Trips Away

the life of a writer

She stood there in the store with a half smile either beautiful or imbecilic.  On a trip to New York, when the work of the conference was done, this Tibetan art and artifact store was the latest place to come across.  This twenty something, dark haired, pale girl stood there offering assistance.  He was just looking around, and trying to not look at her.  She stood a good half foot taller than him.  Very long legs leading to all too short denim shorts created a very real problem within him.  To talk with her and that charming face risked leading to wanting to get to know her.  That would lead to indulging his baser nature in wanting to know her better intimately, emotionally, physically.  But standing next to her, hearing her soft, gentle voice ring with kindness, did more than just inspire wanting to touch her flesh.  It set the scene for surreal waves of relaxation and peace to wash over him.  More than any carnal desires she could fulfill, that peace in her company, the softness in her voice, proved more tempting to him.  With all the thoughts of whatever fantasy promises in her pale, soft skin, in competition that sensation standing next to her was more alluring.

While the older tibetan man helped another customer in his store select a statue for her mediation practice, this young, white girl, this tall woman offered, “You seem to have trouble with making a decision, like you’re stuck in life; and you have trouble in your throat maybe.”  Her hand moved so that her long fingers touched the base of her throat as she said this.  Then opening a small but think book she held in her other hand, “I think I know what might help.”  Flipping through the pages of a stone/gem guide, “A blue agate is very good for neck problems.”  There’s no way the girl could know of the scratching, near constant ache behind his larynx when he did not ever learn her name.  “Would you like me to help you find a stone?”

He gratefully followed her to the back of the store, a long walk of only about twenty feet.

Partly bending over, partly stooping down, with her face in a glass cabinet the sound of stones crunching under foot at the beach came out of the cabinet where the girl rummaged for the right rock.  He focused on that sound, but only saw he profile of her body.  After a moment she emerged and straightened up to face him, and show him the treasure she found.  “This is a good one.  They are hard to find and I think this is the only one we have.”  With the chance to touch her his fingers erased the form of her hand as he took the agate.  Warm and soft flesh he could now smell her - no chemicals, no fragrances, just the smell of a woman.

“Thank you.  I’m sure this will help.”

“If you wear it as a necklace or even just hold it while you meditate it will help you open us your throat chakra.”

He desperately hoped and feared she would say something that would be an invitation for them to spend more time together, privately.  It was an instant fantasy.  It did not happen.  Other than genuine kindness there was not the slightest hint of attraction or desire on her part.  

“Can I help you find anything else?”

“No, thank you.  I think that will be it.”

He waited a step as she walked to the front of the store to ring up the purchase. Following, he noticed nothing else around and thought he smelled her aroma.  With no other excuse to be there after the two minutes to pay he left the store.

Up the few steps to the street level the Village was starting to get busy as the early people came out.  He just made his way to the subway to return to his hotel.

  The hotel had a roof top bar.  From different points around the space the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building, and East River were part of the panoramic view.  This early summer day the sun was starting to get low.  Empire State was silhouetted with the sun behind it as he went up to the bar for a drink.  He needed to get some work done.  There were too many ideas to work through beyond all the work done that needed to be corrected.  Nice legs in a grey form fitting dress came up to him as he sat on the outdoor couches.  Looking away from the notebook in which he was writing on the small table in front of him, he took in her ankles, the lengths of her leg all the way up to her wide smile.

The server recommended a sauvignon blanc to the novice wine drinker.  It was either pilsner beers or gin and tonic to drink.  This was a cool, crisp option to enjoy on a warm summer night, was the sales line.  It sounded nice and he saw he walk away to get his drink.

Turning back to his notebook he added to his notes for a new story.  He was barely half finished with the process on the current project, but already that book was losing his interest.  It was stagnating in needing more detail, more depth, more words.  The new project was a fresh idea, so far as was known, never done as a novel, and was exciting.  It would take a lot of work to bring it about.

She came back with a plastic wine glass half full of white.  Bending over to look at what he had on the table, her attention caused him to look up.  Nearly eye to eye, he looked into her smiling face and into the plunging neckline of her cocktail dress.

“Are you a writer?”

“Yes.  I’m just trying to work on a story.”

“That’s awesome.  Where are you from?”  Still leaning in, she must have not heard a New York accent.

“I’m from Boston, staying in the hotel and here for a conference.”

“Oh, I just was in Boston a couple of weeks ago.  Have you ever been to Carmelina’s? I’m Charlie, by the way.” She offered her hand and he shook it, letting the contact last.

“Yeah, that’s in the North End.  It’s good.”  He was lying.  Not about the restaurant.  He didn’t remember it and probably had never been there.

“I loved it.  I went with my friends.  I loved Boston.  I have to go back sometime soon.”

“It’s a great city.  Not as big as New York but still it’s really nice.  A lot of character.”

He started to drink his wine as she continued to smile at him.  The afternoon sun shone on her long dark hair, falling down onto her tight grey dress that ended at the top of her thighs.  She had to go back to work but would check on him later.  

He added a few more pages to the note book, took some scenic pictures of the buildings in the setting sun, and drank a couple more glasses of wine.  Charlie took care of him, and never stopped smiling at him with her wide mouth with full lips.  He doubted he ever looked much at her eyes, although he thought they were blue.

It was time to go down to his room, get ready for dinner.  Charlie said she hoped to see him around.  He just smiled, offered a pleasantry that he might have considered flirting but anyone else would find polite, then went to clean up.  He would meet his love soon.

The very tall girl and Charlie the server lingered when he was alone.  But that night he didn’t think of them, didn’t hold onto fading images.  That night, with his love, he caught an off broadway play, had a great meal at a small restaurant, and thought only about the woman sitting with him.  She let all the ideas fall into place.  Whatever yearnings, visions, temptations, or desires that taunted him and fed creativity, this one woman was love, and she with that let him write.  That was the one indulgence he would give into.

It didn’t occur to him to take out the notebook at dinner when his love inspired a bit of dialogue or a plot point.  He would remember it later.