the ‘door people’ as they go about their business and they remove themselves as quickly as they arrive. I hear Jeremy thanking them and securely closing the door behind them.
He sits beside me on the lounge and places a glass of champagne in my hand.
‘Thank you, Alexa, this means everything to me.’
It is so strange not being able to see that I find myself utterly lost for words, so I don’t say anything. I hear our glasses clink together and feel a desperate need to gulp the bubbles down fast. I swallow as much champagne as physically possible, so urgent is the need for me to drink it. I suddenly feel completely out of control, reality hitting me like a brick on the head. I find myself wishing for another shot of absinthe to numb me from it all. What have I done? Anything could happen … I have literally handed myself to him on a platter. Oh well, what possible difference could another glass of champagne make? At least if I pass out I won’t be conscious of how freaked out I am. The rational voice in my head quickly questions the sanity of this particular logic. I keep tipping the glass up but it must already be empty given nothing is coming out.
‘Whoa, Alex! You never drink that fast!’
‘No. I don’t, Jeremy.’ I finally find my voice. ‘But extreme situations can result in extreme behaviour.’ I place my glass out into the space in front of me.
‘Would you mind filling up my glass again, please? This champagne is delicious.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks tentatively.
‘Oh, yes, I am very sure I would love another glass of champagne. I would be very happy to pour it myself if you would be kind enough to direct me to the bottle, although I would hate to spill any on the lush, five-star carpet,’ I say pointedly.
‘You’re mad at me?’
Such an emotional rocket scientist, I think to myself sarcastically; maybe his EQ isn’t quite what I thought it was after all. Or maybe it is? I’m not so much mad at him as angry at myself for allowing this ridiculous situation to occur in the first place. The reality of being blind has caught me completely off-guard. It’s one thing to be enticed by the concept, the sensuality of the idea, quite another to know I’ll be living like this for the next forty-eight hours. My emotions are threatening to overwhelm me as the significance of what I have just done settles in to my bones.
As I can’t see him, nor read his emotions, I just keep holding out my empty glass, waiting for him to provide the refill, needing the alcohol to fill the void.
‘Alexandra, are you really angry with me? Honestly?’
Another Alexandra moment. I wait with my glass extended toward his voice. He takes it, refills it and places it back in my hand. Thank goodness. I’m relieved as I raise the bubbly liquid to my lips. I decide to ignore his question, believing it at least gives me some control.
‘Lovely champagne, Jeremy. What is it? I’m not sure I’ve had it before.’
I sense he is bemused at my avoiding his question. Unfortunately, he knows me well enough to recognise the more polite I am being, the greater the emotion I am hiding. Basically, he knows me almost as well as I know myself, if not better. Which is no doubt why I am sitting here in a ball gown, with a blindfold on, in the penthouse suite, trapped for the weekend. It is just all the more frustrating.
‘It’s Krug. We had it when I graduated. You loved it then as well, said it put you in a really great mood and —’
‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ I cut him off, not wanting his version of a trip down memory lane right now. My emotions are in overdrive, all the hypnotic calmness having taken its leave.
‘Well, all the more reason for drinking it now.’ I say as I take another sip. At least I am not gulping it now. I hear him sigh.
‘Will you at least have some hors d’oeuvres to go with your champagne?’
I have to agree some food wouldn’t go astray. Even though my mind is spinning and my emotions are
He sits beside me on the lounge and places a glass of champagne in my hand.
‘Thank you, Alexa, this means everything to me.’
It is so strange not being able to see that I find myself utterly lost for words, so I don’t say anything. I hear our glasses clink together and feel a desperate need to gulp the bubbles down fast. I swallow as much champagne as physically possible, so urgent is the need for me to drink it. I suddenly feel completely out of control, reality hitting me like a brick on the head. I find myself wishing for another shot of absinthe to numb me from it all. What have I done? Anything could happen … I have literally handed myself to him on a platter. Oh well, what possible difference could another glass of champagne make? At least if I pass out I won’t be conscious of how freaked out I am. The rational voice in my head quickly questions the sanity of this particular logic. I keep tipping the glass up but it must already be empty given nothing is coming out.
‘Whoa, Alex! You never drink that fast!’
‘No. I don’t, Jeremy.’ I finally find my voice. ‘But extreme situations can result in extreme behaviour.’ I place my glass out into the space in front of me.
‘Would you mind filling up my glass again, please? This champagne is delicious.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks tentatively.
‘Oh, yes, I am very sure I would love another glass of champagne. I would be very happy to pour it myself if you would be kind enough to direct me to the bottle, although I would hate to spill any on the lush, five-star carpet,’ I say pointedly.
‘You’re mad at me?’
Such an emotional rocket scientist, I think to myself sarcastically; maybe his EQ isn’t quite what I thought it was after all. Or maybe it is? I’m not so much mad at him as angry at myself for allowing this ridiculous situation to occur in the first place. The reality of being blind has caught me completely off-guard. It’s one thing to be enticed by the concept, the sensuality of the idea, quite another to know I’ll be living like this for the next forty-eight hours. My emotions are threatening to overwhelm me as the significance of what I have just done settles in to my bones.
As I can’t see him, nor read his emotions, I just keep holding out my empty glass, waiting for him to provide the refill, needing the alcohol to fill the void.
‘Alexandra, are you really angry with me? Honestly?’
Another Alexandra moment. I wait with my glass extended toward his voice. He takes it, refills it and places it back in my hand. Thank goodness. I’m relieved as I raise the bubbly liquid to my lips. I decide to ignore his question, believing it at least gives me some control.
‘Lovely champagne, Jeremy. What is it? I’m not sure I’ve had it before.’
I sense he is bemused at my avoiding his question. Unfortunately, he knows me well enough to recognise the more polite I am being, the greater the emotion I am hiding. Basically, he knows me almost as well as I know myself, if not better. Which is no doubt why I am sitting here in a ball gown, with a blindfold on, in the penthouse suite, trapped for the weekend. It is just all the more frustrating.
‘It’s Krug. We had it when I graduated. You loved it then as well, said it put you in a really great mood and —’
‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ I cut him off, not wanting his version of a trip down memory lane right now. My emotions are in overdrive, all the hypnotic calmness having taken its leave.
‘Well, all the more reason for drinking it now.’ I say as I take another sip. At least I am not gulping it now. I hear him sigh.
‘Will you at least have some hors d’oeuvres to go with your champagne?’
I have to agree some food wouldn’t go astray. Even though my mind is spinning and my emotions are
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