| Subject: Sweet Thing |
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lauraloo
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Date Posted: 10:31:34 07/29/02 Mon
Title: Sweet Thing
Author:lauraloo
Category: Vignette, Romance. The title and a couple of other refernces here won't makeas much sense if you haven't seen Retreat, Hell.
You’re my heat, you are my fire.
You’re not mine, I can’t deny ya.
Don’t you hear me talking, baby?
Love me now or I’ll go crazy.
Chaka Kahn, Sweet Thing
This time I know I’m not hallucinating. But I am wondering.
I’m wondering if she realizes that I’ve been staring at her the entire evening; that I’m utterly consumed by her. So much so that I can’t, for the life of me, remember any of the names of the other people seated at our circular table. They are just faceless apparitions, conversing in a blurred hum of voices, clinking knives and forks against the fine bone china one would expect to find at a banquet at the Willard Hotel. No, there is only her.
It’s all Webb’s doing, really. He’d shown up at work three days ago with two extra tickets to this charity gala, for what cause, I’m not surprised that I can’t remember either. We’d raised our eyes in suspicion at his offer, as, well, everything with Webb is suspect. But he’d assured us that no covert missions had been planned here, no transmitters or secret recording devices would be cleverly hidden under our plates of Salmon en Croute with Sauce Buerre Blanc. He’d simply said that we needed this, that a glamorous night out would do us good after everything we’d been through lately.
He’d been right.
These last six weeks following our return from the Seahawk have challenged us emotionally like nothing ever has before. We’ve poured all of our care and energy into helping Bud and Harriet and, to our relief, Bud’s doing quite well. As well as could be expected. He’s due back at work in another month and I think he’s ready; ready to recoup at least some of the normalcy of a life that will never be completely normal again. Although he’s navigated himself through all of the stages of grief, he’s now at a place that’s remarkably positive. Bud cherishes life so much differently now. He simply devours it in a way he’s never had before. Mac and I have learned from him.
We’ve learned and have been spending a lot more time together, but we haven’t really talked about it. It’s the talking part that’s been notorious for screwing up everything in the past. Yet, there seems to be a new and surprising communication between us now, a comfortable communion of knowing looks, of gentle touches. Sometimes it’s just the grasping of a hand, the comfort of an arm around a shoulder. But these things speak volumes. They speak the words we can’t seem to muster. ‘Yes, it could have easily been one of us. In the blink of an eye we could have lost each other. We’ve been given a precious gift of life, of friendship. Of maybe something more.’
It’s that something more that has me so enraptured this evening. I just can’t take my eyes off of her, seated at my left, engrossed in a conversation with a woman sitting on the other side of her. She leans forward in her chair, revealing the fluid line of her back. Sarah Mackenzie has never been more beautiful. She looks like something out of a painting in a long column of pewter colored silk. The dress complements every curve of her body, with a scoop neckline and tiny slivered straps. Her hair is slicked back behind her ears, coming to a chic flip at the nape of her neck. Her matching wrap is made from something she’d called chiffon. It rests half on, half off her shoulders, draping in folds down the length of her back, falling into a puddle on the carpet. She wears simple jewelry, diamond stud earrings and a matching tennis bracelet. For a brief second, I observe a few of the other women around the room. Many of them have just tried too hard. They’re wearing too much makeup, trying to squeeze themselves into ill-fitting dresses, or they’re dripping in gaudy jewelry. But not her. She’s simply perfection. She has enough confidence in herself to find her adornment in the luminous, dewy sheen of her skin; in the moist ruby lips framing her genuine smile.
The waiter approaches our table, placing crystal plates of dessert in front of us. Mac politely ends her conversation and turns back toward me. She smiles at me with glee. It’s one of her favorites. Tiramisu. We both pick up our forks but I’m immediately drawn to the different approach she executes in eating her dessert. While I do as most people do, dragging my fork from top to bottom, thereby capturing all of the tastes in one bite, she has her own way. She meticulously dissects each delicate layer, one by one. Slowly. Patiently. She grazes her lips with the cocoa-dusted whipped cream topping. Heat rises within me as she proceeds to the folds of sweet mascarpone cheese filling, wrapping her tongue around the chocolate espresso layers. Finally, she nibbles daintily on the crust of rum-soaked lady finger cookies. I’ve never in my wildest dreams thought I’d ever be jealous of a fork.
She continues her erotic assault, glancing ever so slightly my way from time to time. Her face, her movements, appear innocent, soft, demure. But I fear I might just burn up, as a moth to a flame, if I so much as graze her arm with my hand. I shift uncomfortably in my chair, nursing the growing uneasiness that watching this woman doing something as ordinary as eating a dessert is likely to become my utter undoing. She is completely on fire tonight. Webb notices this too. In fact, he’s staring at her right now from his place across the table. He thinks he’s totally smooth, like some neo-James Bond. But he looks absolutely ridiculous, eyes wide, mouth gaping open like that. And even though I consider our relationship to be something akin to friendship, if he keeps this up he’s as good as dead. Period.
Truth is, I’m just not willing to share her. Not tonight and not ever again. I’ll admit that I’ve been quite possessive of her all evening. I’ve haven’t left her side for a second. My arm has been linked with hers; my hand has nearly bored a hole in the small of her back. And as I sit here, still watching her, I smile inwardly at the fact that she hasn’t seemed to mind.
Not one bit.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice the band members returning from their break. I decide to risk the scorching of my flesh by inviting her to dance. She smiles at my request, eyes reflecting the flickering candle light. And the most wonderful sensation of warmth spreads through my body, surges through my veins as she places her hand in mine.
***
This is what Cinderella must have felt like. But that prince has nothing on Harmon Rabb Jr. in summer mess dress.
I love this song. ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ – and I love the feel of him; hands resting at my waist, leading me around the dance floor. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to him, so close I can feel his breath against my forehead, my cheeks. So close my perfume can’t help but mingle with the musky scent of his cologne, evolving into a new fragrance. Sweet and mysterious.
I’m surprised at how comfortable I feel. At how right this feels. Being here like this almost makes me forget that there’s still so much left unsaid between us. It alleviates some of my frustration at the fact that getting this man to open up and share his feelings is like squeezing drops of blood out of a pin prick
My right hand trails from the back of his neck to the medals at his lapel. There’s a new one here. The Navy Cross. He wears it proudly and I pay tribute to it, to him, rubbing the medal between my thumb and forefinger. His left hand rises to meet mine, covering it, sliding it to rest over his heart. The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat mimics the base line; the pattern of the drum beats driving the music that resonates throughout the room. Well, that did it. I’m totally lost now.
I give in, allowing myself to fall into his abyss. Tumbling. Weightless. Breathless.
I close my eyes as he draws me even closer into his intimate embrace, silently inviting my head to rest on his shoulder. As I do so, I’m reeled back into a half-state of conciseness, noting the ragged quality of his breath. And his touch, it’s…God, it’s like he’s…he’s loving me. And if it’s true, if that’s what he’s trying to do here, well, then every other touch, every sensation I’ve ever felt before, from any other man, has been nothing remotely close to love.
And now he speaks.
“Want to get some air?” He says, lips scarcely grazing my ear.
“Yeah, sure.”
He takes my hand and we float through the maze of tables to the outdoor terrace. Shivers run up and down my spine, my bare arms, and not just because of the chilly night air. It’s because what I see before me is perfect. Too perfect, like a movie set that hundreds of stage hands had rushed onto minutes before us, meticulously arranging. They wiped the black sky clean of clouds, revealing millions of glittering stars, carving out a bird’s eye view of the illuminated monuments.
And we are alone. Even though the ballroom is filled with people, miraculously, this place was cleared for the two of us.
I chuckle softly as it hits me. My relationship with Harm, or friendship, or whatever the hell it is has been plagued with a series of wasted opportunities, with ill-played moments. But now, could this be it? Could this actually be a moment meant just for us?
He turns, staring over the railing at the city below us. But, it’s not like he’s turning away or afraid to face me. His shoulders are relaxed, his face is peaceful. A trace of a smile even tugs at one corner of his mouth. It’s like he senses it too. Just like me, he’s caught up in this setting. We’re beautifully costumed; we’ve accepted our roles; leading lady and leading man. But there’s one thing missing. The words. A tinge of apprehension remains within me as I realize that there is no script on this set. It’s been left for us to write.
Harm faces me, breaking the silence. “Thank you, Sarah. This night has been wonderful.”
My eyes shoot open; my heart soars at the mention of my given name, but falls just as quickly at his choice of words. “Has been? Are you tired, do you want to go?”
I turn towards the door but he stops me with a hand at my shoulder. “No. That’s not what I meant. It’s just, I think we needed this after everything...well, you know.”
“You mean after foiling a deadly terrorist plot, escaping a mine field, coming entirely too close to possible radiation exposure and enticing a dirty cruise missile into a game of tag, and winning?” We both snort with laughter at the absurdity of it all, but my laughter rapidly fades into solemnity. “And then, Bud. I can’t believe we almost lost Bud.” My gaze falls to the ground.
He lifts my chin with his finger, nodding in understanding. “Thank God, Bud’s gonna make it.” He pauses slightly, voice smooth and low. “What about us?”
Sweet Jesus. He’s not running. He’s actually talking about it.
He continues, reading the shock, the confusion on my face. “We almost lost us too. Are we gonna make it?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Yes we are. Simple as that.”
His words take me back in time. “You know, Harm, you once accused me of making complicated things too simple.”
His eyes turn dark, deep. His voice is pure velvet as he moves only inches from my face. “Believe me; I’m not accusing you now, Sarah.”
Though barely able to locate my breath, I challenge coyly, “Well, then, just what exactly are you doing?”
****
I can’t help myself. I simply can’t hold out anymore. I decide to phrase my answer to her question in a way she’ll never forget, in a way that needs no interpretation. I envelope her in my arms, crushing my lips upon hers. Our bodies mimic the movements of our lips, swaying to the faint trace of music that seeps through the terrace doors. Her mouth is soft and sugary sweet. The kiss is luxuriously long, making up for all the moments we’ve lost before, for all of the kisses that should’ve been. This is our elegy for them.
She sighs dreamily. “Good Lord, Navy. I need to start asking more questions. You’ve got a hell of a way of answering.”
“You can ask …” I pause, planting light kisses on her cheeks, “all the questions…you want.”
She bites one corner of her lip. Her thoughts are written in a manuscript, opened before me. She’s busy forming her list, but, there’s one question Sarah Mackenzie is not going have to ask to get an answer to. “Yes, I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, so deeply. And I want you. So much.” These are words I’ve stored deep inside for too long. But now, they drip effortlessly from my lips. It feels so good to finally say them, to watch the joy of her reaction form on her face.
Suddenly, with a gleam in her eye, she hooks her thumbs in the top of my cumber bund, jerking me towards her. She kisses me soundly, fiercely, with sheer Marine determination. But then she breaks the union abruptly, moving her hands to the back of my neck as my mouth moves in vain, encountering nothing but air. Her words make it all worthwhile. “Harm, I love you too, more than anything in this world. And as to the ‘I want you’ part, well, that was just a little preview of my real reply.”
With a blissful heart and a sly smile, I dig my keys out of my pocket; dangle them in front of her. “Enough said. And enough time wasted.” With her hand in mine, we move hastily back into the ballroom, making a brief stop at our table. We mutter hurried farewells to our table mates as we gather our belongings. They probably think we’re rude but I just don’t give a damn.
Thankfully Webb’s nowhere to be found because we’re totally obvious. There’s hunger in our eyes, wind beneath our feet as we make our way to the elevator. I just can’t keep my hands off this woman for another second. We scoot ourselves in the elevator and I hit the ‘Close Door’ button even though I see two would-be riders approaching. She raises her eyebrows, noting, as I do, that it’s a long way down to the lobby.
“C’mere, you.” She purrs.
I’m more than happy to indulge her, plastering her body against the elevator wall, squeezing her thigh through the silky fabric of her gown. I begin my assault on her mouth, devouring her, simultaneously kicking myself for enduring so many years without doing this.
The elevator dings. “Damn,” I mutter, lips still touching hers. We attempt to compose ourselves once again. We practically run to the parking lot. God, I’ve never been so glad to see my SUV in my life. I usher her in, stooping low for one more kiss that I hope will hold me over until we get to my apartment. It won’t, not by a long shot. “Baby, I love you and I’m gonna spend the rest of this night showing you just how much.”
She beams, rubbing my cheek with her thumb. “Harm, I love you and I just might let you. So drive, flyboy.”
“Yes ma’am,” I salute, running around to the driver’s side. As I open the door, I pause slightly, just taking it all in. I can’t believe it. Sarah Mackenzie is in my car. And she’s mine now, so radiant, so sweet; with bruised lips and disheveled hair. This could easily be a dream. I could easily be hallucinating. I could be, but I’m not.
The End
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