it... he’s so gorgeous... I think he saw me looking at him... am I blushing? Incredible, he’s amazing, he’s just so sexy!”
I was only half-listening to Polly’s ramblings on this painter who was supposed to be the most spiritual artist who’d ever walked the planet, a person who brought art alive with his drawings, who’d awoken magic into the eyes of those who beheld them. On first impression, you seemed a bit too self-conscious. Handsome? Well, very. Your black curls had hints of blue in their natural wave. Your eyes were the colour of amber and your face was chiselled and yet as gentle as an angel’s. You were so young then.
Somehow you didn’t make a massive impression on me. I thought you were the kind of man who expected the world to revolve around him. The fact that then I was myself a girl who wanted to be the centre of attention probably confused me. I thought Gordon’s muscular body was more manly and powerful than yours. What I found appealing about Gordon was his obliviousness to his surroundings and his mindlessness of fans, although he was a celebrity in his own right. My ex was self-involved at best and self-centred at worst. Or perhaps he was just too thick to realise that there was a world around him.
But I was still intrigued by you. I studied you as you sat two tables away from ours. Unlike the majority of people, you were paying attention to every single detail in the café, as if your penetrating eyes were marking the territory. There was a lot of purple in your aura, together with gold and emerald green. You were very charismatic: your presence filled the room. I knew you were Irish by descent and had also Japanese blood in your veins. Your maternal grandmother, Yoshiko Suno, had been an acclaimed actress in Yomasami’s plays. Her affair with the great Irish mystical poet was a scandal in the 1930s. Your mother was the love child of the east and the west. That’s why your looks were unique. I stared at you as you kept sketching on your notepad. Your movements were composed and relaxed, as if you were drawing something from memory, channelling all your awareness into those gentle strokes.
You raised your head and looked at me for half a second. Our eyes met for the first time. Time stood still and expanded. Everything around us disappeared into a background of nothingness. You had magnetic come-to-bed eyes. They were drawing me into your world. You wanted to enlist me in your collection of women, among the notches on your bedpost. I looked away. I wouldn’t fall prey to the ego of a Casanova. A part of me was still in love with Gordon. My human self needed a little more time to be distracted from the pain of my loss.
You smiled. At me. I didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, I said to Polly: “He likes you. He’s winking at you, woman... come on, do something!”
I was only trying to deflect your attention, your energy. I wasn’t ready yet. I was afraid of you. At the same time, I was in awe.
“Go ask him for his autograph... or his room number,” I said. “They say he’s a slut, and he’s definitely taking a shine here... you should use this opportunity!”
I knew full well Polly was a very shy girl who would never approach him without my help. I only said those words in an attempt to side-track my eyes from wanting to meet yours. I intended to eat my scone and get out of that place. I was uncomfortable and under scrutiny. Your glance stuck to my skin like honeydew. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
As a displacement activity, I started reading the newspaper which was lying on the empty chair at our table. I opened it at a random page. Fate has a strange sense of humour. Gordon’s face was staring at me from the ‘gossip’ column. It was official: he was going to become a father. The short article referred to Linda as his ‘girlfriend’. My heart sank in that coffee shop. I’d not got over him as completely as I had assumed. My mind had, but not my body. My
I was only half-listening to Polly’s ramblings on this painter who was supposed to be the most spiritual artist who’d ever walked the planet, a person who brought art alive with his drawings, who’d awoken magic into the eyes of those who beheld them. On first impression, you seemed a bit too self-conscious. Handsome? Well, very. Your black curls had hints of blue in their natural wave. Your eyes were the colour of amber and your face was chiselled and yet as gentle as an angel’s. You were so young then.
Somehow you didn’t make a massive impression on me. I thought you were the kind of man who expected the world to revolve around him. The fact that then I was myself a girl who wanted to be the centre of attention probably confused me. I thought Gordon’s muscular body was more manly and powerful than yours. What I found appealing about Gordon was his obliviousness to his surroundings and his mindlessness of fans, although he was a celebrity in his own right. My ex was self-involved at best and self-centred at worst. Or perhaps he was just too thick to realise that there was a world around him.
But I was still intrigued by you. I studied you as you sat two tables away from ours. Unlike the majority of people, you were paying attention to every single detail in the café, as if your penetrating eyes were marking the territory. There was a lot of purple in your aura, together with gold and emerald green. You were very charismatic: your presence filled the room. I knew you were Irish by descent and had also Japanese blood in your veins. Your maternal grandmother, Yoshiko Suno, had been an acclaimed actress in Yomasami’s plays. Her affair with the great Irish mystical poet was a scandal in the 1930s. Your mother was the love child of the east and the west. That’s why your looks were unique. I stared at you as you kept sketching on your notepad. Your movements were composed and relaxed, as if you were drawing something from memory, channelling all your awareness into those gentle strokes.
You raised your head and looked at me for half a second. Our eyes met for the first time. Time stood still and expanded. Everything around us disappeared into a background of nothingness. You had magnetic come-to-bed eyes. They were drawing me into your world. You wanted to enlist me in your collection of women, among the notches on your bedpost. I looked away. I wouldn’t fall prey to the ego of a Casanova. A part of me was still in love with Gordon. My human self needed a little more time to be distracted from the pain of my loss.
You smiled. At me. I didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, I said to Polly: “He likes you. He’s winking at you, woman... come on, do something!”
I was only trying to deflect your attention, your energy. I wasn’t ready yet. I was afraid of you. At the same time, I was in awe.
“Go ask him for his autograph... or his room number,” I said. “They say he’s a slut, and he’s definitely taking a shine here... you should use this opportunity!”
I knew full well Polly was a very shy girl who would never approach him without my help. I only said those words in an attempt to side-track my eyes from wanting to meet yours. I intended to eat my scone and get out of that place. I was uncomfortable and under scrutiny. Your glance stuck to my skin like honeydew. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
As a displacement activity, I started reading the newspaper which was lying on the empty chair at our table. I opened it at a random page. Fate has a strange sense of humour. Gordon’s face was staring at me from the ‘gossip’ column. It was official: he was going to become a father. The short article referred to Linda as his ‘girlfriend’. My heart sank in that coffee shop. I’d not got over him as completely as I had assumed. My mind had, but not my body. My
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