“I hardly drink white wine, don’t forget I come from Bordeaux. A glass of red?”.
Past memories came flooding back to her. Her granddad farm, the fruit trees, the brown nuts, the horses, the ham and salami hanging from the ceiling, the big fireplaces, the green ape of the ice cream man, her grandmas roses garden, and the vineyards. She knew it all on red wine, her granddad was used to make it. It felt like a lifetime ago when, after la “vendange”, her naked feet would crush the grapes.
Walking into the kitchen, she could feel his eyesight on her back skin. Her bosom was heaving and she nervously moistened her lips. They both knew why he was there and she wanted it. Were his lips soft? Would he dare to kiss her? Would their tongues play with one another? Would he like the lingerie she had carefully chosen?
She came back with the glass of wine.
“Here it is!.”
He thanked her, and lifted his glass. «Cheers, I have been really excited about this evening.» They locked eyes, and both took a sip of wine. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but this was not the moment. They had the whole evening at their disposal. He liked the transitional moments, and wanted to drag them out as long as possible.
She showed him around the apartement, and they ended up at the table she had prepared for the evening. The smell of food filled the air, the candlelit table illuminated the room perfectly. He was impressed by her effort. He was even a little flattered.
She told him stories from France. He liked to hear her talk, the sound of her voice, the sensual movement of her lips. He faded away sometimes, not able to control his thougts of lust and desire. She knew perfectly well why he was there, but she also knew why she had asked him. Still the aura was calm and lacked any feeling of rush or stress. I like this, he thought. If nothing happens thats fine, we can do this again next week, but he was swiftly brought back to the urge of taking her right there and then on the dinner table. She stopped talking, smiled at him, did she know what he was thinking? He smiled back at her, and said, «you where talking about the fruit trees?»
«I thought you werent listening», she said a little surprised. «I always listen …», he said, «…even when I don’t.» He winked at her.
A sudden thought occurred to her. She did not know the man sitting in front of her, in her flat: Mr Hank Moody.
Up until that evening, they had lived in virtual meeting space and now that world was meeting the real one for the first time.
She realized that they had talked for weeks without asking the small talk questions. Not that they were of any interest or relevance to her, but all of the sudden she felt awkward.
“I will be back in a minute”. She stood up and walked into her bedroom. Sat on the floor, thinking out loud to herself: Don’t overthink, Don’t overthink.
Overthinking had always been her main enemy. And often, she did not understand herself.
A movie she had watched many years ago came to her mind. The story of a passion which was never consumed. She vividly recalled one particular scene: “…he followed her into her room. She was sitting naked on the bed. He undressed. They moved to passionately kiss, but they did not. He left the room, without making love to her”.
She made a deep breath. This time no Countess Olenska, but easiness and simplicity. She wanted to know Mr Hank Moody`s alter ego.
“Sorry, I had something in my eye. Yeah, I truly miss my beloved home country”, she said with smile.
He looked at her without saying a word. What did she do while she was away? Maybe having some second thoughts about this whole thing. He decided to give her the space she needed, and refrained from asking about her short absence.
«I am sure you do. From what i have seen it looks lovely», he said. He didn’t have much patience with small talk, but it was crucial that they get to know each other better, so a little conversation was needed. It didn’t take him long to turn up the heat a bit. «I think you look really lovely today. I wasn’t expecting that level of feminine grace and …» He couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t like him not to find the words, and as he ran his fingers through his stubble, his three day stubble, he started over again. «What I mean is you look stunning. Scandinavian girls often look different. It’s a compliment by the way», he said in his more usual lighthearted matter.
Se said «thank you», but he could sense that she felt a little uncomfortable with that type of direct compliment. However he decided to turn up the heat another notch, and looked her dead in the eye.
«So … would you say you are person with a lot of fantasizes? If yes, what do you fantasize about when you close yr eyes?».
Pensieri spettinati 