Jeremy’s assistant had said he would be caught up in meetings most of the afternoon. Just as I think to check my phone for messages, a man in uniform with a concierge badge on approaches me.
‘Excuse me. Doctor Alexandra Blake?’
‘Oh. Yes.’
‘A gentleman asked me to pass this message on to you and convey his sincere apologies that he is unable to meet you here.’
My heart sinks as my fears are now confirmed; he can’t make it. Disappointment washes over me all over again.
He hands me an envelope. ‘Thank you very much, Doctor Blake. If there is anything I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
I smile as much to myself as to the concierge. Jeremy always insisted on calling me ‘Doctor’ once I graduated with my PhD, even though he is the true medical doctor and I am the philosophical kind. He knows I’m not good at medical emergencies and have an inherent fear of hospitals, so it was always a joke between us.
I take a seat on the velvet lounge and open the envelope to pull out the typed note inside:
To my dearest friend, Doctor A. Blake,
My sincere apologies for leaving you stranded in the hotel lobby this Friday evening. I had a few unavoidable errands come up at the last minute, which have caused some delays. Everything seems to be in order now and I would very much appreciate you joining me upstairs for a drink. It has been too long!
Please find the security key for the penthouse floor in the envelope.
I eagerly anticipate your arrival.
Love,
J. xo
My stomach flips and turns like a gymnast competing for the Olympic gold medal. Once again I am instantly transformed into a teenage groupie — he is here after all! But what is he doing in the penthouse? The Jeremy I knew always shunned the flashier side of life, preferring to maintain a more austere public persona. Although, if I remember rightly, when surrounded by those who knew him well, he could certainly relax into a mischievous rebel at times, enjoying the finer things life had to offer. Perhaps Samuel’s comments weren’t misguided when mentioning the bottomless funding of pharmaceutical companies. I can only wonder if the Jeremy of old still exists in the Jeremy of now.
As I gather myself together both mentally and physically, I notice the concierge still hovering in the background — does he have nothing better to do? The thought randomly floats through my brain.
‘Is everything in order, Doctor Blake, can I help in any way?’
I wonder what expression I have on my face as I turn to look at him. I notice the faintest of smiles at the corner of his mouth, his eyes twinkling. Dumbfounded, I shake my head. ‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’
Was I? I am beginning to wonder. He continues to loiter behind me. I change my mind and turn to him.
‘Actually, yes. Could you please show me the way to the lift for the penthouse?’
‘Of course, Doctor Blake, it would be my pleasure. Right this way and may I take your bags?’
He says it in a way that makes me think he is in on something I don’t quite comprehend, and a strange feeling passes through me. Perhaps I’m just not up to speed on the service at five-star hotels these days. Knowing I’m not feeling exactly normal at this point, I push the thought out of my head and conclude that my mind could easily be playing tricks on me.
‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ I say politely, and follow him as he leads the way to the lift with my bags in tow.
Seconds later the lift is racing rapidly toward the lofty heights of the penthouse floor. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm my nerves. What a wonderful idea to have a drink while overlooking the city as twilight descends, always a spectacular view with weather like today. I’m not sure if Jeremy is staying in the hotel, but if he has access to the business lounge we may be able to have complimentary nibbles and drinks. Strange how the concept of free drinks still resonates with me, must be left over from uni days … I let out a little chuckle. The concierge must think I’m crazy.
As the doors open, I realise I am genuinely excited about seeing Jeremy; he is an amazing man and a truly great friend. The disappointment of believing he couldn’t meet me had hit me harder than I ever imagined possible. Now I feel happy, excited and very much looking forward to a wonderful heartfelt reunion as only best friends can.
I am assaulted by the magnificent views in front me as I step out of the lift and into a carpeted room with floor-to-ceiling windows — I had forgotten how truly captivating Sydney Harbour is from these spectacular heights. I take a moment to absorb the visual feast before my eyes. Sparkling blue water with tiny white flecks. Ferries and yachts curve arching ripples across the silky water, and the buildings imbued with a rosy glow, reflecting the light of the sinking sun. Looking around to orientate myself, it seems strange I can’t see any bar on this level.
‘This way please, Doctor.’ I almost forget the concierge is standing beside me with my bag. I check the security card and notice the symbol on it matches the one the wall. I follow the arrows with my eyes as we walk in silence. Finally I find myself standing tentatively in front of large double doors. Before either of us have a moment to press the buzzer, the door flies open in front of us. And standing before me is Jeremy. More sophisticatedly handsome than I had dared allow myself to remember.
‘Hey AB, there you are. Welcome.’
‘Hi,’ I respond, fairly quietly, almost shyly. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘I see Roger found you in the lobby. Thanks for taking care of her for me. I’ll take it from here, cheers.’ He takes my bag from the concierge and ushers me in, closing the door behind me.
‘You’re right; it has been too long, way too long in my opinion.’ He excitedly wraps his arms around me, almost lifting me off the floor in an all-embracing hug, his eyes twinkling all the while.
‘Let me look at you.’ He holds me at arm’s length and his eyes absorb my face, my hair, my body, my legs, right down to my toes. I had forgotten how penetrating his stare could be and it catches me unawares, leaving me suddenly feeling utterly self-conscious. I quickly look away to avoid seeing any further analysis.
‘You look wonderful, Alex, still my young green-eyed Catherine Zeta-Jones,’ he says intently, this time embracing me softly, lightly kissing my forehead, as if giving me his stamp of approval.
‘And you aren’t looking too bad yourself given you’re almost forty, Dr Quinn,’ I say cheekily, needing to immediately lighten the mood, both because of his possessive words and the intense emotions rushing through my body.
I don’t trust myself to fully absorb his appearance but at first glance it doesn’t look like much has changed over the years, except a little salt gently peppering his dark hair. Still confident, toned, mischievous … he does look good. If I’m really honest he looks great, actually; broad, square shoulders, six foot two inches tall, clean shaven. He smells beautiful. It has been many years since I have been this intimate with his spicy, outdoorsy scent but the cloud of arousal it stirs up penetrates deep within my core; his tight round arse looks sensational in his causal trousers. Dear god, I am in sensory overload and I have just arrived … Stop it! Look somewhere else, I scream internally as I command my eyes to slide off his body to the broader environment.
‘Wow, this place is amazing. Are you staying here?’
‘Yes, indeed I am. I’m here for the week.’
‘Well, you have certainly moved up in the world, my friend.’ He shrugs his shoulders and grins sheepishly. I love that smile. I love those lips. I love those lips on my breasts. God! Stop this, now.
‘Come on in. Relax, please make yourself at home.’ Jeremy leads me to the lounge room, obviously sensing I’m far from relaxed. Working myself into a right state would be more accurate.
‘I thought we were meeting at a penthouse bar for a drink. I wasn’t expecting to be in your suite.’ I try to keep my voice conversational, tempering my rising level of anxiety.
‘Does that cause you any co
ncern?’ he asks directly.
‘Ah, oh, no.’ I stumble the words out. ‘No, not at all.’ Should it? I think to myself.
‘Good.’
I hear the pop of a cork, which startles me a little, and Jeremy pours me a glass of champagne. It is perfectly chilled and the bubbles within the crystal glass provide me with a visual representation of how my stomach has been feeling most of the day.
‘Cheers, Doctor Blake. I’ve missed you, my friend, my confidante.’
My heart skips a beat as he utters these words, my mind comprehending the emotional depth attached to them.
‘Cheers to you too, Dr Quinn.’ We clink our glasses together as our eyes capture one another’s gaze for the first time in a very long time.
‘How are you, Jeremy? How is your life going? Have you met anyone? Are you enjoying the US? And what about work, you sound so busy with everything …’ God, I can’t stop myself blathering! He laughs as he raises his hand to interrupt my inquisition.
‘You’ve never been short of a question, Alexa, have you?’ He raises one eyebrow and pauses. ‘I suppose some things never change.’ His comment is teasing and laced with innuendo.
His look is direct, though somewhat mischievous at the same time. I shuffle uncomfortably at the intensity of his stare and the weight I assume is behind his words. I wish I could read his facial expressions more clearly but as we haven’t seen each other for so long, they are unfortunately too masked for me to decipher at this point.
‘It’s just that there is always so much to catch up on in the time we have. I don’t want to miss anything, don’t want to waste our conversation,’ I reply in my defence.
‘We won’t, I promise you. Now drink up.’
I notice I still haven’t touched my champagne. We both sip a mouthful of the golden bubbles at the same time. It tastes so delicious, initially dry with a sweet aftertaste and I feel the bubbles pop on my tongue. I can’t help but take another.
‘Now, before I attempt to answer your myriad questions, tell me, what are your plans for this weekend? Who has the pleasure of your company?’
Happy to ease back into conversation, I comfortably rattle off the details of my weekend, particularly as he knows most of the people I am seeing. I tell him about Robert and the kids being away on their great adventure and about my catching up with Samuel at the university, my family and my old school friends. He listens attentively, without interrupting, and I barely notice as he refills my glass. I can’t say whether it is nerves or excitement that keeps my chatter going and the champagne flowing.
‘Enough about me.’ I realise Jeremy hasn’t spoken in some time and we have plenty to discuss other than my plans for the weekend. I stop to look at him more carefully and notice his tense expression. ‘You’re very quiet, Jeremy. Is there something wrong?’
He stands up and walks deliberately toward where I’m seated on the lounge. Silently, he squats on the floor ensuring he is looking directly into my eyes and places his hand on my stockinged knee. A mild electric current travels straight up my leg and I jerk at the sensation. The hint of a smile emerges on his face at my reaction, as if pleased he still has this impact, before it quickly disappears and he regains focus and control of the moment. I immediately blush, blending perfectly with the rose cushion at my back. There is no way he can’t notice that I am practically beside myself at his touch. Completely embarrassed, I shift my body weight uneasily on the lounge, while his position is statuesque. My rising anxiety immediately prevents me from uttering a sound.
‘Alexandra, I want to ask you something and I’m honestly not sure what you will say or how you’ll react.’
It must be serious if he is using my full name.
He pauses, staring unrelentingly into my eyes.
‘Which is unusual for me …’ he muses.
He fixes both hands firmly on my knees, as if anchoring my feet to the ground lest I should fly away like a helium balloon. ‘So, I’ll just come straight out with it.’
I don’t move an inch.
I do nothing except hold his gaze.
I concentrate on moderating my breathing.
I wait for him to continue.
‘I would like you to stay the weekend here with me and cancel your other plans.’ He pauses, looking at me from beneath his long, thick eyelashes. My heart literally skips a beat.
Or two. Or maybe three.
As his gaze intensifies, I become lost in his eyes.
Our shared, ancient memories come flooding back into my brain: flashes of university days, ridiculous pranks, lust and love and orgasms and sex, friendship, tears of laughter, tears of pain, experimentation, stolen moments. It was fun, it was edgy, exhilarating and exciting, and there seemed to be no other way with Jeremy.
The look in his eyes conveys all of that and more to me in a few long seconds. I never knew quite what was going to happen next with Jeremy and here I am, all these years later in the same situation. Albeit with very different life circumstances. Our silent dialogue continues dancing between us. Once again daring us to take a risk that would never be taken with anyone else, only each other.
My mind begins to race as fast as my heart. What if I did stay? Would it be the worst thing I could do? People always talk about living life to the fullest, expecting the unexpected … Wouldn’t a weekend with Jeremy make me feel more alive than I have in years? Given the effect of his touch on my knee, I can only imagine how I would respond to, well, his touch on other parts of my body …
Finally, my motherly instinct anchors these abstract and fleeting thoughts so commonsense can prevail. My children. My life isn’t just about me any more; there are consequences for my actions. The guilt … the betrayal … Robert …. My stomach is in knots. How can I feel such anticipation and remorse simultaneously? It doesn’t make sense to me. My clinical mind quickly shifts a gear and makes a mental note to explore the psychology around such intense emotions and the resulting change in my physiology. My immediate situation renders my clinical experience redundant. God, what am I doing, thinking, feeling? Jeremy still has his hands on my knees as his eyes bore into my soul. Moments pass until, as if reading my thoughts, he releases his hold on my eyes and withdraws his touch, rising to step toward the panoramic view.
I immediately inhale as if I have been released from a spell. I must have been holding my breath for quite some time. As he continues to stare out toward the harbour, he says, in a bemused voice: ‘Let me guess. You are currently analysing every angle of this situation.’ He turns to look into my eyes once again before returning his gaze outward and nods, as if to confirm for himself that he is on the right track before continuing.
‘You are weighing up the pros and cons of accepting my offer. One side of you is excited, enticed almost, about the possibilities of the experience, the other is fully grounded in the responsibilities of your existing life, giving rise to endless questions and what-if scenarios and which mean you need more time for consideration and reflection. Truly, Alex, it would take many lifetimes’ worth of experience to answer your questions and even then, never reach a satisfactory conclusion. Am I right?’ Once again, looking toward me for confirmation.
All I can do is nod my head in agreement. He is reading me like a book. Actually, if I’m truly honest about it, he is reading me better than I can read myself, which disturbs me no end. The accuracy of his words catches me off-guard, his summary both measured and precise. Am I that easy to read or does he really know me that well? I thought he would have forgotten over the years … but if I haven’t, how could I naively assume he had? That is a truly scary consideration given my current predicament. He continues with his barrage of my presumed concerns.
‘What about your family? Do you really want this? What will it mean if you stay? What would your friends think? How would you justify your decision? Could you live with yourself? And dare I say it, what would happen if you truly let yourself go, even if it were just for one weekend?’
I sit before h
im, embarrassed at the truth behind his take on my questions, by the depth of his knowledge of my thought processes. But I also know he isn’t playing fair now and is deliberately pushing my personal boundaries.
His last question was the summation of many of our conversations throughout our relationship. He knows I put others before myself and always castigated me about it, particularly if I chose paths he could see ending badly for me. He always made me ponder the question of ‘what if’? What if, just once, I didn’t try to control or orchestrate myself and others, didn’t play it safe? What if it was a good thing to not know what was going to happen next or how someone was going to feel about it? Could it still be worth the risk?
My immediate concerns were, unfortunately, way too easy to summarise given the moral dilemma I faced. The real issue for me is, in reality, quite simple — can I say no to Jeremy?
He is playing me well. I know it and he certainly knows it. Even though I try to erase any distinctive emotion, he can read my face intuitively, see through any mask I put on. His understated smirk causes me greater anxiety than the myriad other feelings I am filtering through my head.
My voice arrives quietly but firmly.
‘That’s really not fair, Jeremy. Do we have to have this conversation right now? Can’t we just catch up and see how things go?’ My voice trails off at these words. He knows I’m trying to hedge my bets and he can easily see through my attempted poker face, never a good position to be in with him. I unconsciously brace myself for our battle of minds, knowing that my brain is in a boxing ring with the right side fighting with the left, both deftly defending their position without understanding they are both on the same team — not helpful.
He walks slowly and deliberately away from the glass panels over to the champagne bucket, carefully picks up the bottle and walks back toward me. He silently notices my hands trembling as he slides his hand down along my fingers and removes the glass I’m holding, refills it and places it carefully on the side table next to the lounge. He kneels in front of me, holding both my hands in his and lets out a sigh. The power and presence emanating from him is in stark contrast to his apparently submissive position on the floor. I can barely breathe the air between us it is so thick with tension. I feel like a deer caught in headlights.
Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy Page 3