Taxi To Paris Part 2

What would her change of clothes bring to light? A see-through negligee and garters? What did she think I was expecting? I had clearly made this appointment as a client, and she would treat me as such. To h.e.l.l with that! But what else could I have done?

The door opened and she came back into the room. I'd guessed wrong about the negligee - she wore a floor-length white robe, something that every good housewife might have in her closet, if not in such luxurious silk as this one.

She looked at me. "Didn't you find anything?" At first, I didn't know what she meant. Then I noticed she was looking in the direction of the bar.

"I don't drink much," I said quickly.

She smiled and walked over to the bar. "Neither do I, but I have nonalcoholic things, too." She poured something into a gla.s.s, came over to the sofa, and stood in front of me. "Would you like to try some?" She offered me the gla.s.s. I looked up at her. I wanted to try something entirely different! She saw that I didn't want any and took a drink herself. Then she set the gla.s.s on the coffee table and sat down next to me on the sofa. She crossed her legs. Her robe slid open a bit.

I saw her long legs. They were naked. The robe didn't reveal anything indecent, but I a.s.sumed that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it. My mouth went dry. I wanted her so badly, I could've torn the cloth from her body. I reached for the gla.s.s and took a long drink. It was apple juice. I had to smile. My first time - at least officially - with a hooker, and I was drinking apple juice!

She sat there, calmly, and smiled at me. It was the smile she'd put on the last time to show me how well she could do her job. It was a friendly, almost loving smile. If it weren't for the heat building inside my body, I might've imagined her as an old friend. I wanted to touch her so badly I could already feel the softness of her skin on my fingertips. But I didn't want to be a client!

She noticed that I wasn't getting down to business., as it were. "Do you like music?" she asked.

Oh, no, that too! Some kind of sleazy mood music. But why not? That was, after all, what I was here for. I had to agree. "Yes." I didn't manage any more.

She stood up and went over to a small stereo. She put in a CD, pressed the play b.u.t.ton, and turned around. The Four Seasons. I'm sure I looked quite dumbfounded. "I believe you like cla.s.sical," she said, "but I can put something else on, if you'd rather." She stayed there, waiting for my answer.

"No, no - that's exactly right. I like Vivaldi." Even if she'd put on heavy metal, I probably couldn't have contradicted her, but in this case it was actually true.

She came back over and sat down next to me. So now we'd have the great seduction scene. But she did nothing of the sort. She just sat there. I stared at her legs, which she'd crossed again. The president of the garden club couldn't have looked better bred. Just a breath of luxury and eroticism. I felt compelled - I simply had to ask her. "Do you have..." my voice cracked. I tried it again. "Are you wearing anything under that?"

This seemed to cheer her up. Visibly amused, she remarked, "No. What would be the point of that?"

I sat there, paralyzed. It was a game. She drew me in, behaved in an unmistakably seductive manner, and invited me to seduce her. But with how many women had she done this before me? That doesn't matter, you're enjoying it! Yes, I like it, but I'd like it even more if she'd just do it for me, if she were seductive for me alone. You'll never have a woman like this for yourself. Even if she weren't a hooker. She's too beautiful for that.

My dark thoughts must've been apparent. When I looked at her, a shadow fell over her face and replaced the look of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Should I undress?" She reached for her belt.

"No, please don't." I raised my hand. I couldn't stand it, this look. This waiting for instructions.

She looked at me. "Would you like to...?" She nodded toward the bed.

Oh, yes, I wanted to - and how I wanted to! But not like this, not in this professional manner. And how much time did we have? Perhaps we should clear up that point to start. I cleared my throat. "How long...?"

She laughed out loud. She sounded relieved. "Oh, you're worried about the time!" She leaned over me and laid her hand, as if by coincidence, on my thigh. Her touch ran through me like lightning. Her face came closer. "You needn't think about that for a moment." She spoke very softly. She nuzzled her cheek against mine. Her hand moved higher up my thigh. She whispered in my ear, "I have lots of time for you. A client canceled." I threw myself back against the arm of the sofa. There it was again!

"My G.o.d!" She jumped up and shoved her hands in the pockets of her silk bathrobe. "Don't do that!" Her eyes flashed in my direction. "That's just how it is! You know what I am!" She spun around on her heels, stared in the opposite direction, then turned to face me once more. "And you're my client today, no?"

I sat on my hands and rocked back and forth. "Yes, I know."

She looked at me a bit more gently. She came to the sofa, propped a knee up on it, and took my head in her hands. "Would it help if I told you that I really like you?" She looked me right in the eyes.

I nodded mutely. I swallowed. "You don't say that to...?"

"No, I don't say that to everyone." She laughed mockingly. "I really don't." She still held my face between her hands. "So, I like you." She gave me a little kiss on the left cheek. "I really like you." The same on the right. Now she laughed seductively. "I even like you a lot." She plunged me into a boiling volcanic sea with her sensuous whispers. Then she let herself sink forward and kissed me. She could kiss unbelievably well, and as by our first meeting, she set me completely on fire this time.

She slid down beside me and pulled me to her. I wrapped my arms around her. The silk was wonderfully smooth and cool. I didn't know whether I would've liked better to hold her with or without this piece of clothing. I freed myself from her kiss and said, "I don't want you to undress."

She laughed very softly and said, "I think that can be arranged."

She touched her lips to my throat and ran them along its length. I moaned. The leather upholstery was soft and inviting. She let herself sink down until she lay under me, but kept her mouth on my neck. She began to unb.u.t.ton my s.h.i.+rt. With every b.u.t.ton that she opened, she ran her lips across the skin she'd lain bare. Finally, she let herself fall all the way back and looked up at me. She didn't smile. I looked down at her and knew that I was in love with her. And that I could never tell her that, just like I could never expect to hear it from her.

"Wouldn't you like to make yourself a little more comfortable?"

I emerged from my thoughts. I still had my boots on. How embarra.s.sing! I leapt up. I took off my boots and unb.u.t.toned my pants.

I saw her lying on the sofa. Her white robe contrasted stunningly with the deep black of the leather. Unbelievable how she completed the sequence, lying there so perfectly arranged. I looked at her, crestfallen.

"Should I do it?"

"What?" I was quite irritated. I'd forgotten why I'd stood up.

"Undress you." It sounded absolutely self-evident. She seemed expectant. Of course - the wishes of her clients... I shook my head roughly to chase away the uncomfortable thoughts.

"No," I fought loudly against the voice in my head. Too loudly. To that I added shrinkingly, "I can do that myself."

"I'm convinced of that," she stated, slightly amused once more.

The silk of the robe she wore made clear the contours of her body. Her straight shoulders, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the sweeping line of her hips. Slowly, I took off my pants. She watched me. I was embarra.s.sed. "Could you maybe look somewhere else?"

"Yes, of course." She agreed to my wish immediately. Nonetheless, I had the feeling that she looked away against her will.

That's unfair of you. You look at her with such longing, and when she does the same... Yes, I know, but she's so beautiful - and she's used to it! My conscience was starting to bother me. Is that an excuse for bad behavior? it scolded from the recesses of my mind. I ignored it haughtily.

I went back over to the sofa. My arousal climbed. I could feel my pulse beating in my neck. She was still looking out the window. I kneeled next to the sofa and laid my hand on her stomach. She didn't react. After a second, I understood. "Look at me, please," I said. She turned her face toward me. If she just wouldn't do everything I asked!

Her belly rose and fell regularly beneath my hand. I went deeper and slid it under the cloth. My hand lay on her upper thigh. She still breathed quietly and evenly. My thoughts from early that morning occurred to me. Perhaps she really didn't feel anything from that. But last time...? So much was different then from today. I pulled my hand back.

She said nothing. She propped herself up on one elbow and laid the other hand on the nape of my neck. Her lips parted. She pulled me a little closer and kissed me. She tickled my neck a little; her kiss was careful and exploratory. Was this Technique No. 324? Despite her experienced tongue, my arousal fell to zero. She noticed. "Am I doing something wrong?" This friendly willingness in her voice, this striving to make everything satisfactory for me. There it was again, the professionalism. But it was her job, after all! Why couldn't I accept that?

"No, no," I denied quickly. "It's my fault. I guess I'm just not in the mood today." I knew that was a flat lie, and she knew it too. I stood up. I couldn't do it and I'd never be able to. That was clear to me now. The last time we'd seen each other, everything had been a surprise. This time it was planned - and that was the difference. She looked up at me, waiting, but - so it seemed to me anyhow - without any particular interest. "I'll go right away," I said. "Excuse me, please."

She stood up anyhow, with one of her elegant movements that made me look like a bull in a china shop. "Oh, that's all right. An unantic.i.p.ated free afternoon." She smiled. Like a neighbor. A very cursorily known neighbor. She made no attempt to hold me back. Of course not, why should she? I didn't matter to her. The faade had crumbled a bit during our first meeting for whatever reason. Now, at any rate, there was nothing left of that to notice. I felt the tears begin to well in my eyes. Only now did I realize how much I had wanted her reaction to be different.

I forced the lump in my throat back down. I turned around. In a matter of seconds, I was dressed. She still stood there with that neighborly, well-wis.h.i.+ng smile on her face. "I - what do I owe you?" It was awful. I hoped it wouldn't take her long to figure that. Soon, tears would start pouring down my cheek. Something about her smile had changed ever so slightly. Now, she raised her hand. "Nothing. Your kisses were worth it."

Her smile drove me crazy. Her unconcerned manner made it very clear to me how much I'd been kidding myself. Love didn't occur to her. And I obviously was not the woman who could change that. That the opposite was the case for me was obviously my problem. She couldn't afford love in her profession. That should've been clear to me from the beginning. And only an old, macho, sucker of a woman like me could've expected anything else. I could turn anyone my way, couldn't I? Yes, a "normal" woman perhaps, but her? She'd had more women in bed than I could even imagine.

I saw myself as if in a mirror. An average-looking female manager with the typical short lesbian cut in her dark hair. - That'd be a nice contrast to her blonde. - Stop it already! One doesn't make jokes in that situation! But the objective att.i.tude that the intellectual in me forced at that moment helped me back down to earth for now, and helped hold back the tears I already felt pressing on my eyeb.a.l.l.s. I had to laugh involuntarily, even if it seemed a little out of place. "Well, then," I said, just to say something at all. And she reached out her hand to shake! Automatically, I laid my hand in hers.

How unbelievable this moment seemed... an eternity of five seconds. She stayed perfectly in character. She was still smiling. I couldn't any more. I turned quickly and ran for the door. As I closed it behind me, I saw from the corner of my eye that she'd already turned around and gone to the bedroom. She would enjoy her unexpectedly free day...

I pushed the b.u.t.ton for the elevator - and then took the stairs anyway. I went down so slowly I could feel each individual step under my feet. I would've liked most to be going the other direction. It was all so senseless. I'd been in my office for years, I could lead projects and head a project team, make decisions, spend or earn millions for the firm, and what was I doing here? I was agonizing over a woman who wasn't worth it, who didn't want me at all.

The path home was a blur of tearful glances. My surroundings pa.s.sed me in a dismal flood. Hopeful and then resigned thoughts shot through my head. Maybe she'd still ... maybe not... She'd probably long forgotten me by now. She'd take a little ride through the neighborhood - I could easily imagine her in a chic little sports car. Well, maybe in a bigger car, with her long legs. Oh, what did it matter to me? What had I expected? This wasn't the first time I'd fallen for a woman who didn't feel the same way about me. And it certainly wasn't the first time I'd suffered for it. And had I grown one bit wiser from the experience? No!

I remembered one of my "great loves" from back in my college dormitory. She'd looked similar to her. Actually, they all looked something like that. And as soon as I saw such a blonde, blue-eyed madonna, I was gone. That was it! My studies suffered - every woman cost me at least a semester - and I suffered. What did I want with that? Now I had a good job, I'd been single for awhile, and everything was going pretty well - wasn't it? But with her ... with her there was something else. An extra feeling. Mother of G.o.d! You've imagined that to be there every time. Every time, the woman was something special. Just be happy that all your colleagues are men, or there'd be imminent chaos there, too. Then you'd never have lasted six years with the company.

I had to realize that things always returned to normal. And I hadn't learned a thing. A pretty woman, if she was blonde, could have anything from me. And I fell in love with her almost automatically. One of my grandmothers had prophesied that I wouldn't have it easy in life. It had annoyed me at the time. But hadn't it happened just that way? Why did I have to make it so unnecessarily difficult for myself? I went home with the understanding that it just had to be that way. Even that was nothing new. Hadn't I already thought that about the previous woman? And about the one before her?

The short walk had at least let me calm down a bit. I thought. I lay down on my ottoman, and the desire came back already: I smelled her, I felt her, I saw her before me. Not like she'd been most of the time, but like I wanted her to be. As the woman who loved me and allowed me to love her. My body yearned for her touch so strongly that I suddenly felt very hot. Maybe it was just the unresolved arousal from earlier. I jumped up and tried to shake it out. But my body wouldn't be deceived. At least not through such insignificant movement. So, I grabbed my gym bag and headed for my health club.

I ran through my usual two-hour program, which I normally did two or three times a week, and then moved on to the strength machines. When I couldn't force myself to push or pull one more thing because my muscles were twitching, I went for the stationary bikes. I chose the "race" option and picked out the most difficult opponent. I knew I wasn't up for it, but I wouldn't have managed to win against a weaker opponent either. Today, I saw myself as the absolute loser. When the little red light on the control panel reached the finish line half a mile ahead of me and confirmed my estimation of myself, I was finally satisfied. Exhausted, I hit the showers. I barely managed to drive home and crawl up the stairs to my apartment. I let myself fall into bed in my sweatsuit and fell asleep immediately.

A wild dream woke me. A person was standing next to me in the room. Things moved on their own. The door opened slowly and cast a shadow on the wall. Something seemed to be hiding behind there. I grabbed for the bedside lamp and groped for the switch. When the light came on, I saw that it had all been my imagination.

A psychologist explained to me once after a similar experience that such fears are the reversal of a wish. One doesn't really want to be alone, but one is. So one imagines that someone is there. Unfortunately, that causes just as much anxiety as being alone, because it's not real.

This did not, unfortunately, allay my fears, even though I believed the explanation. So, I left the light on, and after my eyes had flown open a few more times in half-asleep panic, my overstimulated synapses finally let me have the restorative sleep I needed. I even fell asleep with a smile on my lips, because the last thing I thought about was a similar experience in the second dormitory I'd lived in.

That time, I'd just moved in and had a nightmare that drove me out of my room. As it is in student housing, I only had the one room. So I sat in the hallway, unable to force myself back in with the terrible ghosts of my imagination. Early the next morning, after I was already half frozen (I couldn't, of course, go into my room to get a blanket), a fellow student came home. Naturally, he was totally unaffected by my ghosts and just saw me sitting there in the hallway in my pajamas, s.h.i.+vering. I'd only seen him once before, so we didn't know each other at all, but his remark of "Do you have mice in your room?" finally tore me from my dismal thoughts, because I had to laugh. After that, I could go back into my room and go back to sleep. Such a remark, such an unknown and unexpected friend (or better yet a girlfriend) was just what I needed right now. But this time, I'd obviously have to handle the thing alone.

Chapter 3.

The next day, I went to the office, even though I knew I'd hardly be able to concentrate on work. Staying home, however, seemed to me to be a worse prospect. Like the mice in the room. And during the day I didn't even have that excuse. So, I tried to keep my work to the essentials. I was surely not the best worker that day, and definitely not the best boss. My coworkers on the project team were certainly used to my not always being in a wonderful mood, but most of them had never seen me like this. Instead of making decisions, I put them off. I delegated what I could, but so badly that I constantly had to answer questions and make clarifications. And those who had the bad luck to need to ask me a question also had to put up with my temper.

It went like that until I couldn't even stand myself any longer. I tried the health club again. Afterwards, I returned to the office somewhat relaxed and was tolerable for the rest of the day.

At any rate, my inability to control the situation didn't please me at all. I knew from experience that this had only two possible outcomes. Either I could convince her to behave toward me like I wanted her to, at least in part, or I was d.a.m.ned to think about her for a very long time, always swaying between joy and hope, disappointment and resignation. Although I couldn't imagine how I might accomplish the first, I knew from repeated practice that the second possibility was so exhausting and nerve-racking I'd rather avoid her altogether. I came to the conclusion that I'd have to give up one thing - namely, s.e.x - if I wanted to have the other - namely, inner peace and satisfaction. Basically irreconcilable. In connection with her, completely unimaginable. All of our previous meetings had had only to do with s.e.x. How could I possibly reach her on another level? Our whole relations.h.i.+p - if we even had one - was based on that. What would I suggest to a woman I'd just met, a woman I hadn't slept with and didn't even know yet if it would ever come to that? That was pretty clear. I'd suggest something very ordinary, a movie or dinner for example. Sure, why not? The worst thing she could do is say no, and then I could just deal with the disappointment.

I noticed how enthusiastic my m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic streak was about this decision. I'd get plenty of sleep tonight, and tomorrow was another day. Perhaps a day to call someone...

Chapter 4.

"That's a rather unusual appointment," she said.

Now that was really strange. She found it entirely acceptable to make an appointment for s.e.x, but she called a simple invitation to dinner "unusual." Until now, I'd thought of going out to eat as a relatively ordinary activity. When work didn't prevent it by sabotaging my social life - some did call me a workaholic - I went out to dinner with a friend or girlfriend two or three times a week. Cooking wasn't always possible with my workload, and it wasn't much fun to cook just for myself. When I had time - which, granted, didn't happen very often - I'd ask a couple of friends over and cook for them. In contrast to my outer appearance, which didn't always seem to fit with such "feminine" activities, I actually cooked quite well. My souffles are famous.

"Too unusual to accept?" I asked directly. There didn't seem to be any reason to beat around the bush. Her decision probably depended on criteria I knew nothing about - as little as I knew about her. In my head, a few ideas buzzed around about what I'd do if she turned me down: tie balloons outside her window with "Happy Birthday" printed on them? I didn't even know when her birthday was. Whatever I did, I was going to get turned down. I loved to be frustrated by a woman with whom I was haplessly in love!

"Too unusual not to think about it first," she said right away. She wouldn't let herself be surprised. Neither professional nor personal. I could understand that. But her cool manner annoyed me. I wanted to know what was beneath it.

"So I can't give you an answer right now." She proceeded so indifferently, I could've kicked myself for calling her at all. She had no reason to want to meet with me. Other than, perhaps, professionally, but that wasn't what I'd offered. Or was that what was holding her up? Did she first have to decide in which category I belonged: client or - yes, or what?

"Can you call me again next week?" What? Next week?

d.a.m.n it all, what was I doing here? She didn't want to! "Yeah, sure. When - when's the best time to reach you?" The thought of disturbing her "at work" was unbearable.

"You'll know," she said. Of course - either she answered the phone or she was "occupied." Why did I torment myself like this? Because you always do. Because you find those women most desirable who reject you. It angered me, but I couldn't contradict my own head. It was simply right. And to be honest, that was probably the only reason we'd ever come together in the first place. It had attracted me, her cool look-right-past-you att.i.tude, her indifference, pretended or real. In the meantime, I probably should have noticed that it was real. I would have liked to suppose otherwise.

"Fine, but do you prefer a particular day?" I'm sure my voice sounded rather sarcastic. I didn't feel like calling her every day and not reaching her until the end of the week. My masochism didn't go that far after all.

She laughed - honestly, she laughed! "You're mad," she remarked.

"Does that surprise you?" Now I was really ticked. She'd laughed at me! I definitely would not put up with that. And ordinarily, my dinner invitations were taken with a little more enthusiasm! I grumbled under my breath.

And she didn't even notice! "I won't be reachable before Wednesday, if that helps you."

"Oh, yes, that helps a lot. Thank you very much!" I slammed the receiver down into the cradle. What did she take me for? Probably precisely that which I was: a dog scratching at the door. I was embarra.s.sing myself, but I couldn't give up yet. She still hadn't said no.

I buried myself in my work and tried not to think about her constantly. The project hadn't made such rapid progress in a long time. With not thinking about her, I had less success. Every free minute was filled with thoughts of her. In the middle of filling out a form to request a half- million-dollar budget expansion, I saw her there in her silk robe, smiling at me. I wanted to undress her, to press myself against her, but that couldn't be. I simply couldn't imagine her naked. I knew why. She'd willing put her body at my disposal. There, she hid nothing. Until now, only a tiny piece of her soul had shown itself, when she wasn't looking. What interested me was the rest of what belonged to that tiny piece. It was, no doubt, very well hidden. And she'd hardly show it willingly.

During the course of the week, I came to the decision to try one last time. I couldn't, after all, make a complete fool of myself! Whether or not I could stick to my decision I didn't know. She occupied my thoughts completely. The worst part was that I imagined she wouldn't waste a single thought on me. She probably amused herself with some other woman who had more to offer than I did.

Chapter 5.

The days slid past like scenes from a bad movie. I remembered our first encounter, in a women's cafe called Bella Donna. How appropriate. That's exactly what she was: a pretty woman and - so it seemed to me now - a slow, deadly poison.

How she'd turned me on! She came in, a majestic appearance, appearing to know no one or everyone. She could've been there for the first time or the thousandth time. I couldn't tell whether the women who spoke to her did so because they found her as riveting as I did or because they already knew her. She treated them all with the same noncommittal nonchalance and didn't join anyone for a drink. She sat alone, and the others came to her - truly, like a queen holding court. I observed her from a distance and, after awhile, decided to get her attention. She didn't look my way at all. That intrigued me even more. Perhaps it was just my mild frustration that drove me to the determination I felt to meet her. She seemed completely disinterested.

To be honest, I couldn't really reconstruct how it happened after the fact. I'd just found myself suddenly in the middle of a situation without knowing quite how or why I'd gotten there. And this was the outcome of that!

By force of will, I managed not to spend the whole day thinking about her. I did, after all, have other things to do - a little work, for instance. This forced distraction was to my advantage. Otherwise, the day would have dragged on forever. And it was true: after a dreary weekend spent in self-imposed isolation - why did I do this to myself? - Wednesday had at last rolled around. No, no, no! I forbid myself to call her all afternoon. Who knew what awaited me?

It occurred to me that she was probably "booked up" more often in the mornings. One went to the hairdresser, another grocery shopping...

I wondered how the other women felt about that, about fitting her in between the butcher and the greengrocer. Did that kind of frivolity have a special attraction for them? Or was it just more of what they always did: pa.s.sing the time? The more I thought about it, the more I became aware that this was not part of my world. And yet I'd fallen in love with her!

Ha, ha, ha! You're making a fool of yourself! You're making a fool of yourself! Like jumping rope in grade school, when the rope cuts through the air, before it clatters and sc.r.a.pes across the floor, the sing-song turned through my head. Angry disappointment surged in me. Was I not my own master? Couldn't I decide what was good for me and what wasn't?

Is this good for you? No, probably not. So why are you doing it? Exactly.

So it was. I had to come to terms with it. I yearned for her; I wanted more than just to have dinner with her. I decided something.

Special women require special plans, you idiot!

So I called her that afternoon. It was almost like the first time. She answered quietly, without announcing a name.