Under A Million Stars by Mindy Haig
I wound up eating fast food from a dingy chicken place off the highway.
That should have been a wake up call, but again, I justified away the things I didn’t want to deal with.
So while my interminable workweeks whizzed by in such a blur that they had not truly registered as the soul sucking drain they clearly were, this day seemed to drag on forever. Having nothing to do and no one to do it with was damnation, my punishment for not making time for real connections.
But it was one day, one solitary day. It wasn’t like it was going to change me.
I cared about money.
I cared about social status.
I drove a hundred thousand dollar car and had top of the line everything. I figured I would marry a trophy wife sometime in my middle forties and have a beautiful decoration on my arm for those flashy company Christmas parties.
Christmas Parties.
They weren’t that far off and I was alone.
I was alone.
Yes, this one day of unwanted isolation sort of sucker punched me. Stupid thoughts filled my head as I lay in bed that night. I had plenty of contacts, but not a single friend. It occurred to me that I might die alone in one of my designer suits, and the fat bank account that was rapidly accruing would pay for an elaborate funeral that no one would attend because who was going to remember that smooth talking sales guy they had lunch with that one time...
I was lonely.
Was I lonely?
Did I even know what that meant?
The need for a deep personal connection had never been of any interest to me. I was a player. I liked the game, the fast, free wheeling lifestyle, and the thrill of the chase. Settling down was something I figured I would do when I was older. Much older. But the face in my mirror wasn’t getting any younger and my empty apartment wasn’t very welcoming. I could sort of see the appeal of companionship, real companionship, a relationship.
Was I suddenly thinking about a relationship when I hadn’t even taken the time to ask a woman to dinner? I hadn’t even taken the time to look at women. What the hell was wrong with me?
A relationship.
Next thing I know I’ll be thinking about Love.
I never gave the “L” word any thought. I could be romantic in so much as that was a means to a desirable end. Romance got girls into my bed. And I admit I had plenty of romance in college. But love? I didn’t know a damned thing about love.
Suddenly I was fixating on it.
I wanted someone to want me. I wanted desire and passion.
And I always went after what I wanted.
It was only days after this internal revelation that I saw her for the first time.
She was the second thing I really should have given more thought.
2.
I dropped my client off at his car after a long, and I mean really long day of golfing. This guy was maybe the worst player I’d ever had to smooth talk on the course. Frankly, he should throw away his clubs and take up some activity that didn’t involve hitting a ball, water, grass, companionship or any sort of competition. He was so foul tempered that every time the ball came off his club I felt like there was a cloud of unsavory words hanging over us, and I had a burning need to apologize to everyone within earshot. Trying to play even close to his level meant aiming for the rough or the sand traps, because if I got off a good shot he was irate. Clearly sportsmanship was not his strong suit. The only thing that seemed to ease his angst was the girl serving drinks in the golf cart, so perhaps full time alcoholic might have been a better past time for him. Oddly, he was a riot in the office or over lunch. He was funny and personable, not this athletic disaster with his wide variety of words that were not appropriate for this exclusive country club.
So when he said he couldn’t join me for dinner because his son had a soccer game, I was immediately relieved and at the same time felt some sympathy for the son. If this guy behaved at his kid’s game they way he did on the course, that kid was going to have a rough day. It did cross my mind that my three stroke victory had killed the deal and he was making an excuse to get out, but I simply didn’t care. He’d lost my respect on the front nine, and earned a good deal of contempt on the back nine. The whole afternoon had been a trial and I just couldn’t sit across the table from him and make pleasant conversation.
I went back to my place and showered away the stink of aggravation.
I already had a reservation for dinner. I was not entertaining the client but I still needed to eat so I went.
It was a Friday night, the place was packed. My table wasn’t ready and it was more than a little uncomfortable to be standing there alone waiting.
Then she walked in.
Clearly she was the end result of generations of interracial relationships, but the product was absolutely stunning with skin the color of iced coffee and legs that never quit. Her skirt was exquisitely short, it swished as she walked and every guy in the place tilted his head as she passed, trying to see what that skirt was just barely hiding. Her top hung off her right shoulder, low enough that I could see the curve of her breast, but not so low as to give away what was holding those perfect curves in place. Her hair was long, her heels were high and her mouth was so artfully painted I longed to hear the voice they kept inside.
Well, I longed for more than her voice.
She slid onto a bar stool and her skirt slid away enough to reveal just a peek at the lace of her stockings and the garter that held them in place.
I wanted her.
I figured I would simply walk over there and charm her the way I charmed everyone. I was sure I could get what I wanted because I always got what I wanted.
I was just that cocky.
I strolled casually up to the bar, slid in next to her, ordered a top shelf scotch and pretended to notice her for the first time. She tilted her chin toward me and looked me over as thoroughly as I looked her over, which was intriguing. Her eyes smoldered; the lust I felt inside myself was visible right there in those dark, smoky eyes. She lifted her wine glass, drank and slowly licked her lips.
My brain started thinking about other things she might do with that tongue and the blood started to run south from my brain.
But just as I was about to make my move, another player joined the game and he stole the queen right off my chess board.
I hadn’t even gotten her name.
I ate at the bar, drank a couple more scotches and stood outside waiting for the valet to bring my car around thinking this had to be the most unsatisfying day of my life. I was more than a little bitter about going home alone after such a close encounter with perfection. My car pulled up. I walked around to the driver’s door, and just as the valet got out, she walked out of the restaurant with her date. I watched with envy seething through my veins. The man turned away to hand his check card to the other valet and she stood poised, looking at my car, looking at me, with a raised eyebrow. I inclined my head toward the passenger door, it was an invitation she was bound to refuse, but my last shot for the night.
And she smiled at me.
Her date turned and put his arm around her, oblivious to my attempt to steal her away.
I went home with my old friends envy and jealousy, and we passed the night torturously wondering what it would have been like to run a hand up her leg, to see the curves that teased me all evening, knowing that another man was going to have what I wanted.
That sucked.
3.
The truth was that after a long night of frustration, I was not nearly as charming as I thought I was. The face in my bathroom mirror was looking considerably older than it should have looked. It also looked tired and not in anyway friendly.
I had a tee time with a client that I hadn’t met before on a course I hadn’t played before, and the whole way to his hotel I was fuming inside that this could potentially be a repeat of the day before. There was no way I was throwing the game this time. Contract or no
Anyway, my client came down to the lobby dressed like a golfer. He was roughly my age, young and good looking. Hell, we could have been twins if I had been able to get my attitude in check a little better. He was playing my usual game, he was suave and charming. But where I was sort of stomping around trying to pretend I was going to enjoy this day, he was relaxed and confident.
“So, I take it you play?” I started casually as we drove.
“I played on the amateur circuit for a while, now I only play recreationally, and of course, on company time,” he grinned.
Okay, so obviously another unsatisfactory day was afoot. I was going to get crushed, but at least I could play my game without the foul language my last client spewed all over the course. If nothing else, out of respect for the game this guy would play like a gentleman. We talked business briefly along the way. I had a good feel for his interest, and then suddenly I noticed the ring on his left hand.
“Married?” I asked.
“Newly, two months. That’s sort of the reason I am meeting on a Saturday. We took a long honeymoon, three weeks touring Italy and Spain. I came back to a huge backlog of work,” he laughed.
“That sounds fantastic. A trip like that is probably worth a few Saturdays on the job.”
“Absolutely worth it,” he smiled. It was the satisfied smile of a man who had what he wanted and was getting laid on a regular basis.
Once again, jealousy sat just behind my eyes as I looked at him.
“So, how’d you meet your wife?” I asked. It might have seemed like a casual question, but part of me really wanted to hear how someone so like me managed the task.
“Funny story. My father fell off a ladder taking down Christmas lights last year. He hurt his shoulder pretty badly and I took him to an Orthopedist to get it looked at. He wound up needing surgery. Janine was the surgical nurse. She came out to tell me how the operation went and she pulled her mask off and the cap off her hair. It was like one of those slow motion movie moments,” he shook his head. “I thought I might have to break a leg or tear a ligament so she’d have to take care of me. Typically talking to people comes pretty easily, but I stood there like an idiot gaping at her, she had to repeat herself a number of times because I could not seem to concentrate and finally she said, ‘why don’t you ask me to dinner and I can answer any questions you have then.’ That was that, she intelligent, she’s beautiful and I got super lucky.”
“Sounds like it.”
“You married?” he asked me.
“No. I’ve only been down here for five months. The job has really kept me busy, I haven’t made the time for any sort of relationship.”
The small talk continued, but my brain stalled. Five months. It had been nearly half a year and I had not even taken a woman to dinner.
And of course thinking about taking a woman to dinner just fueled last night’s jealousy that I’d hoped to forget, but those legs were so long and her eyes were so dark.
Thankfully, my companion was as skilled on the course as he’d led me to believe. Losing was not a problem this time, though it didn’t hurt my pride, I shot the best game of my life. We closed our deal in a nice restaurant in the French Quarter. I didn’t think about her at all until my colleague excused himself to take a phone call and I sat sipping my drink and staring out into the sunny afternoon beyond the pane glass window. The valet pulled a car up to the door and a woman strode around to the driver’s side.
A beautiful woman.
With long dark hair and skin the color of iced coffee.
She glanced toward the window where I sat gaping and her perfect lips curved just a little.
I began to sweat just looking at her.
She slid into the car and drove off before my brain thought it would have been a good idea to dash out the door after her, so my stupor prevented me from humiliating myself in front of my client. But I missed my chance for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and the tension was definitely high.
I paid the tab and we walked out. My client was going home to a beautiful wife, most likely a night of making love and the pleasure of sleeping beside her.
I was going home to an empty condo with and empty fridge and an empty bed.
But I handed the valet my check card and as he grabbed my keys off the hook he turned and handed me a slip of paper.
“A woman left this for you. She was very adamant that I give it to you when you came for your car.”
He ran off and I shoved the paper in my pocket. I didn’t want to read it in front of my client, but the moment he was out of my car at his hotel, I was scrambling to see that note.
‘NOLA 7:00 pm at the bar. Do not make me wait.’
My hands shook. My heart raced.
I was going to meet her, she was going to be mine.
4.
My best suit, a dab of Grey Flannel and I was at that bar eagerly awaiting her arrival.
My mind would not even entertain the notion that it might not have actually been her or the valet might have given the note to the wrong man. No. This was going to happen. I wanted this to happen.
I sat nursing my drink, trying not to look at the door. I wanted to appear collected, cool, but my hands shook just a little and I made a conscious effort to swirl the drink around in the glass so the clattering of the ice wouldn’t give me away. Time seemed to be passing in the slowest possible increments, and being the impatient person I knew I was, waiting was killing me. I was about to look at my again watch when a voice like honey, thick and sweet, asked: ‘is this seat taken?’
She slid onto the barstool next to mine without waiting for a reply.
I signaled for the bartender.
“It’s odd,” I started with a grin, “in a city this size that we should run into each other three times in less than a day.”
“It’s only odd for you,” she smiled.
“Why is that?”
“I’ve seen you a number of times. I very nearly wrote you off. You love your job and your fancy dinner meetings too much. You never open your eyes and look around.”
“Then why are you here?”
She laughed. “Last night you made a bold move trying to get me to leave with you even as I stood there with another man.”
“When I want something, I’m impulsive like that.”
“And do you know what you want?” she whispered leaning so close that her lips brushed my ear.
“Yes, I know what I want.”
She tipped her head back and laughed again. The bartender set a glass of wine in front of her. She took a long sip and licked her lips like she had last time. The blood raced thought my veins.
“Tell me your name. In my mind I’ve just been calling you babyface.”
“Babyface?”
“You’re very, hmm, groomed, very smooth. Pampered. Soft.”
“I’m not...”
“Your nails are manicured.”
“No, they definitely are not. I have not reached that level of vanity just yet,” I grinned. “I’m Liam, Liam Cathain.”
“Liam.” She tilted her head to the side and looked at me for a long moment. “That is not your name. You’re not even comfortable saying it,” she shook her head. “You are a Junior, William Junior. I would say your family called you Billy,” she said, watching whatever my face gave away. “Oh, even worse, Little Billy,” she continued. “I think you started going by Liam at University where no one already knew you as Billy.”
“How could you know that?”
She smiled her perfect smile at me, but spoke without the practiced voice. “You’s down in the Bayou now, Son. Te ony place where VooDoo still alive and kickin! We’s knowin’ whats inside te man here.”
I finished my scotch in a single gulp. I had not felt that exposed, that
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I asked casually.
“I go by Aziz.”
I grinned at her, “that’s not a real name.”
“No, it’s not,” she answered, but she didn’t offer any further information and I didn’t have the same insight she did. She leaned toward me and gave me a brief glimpse of the glorious curves hidden under the shimmering top that was just a bit sheer if the light hit her the right way. “Let’s go,” she whispered in my ear as she ran her hand up my thigh.
And that was when I actually forgot how to use my brain.
My first stupid question was, ‘don’t you want to have dinner?’ I mean seriously, this gorgeous woman just invited a total poser to leave with her and I was asking stupid questions about dinner.
“Not here, somewhere more relaxed.”
I paid the bar tab and we walked out. She stood close to me as the valet ran for my car. I could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, it made me think of oranges and honeysuckle. I wanted to pull her close to me. I wanted to kiss her.
“Why don’t you stop thinking about what you want and just do it.”
But as I was about take her suggestion, my car pulled up.
“I’ll drive,” she said without hesitation, and she stepped to the driver’s door and slid inside before I could protest.
Stupid question number two: ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
“Does it matter?” she laughed.
And the truth was it did not matter. What should have mattered was just how quickly she took control of me. How easily the player was getting played. But all I could think about was how she smelled and how badly I wanted her.
She took me to a part of town where I had never been and I was not sure I would ever be able to find again, parked my car in a public lot and we went into a place that was very obviously a home town crowd. Aziz waved to the bartender and he blew her a kiss. She made a gesture with her fingers and took me to a table in a rather dark corner.