Dirk
If Jill is right, thenLucy was trouble the moment I saw her in Jill’s shop, and I am an old fool. I can’t believe I bought Lucy this gown. I’ve added kryptonite to the explosive that will destroy me. This room is full of younger women, yet Lucy is the siren in this gown, far too alluring, the belle of the ball, and she knows it. For all Bettina’s efforts and honorable intentions, she is outshone by Lucy, my extraordinary neighbor. Jill told me about the interview, and I invited Lucy to visit me. I was ready to offer her referrals, but this is the first time we’ve caught spoken since that interview.
I can’t take my eyes off Lucy, nor my hands, the traitors. I am not a demonstrative man, but I’m still a man.
Lucy’s eyes entrap me. Is this guile or is it genuine? Jill saw the whole interview. She phoned me and told me about Lucy’s divorce, her famous ex-husband, the drug and alcohol addictions. I told her it wouldn’t be the first time the media got something wrong. I’d have thought Jill would have more sympathy, given the collapse of her own marriage.
I am a man who makes up his own mind about people. But this is not just about my mind. My whole body wants more of Lucy Beston. Still I hesitate.
How can I dare to love again and run the risk of loss? It nearly killed me when Millie died. The cardiologist blames age and lack of exercise – trapped as I was in my consulting rooms day in and day out – but I know the truth, and I want to dodge it. If I love again, and I lose my love, my old heart might crack for good.
Besides, even though I know Millie’s gone for good, some of these people were at our wedding. In the same way as I keep expecting to run into Raymond, Millie is still in this room, so vivid in my memories. It’s not that falling for Lucy would be a betrayal exactly – just that some part of me is still loyal to Millie. I actually thought I saw her in the crowd, but it was someone else with similar hair. I take a deep breath.
Every male eye in the room is on Lucy, elegance itself, never mind the whole Bart Hardenberg controversy. Fact is, Lucy could run through pathetic widowers like me at the rate of one a year; toss us out the moment she has a fresh diamond. Those jewels wink at me every time I see her. They warn me away.
But Lucy has pulled me in, literally. Of all the soft touches in this room, she’s chosen me, and I’m ashamed to admit that my ego fist pumps sky high.
On the dance floor, the rhythm of the music forces us together. If we don’t move with it, other couples will collide with us. She slips into my embrace as if she belongs with me, so close I can’t help but admire the softest skin of her cheek, peachy against fine cheekbones that will never age. Those subtle crow’s feet of experience beside her eyes, so expertly made up – they fascinate me. The creases deepen when she laughs ... and suddenly I know that her laughter is infectious and I am addicted to it. I need her radiance to light up the core of my sad old soul.
Lucy and I are a matching pair. We’re not young, but there’s some future ahead of us, and we can make it a good one, a great one.
“Kiss me, Dirk.” It’s an order, urgent, and who am I to resist? Let the room see me as a fine old fool. Half of them could be her exes for all I know. She might have a reputation. But life is short. Millie taught me that. I’ve been alone long enough. Even Dee wants me to try again, or so she says.
The music slows as if it’s my resistance, bending to Lucy’s will, and to my own keening need. Beside us, dancing couples join each other, hold each other closer and sway.
Lucy tilts back her head and peers at me through lowered lashes. Is that a tear about to fall? She could be a star in an old black and white movie, Lauren Bacall. I know what Humphrey would do, and I play the part. My thumb and two fingers close on the soft skin of her chin as I bring my lips to hers. As I close my eyes, with her breath on my cheek, I let my lips find hers, warm and sweet and soft and all too willing.
There’s a hum in her throat, the smallest of moans and it awakens a flame in me I thought had died. Lucy’s hand is on my cheek, the gold of her rings as warm as her bare skin. Her diamonds glitter and sparkle as if they’re alive, as if they’re laughing at me as she pushes her fingers into the hair behind my neck to pull me closer, to deepen our kiss, and I am lost, lost in the shape of this woman.
In this deep winter of my soul, I am jolted, electrified. Beyond the activities of daily living, beyond my weekly meet-ups with my devoted, grown-up children and the little ones, and visits with Jill and her brood, and drinks with friends like Walt; beyond the polite pleasantries of passing others in the shops and streets and corridors of Brighton Court; beyond the comfort of my new apartment and the simple satisfactions of feeding my belly and reading good books; beyond my loyalty to the memory of Millie at her best, I am a man like any other. I am alive. Lucy’s urgent kiss awakens something too long dormant. Desire. It scares me.
It is Jill who drags us apart. The music has ended. I don’t care if we’re causing a scene. I will stand by Lucy Beston.
“Bettina’s about to speak, Dirk,” she hisses, and glares at Lucy.
I won’t have her rudeness.
“Do you remember Lucy, Jill? And this is your gown, remember? No coffee stains now. Lucy could model for you,” I say. Jill gives one curt nod and holds her finger to her lips.
Lucy leans towards me again with a smile at Jill, forgiving the interruption. With a finger, she reaches up and gently wipes her lipstick from my lips, one eyebrow raised – a shared smile – then steps back with the rest of us for a better view of the stage as Bettina adjusts the microphone.
