That evening, I prepared for the opera almost haphazardly. I had none of my normal nervous fretting and second-guessing of my outfit, an oriental geisha print silk skirt with a subdued black v-neck sweater, accenting my features nicely, brought the eye along the curve of my throat and down my breasts to the splashes of ruby and violet in the skirt. It was more of a confident look than a sexual one, and I hoped that it was appropriate.
At 6:00, he wasn't there. I flipped casually through a magazine and watched the clock. Perhaps he couldn't find my house? At 6:30 pm, just as I was entertaining notions of putting on my sweats, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi Lola, it's Michael. Look, I'm really sorry, I'm running a bit late."
"Do you need directions? Can you find the place?"
"Um, yeah, I know where it is... I'm still at the office. I'm really sorry. I promise I'll get there in time for the symphony but we're about to miss our dinner reservations. I went ahead and called the restaurant and moved our reservations to after the symphony. Is that ok?"
I smiled, thinking to myself that I really didn't have a choice and that it would have to be ok. "Yes, that's fine. I'll be waiting."
"That's my girl." He chuckled, and then was gone.
Same old Michael. Nothing came before his career. Our history was filled with Saturday nights spent by myself while he brownnosed with the bigwigs at the firm he where he had an internship. I kicked off my heels and wandered into the kitchen to retrieve a bit of California roll from the refrigerator, estimating that we wouldn't be having dinner until 11:30 pm. I then made myself comfortable in front of a Meg Ryan movie until a knock on my door startled me an hour and a half later.
I got up and opened the door. Even with his sheepish grin, Michael was a very handsome man. Tall and thin, with model good looks, he was the epitome of style and class. His suits defined his broad shoulders perfectly and in college, I'd always gotten catty remarks from the cute but catty girls who couldn't believe that Michael would be seen with a girl like me, neither the prettiest, nor the thinnest or the smartest girl on campus.
"I am so very sorry, Lola." He raised one eyebrow and gave me a puppy dog face. "You look...wow... you look incredible." He held out his arms, beckoning me to give him a hug.
"Hello Michael." I stepped into his embrace and gave him a big warm hug. His arms swooped around me and he tried to pick me up off the ground. I immediately stiffened my body when I realized what he was about to do. He used to enjoy lifting me off the ground and spinning me around when we had been in college, something I had always detested. He felt my reaction and relaxed his grip, instead resting his hands in the small of my back. I looked up at him and smiled.
"God, I've missed you." His voice was low and growly, reminding me for just an instant of the way that Bill would look at me and growl. My stomach fluttered at the thought of him but I tried to push him from my mind.
"It's been a long time." I said, and then took a deep breath, inadvertently catching the smell of his cologne, a scent I always associated with mahogany studies, private golf courses and old money. His eyes were a rich hazel with flecks of gold in them. In one of my journals, in an entry written during my sophomore year in college, I had described his eyes as "dreamy and mystical". As corny as it had sounded when I reread that years later, it was a very good description. And the years had, if anything, perfected his masculine good looks. It was almost as though he was too pretty to be a real man.
Suddenly, his arms left my back, his fingers brushing for a moment against my butt.
"We'd better get going if we're going to make the symphony. We're about to be unfashionably late." He grinned at his own joke.
I smiled a tight-lipped smile and then walked over to slip my strappy heels over my feet. With the heels on, I had a better chance of matching his height. It was an old trick that I was glad I had remembered. He stood near my pashmina wrap. I walked over to it, grabbed my purse and then paused for a moment to see if he would help me put on my wrap, but he just stood there smiling, so I wrapped it around my own shoulders.
"All set?" He smiled and then walked outside, expecting me to follow.
We were more than a little late to the symphony. Michael pulled up to the valet station but the valets were nowhere to be seen.
"Where are they?"
"Maybe they only work before and after the performance." I offered.
"Don't be ridiculous. People come late. They've got to expect that people will be late."
"We can just park in the regular parking and walk. It's no big deal."
"No. Someone will come." He said, looking forward, scanning the valet lot for signs of life. Finally after about five minutes, he pounded the horn twice. A rather dazed valet appeared from the main doors and opened my door.
"See?" He said, satisfied.
He took my hand and then led me into the main gallery, stopping to rent opera glasses, then pulling me toward the elevator, where he pushed the button for the mezzanine, then turned to look at me.
"I'm so glad that you were able to meet me tonight."
"I'm glad too. It's been too long." I flashed one of my hundred watt smiles.
He grinned back at me and then took my hand, kissing it softly, and then rubbing it between his. "Oooh, you're cold."
I smiled again at how little he had changed. He had this amazing ability to make a woman feel as though she was the center of the universe immediately after he made her wait. It was innate. His father always made me feel like a princess when in reality felt that I was not of the proper breeding for his son, as though I were a mongrel and he a purebred poodle.
The elevator doors opened and he led me past the ushers, down a long corridor to his private box, which turned out to be not so private. Already seated inside were two older gentlemen and a older woman dressed in an evening gown, who turned to give us a disapproving look. Michael guided me to the outside seat and then took the one closer to the two men, who nodded at him silently. They appeared to know each other.
I settled in and became immediately absorbed into the music. At one point, Michael placed his hand on my exposed knee and squeezed gently. It was comforting to be so near him once more. Even though he was exasperating at times, it was very easy to remember my strong feelings for him, especially the way that he could make me feel like the only woman in the world. His exquisite taste and higher senses of appreciation melded well with mine.
Just as I allowed myself to become fully immersed in the sounds of violins, the cellos and the voices, the lights came up for intermission. Apparently, we had been so late that we missed most of the first half. An usher brought in a chilled bucket of champagne with five glasses.
"So, Collins, who is this lovely young beauty?" The silver haired gent turned to me, his eyes traveling down my body.
"Walter," Michael cleared his throat. "Emmett, Mrs. Bradley, this is my date this evening, Miss Lauren Hayes. We went to college together."
The man Michael had called Walter turned to me and smiled. "Why, she barely looks old enough to have graduated high school! Charmed to meet you, my dear." He took my hand and gave it a weak "Southern Belle" hand shake, the kind men give when they are afraid they will crush a woman's hand.
"You'd better watch out for him, Collins," the other man said. "He's stag tonight."
Michael chuckled and then put a hand possessively on the back of my chair.
�Don�t worry, Lauren, it won�t be long before they�re talking depositions and indictments.� Mrs. Bradley said.
Ah, so that was it. Our seats were in the corporate box. Leave it to Michael to never allow an opportunity for career advancement to pass unexplored.
�Oh, thank you dear, for remind me. Collins, how is work on that Lewis case coming?�
�Good, good.� Michael�s demeanor immediately changed as he uncorked the bottle of champagne. �I�ve got four key witnesses pretty much locked up but we�ve got Judge Pascal though, and we all know how he is.�
The men laughed and Mrs. Bradley rolled her eyes. Michael poured a glass of champagne for Emmet and Walter, then one for Mrs. Bradley and finally handed me a glass without looking at me while regaling them with more specifics of what I gathered was an important court case.
I occupied myself with watching the audience until the house lights blinked twice and the orchestra resumed their seats. The men continued to talk business until the strains of Puccini�s theme began. Finally, Michael sat back in his chair and put a hand on my knee and squeezed. I smiled.
He leaned over and whispered into my ear, �I�m sorry, Lola. I�ll make it up to you at dinner.� I nodded, not wanting to be rude and speak during the performance.
He continued, �God, you look beautiful.� Then I felt his lips press softly against my neck, below my ear, giving me instant shivers. It was undeniable� Michael�s mouth was magical.
He kept his hand on my knee for the remainder of the performance. Even though I was mildly turned off by how he ignored me and used me as an arm piece at what was really an opportunity for him to endear himself with the partners of his firm, there was something about him that felt right, as though we were two pieces of a puzzle that clicked together with a resounding and definitive snap.
At curtain call, Michael excused us and, to his credit, begged off going to drinks with the threesome. As we were leaving, I wasn�t certain if it was my imagination or not, but it seemed as though Walter�s hand grazed my bottom.
Michael strode through the crowded lobby toward the valet station, parting the crowd as though by merely his pretentious attitude. As I tried to keep up with him, I became very aware of the looks of the women in the crowd, as they�d appraise him in his designer suit, eyes following his V-shape down to his nicely defined posterior. One of them even nudged her girlfriend to take a look and then they both nodded. I chuckled to myself� just like in college.
Michael handed the valet our claim slip and then smiled at me as we waited for his car. I shivered and pulled my wrap around my shoulders, cursing myself for not wearing a proper jacket. Michael, on the other hand, looked snug and warm in his camel overcoat and leather gloves. The valet returned with the car and Michael thanked him as he walked to the driver�s side. Judging from the sour look on the valet�s face, he did not receive a tip, but despite that, the valet smiled at me and opened the passenger side door for me, taking a quick look at my legs as I got into the car. I blushed. I doubt that I�ve had as many double takes before in my life. Must be a good outfit, I thought to myself.
�Did you enjoy that?� Michael asked as he maneuvered through the crowded parking lot out to the street.
�Yes, it was very nice. I�ve never seen Puccini performed live.�
�Ah, yes, it�s really something.� Michael said and then proceeded to launch into a lengthy oration on the body of Puccini�s work, the acoustics, and whatnot. I nodded in the appropriate places and had a momentary thought that he had only asked me the question to have an opportunity to show off.
A light mist began to fall as we pulled into the restaurant. Michael parked the car and began walking very quickly through the cold mist. I tightened my grasp on my thin pashmina wrap and scurried after him.
We were seated at a prime table and immediately began to scour the menus. I was starving at that point so I visually inhaled the contents of the menu, settling on the salmon quiche with asparagus. I was still feeling the effects of the champagne I�d had earlier but knew that asking for a Diet Coke would be a serious faux pas. I ordered a still mineral water, but Michael then ordered a heavy merlot and two glasses. I wanted to wrinkle my nose, as I�m not a wine drinker, but I knew that it most likely was a very good wine, even if it didn�t taste good.
We ate our dinners with pleasant conversation. I asked about a few friends who travel in Michael�s circles whom I had lost touch with and he updated me on their latest scandals and debacles. He always loved gossip, particularly that of a humiliating nature. He reminisced a bit about our relationship in college, about how I insisted upon wearing my hair in �cheerleader pigtails�. I managed a tight smile in reply and then reminded him of his habit of wearing a button-down oxford and loafers, even on Saturdays. He raised an eyebrow at the memory and let the conversation drop.
When the check came, he grabbed for it with much bravado, making certain that I was watching. He paid and then we walked together out to the car.
The drizzle had turned into a steady rain.
�Well, which do you want to do� make a run for it or do you want me to get the car and bring it up.� He said dutifully.
�That would be lovely.� I smiled back at him, relieved to be back in a position of femininity once again.
He sighed and then covered his head with his overcoat and sprinted out to his car. He pulled up to the canopy and I dashed out to his waiting Lexus.
My decision to wear only a wrap had been an enormous mistake. Now the night had taken a serious dip in temperature, which, combined with the damp weather, made me shiver almost uncontrollably. I consciously willed my teeth not to chatter by keeping my lips pressed tightly together, only nodding and saying �Mmmhmmm� to Michael�s monologue about the important trial he was preparing.
�And you would not believe the jury selection! Roberts wanted a 53-year-old Jewish store owner, when the defendant is accused of murdering an elderly Jewish pharmacist. I mean, really, did he think I would allow that? Bias, anyone?� His voice trailed off and I felt his eyes trail across my face.
�I�m sorry, Lola. I must be boring you to tears. It�s just� it�s just� it�s so great to be with you again.�
I looked up at him and smiled.
�I�m just so surprised at the fact that you�re available. When I�d heard that you�d broken up with Alex� and now I�m available�.� His voice trailed off, the natural progression of his implication evidence.
I cleared my throat. I had been wondering how I would be able to explain my current situation to him, or if I would even need to explain it.
�I�m not quite available, Michael.�
His eyebrow arched and he looked at me. �You�re not?� His unspoken question hung in the air.
�No. I�m seeing someone right now.�
Michael exhaled. �Wow. Oh. Ok. I see. But� wow. I mean, forgive me, but that�s not really like you to go out on a date with me when you�re seeing someone else. Unless� are things not working out?�
�Oh, no�. things have only just begun. And he knows that I am out with you.�
�Oh. Is it an open relationship?� He asked, his voice was now in cross-examination mode.
�No� no� not at all� I don�t think.�
�Is he seeing other people?�
�I�m not sure.�
�Did he tell you that he�s not seeing other people?�
�No. We didn�t talk about him.�
�Would you be ok with him seeing someone else?�
�Um� no, probably not. I�d be hurt.�
�So, why do you think that he wanted you to see me? Did he give you permission to have sex with other people?�
�He knew that we had a very important relationship before, Michael. He knew that I loved you very much and that I�ll always have some sort of feelings for you.� My voice trailed off.
Michael took my hand and kissed it, his face softening as he mulled that over, then he returned to his line of questioning.
�So you have feelings for me?�
�I�ll always love you Michael.�
�But not necessarily in love with me.�
�There�s a difference. That�s what he wanted me to find out.�
His voice caught in his throat. �You didn�t answer my question. Did he give you permission to have sex with other people?�
How funny it was that he used the word �permission�.
�He did.�
�Lola, you�ve got to know that he�s sleeping with someone else, then, right?�
�No! No, that�s not an automatic.� I cried.
�Of course it is, sweetie. A man just doesn�t give his girlfriend free reign to sleep with whomever she chooses unless he�s sticking it to some other girl and wants to do it with a guilt-free conscience. I mean, think about it from his perspective. Why? What would be his motivation?�
I was silent. I didn�t know. I actually didn�t know much about Daddy�s personality or the way he thought at all. I only knew what he allowed me to see. My lip stuck out in an unconscious pout.
Michael continued. �Most men are dogs, sweetie. What does this guy do for a living?�
�He works in natural resources.�
�Oh god, a granola crunching Volvo driving hippy?�
�No. He drives a truck. He�s a hunting kind of guy.�
�Ah. A Neanderthal. Jesus.� He shook his head. �Lola, you know, I initially thought he would be a doctor or something. Not� not� blue collar.� He sneered.
Part of me wanted to argue with him, tell him that Bill wasn�t a blue collar worker, that he was an executive, but in reality, it didn�t matter. Michael was very elitist and the fact that Bill drove a truck instead of a Jaguar was all that he needed.
�Still a snob, I see.� I murmured.
�Yes. I am a snob. And is that so bad? To want nice things? To want to be around quality people? I mean, Lola, you�re like a fine thoroughbred horse and to be with the wrong man would be like hitching that thoroughbred up to a haywagon. It�s just not what you deserve. You deserve the best.�
I steamed, remembering the reason that we had fought in the first place, that night before Michael graduated and then left for law school. His mother didn�t feel as though I was the kind of well-bred woman she felt that Michael deserved. In fact, I even think that she had used that thoroughbred analogy to him, only I had been the haywagon.
I opened my mouth to tell him that this was never going to work and he could just take me home.
Michael then added, �Particularly if you�re not sure if he�s sleeping with other people.�
I stopped. I WASN�T certain of that.
He pulled the car under a tree canopy, the rain splashing around us. He turned to me and just looked at me. I didn�t know what to say. So many thoughts were racing around my mind. I was angry with him, angry over a fight that had happened seven or eight years ago, even when he was now recanting everything he had said that night.
�Sweetie, I�m sorry. I�ve upset you. I can see that.�
�Do you remember�� I began.
�The fight.� He sighed.
�Yes.� I whispered.
�Yes. I remember. I�ve played it over and over in my head. I was wrong. I didn�t believe it then, either. I had just been repeating what my idiot mother had said, just to make you mad, trying to make you think I was better than you.�
I just listened to him. He took a finger and brushed a fallen piece of hair off my cheek. The action was so eerily similar to something Bill might have done that it gave me shivers.
He chuckled. �You want to know what the truly stupid thing is? Towards the end of my time with Letitia, Mother just kept saying �Why don�t you find someone more like Lola. I liked her.��
I burst into giggles. The idea of his tight-laced mother, who had given me nothing but cold looks down her nose when Michael and I had dated, actually stating that she had liked me? It was hilarious.
He giggled along with me. �I know. I know. She�s such a hypocrite. Look, Lola, I�m sorry. I�m sorry for everything I�ve said. I just want you to be happy. I want�. I want� I want to kiss you so much.� His voice dropped into a low pained whisper.
He looked into my eyes and when I did not object, he leaned over and slowly touched his lips to mine, kissing me softly. One thing I had never forgotten about Michael was that he was the best kisser I�d ever met. His kisses were like elaborate dances. Not too soft, not too hard, not too wet. His kisses left me aching for more.
His lips played over my mouth softly, making my skin flush with heat. He nibbled a bit upon my lower lip, then opened his mouth further, not yet giving into his desire. His kiss was a practice in restraint. When he felt me pushing my head toward his, to taste more of his mouth, he pushed back, running his hand down my arm, his other hand running behind my neck then gripping and pulling closer to him.
My heart began to strum inside my chest. He never failed to excite me, even when he was a jerk� one of the reasons I think our relationship lasted so long. He stopped kissing me and then leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes inches from mine.
�God, how I�ve missed you, Lola.� He whispered.
to be continued
