THE WOMAN OF MY DREAMS: AN AIRPORT ROMANCE, PART ONE
The tap leaked, but the absentminded barkeep didn’t seem to notice precious foam fizzling down the stem. He polished the glassware and kept his eyes on the soccer match on the TV in the corner. I was tempted to say something so that other passengers might have a chance of something other than the insipid bottled Heineken lining the refrigerated case.
Instead, I waited for the head to subside on my own pint while I checked my ten thousand emails. I wasn’t really in the mood to help anybody out after the week I’d had, and I had hours before my connecting flight.
I’d situated myself at the only power outlet in the airport bar which happened to be at the only available booth, which was thankfully away from the buzzing drone of the television. Quite happy with my good fortune, I waded into the mire on my laptop. I’m not sure what made me look up as she rolled in out of the waves of humanity streaming by the glass window.
I judged her to be in her forties, compact and muscular, maybe a former gymnast? I speculate about this a lot – what different kinds of bodies do best. Her haphazard hair floated on her head, and I caught her eyes dancing around the room before they landed on me, or more accurately, my power outlet. I looked at my screen too late. She was rolling towards me, I could tell.
“Pardon me, I see you have an outlet, and I wonder if I might plug in briefly. The outlets at my gate are all occupied and I’m famished and dying for a drink. I won’t interrupt you, I promise,” she enunciated, as though used to speaking to non-English speakers.
The timbre of her voice was lower than I would expect from someone so petite. Pin pricks of pleasure rippled across my scalp at its hoarseness. However, I really, really was not in the mood for conversation and did not smile. She looked straight at me and, well, I did smile, ungraciously, and gestured for her to join me at the table. Dammit, why did I let her insinuate herself into my booth?
“Thank you. I’m so grateful,” she said without making further intrusive eye contact.
She parked her roller bag to the side of the booth, and plunked down on the vinyl bench which whooshed and rippled under me. She leaned to the side to pull her laptop and cord out of a red bag. As she bent forward, I glanced sideways and saw just a flash of skin between the buttons of her blouse. I looked away quickly as she set her computer on the table.
“What kind of beer are you drinking? Do you like it?” she asked without making eye contact. Scanning the menu, she hailed the barman over.
“It’s a local brew, the only one they have on tap, an India Pale Ale.” I returned my attention back to my screen so she would comprehend there would be no idle chit- chat coming from me.
“Hello, madame,” smiled the barman. “How can I help you today?” She flashed her chompers at him and came back, “You are exactly the man I want right now. I need refreshment and nourishment. This guy’s beer looks terrific, but I see you’re having trouble with your tap.” In the five seconds of her invasion she had glanced around, and had taken in the frothing tap as well as my outlet!
“Yes, madame, alas, there is too much air in the keg for the moment. May I interest you in something else?” he asked, and I thought he leered. She played to him.
“Well then, I would like something bubbly to tickle my nose. Do you have Mirabelle? It’s my favorite and it is pink.”
“Mais oui, madame. We have it chilled just for you!” The grinning lout was insufferable.
“Wonderful! What is your name? You are so good to me!” I hadn’t yet decided whether to roll my eyes in disgust, or laugh in amazement at her bald-faced charm.
I kept my face in the laptop, but my attention was otherwise entirely on this exchange between a woman who was quite sure what she wanted, and a man who was more than happy to give it to her.
“Excellent! You will open a fresh bottle then, Serge? Good. And how is the skirt steak with the chimichurri sauce? I would like that only if your cook can give it to me medium rare. Otherwise, I will just have a small dish of nuts.”
“For you, madame, anything is possible. I will bring you the champagne and tell the cook medium rare.” He hustled off.
Have ever been in an airport bar? This kind of attention and service simply does not exist. I was witnessing something strange going on. I asked her if she came to this bar often. Aargh, did I really say that?! I only meant to find out how she exerted such sway over the bartender.
She grinned indulgently. She knew what I was getting at. “No, this is my first time through this airport. I was just thinking that most people who are travelling do their best to shut out everything and everyone between departure and arrival – kind of a coping mechanism. I thought the bartender might appreciate a bit of flirting. He lives here, you know, day in and day out, unlike you and me. Besides, I find if you say what you really want, and say it nicely, most people want to give it you.”
I nodded, and inhaled. She removed her jacket, and I could smell her deodorant, and maybe coconut, or candles wafting as she laid it on her luggage.
The bartender returned with the bottle and its pink label, popped it with a flourish, and poured her a glass. “Madame, I will keep it chilled right there. Please let me know when you are ready for more.” He swished away in his polyester pants.
She turned her smile on me then and asked, “Would you share a toast with me ? I’m on a big trip. You’re here at just the right moment.” She raised her flute and twinkled at me. I think she was trying to bewitch me while I was off guard with my pint raised dumbly in front of my foolish smile. Hey, wait a minute, where did that come from? Dang it, I’d been sucked in by her too.
“To the moments! The flashes! The recognition! Here’s to you, Mister. May you never miss opportunities to live a little!” She threw her head back and laughed, a bit loudly, I thought.
To be continued