by Thomas Hay
After recovering from the shock, I gathered my thoughts and said, “My eyes are having a difficult time adjusting to your beauty.”
That brought a big smile my way and started the current flowing again.
We talked and danced for what seemed an eternity. Time stood still.
“I’d better get back to my booth; I think my brothers are getting upset with me,” she suddenly said, as she looked toward them.
To say they were upset would be putting it mildly. A Western male had touched and conversed with their forbidden fruit. Her brothers started scolding her in their native language as soon as we approached their booth. The glare and message from their evil eyes told me I’d best skedaddle.
I high-tailed it to the bathroom outside the lounge. I figured that was the end of that wonderful little encounter with an Arabian princess.
Darn, she was such a beauty! Oh well, easy come, easy go.
When I came out of the bathroom, there stood Fiza. My face lite up like a fire cracker and my blood pressure spiked as she handed me a slip of paper and whispered in my ear, “Please call me in the morning.”
She then turned and walked back into the disco, leaving me in a trance. I could only stare at the phone number in my sweaty palm as I slowly made my way to my hotel room.
I tossed and turned all night. Couldn’t sleep a wink. I thought morning would never come. I had never before gotten this hot and bothered over someone. Whoa, baby! I was on fire! Or was I playing with fire?
Oh, hell, Tom. Will you stop rationalizing. Just go for it? What have you got to lose, except maybe your nuts, or maybe even your life.
I was adventurous, but I wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet. Still, what the heck, it would be an exciting way to go! Besides, when someone tells me I can’t have something, it tends to make me want it even more.
Ok, time to get to sleep.
I tried counting sheep. I twiddled my thumbs. I tried meditating. Nothing worked. I was still wide awake when the sun peeked through the hotel window. Finally, it was time to dial the number she gave me.
Shit, what if she wrote it down wrong?
Jesus! Would you stop thinking and just dial the frickin’ number.
Okay. Okay...
I was shaking like a leaf on a windy day. Don’t know if it was with excitement, or with fear, as I dialed the number. I could hear in my head one of the songs we had danced to the night before: Disco Inferno, burn, baby, burn.
The anticipation was driving me up a wall. Ring- ring.
“Marhaban” (hello), a male voice answered.
Shit, what am I going to say?
My heart was beating a mile a minute. My adrenalin was sky high, so I felt invincible as I worked up the courage to speak.
May I speak with the doll who knocked my socks off last night, was what I started to say. Luckily, reality set in.
“May I speak with Fiza?” I said, in as high pitched a voice as I could muster.
“Just a minute,” he said.
All right! I pulled it off.
“Hello,” said a female voice.
“Fiza?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Tom. We met last night at the disco.”
“Oh! Hi, Tom. I was wondering if you would call.”
Wondering if I would call? Christ. If only she knew what she had put me through all night long.
During our conversation, she told me she would be taking the bus that afternoon to Cheltenham, where she was attending school. It was a small college town about eighty miles outside London. It was a perfect opening.
“No need to take the bus. I have a rented car and would gladly take you,” I said. “It would give me a chance to see more of the English countryside.”
And maybe see more of that beautiful body, too.
Will she take the bait?
After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only a couple seconds, she replied, “ That would be nice.”
"YES!" I shouted, as I gave myself a high-five.
She told me where I could pick her up, and we ended our conversation. After I hung up, it suddenly occurred to me: Am I walking into a trap?
There was only one way to find out. No guts, no glory!
She directed me to pick her up at a certain location inside Hyde Park. I circled the area a couple of times to see if anyone else was with her or maybe hiding close by. I was still fearful I might be falling in a trap. Remember, this peach was forbidden fruit that I was trying to pick. My adrenaline defiantly provided a rush and the will to give it a shot.
I finally decided she was alone and pulled up beside her. She was looking just as beautiful as she had the night before. She wore a simple white blouse and painted-on jeans. Her happy smile, electric brown eyes, and seductive perfume erased all my doubts. I could sense she was pleased to see me as well.
During the drive to Cheltenham, we talked a mile a minute. She told me she was studying for an architecture degree and had been living in England for a couple of years. There were no architectural colleges for women in Saudi Arabia, so she had convinced her father to send her to England to further her education. Apparently, she had daddy wrapped around her little finger. She wasn’t letting her culture prevent her from fulfilling her dream.
Her father had four wives, like most Arabic men. He had gotten wealthy building apartment complexes in Jeddah. It was a small world, and I explained that I was now working and living there. What a coincidence!
I could sense her adventurous spirit. She told me that my boldness in asking her to dance, plus my baby blue eyes, left a grand impression on her.
The more we talked, the more I became infatuated with her. We defiantly had a spontaneous connection. Amazing how two people from two completely different cultures could click like we did. I realized she was indeed a unique woman and that maybe I had just found a real live story book princess.
She lived at the school dorm on campus, so I checked into a hotel room. She planned on showing me around town for the last two days of my vacation. I never did get to see the town on that trip, because we never made it out of the hotel room.
ALL NIGHT LONG
Well, my friends, the time has come to raise the roof and have some fun. Lose yourself in wild romance . . . feel good . . . all night long.— Lionel Richie
Actually, it became a two day and two night romantic marathon. As soon as I laid my suitcase down in the hotel room, we fell into an embrace. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t seem to get close enough to each other. There was no letting go.
Her touch made me as hard as a rock and set my body on fire. I thought I knew hot, but this heat reached a crucial boiling point in the blink of an eye. Our chemistry was explosive as fireworks on a fourth of July celebration.
We couldn’t get out of our clothes fast enough. They went flying in every direction, as we ripped each other bare. In a heartbeat, we were naked as jaybirds as we dove onto the bed.
The force of our love making soon knocked us onto the floor. We scratched and clawed like two wild alley cats in heat.
We made love in every imaginable position we could think of and then some. When we attempted a pause to eat and bathe, they too became part of our activities. Passion cloaked and soaked our bodies and absorbed our souls.
I can’t continue describing our out of this world mating ritual. It’s that PG-13 rating thing again. I can say that we became one body, one mind, one heart, and one soul. We learned everything there was to know of each other, both emotionally and sexually. We became soul mates, as our hearts beat as one. We fell, head over heels, in love.
After two incredible exhausting days that I will cherish for the rest for my life, we had no other choice but to finally come to our senses and snap back to reality. She had classes to attend and I had to return to work in Jeddah.
To be honest, it was a blessing in disguise, because I don’t think either of us could have physically survived another day at the pace we had set. It
was exceptionally difficult to part, but we both knew I’d be back and that this was only a beginning to something very special.
We exchanged steamy love letters over the next few months. She would tease me with her perfume, dabbed on the letters. It was agonizing to smell but not to be able to see and touch her. Needless to say, her letters had me climbing a wall.
I had to keep quiet about her, even though I felt the urge to shout to the world that I had found my princess and soul mate. I was able to share my glory only with my brother Mike. Of course, he warned that playing with fire could cause severe burns, but my body and soul were already burning. No amount of water or common sense could put it out. She was contiguously in my mind.
About a month later, I was playing softball and hurt my left big toe while sliding into home plate. X-rays at the hospital revealed it was broken, but the x-ray also showed a small metal object implanted in the tip of my toe. What it was and how it could have gotten there had the doctor and I baffled. Since it didn’t seem to be bothering me, he couldn’t see any reason in removing it.
I would eventually discover the object to be a tracking device. I would also learn there are many abductees with tracking devices implanted within them. Years later, when the tracking device implanted in my toe finally was removed, careful analysis determined that the device was made from material substances not known to exist on this planet.
So who would these devices be known to, and who could be tracking me?
It wouldn’t be long before all the Kid’s questions would be answered.
DREAM LOVER
Where are you, with a love oh so true, and a hand that I can hold.—Bobby Darin
That summer Fiza and I were missing each other so much that she decided to take a gamble. I wasn’t eligible for any more vacation for several months. She was on summer break, and as much as she hated being back in her country, she decided to come see me.
This was a risky decision, because it would be very dangerous for us to be seen or caught together, but forbidden love hath no sagacity—or, more properly said, love hath no brains.
Fiza’s father had divorced her mother and she was living alone in an apartment in Jeddah. She was tickled pink when Fiza told her she would be coming to visit for the summer.
When Fiza arrived, she told her mother about us. Well, even in other cultures, mothers are very protective, but also compassionate, about their daughter’s feelings. I was surprised to learn that her mother was thrilled to meet me, but, of course, our relationship must be kept from her father and step-brothers.
I was excited, yet nervous as a flea on a dog, the first time I went to see Fiza and meet her mom. Fiza warned me not to knock on the door unless the hallway was clear. It was strictly forbidden for a man to visit a woman without a male relative present, and even more so if that man was a Westerner.
When I arrived at the apartment, I had to pee, really bad. It must had been the excitement and anticipation squeezing my bladder.
After checking to make sure the coast was clear, I knocked, praying I had the right apartment. The door open and Fiza grabbed and pulled me in.
It took all my strength not to jump her on the spot. Mommy dearest was standing right beside us.
They both noticed my anxiety, as I was twitching in my need to relieve myself. Fiza’s mother spoke no English, so Fiza had to translate, as I explained my situation. I heard them giggling as I headed for the bathroom.
I had been there but fifteen minutes when a big bad wolf knocked on the door. Fiza quickly ushered me into a back bedroom, before she answered the door. She soon snuck in to tell me that one of her step-brothers had heard she was in town and had come by to visit. She told me to remain as quiet as a mouse and stay in the room, out of sight.
I was stuck in that room for four hours, thinking he would never leave. I had no cards to play solitaire. There was no TV. The reading material was all in Arabic, so I sat on the bed and just twiddled my thumbs. Luckily, I had just gone to the bathroom before he had arrived.
The only safe place Fiza and I could be alone would be at my apartment. The only way she could get there, without detection, was to dress like a male and come in a cab. Arabic males wore a thawb (an ankle-length garment) and a keffiyeh (headdress), so it was easy for her to appear to be a male.
That summer Fiza would spend the weekdays with her mom and the weekends with me. We had to stay in my apartment the whole time she was there. It was too dangerous to venture out.
We didn’t lack for entertainment. We listened to music, talked each other’s head’s off, and played games. Our favorite game was strip poker. Since we never had on more than two or three articles of clothing, the game didn't last very long.
I can’t even attempt to describe our love making. We fell even more deeply in love. I can’t believe how crazy we were. I wouldn’t be here today if we’d gotten caught. Crazy little thing called love.
It just so happened, that summer a major international headline appeared in newspapers around the world, telling the story of a Saudi girl marrying a non-Saudi Muslim.
She had eloped to Lebanon and married a Lebanese man she had fallen in love with. When her father found out, he had them kidnapped and brought back to Saudi Arabia.
As soon as they stepped off the plane, the man was shot in the head and killed by the girl’s father. It was his right, by Saudi law. He took his daughter to a Bedouin tribe and forced her to be a sex slave for the tribal leaders. There was a TV movie made from that incident.
At the end of summer, Fiza returned to school in England. Amazingly, we didn’t get caught, or so we thought.
TAKE IT TO THE LIMIT
You know I’ve always been a dreamer. Spent my life running around. . . . Can’t seem to settle down. . . Take it to the limit one more time. —Eagles
“You’d better leave the country, NOW!” A Saudi co-worker whispered to me a week later.
“They know about you and the girl.”
“What are you talking about?” I innocently asked.
“The brothers of the Saudi girl,” he scornfully said.
I could discern his displeasure in telling me this information.
“Ah shit! Really?”
“Really. If I were you, I would be getting out of the country as quickly as possible. I could be in trouble just warning you,” he said.
Fiza’s father and stepbrothers had somehow discovered our little secret. They were fit to be tied. To say I was in a heap of trouble would be putting it mildly. We’d gotten caught after all.
I never did find out how, but I later suspected it might have been one of the cab drivers who figured the rider was a female. I couldn’t take the time to investigate, because the law of the land had me on the run. I had fought the law and the law was going to win if I didn’t get boot scootin’.
I informed my American boss of the situation and he confirmed that if I valued my life, I best be hauling ass. He wrote me up for a medical leave. I rushed home, packed a couple bags, and caught the next plane out.
Oh man! There went my chance to become a millionaire. I had no time to tell my brother or say good-bye to my friends. Mike would eventually find out from my boss and ship the rest of my belongings.
When I signed the contract with Saudi Airlines, TWA guaranteed my previous job would still be available after my Saudi contract expired. The timing of this dilemma was perfect, because my contract was due to expire in a couple of weeks anyway, so I headed back to San Francisco, though I would have preferred otherwise.
I laid over in England to contact Fiza about what had transpired. She was pleasantly surprised to see me, until I informed her of the situation. She hadn’t heard anything from anyone, but we figured it wouldn’t be long before Daddy called her home.
Forbidden love would have us on the run.
Had the abductors foresaw or had anything to do with this?
OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN
I think I did it again. I made you believe we’re more than ju
st friends.— Britney Spears
“Come to America with me. We should be safe there,” I said.
“Okay.” She didn’t hesitate a second with her answer.
We rushed to the U.S. embassy in London to get her a visa. Turns out, they were not in such a hurry as we were.
I had no idea obtaining a visa for her would be so difficult and time consuming. We found out there would be at least a two-month wait, because of a background check on Fiza. Of course, we didn’t have two months, but they had all the time in the world.
I could not convince them that a background check would be dangerous for our health since she was a Saudi citizen. They had no understanding of or sympathy for our situation. However, they did suggest that if she were my wife, a visa could be issued in a matter of hours.
We looked at each other, nodded in agreement, ran outside, both raising a hand, and shouted in stereo, “Taxi.”
Get us to the church on time!
England was similar to Oklahoma in terms of the ease of obtaining a marriage license. In a couple of hours I was a married man again. There was no time for a honeymoon, as we rushed back to the embassy for her visa. When we got there, lo and behold, there was another obstacle to hurdle... Just kidding. :)
The next day we flew the polar route from London to San Francisco. Somewhere over the North Pole, we joined the Mile-High Club. I assume you know about the elite Mile-High Club. Don’t ask how, but where there is a will, there is always a way. It’s membership is exclusive now days, as it is very difficult for new members to join because of all the airline security.
We had made our escape!
There you go thinking again, Tom!
IT’S ONLY MAKE BELIEVE
My hopes, my dreams come true, my life I’d give for you . . . but it’s only make believe. —Conway Twitty
I got my old job back with TWA, an Avionics’ line mechanic. I purchased a small house in Fremont, in a middle-class neighborhood.
Fiza enrolled in college. She was able to get her college credits transferred from England. I even enrolled in a few classes myself. I studied English and Tennis. Tennis was my favorite class.
Fiza fell in love with America and its freedoms. I taught her how to drive a car (on the right side of the street) and she got her driver’s license.
