“I’m so glad you’ll catch the last of the twilight, my second favorite time of day,” she says. “Sunset is the greatest show on earth, don’t you think?” Her eyes are magnetic. Lucy is a flame and I am the moth.
But there’s something very wrong. Am I the only one here? Jill was right. I am entrapped.
“Drink? I’ve just opened the champagne. Won’t you join me?”
“Just one.” I’ve come this far. “Am I really your only guest, Lucy, or am I so late that everyone else has left?”
“They’re very rude. Or very busy. Or very forgetful.” She cocks her head and presses the stem of a fine glass into my hand, tapping her own to it so it rings in the silence. She pulls me down beside her on the couch, her eyes to the large window. Deep lavender clouds soften the view of jagged, dark buildings. Lines of streetlights dot the distant hills, and more and more lit windows pierce the darkness, with, here and there, the blue-black flicker of television screens and a few early Christmas lights.
“Sorry I’m so late, Lucy. I’m not accustomed to receiving invitations from beautiful women.”
“Oh. Too charming by far, Dirk; Dr Suave. You’d be on everyone’s invitation list, I have no doubt.” Her eyes dance as she takes a long sip.
“You’re wrong,” I say as I match her sip and take another sip of my own, the cold bubbles sharp on my palate. “I keep to myself.”
“Something to eat?” She’s up and back beside me with one of the silver trays. There are blinis with smoked salmon and dill. My favorite. The tray is full. I take one, and even though I’ve eaten, it’s good. I reach for another.
“Tell me about Brighton Court,” she says as she refills my glass. The last of the sunset glints off the buildings, changes to a burnt orange. She stares out at the view, making it easier for me to talk. Millie was good at mixing. I don’t do small talk.
“What you see is what you get,” I say.
“Sorry?”
“Post war, modern, walk up, no elevator. Solid. Excellent position, close to shops and transport, not too far from all the buzz of downtown. Perfect for an old widower like me.”
“Mmmm.”
“It was all Jill, Jamison and Dee’s idea, and my friend Walt’s, but I like it.” Lucy’s such a good listener, I’m talking again without thinking. I never spoke much, busy listening deeply to my patients. Living alone now, I barely need my voice anymore. I clear my throat. Words don’t come to me.
“Great choice,” she says. “I love it here.” She taps her glass against mine again, and holds my eyes. Her laughter is like rain on new leaves, like glitter on a Christmas tree, like something sweet, something I’ve missed, like fresh air or a summer storm after a long drought. I want to hear her laugh again and again.
Her hand is on my arm. Without thinking, I flex my bicep and her eyes widen.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about Millie, and now, about Jamison’s unexpected invitation that I invest in his business. Lucy is a brilliant listener, all dark eyes and subtle nods.
“Winning is about defence as much as attack; about foreseeing the risks and avoiding them,” I say to myself as much as to her. It’s hard to stay on my guard. Lucy is the star here, and I am a comet, drawn closer and closer into her orbit.
“More champagne?” She’s already poured it, before I can object, and it twins perfectly with the blini. I eat more.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say. Millie would be proud of me.
“Oh. What you see is what you get.”
It’s such an invitation. Who could resist running their eyes over her, the poise, the curves, her grace, her hair and makeup – so subtle yet so alluring – her smile so ready to widen into a laugh, for me, about me, who knows? I don’t care.
The talk flows. I’ve never thought of myself as a conversationalist, but Lucy has me talking about all kinds of things, about travel and food and wine and sport. No, I don’t do much of any of them anymore, but she brings back treasured memories.
“But tell me about you,” I try again. This time it’s me who stands to top up our glasses.
“Do you know, we could walk together sometimes,” she says.
This is what Jill warned me about. Lucy is definitely reeling me in.
“Well, it could be fun,” she tries again. “You know you need me.”
“Absolutely not. You’ll tell me what I can and can’t eat and drink, and then redecorate. Run a mile...”
“That’s exactly the point, Dirk. You can’t run a mile. But you could. With me as your personal trainer, everything is possible.”
