The first time I laid eyes on her was at one of Mr. Semele's high society parties. Mandatory for all who had "made a difference-really." Jazz, pretense, caterers and a bunch of workaholics and kept women convincing themselves that this was what made it all worth while. Everything I couldn't stand about the city crammed into one mansion. But it was where I met left her. Berfore she enticed me, she had to spark the initial curiosity, and I have come to believe that each and every one of her actions that evening were deliberate. She was making the acquaintance of the high-society newcomers, while I hobnobbed with the wall paper and corner plants. It was that laugh, that laugh that singled her out to me first. While my eyes darted about the room for the mouth it had come out of, I was racking my brain for what made this laugh different. The laughter's owner and the answer I was seeking were revealed to me simultaneously. This was a confident laugh, not pretentious, polite, or tamed but the laughter of someone who was genuinely enjoying themselves. It wasn't the kind of laughter that one heard at such soirees. It was to a pillow-talk laugh, sultry-but coquettish. She had her back turned me, but the shaking of her proud golden shoulders, laughing with the rest of her gave her away. It gave her away much in the same way her laughter gave her away. This woman was not an original, but a convert to this aristoi, and without shame of her initial lineage. Then, like any other sexually frustrated three -piece suit at the party, I noticed the way her long black hair cascaded down to the small of her back, accentuating her perfect hips and ass, and then pretended not to. Suddenly , I was filled with shame; nothing is more humiliating than the moments where you shatter your own self-righteousness. rather than accepting responsibility for what I considered to be my weakness, I simply blamed my newfound temptress, and became incredibly irritated with her charms.
The next time I would see her she would be alone. Dancing alone, across the room. Some jazz song with a samba beat was playing, and the alcohol in my head had cushioned my judgment to the point where it almost sounded enjoyable. She was certainily enjoying it. She had made herself a dance floor in a hallway with a Grecian bust on a marble pillar, and a corner plant I had charmed earlier in the evening. Once again, I saw her from the back, this time her drink grabbed my attention first. Red wine, in a clear wineglass. Burgundy wine, really. The deep color complimented the black of her hair, which matched the black of her dress. The dress itself was classy, typical of the women present;. It was the way she wore it that made her attire look scandalous, but so unattainably erotic no one dared to comment, not even to themselves. The wine in her glass splashed from birm to brim, simulating the sway of her hiips to the samba beat, and the swish of her dress around her thighs. Her moves were all her own, and not the result of private ballroom lessons, although I am sure she had had them. The wine in her glass threatened to spill on the shiny wood floor, but she, and I and everyone else there knew it wouldn't dare. Things like that simply did not happen to the women who were brazen enough to dance alone the way she did. Her hips circled the rest of her person around so that she faced mine, and she sipped her wine while her eyes rose up to meet me. She lowered her glass and smiled at the audacity in my stare. She had known this look, in the lovers of her past, so it was not an offense but an amusement to her. A perfectly manicured hand brushed the hourglass shape of her figure and summoned me to her in one graceful, casual hand movement. Her hips then led her to dance in the oppossite direction once again. Not revealing any anticipation in my arrival made me hurry to her for fear that she would forget having offered the invitation. She seemed to sense my presence approaching rapidly for she turned in her dance to face me and laughed that same laugh which had originally sparked my interest in her, and later caused me to ignore her. Now it caused me to become enticed with her. Both of us sensed the change in my attitude, so she changed hers to suit the happening. Her eyes changed and her smile became smug. She extended her hand to me in an offer to dance, and although I am a woman who "doesn't dance, " she empowered me with then initiataive to lead. She gave a fleeting glance of approval that although different, I had been cultivated accordingly and was not a stowaway. For a while throughout our dance she held on to her wineglass, keeping it hooked over my right shoulder. But, eventually, when I spun her out she placed it perfectly beside the bust on the marble pillar. No other woman that night could have managed that. Their wine would have spilled, or their glass would have fallen, or they would have had to slow down to make sure the glass stayed steady and ruined the rhythm of our dance. The sudden rush of excitement I felt was uncontainable, and I wrapped my arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. She raised her face with a look that dared me to do everything and anything at that moment. Instead, I spoke , my voice deep and thick with the moment, "lets go out to the patio." The smug smile returned to her lips, and I felt disheartened and knew I had lost something, as we made our way outside.
We stood on the stone patio overlooking the gardens with a few other couples speaking to one another in gentle murmures. The gardens were lush and romantically lit with temporary party torches, and hidden lights on the ground beside plants. I was so taken by the beauty of the gardens that I hadn't noticed I had stopped leading her, and she was now leading me to the railing of this grand patio. She had taken her wineglass with her and attempted to set it on top of the stone railing. Apparently she couldn't see the concrete was angled and her glass disappeared on the other side of the banister. Only to be rediscovered with the sound of it's shattering on the wood of a tree below. The other couples and I were stunned and our idealism of this woman exempt from flaw shattered with that glass, but only temporarily. She laughed her laugh, and reclaimed the right to her pedestal. She seemed absolutely thrilled with the destruction of her wineglass and completely unaware that she had caused it. The sound of her laugh was the same sound a child would make after having witnessed such acts of nature as a shooting star, rather than the embarrassed giggle of a woman who had broken her glass at a party. Mine and everyone's faith was restored by this and we all felt somewhat foolish for having thought this woman capable of such clumsiness. Of couse she had not broken the glass; the glass had simply broken. And that was the way this particular evening was to be remembered in later conversations amongst other guests, "the night her glass broke." We spoke for hours, we walked the gardens, we spoke for hours yet I cannot recall a single word, a single topic, only that we spoke for hours, and the sound of her voice. We ould both hear the chauffeurs in their employer's cars with the engine running, and we knew the evening was ending. I knew mine was among them, and strangely did not stop to think or wonder whether hers was, or whether some gentleman was seeking his neglectful date. I led her to the front in a way that gave away my pride in having her that night. My hand rested on the small of her back a bit to possessively and my gait developed a supercilious quality, new to my body but familiar to my eyes.
The circular driveway around the marble fountain had become a sea of cars with men wearing little black hats behind the wheel. "I'll find the car" I told her as I left her for one last moment with the rest of the guests. "Yes" I heard her say softly to my back, as I turned away from her. I walked off to find my chauffer, feeling deliciously arrogant that this was the woman I was to leave the party with. The irony of the cynic leaving the party with the princess of pretense was just the kind of thing that made it all worthwhile. After finding my car I returned to the place where I had left her to find her gone. In a fit of inner-hysteria my eyes frantically searched the women warbling near by. My heart pounded and I began to perspire in such a panic I thought I might collapse. The world around me moved but became silent as I observed my surroundings. The party was dwindling gracefully to a close just as though everything was running as smoothly as it had five minutes ago when this woman was mine. She had been mine, right? The music snapped back on in my head. Jazz. Or was it samba? I returned to my car the same woman I was entering the party. |
