by Lori L. Otto
“Okay,” she answers plainly as she moves to another painting. She shifts her weight to one leg, crosses her arms and studies it with a determined expression on her face.
“So what does it mean?” I ask her after giving her a few minutes. “To you?”
“I’m not creative like you,” she finally answers. “I can’t even make up a good answer.” Her shoulders slump slightly, and I can tell she’s frustrated.
“Hey,” I whisper into her ear, running my hands down her arms. “Some things are just meant to be adored... to be truly appreciated for their beauty.” I kiss her cheek, admiring the artwork on the wall. “I think this may be one of those.” I move my arms and begin to move to the next piece, a sculpture about twenty feet away. I look back over to where Sam is simply frozen in place with a smile on her face. “Psst...”
She jerks her head to look at me, then turns her body and walks to me with purpose. She places her hands on my cheeks and pulls my face to hers, kissing me slowly. Even our kiss seems loud.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I laugh. Her lips taste of cherry, and are soft and full.
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” she asks. Had I said that? I replay the last conversation and realize what I said and what she has interpreted my meaning to be. I really was just talking about the print on the wall, but of course she’s beautiful, too. I just think there is likely more to her than just her beauty. Most women would be insulted by that comment.
“Yes, you’re beautiful, Samantha.” Holding her in my arms, I kiss her again. She shivers lightly. “Are you cold?”
“Nope,” she says with a smile. “It’s the way you said my name. Say it again.”
“Samantha,” I repeat.
“It sounds so... sexy... when you say it,” she giggles.
“Samantha,” I say one more time before she pulls me to her again. “You are sexy.”
“My god, no I’m not,” she says, adamant, her eyes studying mine in disbelief. “You, definitely. Me? I’m just a plain little girl from the south.”
“You’re sexy,” I confirm once more. “And there is nothing plain about you, Samantha.” She giggles again at the sound of her name. I silence the lilting noise with another kiss.
“Mr. Wilson?” a voice calls from across the gallery. We separate immediately and turn to face the woman calling me. “I’m Lydia. Your dinner will be served in the café in about five minutes. Would you two like something to drink with dinner?” I look to Sam.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she says.
“I’m having water. Please, get whatever you’d like.”
“Um... do you have Riesling?”
“No, miss, but we have a chardonnay that’s a little on the sweet side.”
“Okay, I’ll try that.” Lydia walks away quickly as I take Samantha’s hand and lead her toward the dining area. “Why aren’t you drinking anything?”
“Just trying to be on my best behavior,” I answer flippantly, not wanting to get into any heavy conversation tonight.
“Now why would you want to do a thing like that?” Samantha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“And what are you suggesting? Because my bad behavior can be fairly entertaining...”
“Well, we’ll just see about that,” she laughs quietly, taking a seat.
“Will we?” I counter, sitting across from her.
After dinner, Sam and I go to the special exhibit area. At my request, the museum had begun playing music by some of the artists whose posters were on display. I was hoping to broaden Samantha’s musical horizon.
“Have you seen any of these bands?” she asks.
“A lot of them. That’s one of the great things about New York. The city is a stop on everyone’s tour.”
“Will you take me to a show sometime?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “Does that mean I get a second date?”
“There was no question about that,” she smiles. She takes my hands and looks me in the eyes, serious, her lashes fluttering quickly. “You can have as many dates as you’d like.” I wind a long tendril of her golden hair around my finger before leaning in to kiss her.
She breaks away with a laugh. “God, what is this man whining about, and will someone put him out of his misery?” My hand falls from her chin to my side and I stare at her, wondering if she’s serious.
“You’re breaking my heart,” I tell her. “This is my favorite band... of all time.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes,” I smile regretfully. “It is.”
She bites her lip before apologizing. “Maybe I just didn’t give it a chance,” she explains.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to like my music.”
“Well, this song... what is he singing about?”
“The singer... the writer... he actually wrote this about a classic piece of art,” I begin to explain. She listens intently to the story, lingering on my every word.
On the drive home, Sam finds a playlist of my favorite band, determined to understand what I like about them. By the time we make it to her apartment, I feel a little guilty that I’m a bit exhausted from listening to her theories about what the songs mean.
“Can I walk you up?”
“I hoped you would.”
The apartment is quiet and dark when we come in. Sam immediately turns on the television, some cooking show. She turns the volume to a medium level... I can’t stand using banal television shows as background noise. It should be something with purpose, at least. For me, it’s music, always music. I wonder if I ask her to play something from her iPod, will we be making out to the greatest hits of some boy band? I laugh a little to myself. I’ve got some things to teach this one about good music. I pat the seat of the couch next to me, and Samantha sits down, her knees tucked under her and her body leaning into mine. Our lips meet at once. Obviously we both have the same idea for how this date should end.
~ * ~
“What are you guys doing tonight?” Emi asks me on the morning of Valentine’s Day. I shift the phone to my right ear as my barber concentrates on the left side of my hair. It had become too unruly, even for Emi’s taste, apparently. She actually set up the appointment for me after borrowing my phone while we were working at my apartment earlier in the week. I hadn’t seen her nor spoken to her since, so when her phone call interrupted my haircut, I made my apologies to the stylist and told him I had to take the call.
“Remember that play they featured in the Times last weekend?”
“The one off-broadway that they said would garner a NC-17 rating if it was a movie?”
“The one and only.”
“You’re taking her to that? Is she old enough?”
“Shut up. Yes, I’m taking her to that... and then we’re going to some new Asian Fusion place.”
“I couldn’t get tickets to that show,” Emi says. “Teresa and I thought about going.”
“Tonight?” I ask. “Don’t you have a hot date with the superjock?”
“Colin,” she stresses his name, “is not into Valentine’s Day,” she admits quietly.
“What guy isn’t into Valentine’s Day?” I ask her, distracted by the amount of hair that’s being clipped. “It’s guaranteed sex...” For a second, I forget who I am talking to and regret saying it aloud. My barber laughs a little in my ear.
“I’m a sure thing any day–”
“I’m not listening to you, Emi.” She laughs, leaving me wondering if it’s true or just innocent bragging to make sure she has my attention.
“So you think this might be the night with Samantha?” At some point, I had admitted to her the other afternoon that we hadn’t slept together yet. She was shocked, knowing my track record.
“Guaranteed,” I remind her. “Especially with what I have planned.”
“So cliché...”
“I don’t care how cliché it is. I want it to happen.” I don’t know how much longer I can wait. Sam seems so sweet, innocent and demure,
but when we’ve made out, I can see this whole other side of her begging to come out. I can’t wait to bring it out of her, either.
A couple of nights, it got close, but she kept stopping things before we could go all the way. And I wanted to so badly. The last time it happened, I left very frustrated, feeling rejected and a little angry. By the time I got home, I had gained a little perspective and felt like an ass for trying to pressure her. When I called her, she was quick to accept my apology, and promised me that my patience would be rewarded.
We hadn’t agreed on that reward coming tonight, but I was fairly certain it would.
“So he’s really not taking you out?” I ask her, making sure she fully understands how much of a jerk her current boyfriend is.
“He invited me to his place... so I’m going over there. You know, now I don’t have to get all dressed up or fight the crowds. It’s fine.”
“Fine, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So, how was your Valentine’s Day, Emi? It was fine,” I play out the conversation aloud.
“Sure, make fun of me all you want. Not all girls get to date millionaires who can afford sold-out off-broadway shows and insanely priced prix-fixe dinners.”
“Millionaires? Or just men who appreciate the women they’re with?”
“Alright, this is going nowhere,” she avoids my question. “Have a good night, Nate.”
“Okay, Em. You have a fine night, too.” I can hear her groan as she hangs up on me. That was a little harsh of me. I know I should be more encouraging, but she just picks the worst men sometimes. This one just might be the worst.
On my way home from the barber shop, I stop by my usual florist to pick up the arrangement I had ordered earlier in the day. Even though it was last minute, and I had requested something unique and non-traditional, I do enough business with them to know they’d not only be able to accommodate me, but they’d get it exactly right. When I see the flowers, I’m impressed as usual.
“Mr. Wilson,” the owner says, showing off his wife’s artistry. “Is it sufficient?”
“Beyond sufficient,” I tell him. Most of the flowers are orchids, and will most certainly set the tone for tonight. “This is perfect.” I had paid for the arrangement with my credit card over the phone, but I hand the shopkeeper a couple hundred dollars as a tip, telling him to take his wife somewhere nice.
“Mr. Wilson, I can’t accept this.”
“Sure you can,” I encourage him. “Wasn’t there a rush fee? I mean, my inability to plan ahead must come at some price. Please, keep it... you know me... you know I’ll do this again.”
“We’re always here to help you, Mr. Wilson.”
“It’s Nate,” I correct him, as I always do. “And thank you for helping me out.”
“Thank you, Nate.” I smile, taking the large vase with me. It’s so large, in fact, that I know I won’t be able to pick up my suit from the cleaners and carry it all home. When I get back to my building, I ask Marcus if he can have someone retrieve my suit for me, handing him a larger-than-average tip, too. An hour later, the suit is delivered and the maids have come and gone. I’m strategic about everything. I place a little box of candy on the nightstand and put a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. I turn on the television, flipping through the channels until I find a romantic movie to record, in case I need some help convincing Sam...
...but I doubt I will...
The chauffeur I’ve hired is waiting for me in the drive when I come downstairs. I knew I might have a few drinks tonight, and I wanted to play it safe... plus, I knew it would impress Sam. And this night is all about impressing her. When we pull up to her apartment, I glance up to her window and briefly catch a glimpse of her as she quickly moves away. She buzzes me in as soon as I ring the doorbell, and is waiting in her open doorway when I make it up to her floor.
“Oh, my God,” she gasps. I can barely see her excited expression through the arrangement. “That might just be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She takes the vase from me and welcomes me into her apartment.
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” I tell her, taking notice of the bright dress that shows off more of her body than I was expecting. Once she sets the vase down, I take her arm and turn her around so I can see the front. “Wow. You look amazing.”
“Really?” she asks, nervous, looking down at the dress. It’s strapless with sequins of all shades of pink and red, the top part accentuating her full breasts and the long pink silky bow beneath them highlighting her small waist. The skirt part bubbles out, stopping about halfway down her thighs. I follow her bare legs down to silver stiletto heels. “I just wanted to look perfect. I want tonight to be special.”
I’m certain the reward’s coming tonight.
“You look perfect.”
“So do you,” she says, smiling. “I like your pink tie.” She runs her fingers down it slowly.
“I like yours,” I tell her as I threaten to untie the bow.
“It’s just for decoration,” she laughs.
“Damn,” I whisper in her ear, “because I was hoping to take this off of you right now.” The sides of her hair are pulled back loosely in a clip, exposing her neck. I kiss her just below her ear, tilting her head to the side and running my fingers through her long, wavy, blonde hair.
“Nate,” she whispers back, pushing against me lightly. “We aren’t alone.” I look around and notice one of her roommates watching us from the couch.
“Casey, was it?” I ask, nodding in her direction.
“I’m Beth,” she corrects me.
“Right. Beth, nice to see you again.” I clear my throat and walk toward the flower arrangement, plucking a pink orchid from the back. Samantha watches as I snap most of the stem off and tuck the flower next to the clip in her hair. “So, Samantha,” I direct my attention back to her. “I didn’t think you could look any sexier, baby, but I’m not sure how I’ll keep my hands off of you tonight. It’s a good thing she’s here, or we wouldn’t make it out of your apartment.” Ignoring her roommate, I run my finger across her collarbone and kiss her just above her heart.
“Then it is a good things she’s here,” she says, taking a deep breath and walking across the kitchen to get a small purse. “Because I want to know where you’re taking me. You said we were going somewhere nice.”
“My apartment’s nice.”
“Nate...” she says in a warning tone as she moves toward the door. “We’re going there later,” she whispers, turning around ever so slightly so I can see the glint in her eyes and the sexy smile spread across her lips.
“Then let’s get this night started.” I follow her out the door, then lead her downstairs to the car.
“You hired a driver?” she asks.
“I thought my attention might be elsewhere,” I say with a sly smile before shutting the door behind her. The driver holds my door open and I give him directions to the restaurant. I raise the divider between the front and back seats. “I thought right.” I lean in to kiss her, anxious to feel her full lips against mine. She holds my face to hers, our kiss long and deep.
“Well, I had hoped this dress would have some effect on you, but I didn’t expect this.”
“That dress is just begging to come off,” I warn her as my finger brushes down her arm and leg, stopping at her knee. “Is that what you had in mind?”
She looks up at me through her lashes and blushes. She nods a little and smiles shyly. “Just not yet. And not here.”
“Of course, not here, Sam,” I assure her. “I want this night to be special, too.”
“Okay,” she says, the relief evident in her voice.
“I’m sorry if I’m coming on too strong,” I tell her.
“No, it’s okay.” She squeezes my hand.
“You should know how badly I want you right now, though. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Well, I’m not easy,” she says.
“I know that. I like that about you.
”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her lips closing in on mine again, “for taking it slow. I love that about you.”
“You’re welcome.” We kiss once more before the car pulls up to the restaurant. The driver walks around the car, opening the door for her. I take her hand in mine and lead her into the building.
I’d been by the restaurant earlier in the week to make sure the rave reviews I had read were true, but I wouldn’t even have recognized it as the same place. Deep red tapestries are draped between each booth, creating a private experience for each couple. Tapered candles burn in the middle of each table, providing the majority of the light. Thousands of flowers are placed strategically around the restaurant. A pianist plays soft, romantic music near the bar. I watch Samantha as she takes in her surroundings, her dress sparkling wildly in the candlelight. She’s easily the most stunning woman here, and I notice many men can’t keep their eyes off of her.
“It’s incredible,” gushes Sam.
“I’m glad you like it.” I kiss her cheek before telling the hostess my name. She leads us away from the awaiting crowd in the foyer and seats us in a corner booth.
After dinner and the show, the driver takes us back to my apartment. The newspaper didn’t disappoint on its review of the off-broadway show, either. It was quite romantic... sensual, even. If I hadn’t already set the tone for the evening, that production would have sealed the deal. There were many couples in the theatre who stole kisses from one another. We weren’t the only ones.
“Just a second,” Samantha says softly to the driver before he steps out of the car. She leans over me and rolls up the partition again. She takes a deep breath as I look at her curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she tells me, her hand on my leg. She’s quiet for a second before continuing. “Um... can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can,” I tell her, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She bites her bottom lip and looks down, watching my hand stroke hers gently. “Why are you being so shy tonight, Sam? The way you look, you should be the most confident woman in the city.”
