Across The Room...

[stalwartone]

OOC- This is intended to be a closed thread for Maid of Marvels and myself, allowing us to pursue an idea we were playing with. Enjoy!

Character - Marcus Rayven, 36.

IC - I know it sounds like a bit of a cliche, but she caught my attention from across the room. I saw her sitting there, and couldn't take my eyes off of her. She probably didn't notice me, hardly a surprise, but I certainly saw her.

I don't claim to be a follower of love at first sight, and I will admit to lust at first sight, but this seemed something else. There weren't any of the juvenile spurts of hormones that normally would signal my out and out raw desire for a woman. I didn't have a sudden interest in trying to impress her, or hoping to haul her back to my place. Instead, I just wanted her to notice me, to at least have an interest in paying attention to me.

I'll back up a bit. I'm a man on the road to rediscovering myself. I spent too many years either working for someone else's plans, or allowing myself to be convinced that I was doing the right thing by not being overly aggressive in my pursuits of my future. A stint for Uncle Sam, a series of failed relationships with women that had shown an initial interest in me, and a number of jobs that were more about making do with the present than considering the future.

Following my last relationship (a nursing student with a talent for manipulation and fits of tears in the face of adversity), I took a long hard look at myself. My brother showed up for an extended visit, with the quiet intention of pushing me into making a life decision. After a long weekend of drinking, ruminating on my failures, recovering from the libations, then starting the cycle over again, I asked myself what I wanted. And found an answer in the kitchen. I'd been an Army cook, I'd spent time in the kitchens of several restaurants, and now I was ready to start my own. But that means two things in this day and age. First, I need education. You can have the best instincts about food preparation and presentation, but there isn't a serious restaurant in the world that will hire you if you don't have a piece of paper that says you've done the training. Second, you need money. I could lay claim to enough cash and credit to get myself into school and keep a place to live, but I had to keep my mind focused on the training.

I'd finished with classes for the day, and had stopped at a place on the way home. (Rayven's Axiom - the better a cook you are, the less you actually see your kitchen at home.) This was a coffee shop actually, the type where you pay a substantial fee for a cup, but can spend as much time as you want making use of the room. Read the books, watch the news, use the internet, wash down as much of the beverage of choice, that sort of thing. It's a cross roads of sorts for the locals, essentially where the creative sorts and the harried types get together to almost acknowledge each other's presence. I tend to go here to relax after a day of making radish roses and watermelon swans. There's also a kitchen supply place and a couple of take out restaurants nearby, so it gives me time to settle my head before I head home. Most of the young college crowd tends to avoid it, so it's not a center for the "How much beer can we drink tonight?" types that I pretty much abhor.

I'd just gotten my mug of hot cider when I saw her. I'm not sure immediately what caught my attention. Her eyes, her hair, the shape of her face, the way her hands moved? Frankly, it was probably the whole package. She was just,.. well, different from the people I normally see there. For a long moment, I was dumbstruck. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but couldn't think of an opening line that didn't sound like, well, an opening line.

Someone behind me jostled me, and I nearly spilled the cider across my cook's jacket. Muttering to myself, I found a table where I could quietly watch her, and settled, finishing the partial job of unfastening the thick white overcoat, and removing it. (Cook whites look great in a kitchen setting, but can look really ridiculous in public.) I dug out a dogeared copy of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere , and tried to at least appear to be reading it while I watched her over the top of the book.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Aimee Belfiore

My parents turned on and tuned out long before it was fashionable. Caroline and Thomas (who thought it was too "establishment" to be called mom and dad) both taught at Columbia, but that is where their "normal" image ended. They were Flower Children -- hippies from the Love Generation -- and I had grown up in coffee houses amongst the literati at weekly poetry gigs and protest meetings... VERY groovy as my friends liked to say. Very ODD, as I liked to say.

My childhood had been eccentric at the least, eclectic at the best. Even at the ripe old age of nine, I was the straight one in the family and my parents couldn't figure out where they had gone wrong. They were always suggesting that I let my hair down and loosen up a bit. Instead, I set my nose to the grindstone and took an early degree in business (Cum Laude), becoming an accountant for a major banking house. There was a certain comfort in the logic of numbers -- no variables, only constants. I needed constants.

My last lover and I had parted company over four years ago -- found the man of his dreams, he said. I rolled my eyes, as I remembered Jack's revelation, and how it had rocked my world. I had finally found a way to get lost in mediocrity, regularness, normalcy -- and suddenly this. It had just blown me away.

The "real" world that I had contrived for myself was not all that I hoped it would be, and at long last, I -- Aimee Belfiore -- decided to escape. Failing that, I figured I could at least make a living writing about things I'd always tried to keep at a distance. And so I quit my job without notice and now dabbled at writing short stories and even some poetry, but what I really wanted to write was childrens books.

One of these days I was going to be published. One of these days. In the meantime, I was doing some freelance work that paid the bills and I liked it that way. At least that was the excuse I gave myself for regressing back to my childhood and hanging out in the more Bohemian parts of town -- coffeehouses and old dusty bookshops -- places where I could turn on and tune out with my mind and without the use of chemicals.

As I sipped my coffee (a strong French roast -- I refused to compromise on coffee), I scribbled thoughts and ideas in a journal that I carried around with me at all times. My eyes wandered more than once to the man fumbling with the buttons of his starched white chef's jacket who was sitting a table away from me. He was lean looking and handsome in a rugged sort of way, though I couldn't help smiling as I imagined him with the requisite Cat-in-the-Hat-ish headwear that normally perched on a chef's head.

His hands. Long slender fingers that almost caressed his cup. I found myself wishing that he would look up so that I might see his eyes. Hands and eyes. I never knew why, but they were the first things that drew me whenever I looked at someone -- especially for the first time. Enough Aimee. The guy probably has a wife and a passel of children to boot. You don't need a man to validate your life.

Well enough was enough. Glancing at my watch, I stood and fumbled in my bag for the car keys. Ahh... there they are I thought as my fingers connected with their serrated metal edges and I pulled them out. Just as suddenly they fell between my fingers to the floor -- right in front of the chef's table!

Embarrassed that this probably looked contrived, I quickly bent to pick them up at the same time as he reached for them. Our hands touched and I finally got the chance to look into his eyes. What I saw told me that I could easily live there for an eternity.

"Thanks," I murmured as our fingers wrestled to see who would pick the keys up first. I slapped his hand playfully. "Mine," and chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that made him laugh in return. Gods. I couldn't help thinking -- now what?

 

[stalwartone]

Marcus

I'd wrestled with the book for a bit, trying to maintain the subtle dance of reading, sipping my drink, and keeping track of her .

Lord, what was it about her? That rational part of my brain was still mulling that point over and over. I'd love to say that she fit my fantasy ideal of my dream woman, but I'd given up on that concept years ago. No two of my relationships had ever been with a single type of woman, beyond being female. Hair color, ethnicity, financial means, even body type, there had been little in the way of common threads. I tried to listen to that little part of my mind, but didn't get any further along.

She'd looked my way a time or two, but returned to whatever she was working on. Her fingers tapped at her papers, and her lips moved faintly as she read. (Okay, it's quirk, but it's still cute.) I'd tried to apply myself to Gaimon's work, but found myself rereading the same paragraph several times. A voice in the back of my head groused at me, reminding me that I was acting like a child. Give her time to finish her work and leave, and then I'd be back to my usual life, with her just a friendly memory. The odds of running into her again were, well, who knew. Probably astronomical. With an effort, I concentrated myself on the book, trying to find the inner meaning of a pair of assassins playing frog-golf.

My heart jumped as she stood, returning her papers and books to her bag. I tried to memorize what I could of her, and wondered to myself if I was actually going to try to be brave enough to come up with at least a wave hello to her. Even as I decided to at least smile to her, she started a jerky juggling act, her keys having slipped from her fingers and leaping free. A brief moment of air time, and they landed with a jangle.

Practically next to me. I could move a foot and cover them. And she was moving in my direction to recover them. That little voice in my head suggested that I break a nearly twenty year streak, and stop at a church on the way home to give thanks.

My better instincts kicked in, and I reached for the keys, calling on my gentlemanly manners. Even as my fingers made contact, her hand covered mine, seeking the same prize. Something deep inside me froze up, and I allowed myself to look up, meeting her eyes. I almost lost myself there, but pulling back slightly only caused my eyes to take in her whole face. For a moment, the universe seemed to freeze, and a choir of heavenly beings sounded in my head. I decided that if I could ever get control of a time machine in my later years, I would just allow myself to relive this moment over and over again.

"Thanks." Her hand pulled away from mine for a moment, then she playfully batted at me. "Mine." That evil part of me asked if she meant the keys or my hand, but I decided to drive forward.

I hooked a finger into the key ring and snapped my hand sharply, causing the keys to spin around the digit. As I brought them to her level, I spun them back and forth several times, then twisted my wrist so that they rotated vertically, centrifigal force causing them to only clink as they slowed. With a final flourish, I presented them to her, hoping fervently that she wouldn't consider me someone that had merely seen Val Kilmer's cup scene in Tombstone too many times.

"Fair enough," I said, "yours." I smiled, hoping that she would show me her smile in return.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Why was it that the one conversation you wished you'd been having the whole time you sat alone never presented an opportunity until you were about to leave? My mind whirled with possible and plausible -- and bad pick-up lines.

We were inside, so discussing the weather wasn't going to work. Think. Think. Think! You make your living with words, Aimee -- think of some! The guy's a chef or something. Use it!

I closed my eyes and reopened them. He was still there, but I'd lose the moment if I didn't do something quickly. "Bet your job is a piece of cake, huh?"

Gods! I couldn't believe I had actually said that. I could feel my face turning ten shades of red as I winced and shrugged an apology. What an idiot!

I clutched my keys as if they were the most valuable possession I owned and started to hurry away. I couldn't bear to have him mock me -- ludicrous in light of the fact that I didn't even know this man.

I was almost to the door when I heard, "Wait!" Could it be? Could it really be? I stopped dead in my tracks, afraid to turn around. There was probably a trail of toilet paper stuck to my shoe or hooked to my panty hose like a grotesque parody of Pin the Tail on the...

It wasn't until I felt the hand on my arm that I looked up. "Marcus. My name is Marcus Rayven."

"Idiot." I closed my eyes as if doing that would erase the fact I'd just finished my thought aloud. "No. Not you. Me. My name is Aimee. Belfiore. Hi."

 

[stalwartone]

The problem with attempting to be flashy on such a first meeting is that you can sometimes spook someone. Apparently that was what I'd done, because the smile didn't appear. On the other hand, her eyes widened, offering me a glimpse into those dazzling depths, and her face flushed. She trembled for a moment, and I wondered if I had totally ruined my chance of speaking to her for more than a moment or two. She blinked, then finally spoke.

"Bet your job is a piece of cake, huh?"

I must have made a face as I considered the comment, because she suddenly darkened even more, and her eyes broke away from mine. She whisked the keyring away, and took off, her movements swift and sure, the backs of my fingers burning slightly from where her fingers had touched them, the electric tingles coursing through me. I knew her stance all too well, it was that of someone retreating within themselves as they ran for cover, angry or embarrassed. I'd seen it before, sometimes on myself, sometimes on others near me.

I was trying to pull an apology out when I realized that I still had the cook's coat on, although it's fastenings were wide open. Christ, that's what she meant. I'd put the thing out of my mind, since I wear it so often. Serves you right, I thought, you just embarrassed her without realizing it or meaning to.

Grabbing at my shoulder bag, I took off after her. Other patrons gaped at me as I moved, but my time in the kitchen had taught me how to move under load in a crowded area, and I could easily slip past these people, my eyes following her, calling "Wait, please wait" like some love struck idiot. I caught her at the door, and managed to drop a hand on her arm, applying enough pressure to ask her to turn back around.

"Marcus. My name is Marcus Rayvens." I stumbled my way through my name, trying to come up with something better than, "Please, please don't think I'm a stalker or a pervert or an.."

"Idiot." She breathed the word, and I startled. She flushed again, then finished. "No. Not you. Me. My name is Aimee. Belfiore. Hi."

I smiled, and pulled my hand away (reluctantly), then pulled at the edge of the cook white, turning it's quarter inch padding into a profile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look like an idiot, but I forget that I'm wearing the blasted thing sometimes."

I bowed slightly, trying to find a modicum of resolve here. Now that the ice had been broken, I didn't want to risk losing her attention. "So, may I ask what you do when you're not running away from strange men?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Running away from strange men...

"Well, Marcus. Sometimes I just stand still and let them catch up." Oh gods, there I go again. I don't even know him and I am... "I am making a mess of this, aren't I? I didn't mean to imply that you are strange. I... "

"We're in the way," I said with a wince as several twenty-somethings came through the door. A choreographer's dream -- they flowed around us as though we were props in the scenery, never breaking stride nor pausing in their conversation -- rejoining as they cleared us and moving fluidly toward a grouping of empty tables further ahead.

This whole encounter was becoming more and more bizarre by the moment, but there was still that something that was keeping me from just walking out the door and missing out on a chance to... A chance to what? I looked around helplessly as though someone would suddenly appear and take the awkwardness away -- or turn time back -- yeah, that's the ticket! Start all over without any of the... I didn't know exactly what to do to make it better, but nothing could make it worse than it already was.

"Hi, my name is Aimee. I know I'm being forward, but would you care to join me... somewhere?" I grinned sheepishly and glanced around the room which was now rapidly filling up. The look of confusion on Marcus' face cleared as he realized what I was doing -- at least I thought he understood.

Please say yes. Oh, please say yes. Frankly, I didn't know why it was so important that he did, but I knew that it was definitely something I wanted -- for the first time in longer than I could remember.

 

[stalwartone]

She made a response to my question, a remark pretty much as equally flip as mine had been. I tried to read her face more than listen to her words. Okay, I was also lost in those eyes, in the way her face moved, in the manner in which her hair caught the light. But I also knew that if, if, if I had pissed her off, I at least wanted to memorize those features. I wanted to be able to remmeber that face and that voice.

I didn't notice any obvious anger, or distrust. That could have also been shock at this strange person running up to her, but that little part of me didn't think so. And that deeper part of myself desperately wanted her to have an interest in me.

We were momentarily distracted by a group of, well, kids, frankly, as they oozed their way around and between us. The mature man inside of me was annoyed by their lack of manners or acknowledgement, the inner child jealous of their directness and confidence.

Oh, to be young again..

Then, they were past us, and her face was still there, her eyes intent upon mine. I fell back into those eyes, and suddenly about twenty of those thirty-six years fell away. I heard her suggest something about moving out of the way, and noted something in her face, a flickering of emotion. If I had made an impression, hopefully it was a good one. Of course, in the moment that I was in, she could have called for a policeman to haul away this crazed man, and I wouldn't have cared. I just wanted to stay in this moment, to watch her, to hear her, to even catch that faint smell of her from where I stood.

"Hi, my name is Aimee. I know I'm being forward, but would you care to join me... somewhere?"

I tried to spot what this something was in her eyes, what the faint shift in her posture meant. Interest? I didn't even want to let that dark side of my mind consider the double meanings of her words, since I knew all too well that it would offer me fantasies that I was too old to be considering. I went with the sudden feeling of being in my teens again, trying to meld a maturity that went with my real age with the energy I felt from the press in my genitals just from being in her presence.

"I'm Marcus, and I'd love to."

Damn it, I had the ball here, I had to at least show her that I could be a good person, someone she might want to have around, as a friend, as a compatriot, as,.. well as anything she'd have me as. Well, as with so many other things, I decided to go with what I knew. The class ahead of mine was on duty at the school's OJT program, handling kitchen duty at a local hotel's restaurant, working under an established kitchen crew. We shifted back and forth among the duties, learning a real kitchen in a work environment. Chintzy, maybe, but I knew the food quality and the dining environment.

"Perhaps, dinner? If you'd allow me to suggest a place?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"Dinner?"

Great, Aimee. You sounded so gracious just now -- not to mention the fact that you made his invitation sound like he was speaking a foreign language. Just say yes, you idiot woman -- before you scare him completely away.

"Yes!!" I shouted! Oh my god! I screeched! Not for the first time that day (and probably not the last if my track record so far held), my face was turning a brilliant shade -- no many shades of red. I wanted to crawl into the biggest, deepest hole that I could find. Oh. And to top it off, my normally well-behaved stomach chose that exact moment to grumble. No. Not grumble. Gurgle. Bubble. It threatened to erupt, for pity's sake! Run, Marcus! Run away fast!

"I'm sorry. I'm... not Bobcat Goldthwait. Really." I was getting good at this cover-up-the-faux pas stuff, but I really didn't want to make a habit of it. I mean, how long could I keep it up before the facade cracked and I was revealed to be some misshapen, twisted and most certainly depraved crone? I needed to relax and just be myself. A misshapen, twisted and most certainly depraved crone.

I smiled my sunniest smile, hoping to reassure Marcus -- or at least distract him from running. "I'd love to. Truth, I was going to go home and fix myself a bowl of Cheerios or something. It's been a long day."

I knew the place he'd mentioned. It was in a local hotel and was beginning to make a mark in the community according to talk I'd heard. Not fancy, but good food. And it wasn't far. Maybe I'd wind down some if we...

"It's not far. Would you mind if we walked?"

Yes! The gods were finally smiling on me instead of laughing hysterically. Either that or he was terrified at the thought of getting into a moving vehicle with me.

"I'd like that very much, Marcus" I answered without hesitation. Probably the first thing I'd said or done decisively since our paths had crossed today.

 

[stalwartone]

She agreed. Lord, she agreed. We were going to dinner. I was going to get to bask in her presence. I was going to get to sit across from her at a table, to talk to her, to stare at her..

I put aside the fears and concerns. I hadn't been on a date in, how long now? I hadn't been concerned with trying to be impressive to someone in even longer. But she seemed genuinely enthusiastic, a point that could only drive me forward.

Shrugging the rest of the way out of my overcoat, I held the door for her, then offered her my arm. It was a short walk, partly due to the actual closeness of the restaurant, partly due to the fact that I really felt like I was walking on air with this woman by my side. I managed to give her a thumbnail sketch of my life, or at least the better parts of it. (Right now wasn't the time for failed love affairs or rehashing the fears felt watching a missile cross the sky in a foreign country.) I wanted her to understand that I wasn't a freak, or some crazed maniac, that I really was someone worth getting to know.

I knew the guy working the front door, and we got a table pretty quickly. I fought the urge to stick my head in the kitchen. (Knowing the crew that was on, I was likely to get grabbed, and roped into making hot rolls.) Tonight, I was a guest, not a worker.

I realized as we were seated that I knew my tastes, but not hers. I could easily rattle off the menu and the specials, but that didn't tell me if I would offend her by making choices about alcohol or certain meats. (A story about my father and a disastrous date involving a pork loin dinner and a nice Jewish girl came to mind briefly.) Smiling, I tapped the wine list.

"I'm afraid I don't even know if you're interested in something to drink. They do have beer and non-alcoholic drinks, if you prefer."

All right, nice and calm. Don't act silly. Don't make a fool of yourself. Don't jump up and make the rest of the room notice this lovely lady sitting with you.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The walk over had been almost a stroke of genius. By the time we got there, some of the nervousness had begun to dissipate. Luckily for me, Marcus had talked steadily -- preventing me from opening my mouth and switching feet. I found myself hanging on every word. Memorizing the inflections and nuances of his voice. How he gestured with his hands as he spoke. It was almost as if I was archiving everything he said... and still I wanted to know more.

I wondered if he would order for both of us. Being a chef and all, I figured he'd know a lot more about food and what was good than I did -- though I did have a pretty fair gastronomical education. Cooking was probably the only thing Caroline did that was even remotely "housewife-ish" -- if one considered cooking a housewife-ish thing to do that is.

I glanced at Marcus as we sat. Sitting across from him gave me the perfect opportunity to get a really good look at his face. To indulge my desire to live in his eyes for a moment in time. I hoped he wouldn't think I was staring. One should make eye contact with the person whom you're speaking with. Right?

"I'm afraid I don't even know if you're interested in something to drink. They do have beer and non-alcoholic drinks, if you prefer."

"I'm sorry" I mumbled, a flush rising on my cheeks. He'd been talking and I hadn't heard a word til now. Maybe the eye thing wasn't such a good idea after all. "A drink, did you say?"

Okay. Now what do I do? Why did he mention non-alcoholic drinks? Does he think I will get drunk and really make a fool of myself? Maybe he's an alcoholic. I shouldn't order something that will tempt him. Gods. Decisions, decisions. So much for the stress-relieving walk we just had.

I quickly buried my nose in the menu to camouflage my latest concerns. "How 'bout we decide once we've ordered?" Now I sounded bossy. Good going. Time to switch feet again. I began to make mental notes in my head for my next article: "How to Not Influence a Man and Lose Him in Ten Easy Sentences (Or Less)" by Aimee "Way-to-Go" Belfiore.

My eyes skimmed the menu and I felt myself beginning to panic. Everything looked so good but I didn't know what to choose. It was one of the worst of my bad habits -- indecision about what to order in a restaurant. Oh, it wasn't for lack of being adventuresome with food, nor was it because I was a picky eater -- I just never knew what to try when I was presented with a bunch of choices like this.

"I've never been here before. Have you?" I hoped that he'd take the initiative and end my inner turmoil -- and the rumbling of my belly. My stomach grumbled again as if to emphasize my disregard for its wellbeing yet again.

Desserts! I'd choose my dessert first and get that out of the way. Yumm... Cherries Jubilee. I sighed. My luck the alcohol would combust and I would go up like a widow in suttee. Better pick something else. Something simple.

"Have you decided?"

I winced. I hadn't even begun to look at the entrees yet. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe... I landed on seafood. Good going. The most expensive things on the menu of course. I'll offer to pay my own way -- it's not like this is exactly a date or anything. Yes, that's what I'll do.

Somehow feeling a little better about things, I looked across the table at Marcus and met his eyes. He'd been watching me! Gods how long had I taken? I glanced over at the waiter to see if he had begun to sprout gray hairs as he hovered patiently.

"I'll have the coconut shrimp with mango salsa," I said hurriedly. "And white wine. A riesling if they have."

I held my breath. I couldn't help it. What if he hated coconut? Or shrimp? Or mangoes? And I had ordered wine! What if... Dammit, was I ever going to get this right?

 

[stalwartone]

I perused the menu only as a matter of course. I knew everything there, and had already put together a list of likely dishes to order. But I wanted to see where her tastes were before I made a final decision. I knew from experience that people in unfamiliar surroundings go for a level of comfort food, and her choices could tell me more about herself than the brief conversation that we'd had, especially since I'd done most of the talking on the way over. Hell, I could put the entire list of things I could call facts about her on one hand.

First, she wasn't married, or even serious about someone. Her hands showed a lack of long term jewelry placement, either in the finger tan, or the callouses on the undersides of her fingers. Secondly, she was probably about as out of touch with the dating scene as I was. Her body language was confusing, a combination of interest and concern. Third, whatever her history was, she'd been hurt. Every time she started to open up, she clamped down on herself. Vulnerability was one of the great terrors in the human psyche. Fourth, despite her jitters, she was educated. Not just book smart, but world smart. She'd learned to watch a room and read the emotional level therein, to the point that she was more comfortable in a group than in small group environments, although I'd bet my last dime that she was still a privacy nut. Probably had her own place with a room devoted entirely to her own emotional comfort, with no access to the outside world. (Okay, so did I, but I told myself it was just simpler to watch my movies without the phone ringing in my ear.) And last, a name, to go with the face. I guessed by the way she had introduced herself that it wasn't spelled as a derivative of a larger name, but rather as her name proper. But it did go with her face. Childlike, but worldly. A waif who's eyes suggested that the greatest wonder of all was within.

A faint grumble reached my ears, and I reprised my list. I had a sixth fact about her. She was hungry. Replaying the coffee house in my head, I realized that she had only had a coffee cup at her table, not a plate for one of those oversized, horribly sweet paving blocks that they called rolls. (One of the jokes in the pastry course at school poked at the fact that these places were known for considering baklava not sweet enough for their tastes.)

Dammit, got caught up in staring at her again. I wanted to spend an eternity just looking into those eyes. Just hearing that musical quality to her voice. I knew that the old male ego was also considering more, but that didn't take forefront right now. As wonderful as the thought would be to consider the two of us in bed, something about it seemed wrong. No, not wrong, just.. well, premature. If I was going to have her decide that I was a person to despise, it would be because of the inner me, not because I rushed for the bedroom.

I heard her make a stab at small talk, but the waiter showed, and it was time for the mental juggling. I had already folded my menu by the time she finished ordering, my choice ready before the guy turned his head my way.

"Apple glazed prawns with the sobe noodles, make the wine a bottle, and if we could get a variety basket on the rolls, please." I knew that the house rolls were good, but the regular basket was simply ballast, meant to soak up the early drinks. An old restaurant trick, but it did tend to get people to order stronger alcohol with their meal. The variety basket would have fewer items in it, but there would be a better assortment, as well as multiple butters and oils for them.

I caught a flicker in her eyes, and considered, then remembered that her line of sight had dipped earlier to the wine glasses and the list on the table during my.. Oh, hell, she was wondering about the drinks comment.

"Gods, I hope I didn't throw you there. Not everyone has a taste for alcohol." My mind flew to the two days of orientation that I had undergone before my unit shipped over to the Gulf. We had to learn the usual society concerns, but the cooks had to undergo an extra set of classes, just as the medics and chaplains did. Everything from menu planning to serving methods had to be covered, and the later realization that real alcohol was going to be a memory during our stay had been a definite difficulty. Although, not as bad..

I snapped my mind away from that line of thought. I kept that incident locked away, and ignored the throbbing in my back, the phantom pain that I knew didn't really exist. Instead, I moved forward to the present.

"I've got several instructors that actually tell us that Americans don't drink enough wine, that we're too wrapped up in cheap beer and deep fried foods."

I tried an easy smile, one that hopefully would simply say, hey, I'm a nice guy, and the last thing I want to do is offend you..". "So, I've been yapping the whole way over here. What about you? What brought you here to this part of the world?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

His question was inevitable. True, Marcus had been talking all along, but I kind of liked it that way. Okay, so maybe that was a cop out. I just didn't seem to find anything about myself interesting is all. It was far easier to listen to someone else than to have to tell them about me and bore them to tears.

"Umm... I was born," I began slowly with a twist on one of my favorite books of all time, David Copperfield. "To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Sunday, at twenty past ten o'clock in the morning."

Marcus' brow creased slightly as I spoke and I ducked my head to hide the blush that I knew was lighting me up like a human Christmas tree. Actually, more like a traffic light on red. STOP! STOP! STOP!

Normally known for my candor and openness, I never seemed to have a problem running my mouth before today. I just wanted so badly for things to go well that I was almost doomed to failure. "Sorry," I mumbled. "Switching feet now."

"No, no... "

"Yes, yes" I retorted and we both grinned. Gods he had a wonderful smile. I couldn't help myself from wondering what it would be like to kiss... There you go again, Aimee. Just find a subject and keep your mind out of the gutter, dammit!

"I'm not really a complete cretin, Marcus. I just seem to be doing a grand impression of one today." He started to protest, but we both knew it was true.

"I guess I'm just used to speaking with folks who already know me and not having to say anything about myself. I can't remember the last time I had to introduce myself to a stranger." My eyes widened. Switching feet again. "I don't mean that you are strange. Or even a stranger. Look. If I pass you a shovel, will you help me to dig this hole I seem to be burying myself in?"

Why wasn't he saying anything? Maybe I should just excuse myself and end this before it becomes a total disaster. Because you don't want to end this, Aimee. You want it to go on and on and... Yeah, yeah. Even I got my own point.

"Okay, okay. I'll talk, copper. I'll spill the beans. Just feel free to interrupt when you're about to pass out from the sheer boredom of it all." I looked up and our eyes met. Not for the first time and hopefully not for the last as I hovered in them for what seemed like an eternity.

"Actually, Marcus, I grew up in places like this. Well, not like this. Coffeehouses. You know. Those kind of places. Mostly in the Village, I grew up not far from here." I took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. No teeth were falling out of my mouth. Like pulling teeth. Falling out. Get it? I sighed and started over.

"My folks were hippies," I said in way of explanation. "They were both profs at NYU. Dad was History and mom taught Lit. I shamed them both by rebelling and becoming," I paused to take a sip of water. Where was that waiter with the wine already?? " 'establishment'. Oh, the horror of it all!"

He smiled and so did I. Mostly out of nervousness, and he from politeness surely, but I got to see him smile again and that was well worth all of it. "I was a number cruncher. Self-defense against the unstructured family life I had. Not disfunctional, mind -- just sort of irregular. Okay. A lot[/i] irregular."

"Yeah, was. I tried to escape into the real world, see? Had to try out that button-down lifestyle that my folks worked so hard to drop out of. But stuff happens."

I didn't want to talk about Jack really. One really didn't discuss straight lovers who suddenly came out of the closet like a bolt from the blue and turned your life as you knew it upside down within the first hour of knowing someone. But how else would I explain how come I had sorta gone back to a life I'd tried so hard to put behind me?

I looked up as the waiter approached. "Saved by the wine," I said with a sheepish grin and an audible sigh of relief.

 

[stalwartone]

I couldn't help smiling at her jumps in directional conversation. No matter how she might interpret the humor, I genuinely enjoyed it. These weren't the oddball ramblings of a candidate for the funny farm, this was a reaction to something within. We were still deciding on our social distances, and in more ways than simply how close we sat, and which directions our heads and hands moved. We were establishing trust, feeling each other out for that ego crushing reaction to something we might feel strongly about.

Well, frankly, I'd be damning myself for a long time if I made that mistake with her. Something bugged her, something she wasn't ready to share yet. Not a problem, I had my share of skeletons that I wasn't ready to unearth yet.

The revelation of her education did surprise me. I'd considered several possible careers for her, but something as stiff and stodgy as a bean counter hadn't made the cut. (Or maybe it was just my own avoidance of the art. A chef has a recipe in mind when preparing a dish, but for the most part there's a wide margin for creative license in the kitchen. Money and numbers require absolutes, and are very binary. Cooking requires a feel, a nebulous quality that can mean that the same dish might be different two times in a row.) I'd managed to muddle my way through the basics of the required business management classes, but it had been an empty thing, not a study that I'd enjoyed. And she, well, she didn't have the look of someone in an office all day.

The waiter brought the wine and the basket, and our conversation paused for the needed moments. The customary sampling and approval, the two glasses were poured, and I allowed a moment to pour some olive oil onto a saucer, then tear a roll in half to dab at the oil with. I was fighting the urge to just sit dumbstruck and stare into her eyes. Two hours ago I was on my way home to pick a couple of microwave burritos out, and to consider the strengths of video over television programming. Now I was here, sitting across from a lady that could hold my attention with a single smile, or a glint of the light within those eyes. I buried any considerations I was having about what would happen after the dinner. Even if she tried to stab me with a dinner fork and then storm out in a huff, it was a far better evening than I would have considered.

Of course, if there was more than dinner... No, best leave that line of thought alone. I knew that there were a line of pleasant fantasies brewing deep inside me, but I'd happily settle for getting to hold her hand, or offering her that heavy chef's coat in the event of rain.

Biting into the roll, I savored the mixed tastes, then washed it down with a sip of wine.

"Okay, so you defied your parents, and went mainstream. That sounds like, what's the phrase, the sins of the pirate days.." I know better than to take a stab at age estimations, it's one experience that has been driven home before. "You've moved on, I'd say, to something closer to what your parents might have imagined." I let my eyes pointedly follow her hair, around her face, down to her clothing and the carrybag. (I didn't realize until later that I hadn't followed up on the standard male response, and let my eyes linger on her breasts. Whatever this midlife crisis or shot of youthful enthusiasm was, it didn't include my admiring her simply for her immediate appearance. She wasn't a simple object of sexual desire, she was someone that I wanted to share myself with, on whatever level she'd allow.) "You're dressed more for comfort and function than for office work and first impressions, your notebook didn't look like it was meant for arranging columns of numbers, and you have the look of someone who leads with her emotions, not with brutal accuracy and a series of checks and balances."

I raised my wine glass for a moment, letting myself get swept back into those eyes. I remember scoffing at my grandparents talking about their courting days, when they'd sit in a parlor and stare into each other's eyes. Silly then. Understood with a vengeance now.

"Or, are you one of those people that keeps a change of clothes at the office, dedicated to keeping their professional and personal lives separate?" Which would make me seriously mistaken in reading you.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

I hadn't dressed for business since my retreat from the real world, preferring to wear things I was comfortable in irregardless of whether or not they were in style. I suddenly felt self-conscious about the baggy peasant blouse I was wearing over a gauzy broomstick skirt. Please let him not have noticed that I was wearing sandals and not regular shoes. Gods how I abhorred shoes! I brought my hands up to my ears, trying to adjust my hair to cover the gold hoops that dangled defiantly as if to accent the whole bag/cat lady/gypsy kind of look I was sporting. Not exactly the kind of girl you want to bring home to meet your mother, was it?

"Caroline -- my mother -- always said to wear clean panties. If I had to wear them at all." I felt crimson flood my face. I'd really done it now. He was blinking. Blinking! Think, think, think. And think again before you say or do something was always my motto. Dammit, I couldn't even follow my own advice here.

"Hoh kayyyyy... Switching feet again, Marcus. I'm not doing very well, am I?" I was almost defying him to agree with me. How could he not? I had made an utter fool of myself at every turning so far. He must really think me quite mad.

"My mother used to make sure I carried change for the pay phone, too. In case my date tried to get fresh or something." There was a twinkle in his eyes when he said it that somehow made things okay again. Sort of.

There was something about Marcus Rayven that entranced me. I was trying so hard to make an impression that I was doomed to failure. Good news was that he hadn't excused himself with a suddenly remembered appointment to wash his socks. Bad news was he hadn't said girl -- just date.

I couldn't do a rerun of that scene with Jack. Figuring I had nothing more to lose, I just blurted it out. "Are you gay?"

More blinking. Lots more blinking. Now sputtering and blinking. Oh, this does not bode well at all. I've outed him when he hasn't even told anyone yet. Maybe he hasn't even admitted it to himself.

I sighed and put my hand over his as he held it poised over the saucer of olive oil. It came down with a clunk on the dish, but all Marcus did was drop the piece of roll. I twined my fingers through his to reassure him of my sincerity.

Gods why did he make me feel this way? The man is gay, Aimee. Gay! Just get it over with. And so I tried.

"It's okay to be gay... " I said gently. "Jack was. IS. My... fiancee. Was my fiancee." I took a deep breath and rambled on, trying not to think of the little tingling pulses that seemed to be shooting through my body from simply touching his hand. "I didn't have a clue until he announced it one morning over breakfast. It had been eating at him for years, he said. But he always denied it. He said finally saying it out loud set him free."

 

[stalwartone]

I was afraid that I'd totally shot myself in the foot by trying to analyze her, but it didn't seem to completely turn her off to me. She came back with a couple of refreshing zingers, open and honest, straight from the hip. The comment about panties caught me by surprise, partly from the surprise aspect, partly by the twinkle in her eye that suggested a potential double meaning.

I returned a comment about my mother's Dating Rule #1, hoping to at least put her at ease. I've found that an occasional shot at a family member's quirks can burst tension. I tried to use a lesson from a comedy class I'd taken years ago, taking a moment to prep another piece of roll before hitting her with my intention to call my mother on my honeymoon to check on my bride's suggestion for the evening.

"Are you gay?"

The last bit of roll that I'd eaten turned into a brick, and caught in my throat. Reflexive throat spasm, double eye blink, spasm repeat, a shuddering woof of a cough that not only cleared my throat, but also annoyed the nearest table. The roll that I was dipping fell away, and my wrist caught the splash effect of the oil.

Trying to catch my breath, I suddenly found that she had caught my hand, and was trying to make a point. I almost didn't catch the words. Other than the brief contact back at the coffee shop, this was the first time we'd touched, really touched. That bit of social personal space had been breached, a hurdle had been crossed, something had changed. Now, if I could just communicate...

"It's okay to be gay... Jack was. IS. My... fiancee. Was my fiancee."

I managed to claim my water glass (wine was not what I needed at the moment..) and I took an awkward drink. Not awkward because of the question, but awkward because it was my off hand working across the plate, so that I wouldn't break the contact with that pleasantly warm hand that held me. Once the windpipe was working again, I presssed the eye contact, and tightened my grip on her fingers, enough to accentuate my words, not hard enough to be misinterpreted as negativity.

"Aimee, hon." Lord, I was using endearments,, "Aimee, I'm not gay." I realized that the couple next to us was staring, and I broke eye contact with those lovely liquid eyes to shoot a look their way, and stick my tongue out briefly. Then I turned back, keeping my voice to a more private level.

I realized that I'd found something, a hurt that had been troubling her, and I tried to pour reassurance back to her.

"Aimee, I'm straight, I assure you. Not only that, I'm very attracted to you."

Like a Hail Mary pass, like a sudden death slapshot, like a.. well, insert your favorite sport related last ditch effort here, the words were out, and hanging there. She was obviously self conscious, and now doubly so. Well, hell. If I was going to burn the evening, it might as well be with an honest, if misdirected, effort.

"Aimee, look. I was raised from the gentleman school of life. That means that if I'm interested in a woman, I don't lead off with a tired line, or unzip and present, then say "Hey, baby, you're easy on the eyes. What say you and me go tear off a piece?". I try to show her that I'm a decent person, and that I find her to be absolutely wonderful. That's what the word breaks down to. Gentle. Man. Unfortunately, sometimes it leads to other interpretations."

I gave the hand another squeeze, praying that she wouldn't suddenly decide to bolt and run.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

I guessed I'd really done it now. My heart leaped when Marcus said he was interested in me, but at the same time I couldn't help wondering if it was from a psychological standpoint. Especially after my latest blunder. Okay... At least he isn't gay. But then again, who every woulda thought Jack was?

"Marcus, I apologize. I didn't realize how much Jack's revelation had affected me. I mean after more than four years I should have been over that little figment of my life, huh?" I guessed I had better get it all out while I still had my nerve, so I switched feet and moved into overdrive.

"Okay look. I was engaged. We dated for ages, lived together. Then one morning Jack announced that he was gay. Just like that. I'm gay, Aimee. Everything I thought I knew fell to pieces around me. How did someone just wake up one morning and decide they were gay. It's not like dying your hair a different color or changing the style of clothes you wear. That is something that just doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't. Right??"

"It isn't the way you act or talk or anything like that. Jack is as macho as they come and I never would have guessed in a gazillion years. Truth, I haven't dated since. Nor have I even considered it. I sort of buried myself in writing and reading and doing other things. Told myself I didn't have time. I had all the perfect excuses to fit every occasion. You know?"

"Yes, I noticed you in the coffeehouse. Yes, I wanted to say something but I was afraid. Like I suddenly forgot how to be friendly and just smile. It was presumptuous of me to even assume or hope that we would meet and maybe talk... Or more. I scared myself I think -- to even think about talking to a man or... dating."

I took a sip of wine and gave him a sheepish grin. I could feel the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Dammit for being an all-occasion cryer! I could cry at the drop of a hat. Happy, sad, mad... I was just feeling sorry for myself now and that was the last thing I wanted Marcus Rayven to feel for me. Sympathy.

"That's probably the worst thing I have to tell about myself -- and it's not really even about myself, is it?" I shrugged. "Anyhow... that's what's been bugging me and making me feel uncomfortable since back there." I tilted my head in the general direction of the coffeehouse.

"Think we could pick up some of the pieces or at least sweep some of them under the rug and start over? I really do like you, Marcus Rayven. And I'd like to get to know you better, if you would like the same."

A soft cough interrupted my latest screed. The waiter with our dinners. "Saved by the food," I chuckled suddenly feeling hungrier than I'd felt in a very long time.

 

[stalwartone]

I kept my tongue as she spilled out her hurt. Lord, no wonder she'd worried about my orientation. To have a partner that close to you, a soulmate from the wistful sound in her voice, then to have them suddenly announce that you didn't know them at all. And then she'd chosen to be closed off for four years.

Four years. Not just celibate, not just private, but alone for four years. Scared of the world, of the danger of another hurt of that magnitude.

I wasn't totally unfamiliar with the concept. My former lover was one who started as a normal person, then slowly shifted into a person that could be kindly referred to as a maniac. I had realized it during a drive on the interstate, when she suddenly went into one of her rants about all the people in her school that were out to get her. Her angry diatribe had nearly thrown the car into the ditch several times, and I suddenly understood that this had been going on for some time, and it was getting worse. She no longer wanted my understanding of her plight, she wanted an ally to wreak vengeance on her "enemies". She didn't want a husband, just someone to be home for her. And she didn't want a lover, she just wanted someone to provide her with an orgasm upon demand, and the occasional spilling of seed for a potential baby that would allow her to escape from school and responsibility. I had finally cut through her rant by threatening to jump from the car as it drove along. Her reply about I wouldn't dare at seventy miles an hour was met with a "I jumped from trucks for the military, I was shot at by enemies for the army, I was discharged for my injuries. I've been dodging death for some time, this won't scare me so much." Never mind that I was that scared, I just couldn't handle another day of being dragged down. She stopped, I walked. Two days later I grabbed everything I owned from our place, and never went back.

There were similarities here. The differences were in time. Her relationship changed in the space of a sentence. Mine changed over the course of a couple of years. She stayed celibate for four years. I stayed so for a year and a half.

And now...

The dinner arrived, and I leaned forward over my bowl, the chopsticks held loosely in my hand. I fell into those eyes again, and wanted to stay there. I compromised by speaking, but keeping my eyes locked on hers.

"Aimee, I'll tell you what. We've both been hurt, we've both been hiding from the world, and we're both scared of the future. But for some reason, we're both here, we're both interested in the other, and we're both in need of some humanity in our lives. Frankly, I'm at a point that I don't care about the past. I've spent the last eighteen years of my life going nowhere, and I'd like a chance to go somewhere for once. I'd like it to be with you, if you will."

I gave her a moment to consider this, using the moment to knock a prawn from the bamboo spear, then burying it in the nest of noodles. There was a feeling here, and it took me a moment to figure it out. The social barriers were down, and we were on a much closer standing with each other. It was, well, for lack of a better word, intimate. Her skin color shifted back and forth a few times, then I threw out my thought.

"You've made it clear that you're hurt, and scared. So, you say the word. No go, and we have a quiet dinner, and go our separate ways, no hard feelings, just a dinner. Go, and we take a shot at being two humans with a real interest in each other. As far, and as fast, as you want to go. No steps forward until you say so. No fears of hurting each other. No more hiding from the world."

I dipped the chopsticks into the noodles, and grabbed at the thick sesame oiled pasta.

"For either of us."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

We concentrated on our dinners for a few moments, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Funny how we'd both chosen shrimp, even though the dishes were completely different. I tasted the mango salsa. It was divine. Sweet and tangy hot. I looked up at Marcus and grinned.

"Yummy. Want a taste?" I dipped a piece of the crispy, golden-brown coconut shrimp into the salsa and held my fork to his mouth just as he was offering me a forkful of his own.

Marcus looked at me and smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his eyes. I grinned back as he took the bite I offered and I opened mine for his sampling.

There was something almost intimate in the simplicity of sharing a forkful of food that was lost on neither of us. I hadn't even done the should I or shouldn't I thing and I didn't think he had either. I was amazed... and maybe more.

"I never had this before. What was it you said? Apple-glazed prawns? I've had and liked sobe noodles though."

I suddenly remembered the book he'd been reading at the coffeehouse and couldn't help myself. "Do you like cat?" I asked, matter of factly and sounding more than a little off the wall.

Marcus tilted his head and I could see he was wondering what sort of tangent I was off on now. "Uh... sure. I guess I like cats all right."

"Good," I replied with a wicked grin. "Leg or thigh?"

 

[stalwartone]

Her shift in direction was nothing short of amazing. One moment we were discussing a subject of world shaking importance, the next we were relaxed, smiling, and sharing our food. While she hadn't specifically said yes or no, she had chosen to stay and have dinner. It was a start.

The food sharing was something I hadn't done in a while. It was a nice thing, fun and friendly. It was.. It was what couples did. Close and comfortable, not worrying about the rest of the world for a while. I could get used to this.

The question, when it came, caught me by surprise. I stumbled through a quick answer, trying to understand the question. Did I like cats? Sure, better than most pets.

"Leg or thigh?"

I managed to freeze with a fresh load of noodles in mid-transit. Something about the question jangled a faint bell, and I had to quickly dip into my memory for the line. Something a woman asked. No, not a woman, a child. Gaunt, a street urchin type. Funny name..

"Anesthasia!" I remembered that I had been trying to pretend to read the battered paperback when I was busy ogling her in the coffeehouse. "You've read Gaiman also, then." Lord, if she'd recognized the book from across the room, her eyes were better than I would have expected. All the great lines from that book. Richard Richard Mayhew Dick, widdowshanks is anti-clockwise, Croup and Vandermere the Olde Firme, perhaps you need a little liedown first..

"Okay, which character do you associate yourself with?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"Gods, Marcus. It's been yonks since I read Nevermore," I said in between bites. "I'm not sure I associate myself with her exactly, but I did especially like Door. She was like a girl/woman, wasn't she? Seeming helpless but at the same time she was like Nemesis -- seeking justice for the murder of her family. Though I would say to avenge their deaths rather than revenge."

I took a sip of wine, hoping that he wouldn't ask too many questions. I wasn't sure I was up to a whole literary discussion on the book. Bits and fragments, yes. But the whole book? I didn't think I'd measure up.

"I saw an advert on A&E last week. Nevermore is being released on DVD here in the US at the beginning of September. They're offering it on their site, but I think Amazon or one of the others is more likely to have it cheaper. Have you ever seen it?"

Marcus shook his head.

"I haven't, but have thought about at least renting it. I'm curious."

By now we were more than halfway through the meal and I was really beginning to regret not knowing more about the book up for discussion. Anything to drag the evening out, I thought. Well, dessert would take some time and then maybe a walk or something.

I knew it was getting late and Marcus probably had class early, but I just didn't want it to end. Frankly, I felt like a sponge -- absorbing every drop of Marcus Rayven that I could get. I wanted our time to go on forever. And more.

 

[stalwartone]

I would love to say it was the best dinner I'd ever had. Frankly, I don't remember much more about it, other than the fact that I was sitting there with Aimee, chatting and finishing our meals. Whether it was the wine, the food, or the relaxed intimacy of having breached a wall between the two of us, everything was wonderful. I was in that glorious phase, where one concentrates their attention on learning the other's movements, quirks, tiny tells, and the like. Her voice had a quality to it that just drove me up the wall with delight, and I tried to come up with commentaries that would keep her laughing. And if I wasn't noting her voice, there was the movement of her hair as she shifted, the easy way in which her hands moved, and the light, that bewitching light in her eyes.

The little voices in my head were at war. The mature part of me was urgently reminding me that not only was I almost two years out of the socializing game, I wasn't a young man any more. Being given to flights of fancy, to stare longingly at a beautiful lady, to lose myself in her eyes was something that a young man did, not a thirty-six year old man found himself doing. My last partner had been wonderful in the beginning, and look where that had gotten me. Then the youthful voice would rise up, reminding me that she was interested in me, something that hadn't happened in a while. That I was still alive, dammit, and this lady hadn't run away from me at our first meeting. If I could just keep charming her, then who knew where this could go?

A testosterone driven vision of the two of us in a liplock, pulling at each other's clothing was stifled by the older voice as it pressed for notice. She was interested in me, not in a bedroom partner. With the number of college kids running around, she could easily have her choice of lovers, if she so wished. And there had been the fear of my orientation. Did I really come across as gay?

I managed to order dessert without breaking the conversation. I was concerned that I might say something totally egotistical, or overly macho, and she'd suddenly rush off, pissed at me. I reminded myself that she'd stayed despite the earlier flashes of concern. Maybe, just maybe, I was someone she liked, more than just a friend. Of course, if all I got from this was a good friend, well, I would consider myself lucky.

I polished off my flan and the last bits of wine together, then held the conversation for a moment when a faint rumble could be felt through the air and the floor. It was one of those late summer storms rolling in, a slow moving reminder that nature could be beautiful and terrible at the same time. A thought crossed my mind, and I signalled the waiter. As he stepped over, I quickly scribbled a note on my napkin, and asked him to take it to the front desk of the attached hotel. When Aimee's eyebrows momentarily rose in concern, I held up a finger, and asked her to trust me. Another great leap, I knew, but I wanted to do something for her.

The waiter returned with the check and the card that I had requested. I left enough cash for the bill and the tip, then stood and offered Aimee my arm again.

"Trust me, please. I'm not trying something evil, I just want to show you something."

This hotel was typical of city hotels of this era. Once, when construction in the area had been at a flurry, there had been multiple hotels arrayed around the block. Over the years, finances had taken their tolls, and the various hotels had been bought out, eventually all being owned by a single owner. Rather than have serious competition within his "children", he'd arranged to have the buildings merged. Now, there was one large hotel, wrapping it's way around two thirds of the block, and also reaching across the street to what had become it's parking garage and maintenance area.

But, where growth allows for adjustment, forced mergings cause different problems. None of the various buildings had been built to the same exacting standards, and certain allowances had to be made for the new creation. If you knew where to look, you could spot the flaws in the hallways. Odd spots where there was a bump in the floor, or a hall that seemed to slant oddly. I knew of these bits, because the school I was attending was sending it's restaurant/hotel management students here also, and I'd run the room service game for a week.

But there were other oddities. If halls and service systems had to be revamped, rooms had taken an even larger hit. Rebuilding walls and assigning room numbers caused troubles, and some rooms, mostly at the conjunction points, had become things of near legend. I tried to explain this as we stepped off of the hotel's "charming" (read cantakerous, yet view providing) birdcage elevator.

"This is going to be one of the oddities here. It was originally an office and a broom closet, I believe. We call them ha-ha rooms. It actually refers to any room that isn't highly wanted. It can mean a room too close to a noisy ice machine, or a furnace blower, or an outside light."

I slid the doorcard through the lock, and slowly opened the door. One of the minor advantages of the school was that we could make limited use of these rooms, provided they weren't being used or reserved. In this case, I had no fears. It was getting late, after accepted check in time, and at mid week, the hotel was hardly pressing full at the beams.

The room was a fine example of ingenuity in the face of adversity and financial concerns. Rather than being firmly defined by a square or rectangular design, it jogged a bit, forming three rooms, so to speak. The door opened directly to the bed, it's opening swing stopped by a dresser behind it. Floor space was at a minimum, and two people would have a hard time working around each other in here. Once in, with the door closed, the dresser/luggage storage area could be seen, and the opening to the tiny bathroom beyond that, actually angled off the lines of the room. I bit my lip at the look on her face. Obviously, this she hadn't expected. She might have been concerned that I was taking her up here in an attempted seduction, but I think that one look at this room might cure her of that. A seduction requires a certain amount of romance, and this room was hardly that. Actually, I had a feeling that the ghosts of the hotel probably had never seen any degree of sex in this room, let alone positive emotions. It was claustrophobic, at best, and had a feel to it. Tempers could easily flare here.

I smiled in attempted reassurance, then moved around the bed to slide the curtains open. The hidden strength of the room was a balcony, one that looked out into the approaching storm. Unfortunately, the limited space had forced the builders to reverse the hinges, and the doors opened out onto the slender overhang. There wasn't that much room out there, but one could step out and watch nature's light show. I pushed the doors open, then stepped aside as far as I could to allow her to step out there.

"So, is this too evil?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Admittedly, I wasn't quite sure what Marcus was up to when he took me upstairs. It was clean and neat, had to give it that, but it looked out of place in a sense that it should have been in some sleezy motel used mainly for afternoon delights. All that seemed to change when he opened the doors that led to the balcony and ushered me outside.

The sky was black as jet. No stars. No moon. Just a satin smooth, unwrinkled backdrop behind the stage, put there to magnify the brilliance of white gold streaking across the sky in our own personal pyrotechnic display.

Drumroll please... The deep rumble-bumble slowly building to a crescendo, a cacophony of sounds -- like an unresolved musical chord.

CRASH! I jumped and Marcus was suddenly there. Hadn't he always been? Protecting me. His arms a safe haven from the storm. I leaned into him -- amazingly unafraid of what lay ahead as we stood there, a captive audience on our ledge. Lost in our thoughts. Watching quietly and sharing the splendor that was Mother Nature.

Our hearts beat a tattoo to match the rhythm of the rain that had begun to fall. A hard, man-rain that washed away all the dirt and grime of life. Banished the hurt and loneliness. Leaving everything pristine and brand-spanking-new.

I looked up at Marcus Rayven and smiled. Yes, I could live in those eyes for an eternity in time and drown there willingly as well. Life is good, I thought to myself as he leaned down and slowly covered my lips with his own.

 

[stalwartone]

I had worried about how Aimee would interpret my decision to come to this room. Perhaps I was moving too quickly, maybe I was risking breaking my promise to her, perhaps I was putting too much faith in the view that would be seen from this room.

It was the sudden pursing of her lips, and the almost silent "Oohh" as she looked out that convinced me that all was going to be okay. She moved forward, almost seeming to forget me, and I stepped back from the doorframe to stand behind her. I found that I could think of few sights in the world more beautiful than her standing there on the balcony, highlighted by nature's symphony.

Time stood still in one of those magic moments, then was suddenly broken in a clap of thunder. I didn't know how long we had stood there watching the storm, but suddenly she was jumping in surprise at the booming sound almost directly above us. Aimee had moved, and I didn't think to consider which direction she might be going. Before there could be the chance of her accidentally moving in one of the three directions that were only protected by the handrail, I was reaching for her, trying to pull her to safety. Although I realized in my mind that there was no real danger, I had enfolded her into my arms, and buried my face in her hair, whispering soothing endearments to calm that rapidly beating heart that I could feel thundering through her skin.

We stood there, leaving the world behind as we held on to each other. This was the closest I had been to her, now molded to her, and I desperately wanted the moment to hold on forever. Our hearts had found a common thread, and were now beating in tandem. I had stopped whispering, and was simply breathing her essence as we stood there, feeling the storm arrive.

A warm rain started, and the spray off of the balcony above began dampening our clothing and hair. Common sense failed, and we stayed there, trying to merge ourselves into time and place.

I suppose it could be considered one of those highly erotic moments, straight out of the movies. We were on a balcony, our wet clothes clinging to us, forces of nature asserting themselves both within and without, and a bed was standing a few feet behind my legs. If I were any other man, or even the person I had been a few years before, I would have pulled her to the bed and followed through on animal nature.

However, as I had said to her, I considered myself a gentleman, and I truly wanted her to respect me. Whatever hormonal howl I was feeling was pressed away, and I concentrated on being there. I would remain a man to be appreciated, a man who stuck to his word.

She turned her head, perhaps to say something to me, perhaps to simply pull her eyes away from an inopportune water drip. Whatever the reason, she was back to staring at me, and I now had a rival for those deep pools that were her eyes. Her face had been in the spray, and her lips were now invitingly coated in several thick raindrops.

Reason failed me. She didn't offer any facial expressions, she didn't say anything, she didn't move in any way. She stood there looking up at me. It was, if anything, an invitation. One that I couldn't refuse. With a tip of the hat to fortune, I kissed her. Kissed her with the intent of never letting her away from me. Kissed her to let her know that I really meant what I had said, that I was intensely attracted to her.

I forced myself to pull away for a moment, searching her face for signs of disapproval or anger. When none surfaced, I raised one hand to cup her face, and spent a moment planting a series of feathery kisses across her face, clearing the raindrops from her skin. Then, after a deep look into her eyes, I kissed her lips again, savoring the feel of them, of the way her body responded, of the sense of urgency that rolled up from within me.

A moment of doubt crossed my mind. What if I was making a huge mistake? What if I had violated her trust? What if she turned out to be just as crazed as my last relationship? What if I was simply responding to a mid-life crisis?

A question my father had once asked me came to mind. I considered what I saw in the potential for this relationship. Was this purely physical? Was I running from something? Dad's question had been, "How much are you willing to deal with in a relationship?". I thought for a microsecond. Could I see myself not only with her in the best of times, the celebrations, the joys, the climaxes, but also in the worst of times, the fights, the hardships, the ravages of time on ourselves and those around us. I remembered my grandparents as they aged and finally moved on. They had never given up on each other, even when they didn't get along. My parents were dealing with new infirmities, with aches and pains, with changes in financial fortune. With these two examples, I saw what they meant. A line from a movie came to mind. For the rest of their lives, they had a string of adventures. From high to low, from rich to flat, through thick and thin, they never left each other's sides. I knew the true meaning now.

Reluctantly, I broke the kiss, and pulled her back slightly, out of the water spray. The hand that had been cupping her face, still tingling from the skin contact, moved up to slide through her wet hair. When I spoke, there was a huskiness to my voice that I didn't remember having before.

"Sorry, I kind of broke my promise there. You're supposed to be setting the pace here."

I fought back a silly grin. I would apologize for breaking my promise, I wouldn't apologize for the kiss and the contact. If she was going to be angry, now was the time. And if not..

"So, where do we go from here?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Yes, where do we go from here? I looked up at Marcus, studying his face, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, the way his hair fell down over his forehead like a little boy's. Unable to resist, I reached up to comb it back with my fingertips.

If there was such a thing as love at first sight, this was probably the closest I had ever come. The whole scenario was more than a little surreal -- frightening yet exciting all at once. Did Marcus feel the same? Something deep inside of me told me that he did. Or at least I could hope what I saw in his eyes was not merely a reflection of my own, but something more. Something that came from within.

There were a lot of things I hadn't wanted to think about since Jack left, and there was a biggie staring me right in the face. What if... Yeah, lots of what ifs, but one more important than any others. I just hadn't needed to face up to it before.

"Marcus," I said hesitantly. "It might be forward of me to bring this up -- even presumptuous -- but there is something that I -- we -- need to consider before we go any further." I knew I had to broach the subject sooner or later. Seemed like there was never going to be a better time than now -- before things got serious. It would be easier to lose him before we began than to have him walk away later.

"Whatever it is can wait, Aimee. No hurries. We have... "

I placed my finger over his lips to hush him and he kissed it. We both smiled at how such a small gesture could be so intimate. It seemed that every word, every touch, every glance between us was intimate. And that's why I had to say what needed saying now.

"Come." I gestured toward the room with a tilt of my head. There weren't any chairs, so I climbed up on the bed, grabbing a pillow and putting it on my lap. The inveterate pillow of armor, I thought. This will protect me. Protect both of us. Right.

"Please? I think we'd both be more comfortable if you sat, too. I promise to respect your virtue." I added with a wink, hoping to make Marcus feel more at ease. He had to be wondering what in the world I was going to do now. After all, my track record for insane acts in his presence wasn't very reassuring.

"Marcus. I told you about Jack. My fiancé. How he said he was -- is gay."

Marcus nodded, and I continued, pretty sure he knew where this conversation was headed. "There's no easy way to say this, Marcus. I've done everything except think about it and deal with it. Four years is a long time, but even so. It's time for me to wake up and smell the coffee. A good thing, but I am sorry that it involves you now, too. Well, maybe not. Not really."

"Look... I don't know if Jack was sexually involved with anyone at the time we were together. All I know is that he and I were sexually active. I buried my head in the sand after he told me. I didn't want to think about STDs or HIV or even AIDS. Being here with you now made me realize that I should have been tested long ago. Long, long ago."

"Okay. So maybe I'm being presumptuous after all. Making love... " I felt the color rise to my face and quickly corrected, hugging the pillow tighter to my chest. "Having sex may not have been on your mind at all. I'm not saying it is or was. The 'maybe' of it made me realize that I couldn't... we shouldn't go any further without being sure that I'm okay. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Gods, how I hoped he did. If it was the worst, and I prayed it wouldn't be, I hoped Marcus would still want to be -- at least -- friends.

 

[stalwartone]

At first I thought I had crossed the line, that I'd angered her with my presumptuousness. Had the kiss been that wrong? Had I misread her? Had I really destroyed any credibility that I might have built up? For the next moment I considered that it was merely her mercurial manner. She was slipping back and forth, trying to find her path.

Then I saw the walls come up within her. As surely as if a physical drawbridge was raised between us, she stepped back within herself.

She was trying to say something, and I, like an idiot, too caught up in trying to bring her back, dove forward in spirit, trying to move past whatever barriers she was pulling up. In the whole harm versus good consideration, probably not my finest hour.

She moved inside to the bed, and I followed, trying to understand what I'd done. Naturally, in my fear, I found myself listening less, and trying to read her body language more. The hand pat on the bed, a smile on her face, good signs. The pillow held between us, not such a good sign. The pillow not only formed a physical block (laugh if you will, but it was just as effective as a curaiss and coat of mail), it also broke up her figure, attempting to remove her female form from my line of sight. She stumbled her way into an almost coherent speech, then paused, and we attempted to bridge the awkward moment with a physical touch that was easily the most emotional caress I'd ever been on the recieving end of. Everything within me begged her to get to the point, so we could make this work between the two of us.

At first, when she did finally make her point, I thought that perhaps we were back to the earlier question on my orientation. I would have thought that maybe the kiss might have gotten across the idea of my interest in her, and her stuttering between the concepts of lovemaking and sex (Two very different concepts, believe me) pretty much scared me in regards to her interest in what might become of the two of us as a couple. Then it hit me.

HIV.. Jack.. gay.. Point A to Point B to Point C leads to.. Oh, hell, how could I have misread this? And here I was thinking I was such a modern adult human being type person. Just because I had been celibate, and she had been celibate, and neither of us had noted anything wrong with ourselves... Lord, Marcus, it's the new millenium. You should know better. How many tests did you take for the military? Every time you deployed somewhere, another series of shots in and blood out. And it's been how long since then? Not to mention that you didn't really have a good chat with any of your later partners, did you?

I reached out and recaptured her hand, covering it in both of mine, hoping that she wouldn't notice the fact that while I was applying only minimal pressure to her hand, the tension in my hands was enough to drain the blood from my knuckles.

"You're right, you know." I tried to think of how to express what I felt right then. We'd gone from perfect strangers to near-lovers in the matter of a couple of hours, and I might have potentially risked everything. Regardless of if this was love or something simply more physical, I'd forgotten how simple it was in this day and age for something so tiny to destroy one or more lives. She hadn't, and she'd managed to express her concern in a manner that showed she felt just as strongly as I did about our future. For lack of a better expression, I kissed her fingertips where they stuck out between my fingers.

"A little blood is a small price for peace of mind, right? And whatever that peace may hold for us."

I released the hand, and reached out to take her in an embrace, enfolding her, pillow and all, in my arms. "Besides, I think this may be one of those relationships where that could be the worst of the pains we go through."

At least, I fervently hoped it was. I certainly meant to make a point of making sure I didn't cause her any pain if I could help it.