Chapter Six

It’s June 2, 2003.  I’m sitting at the Stamford Marriott bar.  Fidgeting.  Waiting.  Waiting for him.

Days earlier he had called me into his office to negotiate the timing of this meeting.  I feel so small and insignificant standing in his office in front of him as he sits behind his desk. I'm usually so confident and assertive.  I don't understand these emotions. “So what night works best for you?” he asks bluntly referring to my earlier brazen “Just name the time and place” comment.  My palms are sweaty.  I mean is this seriously happening?  

His office is all windows.  I glance outside seeing Quinn saunter across the courtyard joining the two buildings of our offices together.  The sight of him calms me.  

“Erm.  I don’t know. Whenever I guess.  I don’t have much of a life here.”  He looks at me mildly disinterested in my self deprecation.  “Well, I have a friend who’s away,” he responds, “We could go to his house or there’s the Marriott.”  “The Marriott.” I quickly respond.  “I don’t think I’d feel comfortable in a stranger’s house.” I’m a bit disappointed he’s even presented the option.  “The Marriott it is then.  Thursday?”  “Thursday,” I respond with acknowledgment.  “Ok.  6:00. We can meet at the bar and have a drink.  See you there,” he says dismissing me verbally from his office.  So formal.  I feel like an awkward school girl.

Holy fuck.   This is crazy.  

The bartender places a napkin in front of me.  It’s 5:55.  I’m early for everything.  “What can I get you?” she asks.  What do cool people that meet CEO’s at a bar to have a one night stand drink?  “Martini.  Up.  With olives.”  That seems sexy.  I don’t normally drink hard liquor but nerves are about to get the better of me so I need something with a punch.  She places it quickly in front of me and I gulp.  Ugh.  Vapor burn sending calm to my nervous system.  “Ms. Cammett.”  I look up.  He’s here.  He’s looking down at me with a slight grin.   

Holy fuck.  This is really happening.  

He stands in front of me.  I study him.  He’s an attractive man.  He commands attention when he walks into a room.  He’s wearing a freshly pressed blue Ralph Lauren shirt and jeans with a suit jacket.  He has chocolate hair and these eyes, these caramel colored observing eyes.  His lips look soft.  He places his hands on the bar to sit beside me.  He has nice hands.  I like a man's hands. Thick fingers.  Groomed.  He smells clean.  No cologne.  Just soap.  He scans the room.  

The bartender scurries over to him. He gives an acknowledging nod to her.  “Grey Goose on the rocks.  Splash of soda.  Extra limes.”  He turns to look at me.  Ugh.  I wish I had done something with myself.  I have no glamour.  I’m wearing a black and white striped strapless cotton dress with a denim jacket over it.  My hair is still wet and stuck to my head and I only have a hint of lip gloss on.  Why is he even here?  I fidget.  What are you doing you freak, you don’t fidget.  What do I say, what could we possibly have to talk about?  “You should sit up straight, slouching isn’t good for you.”  He looks at me, disapproving my posture. I perk up and shoot my shoulders back.  My insecurity wells up into my chest. “I’ll have another martini please.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Thirsty?” he asks.  “I’m nervous.” I whisper back.  “Me too,” he says.  This shocks me.  He, the Iceman is nervous.  I calm. I do better when someone else is in need and I’m relieved that he’s actually human.  

After 3 martinis and some small talk he hands me a hotel room key.  “You can go up first.  I’ll follow.”  Holy fuck.  “Ok,” I grumble nervously.  I bolt out of the bar and run first to the nearby bathroom.  My cheeks are flushed.  There’s nothing more I can do with my appearance.  I flip my head upside down, fluff my hair and head to the elevator.  In that moment a tiny voice whispers in my head.  You can leave Tarah; you don’t have to do this.  I shush her.  It’s just going to be one time.  It’s an adventure I reassure myself.  Just a one night stand.  

It’s just a standard hotel room.  White comforter, printed chairs.  I drop my bag on the floor.  What do I do?  Am I supposed to position myself seductively on the bed?  I’m such an amateur.  What do sexy people do?  My palms are sweating.  Shit, I’m buzzed.  I feel a little dizzy.  Maybe I’ll pass out and save myself from the embarrassment.  

I hear the electronic key in the door.  Dammit, what do I do?  I have no time.  I stand still and turn towards the door.  He’s going to have to take the lead on this one.  He walks in.  He takes his jacket off and places it neatly on the luggage rack and stands in front of me.  I look up and stare meekly into his caramel eyes.  And then he does something that surprises me and throws me off of my already twisted center.  He kisses me.  He takes both of his hands, brings my face towards his and he kisses me.  Sweetly and nervously.  And gently.  His lips are soft.  I melt into the floor of the room.  

I haven’t been kissed in so long.  

This kissing builds momentum.  It takes on a hurried longing.  We stand there.  Two lost souls craving solace from one another.  Two strangers in a strange room clinging on to each other as if it’s our last hope for something that's been lost.  He throws me onto the bed and it begins.  An endless night of lovemaking.  6, 7, 8 times.  It doesn’t stop.  It's truly as if our bodies were made for one another.  He fits inside of me as if he was designed for me.  There is an energy, an electricity between us.  We fall together with such ease.  There is little time for banter or getting to know one another.  We communicate through our bodies and release all that is lost into each other.  Something inside of me has been sparked alive.

I wake up in a haze.  Where am I…..oh…I’m immediately nervous.  He’s lying beside me with his arm draped lightly over me.  Should I talk?  Do I act dismissive?  This is a one night stand after all – although I’ve never had one - don’t people act non-chalant and scurry out the door?  I want to kiss him.  He looks peaceful.  I kiss his shoulder.  He rolls over and looks at me - his eyes blinking slowly awake.  He doesn’t speak.  He kisses my lips.  I feel honored.  Isn’t that strange?  To feel honored to be kissed.  There is such immediate intimacy between us it's soul altering.  Without words he climbs inside of me again.  

“I have to go to work,” I whisper and we lay draped around one another.  “We have to go to work.” I murmur again.  I slowly get up reaching for my dress that was thrown frivolously across the room the night before.  I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower.  I climb in letting the scent of him wash off of me.  It almost saddens me.  My mind tries to process.  What is this wordless connection to this human?  This energy?  I’ve never felt this before.  Don’t think Tarah.  It was a one night stand sister.  It’s just sex.  That’s the connection.  Sex.  Don’t think.  You’ll ruin everything.  Be sexy and dismissive Tarah.  And as I stand talking to myself he surprises me again.  He’s standing behind me in the shower.  Watching.  Observing.   

This is no fucking one night stand, my inner conscious whispers.  

And so it began.