other—nothing
sexual, nothing kinky, just comforting human touch.
I pasted on a
smile and led the way out of my office. I turned to see if he was following,
and he was just standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He probably could
read minds and now knew I was a complete sex-starved maniac who wanted to climb
all over him. He caught my look and smiled as he followed me out of the office.
Chapter 5
Any hope I had of
impressing this man was lost when I decided to order the soup instead of the
sandwich. As a woman with an ample bosom, I spent almost as much time dropping
food on my chest as I did getting it in my mouth. Normally, I could brush the
crumbs off and draw little attention to my obviously ravenous breasts.
Not the case with
soup. Soup dribbles and runs and stains and generally makes a complete mess
when spilled. Add to the fact that the soup of the day was my favorite tomato basil
with chicken and that I had chosen an off-white wrap blouse, and let’s just say
by the time lunch was over, I was sporting quite the Sweeney Todd look.
Oh well, as long
as I was eating, I might as well feed them, too. Daniel seemed to take it all
in stride. It certainly didn’t slow down the telling of his life story. I didn’t
know what it was about designers that they thought I needed to know their whole
life’s journey to produce their fashion show. I thought it was an ego thing;
they needed to feel like I understood who they were as a person and not just as
a designer.
I really didn’t.
I just needed to know what they wanted their clothes to say and who they wanted
to see them. I could take the rest from there.
I was glad I had
decided to keep my familiarity with India a secret. He went on for thirty
minutes about the neighborhood in Delhi where he grew up. He described it in
painstaking detail, right down to the smell of the street food vendors and the
sounds of the truck horns. I had to bite my tongue a couple times when I didn’t
agree with his take on something. He claimed that the neighborhood was a poor,
humble area.
But it wasn’t.
Some of the largest houses I saw when I lived in Delhi were in South Delhi. He
either really lived in South Delhi but wanted me to think he was poor, or he wasn’t
from Delhi at all. He wouldn’t be the first designer I had met who claimed an
exotic background but was really from some non-discrepant American (or in this
case, maybe British) suburb.
However, since I
was keeping mum about my knowledge of the city and I was preoccupied with
covering my breasts in tomato soup, I let his inaccuracies slide.
What I couldn’t
let slide was how comfortable I felt with him. And not comfortable like when-you-were-with-a-gay-man
comfortable. Comfortable like when you were starting to really hit it off with
someone and you were thinking maybe this might actually go somewhere. I didn’t
know where my wires were crossed. He had made several mentions of men he had
dated and that he left India to go to school in the UK because he was following
the love of his life, Dean. But I still felt like we were clicking in a very
rub-your-boy-parts-against-my-girl-parts kind of way.
It didn’t matter,
though. If by any chance I was right and we had any spark at all, however
delusional that may sound, I had thoroughly doused it in tomato soup. Yes, I
was one classy broad. I would have to go back to the office and beg Lizzie to
let me borrow her overalls. Setting aside the fact that my hips could never
shimmy into her size-two coveralls, I didn’t even think they could cover the
extent of the damage I had inflicted upon my poor, defenseless blouse. The poor
thing looked like something out of Silence of the Lambs .
Daniel finally
paused to take a breath and for the first time, I think, actually noticed there
was another, living human being at the table with him.
“Uhm, Millie, I
hate to spoil your lunch by pointing this out, but you seem to have
sexual, nothing kinky, just comforting human touch.
I pasted on a
smile and led the way out of my office. I turned to see if he was following,
and he was just standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He probably could
read minds and now knew I was a complete sex-starved maniac who wanted to climb
all over him. He caught my look and smiled as he followed me out of the office.
Chapter 5
Any hope I had of
impressing this man was lost when I decided to order the soup instead of the
sandwich. As a woman with an ample bosom, I spent almost as much time dropping
food on my chest as I did getting it in my mouth. Normally, I could brush the
crumbs off and draw little attention to my obviously ravenous breasts.
Not the case with
soup. Soup dribbles and runs and stains and generally makes a complete mess
when spilled. Add to the fact that the soup of the day was my favorite tomato basil
with chicken and that I had chosen an off-white wrap blouse, and let’s just say
by the time lunch was over, I was sporting quite the Sweeney Todd look.
Oh well, as long
as I was eating, I might as well feed them, too. Daniel seemed to take it all
in stride. It certainly didn’t slow down the telling of his life story. I didn’t
know what it was about designers that they thought I needed to know their whole
life’s journey to produce their fashion show. I thought it was an ego thing;
they needed to feel like I understood who they were as a person and not just as
a designer.
I really didn’t.
I just needed to know what they wanted their clothes to say and who they wanted
to see them. I could take the rest from there.
I was glad I had
decided to keep my familiarity with India a secret. He went on for thirty
minutes about the neighborhood in Delhi where he grew up. He described it in
painstaking detail, right down to the smell of the street food vendors and the
sounds of the truck horns. I had to bite my tongue a couple times when I didn’t
agree with his take on something. He claimed that the neighborhood was a poor,
humble area.
But it wasn’t.
Some of the largest houses I saw when I lived in Delhi were in South Delhi. He
either really lived in South Delhi but wanted me to think he was poor, or he wasn’t
from Delhi at all. He wouldn’t be the first designer I had met who claimed an
exotic background but was really from some non-discrepant American (or in this
case, maybe British) suburb.
However, since I
was keeping mum about my knowledge of the city and I was preoccupied with
covering my breasts in tomato soup, I let his inaccuracies slide.
What I couldn’t
let slide was how comfortable I felt with him. And not comfortable like when-you-were-with-a-gay-man
comfortable. Comfortable like when you were starting to really hit it off with
someone and you were thinking maybe this might actually go somewhere. I didn’t
know where my wires were crossed. He had made several mentions of men he had
dated and that he left India to go to school in the UK because he was following
the love of his life, Dean. But I still felt like we were clicking in a very
rub-your-boy-parts-against-my-girl-parts kind of way.
It didn’t matter,
though. If by any chance I was right and we had any spark at all, however
delusional that may sound, I had thoroughly doused it in tomato soup. Yes, I
was one classy broad. I would have to go back to the office and beg Lizzie to
let me borrow her overalls. Setting aside the fact that my hips could never
shimmy into her size-two coveralls, I didn’t even think they could cover the
extent of the damage I had inflicted upon my poor, defenseless blouse. The poor
thing looked like something out of Silence of the Lambs .
Daniel finally
paused to take a breath and for the first time, I think, actually noticed there
was another, living human being at the table with him.
“Uhm, Millie, I
hate to spoil your lunch by pointing this out, but you seem to have
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