by Chana Keefer
“Love ta see that,” Lex mumbled.
“Hey! You’re paid to be on my side,” Sky quipped as he took my elbow and we stepped onto a polished marble floor.
A security guy was stationed at every corner, each one staring around, over and behind but never at us while Lex followed a few paces behind. As we passed a large archway leading into a domed, cathedral-like chamber, I glimpsed a mountain of yellow under a massive chandelier. I ducked inside.
“That’s amazing!” I gaped at hundreds of slender glass vases, each containing a perfect, long-stemmed yellow rose, arranged to resemble an enormous rose-sprouting meteor. It was breathtaking and daunting to consider the expense lavished on one flower arrangement. Then again, the sight was unforgettable… so perhaps it was money well spent? I studied the display from all angles, the light, the glass beads in the vases, cataloguing the details for a particular someone who would delight in its description.
“I have a friend who’s all about roses, well, all flowers, but roses especially. Probably has every variety known to man.” I didn’t go on to tell him my “friend” was over eighty and the closest thing to a kindred spirit I had ever known. He’d probably had enough homespun boring for one night.
He reached for one of the blooms and handed it to me. I dropped a slight curtsey and we turned away from the display. “Female?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Your friend.”
“Oh, sure. Why?”
“Something about your expression when you spoke of this rose-person. Just watching out for competition.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“No young cowboys to duel at high noon?” He tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and placed his other hand over it as we walked. It felt possessive and… really nice.
“Uh, no. But my dad does own a rifle so… ”
“So the young men are blind or have had too many falls off a raging bull?”
“No. Just too good a’ friends to ruin it I guess.”
“And college? They must queue up after every class.”
The flattery was nice, but we weren’t going toward tables and fussy waiters, just the elaborate doors of a secluded elevator. “Where’s the restaurant?”
“We’ll eat upstairs.”
Lex stepped forward, inserted a key, and the elevator doors opened.
I was officially nervous now. No matter how posh, most hotel restaurants tend to be located on the first floor. I hung back a bit and whispered, “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“There’s one upstairs,” he assured and stepped into the quiet, carpeted confines.
I rifled desperately through my repertoire of stall tactics but drew a blank and, like a well-trained, agreeable southern girl, I followed, my heart thumping. Maybe it’s a discreet restaurant for exclusive clientele? Maybe one of those revolving jobs they put on the top floor?
But when the elevator doors closed Sky turned to face me. I had too much time to think about it now as he placed both hands in my hair and closed in, his eyes roving over every inch of my face, taking a step that pressed me against the little handrail behind and the warmth of his body in front. I felt my eyes grow wide as my lip betrayed me with a little convulsive spasm that I hoped to God he hadn’t noticed.
He had. He hesitated, one brow raised, then moved forward again.
It was too real, too well lit, too much… him—the wine/musk scent, the pressure of his mouth, an intimacy beyond a good night kiss—this was a beginning rather than a parting. I turned my face away and took a gulp of air. “What are you doing?”
“Silly question.” He pulled me closer, one arm wrapped around my waist.
I wriggled aside and turned toward the mirrored doors. “I… um… this is a… big mistake.” Talk about understatement. I was the Titanic and he was that iceberg. I touched the sealed doors, willing them to open. Nothing.
Sky’s hand pushed a button and we began to move, the lighted numbers racing by at a ridiculous rate.
I heard myself babbling, “Look, you probably think… but I’m not going to… so, I should just… go… sorry to… waste your time.” Ugh. I was apologizing?
I reached a shaking finger toward the button with a bright “L” on it but Sky put a hand on my wrist. “Please.” He ducked to my eye level. “I’m sor-ry,” he enunciated carefully.
God he was cute, all apologetic and begging like a wayward puppy. I couldn’t help smiling.
Then the elevator stopped with a ding on floor forty-two and the doors slid open. My smile died.
There was no restaurant, only a deserted little alcove with one door on the left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Facts cataloging my stupidity screamed in my head. I was alone with a man I barely knew. He had brought me to his hotel room. I didn’t have money for a cab—I didn’t even have shoes. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I shut my eyes, gripped the handrail, and continued the mental flogging.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Sky’s hands were on my shoulders, “It’s okay.”
I just shook my head. What could I say? I’m not that way? I’ll go, you stay? Oy vey? I suppressed a giggle of hysteria. At least I wasn’t bursting into tears.
“Esther! Esther, look at me.”
I opened my eyes. The number 4201 filled my vision.
“I’m not some monster. We’re here for food. Nothing else, I promise.”
Ya don’t say?
“This is where I go after a show. It’s the only place I can relax without feeling… on display.”
I snickered. Yeah, I was losin’ it.
“I need a few quiet moments to unwind. Tonight, I wanted to share that with you.”
I met his eyes, not convinced. However, a growing need was drawing me toward that door. I opened and shut my mouth several times, embarrassed to admit what was on my mind. I struggled to fight this undeniable urge. I blushed and squirmed, searching desperately for escape. Finally, I shut my eyes, and took a deep breath. I was beaten.
My voice was so quiet, Sky had to ask me to repeat the request.
He laughed. “So many chaps try to get a woman drunk when ice water will suffice!”
“Please, don’t make me laugh!”
“Now that I have you where I want you, I’ll make a deal.” He took both my cold hands in his. “I promise to never lay a single finger on you while we’re in there.” He raised his hand in a Boy Scout salute. “If I break that promise, you may beat me about the head and shoulders and I will take you home immediately.”
“Captain Hook said something like that to Tinker Bell and look what happened.”
“I promise not to lay a finger, or a hand, a gloved hand, or a hook or anything else objectionable on you while we’re in that room. Will that do?”
“For the moment,” I replied. “No time for formal contracts.”
“Deal.” He offered a handshake and turned toward the door.
As I raced inside, I couldn’t help gasping at his “room.” I was used to the typical hotel fare—two beds, a table, chair, TV. But this. This was an opulent house stuck atop the highest turret of a castle. The furnishings, while not ornate, were extremely cushy and comfortable-looking arranged around a stone fireplace located along the wall to my right.
However, there was no time at that particular moment to soak in the atmosphere. Sky pointed to my left and I hurried toward the gargantuan lavatory composed of creamy marble with gleaming gold fixtures. An enormous sauna tub dominated the center with a glass, oversized shower filling one of the corners. Spotless mirrors surrounded me on all sides, but, to my relief, the facilities I desired were in a tiny, enclosed room of their own.
As I washed up, I peeked at my reflection, at eyes that were a combination of fear and excitement, and at the hair of a gypsy. It was the first time I sensed a woman looking back rather than a girl.
There was a soft knock on the door and I went to peek out at Sky who held a pair of, (oh hallelujah!) sweats in his hands.<
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“I knew you were uncomfortable, so I just wanted to give you the option,” he explained, then shut the door after I took them.
The simple, white, smock style top and loose, drawstring pants looked like heaven. But, didn’t this qualify as “slipping into something more comfortable?”
The temptation was too great to escape the snug velvet so I justified it by considering how much more material would be covering my body if I put on the pants and shirt, slipped out of the dress, and worked my way into the silkiness of the cotton. I rolled up the bottom of the pants about six inches and pulled the drawstring tight.
My feet were a filthy embarrassment next to the whiteness, so I bathed them in the huge tub. After tucking the sides of my hair back into a little knot, I took a critical look in the mirror. The clothes were large, but comfortable in a flowing, Indian fashion.
“I’m wearing Sky’s pants,” I whispered. My reflection shook her head in disbelief as I turned to re-enter the main room.
He was just coming out of a door, a small pile of clothing in his arms, when I entered. Over his shoulder I glimpsed open standing trunks and a massive bed before I feigned overwhelming interest in a sculpture on a table beside me. The door shut with a decisive click and I proclaimed the riveting news. “I washed my feet.”
He was silent so I hastened on, “Um, thank you for the clothes. It was a relief to take a break from that dress.”
“They’re yours,” he stated.
“I really can’t… ” I began to protest, but he cut me off.
“I’ll be just a moment. Feel free to explore.” He disappeared into the bathroom.
He was going to… ? Well what did I expect? A long, sweaty concert and shaking hundreds of hands, I’d want to do the same. Nonetheless, when I heard the water for his shower flow, I focused on the lofty room, its furnishings—glossy bar with goblets hanging overhead and sleek bottles of wine and liqueurs. Double doors led to a formal dining area complete with elaborate chandelier, rich paintings and thick, carved moldings. The table was set with china and crystal, cut flowers, the works. Finally, a venue where the velvet dress would have been perfect and I’d ditched it.
I moved back into the main room, a more welcome setting with the fireplace, sofas and deep carpet.
Having saved the best for last, I moved toward the most commanding feature, the huge floor to ceiling windows that gave an unobstructed view of the surrounding city. I was standing at the French doors that led to the balcony when I heard Sky enter the room. He came to stand beside me.
He pushed open the doors and we stepped out to the fairytale of a balcony. Half-moon shaped and stretching the entire length of the window, it afforded a commanding view of distant lights and of the glimmering, man-made canal that reflected back the glow of rustic lampposts and twinkling lights wrapped in the branches of the trees.
Overhead, the stars were disappearing behind gathering clouds that boiled upward, grumbling and flashing. It was so perfect, by Esther standards, a moment that set all to right, bringing a healthy dose of perspective on a gust of stormy wind. I leaned down to rest my head on my hands, letting out a sigh of contentment, imprinting this tranquil moment on my mind.
“Time in a bottle,” I whispered.
“What’s that?” Sky turned to lean against the balcony.
“Time in a bottle. Just moments I want to capture in my mind. When one happens, I say, ‘time in a bottle,’ and etch it on my brain. Later, I can pull it out and re-live it.” I looked at him, “This one definitely deserves preservation. Corny, huh.”
“What else do you have in there?”
I shook my head. Too many of those moments bore his name and face. “Too personal. Besides, you’d be bored… or laugh.”
“Come now. Something simple, maybe from your childhood… no harm there.”
It was just harmless conversation, right?
I closed my eyes for a moment letting the few perfect images of my life wash over me. “Let’s see. It’s Christmas. I’m eight years old and I walk into our living room to see my new Barbie Good Times Van under the tree.” I clasped my hands to my chest with a deep sigh, “A perfect moment.” I thought a bit before continuing. “I’m about twelve. I’m sitting next to our barn on a cool, quiet night feeding a bottle of milk to an orphaned calf. He’s a noisy, messy eater, and my arms and lap are soaked with calf slobbers but everything is so still. And then, this huge family of rabbits sneaks out, one-by-one, from under the barn and starts to play chase in the moonlight. It was… magic.” I peeked at him. “Bored yet?”
Sky’s eyes were closed. “Please, go on.”
“Alright.” I turned around with my back to the balcony and slid down into my favorite position, knees clasped under my chin. Sky slid down beside me as I thought about what to share next.
“It was a freezing cold night and my brothers and I were worried about our mare, Duchess, who was ready to foal. Mom let us bundle up with coats over our pajamas to go check on her and we arrived just after her colt was born, still wet and wobbly, tryin’ so hard to stand on his skinny legs.” I could see it all so clearly through the wide-eyed wonder of a ten-year-old. The smell of the fresh hay, the cold, wintry air that made our breath smoke, the way my toes grew cold but I tried to ignore it to prolong the moment. “The whole world just stopped and I could hardly breathe. It was so beautiful. The most… perfect thing I’d ever seen.”
I felt a cold “plop” on my cheek.
I lifted my face as the rain started pattering in earnest. The hair was a lost cause. Might as well enjoy it.
“Come on, you’ll be soaked.” Sky stood.
“You’re gonna miss this worryin’ about that?” I chided as the raindrops washed away the stress of the night. Some people are energized by the sun, but rain brings me back to life. Straight ahead, a brilliant lightning display lit the night, remaining a moment to branch out, clinging to its brief glory. “Wow!” I didn’t even care that I sounded like a child admiring fireworks.
“One, two, three… ” I counted until the crash of thunder boomed around us. “About seven miles away,” I estimated.
“Close enough to make lightning rods of us. Back inside.”
We entered the room chased by the scent of the storm. Sky crossed to the table in front of the couch, picked up what appeared to be a remote and pointed it at the fireplace. It blazed to life just as there was a knock on the door
He answered it then came back into the room with a rolling cart covered in white.
“Dinner is served.” He swept off the cloth to reveal a beautiful meal complete with bread, fruit, and even chunks of meat on little skewers. I was suddenly ravenous.
We decided the rug by the window in sight of the fire was the most promising dinner locale and set up our midnight picnic. When everything was arranged, Sky pushed another button to reduce the hanging glass fixture to a gleaming sparkle. I gazed at the beautiful setting as Sky reached for the sliding door, opening it a couple of inches to allow the sound of the falling rain into the room.
That did it. I was officially on beauty overload.
“When I was young, my brothers and I would pull chairs to the screen door, throw a blanket over our heads and enjoy the scary lightning and thunder. It’s a wonder we weren’t struck by lightning since we would sit close enough to get drenched. I’ve been in love with thunderstorms ever since, which is a good thing since they happen a lot in Texas.”
“My memories of storms are good as well,” Sky added. “My mum would come into the bedroom when I was a little tyke, frightened by the ‘loud lights.’ She would gather me onto her lap, wrap a quilt around us and sing. I could never see storms as frightening when I remembered her singing as the thunder crashed.”
I detected sadness when he mentioned his mother but didn’t feel the freedom to probe.
We were quiet for a few moments, just listening to the storm. Neither made a move toward the food. I hardly felt hungry anymore as I drank in the simple satisf
action of sharing that moment with him.
“This is nice,” I said, daring to meet his eyes for one brief moment before I feigned interest in the food, reaching for a plate, putting a few things on it.
There’d been another shift between us. I was in comfortable clothing, washed by rain and, since the storm had wreaked havoc on hair and make-up, I was feeling like the farthest thing from sexy. It was freeing. Self-consciousness was gone. Besides, the food was amazing and all the silver dishes and cut glass between us felt like a safety net—he was in his court, I was in mine, and a no man’s land lay between. I could relax, right?
Over creamy soup and tiny dinner rolls slathered in butter, an easy camaraderie flowed. By the time I got to the sticky meat on little skewers I was happily licking my fingers and talking about all the places I wanted to visit before I die—Scotland, Hawaii, the Greek Isles, London, and all points in between.
“I sang at Buckingham Palace for the Queen Mum,” Sky said.
My jaw dropped.
“I gave her my autograph—on her shoulder. When she tried to give me the key to her room… well, I didn’t think it would be appropriate so… ”
One of the dinner rolls hit him square in the nose. I felt a surge of pride at my aim.
He reached to remove the cover to another serving dish and the most amazing aroma filled the air. A shallow bowl of melted chocolate rested over a warming candle. Another dish produced a variety of fruits and little toothpicks to complete the fondue.
“Oh my gosh.” I leaned toward the wonderful smell. “I’m in heaven.”
“You like chocolate?”
“Duh! What’s not to like?” I grinned. “Would you mind if I just skip the fruit and grab a straw?” Okay, so I had two weaknesses in life—Sky and chocolate.
“I always think a home should smell like chocolate baking.” I rattled on as he handed me a plate and I selected pieces of fruit. “Christmas, birthdays, rainy days, snow days, boring days, you name it; chocolate’s the best potpourri.” I couldn’t resist putting a finger into the warm, dark river on my plate for a taste. Wow, this was way beyond the stuff in the brown plastic bottle. I re-dipped my finger.