Falling for Her

by A. C. Meyer

  “We shall.” He smiles again, but there is a slyness to his expression that suggests he knows something that I don’t.

  “What?” I can’t help my curiosity.

  “It’s nothing, Mari. I’m just happy,” he says, and he sounds so sincere that I can’t help but sigh.

  “Me too,” I say before returning to my office.

  I start working, focused on a spreadsheet, when I hear someone knocking on the door. A delivery man looks through the half-open door. I nod for him to come in and check the clock. Wow! It’s almost ten thirty.

  “Mariana Costa?” The delivery man asks.

  “That’s me.” He hands me a long white box. I sign the receipt and he leaves, leaving me alone with the mystery box. It’s probably two-feet long and it has a red satin ribbon. I untie the beautiful bow, open the box, and am completely shocked. Inside lies the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. It’s a single large flower, its petals a shade of pale pink. There are also two white cards inside printed with golden letters.

  I smile when I read about the stunning flower, and I don’t have to read the other card to know who sent it. But of course I read the second one which is in a beautiful small, distinctive handwriting reads:

  My eyes are filled with tears as I read the message. I’ve always been a romantic, but my last relationship turned me into a cynical person. It became harder to trust and to believe things like this could happen. I look at the beautiful flower. I know it’s so rare. I look back at the cards, and I allow myself to cry my emotions out. It’s amazing how our best moments are always surrounded with songs, but quoting my favorite singer in his first “official” present as my boyfriend is something that takes my breath away.

  Without thinking, I get up and run to his office. I open the door without knocking. He’s sitting by his desk, his hair messy from constantly passing of his fingers through it, something he does a lot when he’s thinking. He looks focused. When I go through the doorway, he gets up at once, noticing the tears coming down my face.

  “Mari, what happened?” He comes to me quickly. I smile and cry at the same time, then I show him the card I’m holding. He immediately smiles. “Um . . . what is that?” he plays dumb.

  “Just a present I got.” My smile widens and I delight at the sparkle in his eyes.

  “A present? Who sent it? What is it?” He comes closer and wipes away my tears with his thumb.

  “From my boyfriend,” I say. His dimples are even deeper now, if that’s even possible. “The most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen!”

  “Nothing is more beautiful than you, Mari. Nothing,” he says, then pushes the door behind me, closing it. The sparkle I see in his eyes changes and he locks the door. I’m still, my breathing uneven, waiting to see what he’ll do. In a second, he’s near me again, grabbing my hand and pulling me to him. His mouth is on mine in an explosive kiss. He kisses my lips, then down to my chin, then back to my lips again. I sink my fingers in his hair and Cadu’s hand caresses the curve of my hip. He presses his palm to my lower back and pulls my body closer to his heat, and I can feel his reaction. A loud moan escapes my throat when I feel his body on mine, making me feel like I’m on fire.

  But everything disappears when his other hand reaches for my breast over my dress. His tongue explores my mouth deeper, our bodies almost merging into one. Cadu leads me slowly to the big couch in his office and places us over the cold leather. I move restlessly, my hips twisting as much as I possibly can under the weight of his body on mine.

  His hand rubs down my leg, reaching for the hem of my dress. I feel him slowly lift my skirt while his mouth devours me. It’s not a kiss anymore. It’s a siege, and he’s locking me and demanding me to surrender. His hand goes up my legs and he pulls away from me, biting my lower lip and making me moan a little louder. He lies down at my side and murmurs, “You’re beautiful, Mari. Perfect.”

  I have never been with a man like him. Comparing my few previous experiences with the hurricane that is Cadu would be unfair. He’s a man in every possible way.

  “You’re wonderful,” he says, biting my neck. “I can’t wait to make love to you. Completely.” He reaches my earlobe, and I feel completely dizzy. Together we are like a sexy bomb. He kisses me again softly, our breathing slowly calming and in sync with one another. We’re hugging, still lying on the couch, when I feel his gaze on my clothing.

  “What is it?” I ask, feeling his eyes on me. It’s not desire, though. I recognize the look he gets when he’s got an idea.

  “Do you know who you remind me of, wearing this beautiful, classic, belted dress?” I shake my head no, and he thinks my seriousness is funny. “Audrey Hepburn,” he says, and my smile widens.

  “Wow! I love it. Quite a compliment there,” I say, smiling. I love Audrey and everything she stands for.

  “Hm . . . do you like her as an actress?”

  “I do, but more than that, I like her as an icon,” I say, smiling, and he keeps quiet, listening. “All the women from the golden age of Hollywood were marvelous. During that time, between 1950 and 1960, they were glamorous, but most of all, they represented the new woman. One that wasn’t submissive to her partner’s will. They had jobs, fought for feminism and equal rights, without ever losing their femininity.” He pays attention to what I say, and I can almost hear his brain working. “Besides, they had something that not many people consider beautiful today, which is a shame.”

  “What?”

  “They were real women. Thin waist, large hips. Their bodies were soft—not muscular monsters like the ones we see nowadays. They were prettier, at least I think so. Audrey had this different beauty, she had a soft face, this almost childish romantic atmosphere around her . . . she looked serene, slightly mysterious, like Ingrid Bergman. Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, and Elizabeth Taylor, on the other hand, were more of a vixen type, with their sensual clothes and curvy bodies, always portraying the femme fatale . . . Oh, I’m sorry.” I shake my head and laugh.

  “What for?”

  “I’m babbling!”

  He laughs, and I feel his chest vibrating from his laughter against my skin.

  “I love listening to you talk. You’re so intelligent . . .” He suddenly stops. His face looks serious. Then, the light comes on, so to speak! “Oh, Mari! You’re perfect!” He pulls me into a kiss and starts laughing.

  “What did I do?” I ask, confused.

  “I needed a topic for the editorial section and the cover of the autumn/winter issue. We have a meeting with the stylist team on Thursday and I was wondering what we could do. But now you just told me! You’re my muse.” He laughs and kisses me, but I’m still confused.

  “And what will it be?”

  “Old Hollywood’s glamour. Classic, elegant, stylish outfits. Curvy models, bold drawings and colors, outlined waistlines. Fancy fabrics, satin, lace, silk. Fluid dresses, like the one you’re wearing. Elegant enough to wear to work, sexy enough to seduce your boyfriend,” he says, laughing, and pulls me to kiss me again. “Thank you, pretty. You’re a genius!” He kisses me again and we get up.

  Cadu is excited and I know that he won’t calm down until his ideas are put into motion. Every season, representatives from the most important magazines get together with renowned stylists to decide what’s in vogue. The magazine editors discuss ideas with the stylists to reach a common consensus on what will be “fashionable” during the next season. The editors suggest what they would like to see in the magazine and the people who work for the designers turn it into reality, making it a reality. Be has a fundamental role in this process. These collection briefings are always disputed among the labels. The thought that I, a suburban girl, who’s curvy and completely out of the mold of the definition of beauty in today’s world, would be the “muse” for the next autumn/winter collection, makes me feel like I’m walking on sunshine.

  If I’m dreaming,
please don’t wake me up!

  We straighten our clothes and kiss. I go back to my office smiling, and place the beautiful flower in a vase before I go back to work. I surely could get used to days like this.

  I send the message with a picture attached.

  Cadu

  I’m happy like I haven’t been in a long time. Mari is a sweet, funny and charming woman. We’ve been dating for a few weeks and we try to spend as much time as we can together, even if that’s a tricky thing to do during the week. Though I want to be next to her all the time, and though I always steal a few minutes from our workdays to kiss her or make out on my couch, I could barely wait for the weekend for us to be together.

  I’m also really excited about the project for the autumn/winter issue. I’ve been working with three big stylists and I’ve been working after hours, which stops me from getting my girl at night.

  She’s beautiful today: her hair is tied up in an elaborate ponytail, and she’s wearing a black pencil skirt, a polka dotted black and white blouse, and a red pair of shoes. She’s focused on her computer and I smile, remembering the plans I’ve made for this weekend that she’s not yet aware of. I’m dying to make love to her, but I want it to be special. She motivates me to do things like that. It’s been years since I had a girlfriend. Probably not since I was a teenager, I guess. But with her, it just seems right.

  I lean on the doorframe with my arms crossed over my chest while I look at her. I take off my suit jacket, revealing the pale pink shirt she said she liked. I’m turning into a pussy, like Rodrigo used to say, but I can’t help it. She’s turning my world upside down, and I don’t want it to go back to normal. Suddenly, she realizes I’m watching her and she looks up from the computer, smiling when she sees me.

  “Do you need anything, Carlos Eduardo?” she asks, in a work-like tone, and I smile widely, crossing the room slowly toward her. I lean on the edge of her desk, still smiling, and she smiles back, flushed in that way that makes me want to grab her, throw her over my shoulder and take her away to a place where we’re the only two human beings left.

  “I do, Mariana.” I lean in closer, my nose trailing her exposed neck, smelling her perfume. “But unfortunately, my assistant can’t give me what I need. Only my girlfriend,” I say, and her laughter is contagious.

  “The weekend is almost here. You’ll have plenty of time with her.” I bite the back of her neck softly and she moans low. “Cadu . . .” I step back, still smiling.

  “I have a meeting with those guys from Angèle’s this evening. It will probably take a while.” The whole collection process has been going on in secrecy. The only people who know about it are me, Mari and the people who work for the label.

  “Do you need me?” she asks. I shake my head.

  “No, pretty. You can go home. Are you and Lais going out?”

  “I don’t think so. Rodrigo asked her out to an event this weekend and told her he’d take her to buy a pretty dress.”

  “Oh, yes! It’s a charity ball sponsored by his office. He invited us too, but I have other plans.”

  “Hm . . .” she murmurs.

  “Plans that involve my girlfriend. Actually, Mariana, she’s essential to my plans,” I say, and her smile widens. “Well, I have to get back to work. When the people from Angèle’s get here, will you let me know?”

  “Of course, I will,” she answers, and I walk to my office.

  Before I close the door, I say, “Oh, Mari. I’ll call you tonight to send you instructions for the weekend, ok?”

  “Jeez! There are instructions?”

  “Yes, there are. I plan on kidnapping my girlfriend for the whole weekend.”

  “Holy crap!”

  “Oh! And Mariana?” I call her again, and she waits for me to say it. “I’d take a look under your keyboard if I were you,” I say, then close the door, laughing.

  Saying that this man is trying to drive me crazy is an understatement. Every day, he somehow sneaks a note somewhere. In the coffee machine, attached to the computer screen, inside my purse, and now under the keyboard. I feel that, despite the odd way we started things, he’s jumping into this relationship with an open heart, and it makes me feel at ease. I’m still afraid I might get hurt, of course, especially since Cadu is everything I ever dreamed of: he’s gorgeous, has a good job. He’s sweet and sexy. But in a way, I’m calmer now while I let things happen, because for the first time it seems like both sides are on the same page.

  In the evening, Angèle’s team arrives and I take them straight to Cadu’s office. He’s excited about the project, but I sense he’s a little worried as well. No one at the magazine knows about the theme he chose, and I’m obviously keeping a low profile. It’s a tricky market. Anything different may be “sold” to our competitors and all these months working nonstop will be a waste of time when another magazine shows our ideas on their cover. I’ve seen it happen before: an editor or an art director “steals” an editorial idea, sells it for a fortune to their competitors, and ends up assuring a higher position in a new job.

  Cadu doesn’t endorse this type of practice. He’s very ethical and straightforward.

  Around six thirty p.m., I send him an e-mail, letting him know I’m leaving.

  From: Mariana Costa

  To: Carlos E. Moraes

  Subject: Leaving

  Hey!

  I’m leaving. Do you need anything else?

  From: Carlos E. Moraes

  To: Mariana Costa

  Subject: RE: Leaving

  Hm . . . yes. I need you, with me, in a hot tub

  It’s suddenly very hot in my office! Can you feel it too?

  From: Mariana Costa

  To: Carlos E. Moraes

  Subject: RE: RE: Leaving

  What’s that? A promise? A proposition? A fantasy? Hahahaha.

  From: Carlos E. Moraes

  To: Mariana Costa

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  Just stating something that will happen. Soon.

  Oh, gosh . . . he definitely wants to kill me. I spend a couple of minutes with my jaw on the ground, looking at the e-mail and not knowing what to do.

  From: Carlos E. Moraes

  To: Mariana Costa

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  What happened? Are you gone or are you mute? Don’t be. I’m in the worst way here: I’m crazy about my girlfriend who’s right next door, wearing a skirt that makes me drool, while I have three people inside my office who won’t stop talking in a dull meeting.

  From: Mariana Costa

  To: Carlos E. Moraes

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  WOW! #speechless

  From: Carlos E. Moraes

  To: Mariana Costa

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  Go on, go home before I knock down the door and leave everyone in the meeting scandalized.

  From: Mariana Costa

  To: Carlos E. Moraes

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  OMG! I’m blushing right now. But u will have to hold on to your promise until this wknd

  I’m going, then. Have a nice meeting

  From: Carlos E. Moraes

  To: Mariana Costa

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Leaving

  I’m a man of my word ;)

  Go on and rest. I’ll call you later.

  Oh! There’s a taxi at the door to drive u home. I won’t take no for an answer. I want my woman fully rested for this wknd

  See you, pretty

  Mari

  I get home from work feeling spoiled. The taxi was waiting for me in front of the building and there was a small red box on the backseat. The driver said it was for me, and when I opened it, I couldn’t help but smile. The box held chocola
tes and an equally small note, handwritten:

  It’s serious now. He’s slowly making me fall in love with him with his unexpected romantic gestures, his looks full of desire, those lovely dimples, and the whole musical thing. I open the blue box I keep inside my closet. I keep all the notes he gives me in it. It seems silly, doesn’t it? But I can’t throw away those small pieces of paper with verses on them which tells our story. Our story . . . it’s kind of funny to think about what’s “ours” when it comes to Cadu. Who would’ve thought that one day he would see me in a different light? Not that I thought myself ugly, dear, nothing like that. But he’s hot and there are gorgeous women all over him all the time. How could anyone ever say that one day a plain, chubby girl who lives in the suburbs of Rio would catch a guy that hot, sexy, and romantic? I definitely wouldn’t bet on that!

  I save the notes inside the box, take off my work clothes, and turn the radio on. I go to the bathroom for a shower, all the time thinking of everything that’s been happening and feeling the anxiety take over my body when I remember the weekend is coming. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I know what will happen. This week was a prologue of what’s to come. And though I’ve been open to his most daring caresses, I have never allowed anyone to get that close, not this fast. I’m deeper into this than I should be, especially if I’m letting us get more intimate. The next step would be doing it, as people say. I just hoped I was prepared for . . . everything.

  And everything makes me nervous. It’s not my first time, but I haven’t been intimate with anyone for a long, long time. And just the thought of us taking this to the next level makes my legs shake and the crazy butterflies in my stomach do gymnastics.