and her lips were extremely kissable. We would make a nice couple under other circumstances.
I entered the darkened hall and was temporarily blinded. My eyes took a while to adjust, but I never lost sight of her.
“See you later,” I said when I managed to catch up to her, sounding wistful despite efforts to remain aloof. I hated that we had to part. But when I got back to my seat, she was right behind me.
“Hiya, Gwyneth, mind if we switch seats?” Dr. Wright said to a woman who looked as if she’d bite the head off a mouse if Dr. Wright asked her to.
“Sure thing, Dr. Wright. You go ahead.”
Things were looking up.
I briefly glanced over at my new neighbor but quickly busied myself in search of…I didn’t at first know what. I looked for something, anything, to pull out of my bag of tricks. It might have looked odd, but I ended up with two identical pens. As she wasn’t holding a writing implement, I handed her one of mine.
“Thank you,” she said.
I then gave her an extra notepad, which she immediately used to write me a note.
I have all the notes from every member of this panel, verbatim, so don’t worry if you miss anything. I can share.
Soon we were exchanging notes back and forth, barely managing to stifle giggles as we continued to pass silly notes throughout the next panel. She had lived in Devon all her life and accurately guessed I was from Brooklyn, New York. She had me pegged as a ringer for Fran Drescher, which was close, although Fran Drescher is from Queens, as I informed her. But truth be told, the actress from “The Nanny” and I were from somewhat similar backgrounds, the main similarity being that we are both Jewish; but I don’t think Dr. Wright had thought of that. Although Ms. Drescher and I had brown hair and eyes, same-shaped face and generous mouth, or so I was told, I was a bit taller, less curvy, and I promise, I didn’t have the signature Fran Drescher laugh.
I ripped a page out of my notebook and scribbled, My name’s Janalyn. What’s yours? I had read her papers. I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember her first name. But it was just as well, because it allowed me to look the smooth operator instead of the starstruck groupie. I needed some ammunition given my awe of her celebrity, not to mention the pesky control she had over my awakened libido. I tore my eyes off her bosom to read what she wrote.
ROBIN, it said in block letters, with an I.
Was that I supposed to be for emphasis or to exert some kind of warning about commanding authority? In response, I drew a childish picture of a Robin redbreast, to which she drew a jar of jam next to Hiya Jamalyn. I grinned.
That’s JaN-alyn with an N, not JaM-alyn, I wrote, now grinning broadly. Drawings turned into more questions, and each question prompted her to run her fingers along my neck. She was a bit forward, but as I sat on the edge of my seat, my body thrummed for more. I didn’t miss how she used any opportunity to touch me, to direct my attention.
Robin whispered in my ear, “Jannn, let’s sneak out later. We can network on our own tonight and make up for lost time with the others tomorrow. Nobody will notice, yeah?”
I had been worried she was a player. Now, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Everybody will notice if you’re not there,” I whispered.
“Rachel will cover for me. Will you do it?”
I hesitated. “I’m supposed to be hobnobbing with people from WHO and exchanging advice with public policy planners from around the world…you know, doing important things, not ditching the first chance I’ll have to make myself heard at the icebreaker.” There, I’d said it, and quickly, I might add, but it was out there. I couldn’t imagine Robin with an I didn’t feel the same way.
“That’s exactly what I’m here to do, but I’ll tell you this right now, you won’t get within a hair of anyone important tonight. They’ll be swarmed with introductions alone, so why waste what could be a great night with me when I can get you a private meeting with anyone you so much as desire?”
“Excuse me? And how do you plan to do that?”
“Simple, I have connections in the World Health Organization and as keynote, well, I could pull a few strings.” She sure was full of herself, but that didn’t stop me from liking her or wanting to spend time in her presence. If anything, I was flattered she chose to spend time with me.
I had this internal debate going on like my brain and I were candidates in the presidential primaries.
“Can I let you in on a little secret?” She moved close enough for me to feel her heated breath caress my face. It was hard to disguise my tremble.
“What’s that?” I asked, not wanting to move back now that she had closed the distance between us.
“Before the Americans, Canadians and Asians came over, the Europeans had a meeting. It was a dress rehearsal of sorts. I can tell you anything you need to know. Missing a couple of hours here or there won’t get in the way of accomplishing your goals. All right?”
What could it hurt if I were to skip out now? Who would really miss me at the icebreaker tonight besides Debs, and I knew she’d sooner join a convent than have me miss an opportunity to get to know someone who was eligible and apparently interested. This felt wrong on so many levels, but so right, Dr. Wright, I chuckled to myself. If the keynote speaker could miss a couple of hours, who was I to hold back?
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