THE AIRPORT IS BUSY, but it’s no distraction for the nagging realisation that my 37th birthday looms in less than 24 hours. Maybe it’s just my state of mind, but I feel old.
What’s she looking at? I wonder silently.
I realise the young woman has caught the glint of my ring as I mindlessly rotate it on my finger. I can’t help but smile. If she knew that the weight of this ring I’m wearing is like a two-tonne elephant, she wouldn’t be so jealous.
‘Mind if I take this seat?’ a man asks me.
Yes. ‘No, not at all.’
He places a brooding teenager in the chair, popping her gum with disdain while he reads the newspaper.
Great.
Travelling always makes me cranky. I hate the noise of the airport, the endless jumble of voices. On the weekends, it’s even worse – with kids running about and all the slack-jawed vacationers returning from some God-awful, all-you-can-eat resort. The whole thing makes me twitch. And today, to top it all off, I will have to endure coach service back to Miami. With my assistant on maternity leave, I’ve had to entrust my travel arrangements to the idiot temp. All flights are booked, so here I wait, with my mood growing more foul by the minute.
I should check in with Lance, I know, but I just don’t feel like it. If I could put a date on the moment our marriage went sour, it was the minute I told him that they’d promoted me to director at my firm. It meant that I would be making more money than him; a lot more. Sure, running the tennis programme at the country club got him lots of second looks across the court from horny housewives, but it didn’t bring in much cash or career credibility. By my third month in the corner office, Lance tried to throw it in my face that he had women waiting in line to be with him. He said that he didn’t feel like I loved him any more – that I never made time for him, never made time for us . Maybe he’s right, and then again, maybe I’m just too tired to think about it.
‘Now boarding rows 23 and up.’ The announcement rouses me from my thoughts.
I should never have worn these pants. Linen – I’m sure to be a wrinkled mess by the time we land. Ahead of me, I notice a rather attractive man checking his ticket. He glances my way but doesn’t look back; another side effect of closing in on middle-age. There was a time when the male attention I received on a daily basis was more than I could stand. Somewhere along the way, I started to spurn their advances, or perhaps I simply took it for granted. Now the part of the conservative, practical attorney has become the only role I seem to remember how to play and lusty eyes don’t pass in my direction any more.
Ah, there he is again. I check the ticket and, as luck would have it, I’m to sit next to that piece of man-candy that caught my eye.
It’s a short flight from Atlanta and the mid-sized jet has us in a row of two. He politely stands to allow me access to the window seat.
‘Excuse me.’ The tight quarters have me scraping by him with a few accidental sweeps against his slim torso. My supple curves make it impossible for any other result.
He doesn’t respond, but it’s made my face flush a bit to feel his belt pass against my rear end, and I try to think when the last time was that Lance and I made love. I’m not sure I even remember. Now seated, I retrieve a magazine from my bag and try to relax.
I expect the flight attendant to begin her safety spiel, but she has something else to say instead. ‘I’m sorry to announce a mechanical difficulty with one of the stowage doors below. We expect about a 30-minute delay while the issue is corrected.’ My exasperated sigh is as loud as the rest, but there’s nothing to do but wait.
Next to me, the man has turned on his cellphone and is making a call. So are many others, but me, I still avoid contacting Lance. I’ve left the car at the airport garage and don’t exactly expect him to be waiting on the edge of his seat for me to return anyway.
‘Tell me how you’re doing,’ the man next to me says into the sleek sliver phone. His tone is not particularly soft, but smouldering nonetheless. ‘Very nice. How many times has he called you? 11? My sweet Noemi, you are a goddess, do you know that? One of these days you’ll tell me exactly what you do to these guys.’ The voice on the other line says something that makes him laugh. ‘I was out of town on business, but I’m on my way back ... I know, can I help you celebrate now?’
I’m steadily turning the pages in my magazine and trying not to eavesdrop so obviously. He’s taken one of his long slender fingers and is tracing little circles on his knee, his words becoming more and more colourful as the conversation proceeds.
‘Spread your legs and tell me when you’re ready.’
I can’t help a quick glance in his direction, a reflexive reaction, questioning if I’ve heard correctly.
The man is not daunted. ‘I’m going to take my time to give every inch of you the attention you’re due.’ He smiles at her response and eases back into the seat with his eyes closed. ‘You’ve come to me nude, in your most perfect form, smelling sweet; the scent beckons me. In your presence I feel my senses ignite, making me want to experience your body in every form of the word.’
I’m taken aback to say the least. The conversation he’s having is certainly a private one, absolutely none of my business. But he makes no attempt to speak any more softly when I conspicuously clear my throat.
‘I want to touch you. Do you grant me permission?’ A moment later he says, ‘Thank you. My fingers can’t get enough of your skin. It’s so soft, so warm. As you stand in front of me, I slide them slowly over your collarbone, just my fingertips sweeping softly over your delicate frame. Your graceful neck extends in response to my touch and I can’t wait to run my tongue over the path where my fingers have already been. But not yet. I first must give the rest of you the proper consideration. The sight of you, Noemi, makes my mind go blank of anything else.’
How easily he winds his words around his tongue. The woman on the other end of them must be beside herself, wishing he was there with her. The velvety tone of his voice only adds to the effect and, though it’s not directed at me, I find my own temperature rising from his efforts.
‘Onto the soft curve of your shoulder and round to your full breasts, where your nipples respond to a slow caress of my finger. I see you shiver a little. It makes me happy to please you. Are you pleased?’ he asks.
I hear a throaty ‘Yes’, and I’m shocked to know that he’s put his call on speaker, the volume just loud enough for my ears to decipher the word among the background noise of the plane. Mortified, I’m not sure what to do. Looking up from my magazine, I find him looking right back at me with serious eyes and only the beginnings of a dimple forming in his olive-skinned cheek.
‘You are the most beautiful,’ he breathes into the mouthpiece, his eyes locked onto mine. ‘I see many beautiful women every day, but you, Noemi, are the most beautiful, because I cannot have you.’
The things he’s saying are making me uncomfortable, but not for the reasons I purport with an indignant sigh. This complete stranger is intentionally taunting me with every sentence – and it’s working.
It’s not his audacity that has my blood boiling; it’s the uncanny way that he has me wanting to be that girl on the other end of the phone. I don’t need a high-priced therapist to tell me that I only want the things that aren’t easy to get, and that I’m easily bored once I have them. It’s the reason I am so successful in my career and such a miserable failure at relationships.
This man isn’t speaking to me, he’s speaking for me; tapping into my most secret flaw – I love to want so much more than I like to have.
There’s no getting up and switching seats; the plane iscompletely full. Yet, when it comes down to it, there’s no denying that I am utterly riveted by his every word and there’s no escaping my elevated heartbeat or the sudden quaking between my legs.
Summoning all the will power I can gather, I knit my brow into a frown. ‘Do you mind?’ I snap, pleased that I’m able to sound annoyed and not unravelled.
He places his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘I don’t mind if you don’t,’ he returns with a teasing smirk, and continues his dialogue with the lucky woman on the other end. I’m resigned to lean my head against the window and attempt to look like I could care less; feigning sleep that I’m sure he knows is a complete ruse.
The images he’s conjuring are explicit, starting out endearing and sweet, but gradually taking a turn toward raw and hungry sex with no apology for his detailed descriptions. And suddenly I feel his leg fall apart enough to press gently against my knee. It’s a subtle connection, seemingly unintentional, but passing electricity through me nevertheless.
I hear her ask, ‘Are you alone?’
‘No, I’m not alone,’ he says.
I bite my lip in silent duress. Will he insist on pushing me further down this road? I can already feel the delicious sting of desire making my skin burn. And locked away, behind my closed eyes, I’m dizzy with it. The power of want is keeping me on the edge of my seat to find out just how far he’ll take this.
‘She’s gorgeous, long red hair, full of curves, creamy white skin that made my mouth water the minute I saw her. Almost as sexy as you.’ He laughs, ‘Yes, almost. She’s pretending not to be listening. Not doing a very good job at it though.’ Another soft chuckle drives me mad. ‘Anyway, sweetheart, this is your time, isn’t it? I’m all yours right now, no distractions.’
‘Please turn off all electronic devices in preparation for take-off.’ The announcement is a disappointment to both of us.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart; I have to go now after all. But I’ll make it up to you.’ He says goodbye and nothing more.
I’m grappling with whether I should say something. Can I admit how turned on he’s made me? I’m certain he already knows anyway, despite my thin scowl. Can I simply let this stranger sit here, relishing the fun he’s had with me today and then leave without a trace? If I weren’t so intrigued, perhaps I could.
For the rest of the hour-long flight we sit in silence; the only exchange between us is the heat from his leg so innocently pressed against mine. For the first time in a very long while, I feel at a loss ... for words, for a solution to this dilemma. The attractive man in the next seat has managed to put me in pursuit, and I have the distinct feeling he knows how to play hard to get. As we approach the gate, I decide to pose a question that seems harmless enough.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask, folding my magazine back into my purse.
‘You want to know more than that,’ he says, smiling widely and passing me a piece of paper.
It’s his name and email address.
‘Who were you talking to on the phone?’
‘Why?’
‘You seemed attached.’
‘So do you,’ he notes, gesturing at my diamond ring.
‘Looks can be deceiving,’ I respond.
‘How right you are ...’
‘Pamela.’
‘Until we meet again, Pamela,’ he says and stands up in the aisle.
I place the piece of paper into my wallet and smile, certain that we will.
That smile endures until it’s met with a slew of suitcases and boxes in my foyer. Lance is waiting for me after all, at the bottom of the stairs.
‘What the hell is this?’ I ask him with a rhetorical bite. Of course, I know what this is. This is the end.
‘I decided not to go ahead and just move out while you were away. I figured I owe you – I owe us that much.’ Lance’s voice is calm and soft, with his head hung low, busy shuffling some books in a box.
I slam the door behind me. ‘You owe me a hell of a lot more than that.’ He visibly flinches at the remark. Throwing my bag on the floor, I continue, ‘You fucking coward. You actually considered slithering out of here without a single word?’ I’m not sure which is more infuriating: his leaving or the fact that he was the first to draw the line in the sand.
‘I only considered it for a second, Pamela. Just for a fleeting moment of peace, I thought I could just disappear like the last three years never happened.’ He’s looking straight at me now, his face contorted with more pain than I’d ever allow to infiltrate mine.
‘So why exactly didn’t you?’
‘I wanted to see for myself that there’s no way to make this work.’ Lance rises to his feet and comes closer to me. ‘Pam, isn’t there a part of you that just wants to stop arguing and find the people who loved each other again? We could celebrate your birthday together, the way we used to.’
‘Lance, don’t be naïve. It isn’t as simple as that.’
‘Why not? Pam, my stuff is packed, but I’m still here. Doesn’t that mean anything?’
My arms are folded, closed to the opening he’s trying to make. For the past year, I’ve been biting my tongue about how I really feel. Today is the day I let it all out.
‘What it means to me is that you are as weak as I always thought you were, Lance. If you’ve made up your mind to leave, then you should just leave.’
‘How come I didn’t know you were this fucking heartless?’
‘I’d rather be heartless than gutless.’
‘Pamela, that’s your problem in a fucking nutshell. The minute I show you that I love you, you take it for weakness. Let me tell you something. It takes a shitload of balls to try and put up with you.’
I press the lever behind me. ‘The door is open, don’t let me stop you.’
He throws his hands in the air and doesn’t even bother with another word. Truth is, there’s nothing he can say to change the relentless downward spiral we’re caught in. The closer he steps, the farther I run. The only difference between last year and now is that I’ve stopped pretending that it’s not killing me.