For You:
A True Story.
Here...
He answered his page.
"You are coming with us tomorrow for Sunday brunch," his friend began. "You never go out, you need to meet some new people, and I think you will like the couple who are hosting."
"No thanks," he replied. "I have four patients in the ICU, six new consults today, and ten on the floor. I will be lucky to get home tonight before midnight. The last thing I want to do is waste two hours eating quiche and talking nonsense, pretending to be interested in people I don't know."
"But you know them, well you've met them anyway," his friend interrupted. " You were introduced to them a couple of months ago when I saw you last."
He tried to remember meeting anyone recently. He remembered.
"Them?" he replied, "No thanks. I'm not going."
They were a wealthy couple who had recently moved to the area. He remembered the husband as being short with ill-fitting clothes, coarse, egotistical, and condescending. The husband was in some sort of technology business. He immediately took a dislike to the husband. Worse yet, he was jealous of him. It wasn't his money or his luxurious lifestyle that he wanted, it was his wife. Smart and witty, she had beautiful sculpted features. Her auburn hair was long, green eyes, and a perfect smile. The wife was a foreign language expert, fluent in four or five languages. She was the kind of woman he had dreamt about, beautiful, intelligent, refined, and sexy as hell. He remembered feeling terrible after meeting them. No, he would not go. He did not want to feel that desire for her again.
His friend was persistent, "You have to go. It will be good for you. See your patients early, go to brunch, and then you can go back to the hospital to finish."
Before he could say no again, his friend gave him the directions to the house, told him the time, and hung up.
The next day he went to the hospital late, having decided to take his time as he was not going to the brunch. He answered another page.
"Where are you?" his friend asked angrily. "I went to all the trouble of getting you invited and you're late! Get over here."
Not wanting to hear any more of his friend's complaining, he said, "Fine, I'm coming. I need to finish this note and I will get there as soon as I can."
Following the directions he realized that he had already been to their house, it wasn't their house at the time, it was for sale and he went to the showing. It was an amazing house, custom built, gorgeous landscaping, great location, and about ten years worth of salary beyond his budget. "Figures," he thought to himself.
He rang the bell and the husband greeted him, "You're late," he said plainly.
"Sorry, I had to see some sick patients in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital," he said, hoping there would some sympathetic or empathetic response to his alibi. There was none.
"Come this way," came the empty reply.
Once inside his envy grew. The house was sleekly decorated and looked like something out of an Italian fashion magazine. His host could not help but to describe the expense of the furniture, rarity of the art, and size and complexity of his custom sound system. But of all these things, his host was most proud of his jazz collection. An entire room seemed dedicated to it.
And then he saw her.
He found her more beautiful than he remembered. She wore a print wrap-around dress, her hair was held up with a silk scarf used as a head band. His arousal and desire were intense. He wanted to leave that very instant.
"Sorry I'm late," he said apologetically.
"No, no trouble at all," she answered graciously. "Here, sit here, and I'll get you something to eat."
He responded, "No, that's OK. It looks like everyone is already finished," he said, seeing that the eight or so people at the table were in fact done with their meal. He recognized some of the guests, others not. His friend did the introducing. He wanted to throw up or die.
"Here, take what you want," she said as she brought the warmed food to the table. As she did this, she brushed up against him, leaning forward to put the food down. He turned to her and saw the top of her dress open enough to expose her black lace bra covering her breasts. He turned away quickly not wanting to be seen looking down her dress. She straightened back up, smiled warmly, and said, "I hope you like it."
"Yes, I'm sure it's delicious," he said.
"How did that happen?" he thought to himself. Was this merely the Universe cruelly teasing him? Was it she who was teasing him? Or rather, was it simply an accident that she was exposed in this way? Forcing himself to not to think about it he began to eat. The food was delicious, even better was the coffee and desert. He hated life.
The guests began to depart, leaving him and his friend to their hosts. He learned that his impression of the husband was correct, he was an ass, pompous, cold, and vulgar. As for her, it turned out she traveled all over the world as a consultant, mostly using her Russian and French skills. The couple had met several years earlier, married after a brief courtship, and as far as he could tell, they were happy together. They had two children who were loved and wanted. In turn, they listened to his brief and highly edited version of his life up until that time. He didn't stay long. He was being called back to the hospital and he was all too happy to go back to work.
A few days later his phone rang. It was her.
"Hi," she said cheerfully. "Thank you for coming to brunch, it was great meeting you."
Lying he said, "No, thank you, I enjoyed it greatly."
"Listen, my husband is going out of town for a week or two. Your friend says you work too much and that you never go out. Why don't you come over sometime and keep me company?"
Not wanting to sound too ungrateful or completely unimaginative he replied, "Well, I might be busy this week. Maybe when your husband returns we can all do something together?"
Laughing, she said, "Your friend is right. You do need to get out more! How's Friday night?"
Not knowing what to say, he reluctantly agreed, "Friday night it is."
As the day approached he began to replay in his mind the incident at the table, her smile, the brush, the exposing of her breasts. "Why?" he asked himself, over and over, "Why?" He soon began to tire of his ruminating. He even laughed at the craziness of his loneliness.
That Friday night, he again drove to the house, pulled up into their driveway, got out, rang the doorbell and waited. Then he felt it. He knew it. He couldn't believe it, but he knew it to be true. It wasn't an accident. She meant it, she meant for him to see her. And as he heard her coming to the door, he was afraid that when she opened the door she was going to be naked. She might of well had been.
"Hi!" she said, greeting him enthusiastically. "I didn't think you were going to make it."
"Neither did I," he said honestly.
She showed him in. The house was lit dimly by candle light. Coltrane played as she showed him to the kitchen.
"I've already started on this bottle, would you like some?" she asked. "I took this from the cellar, I hope you like it." As she poured him some wine he looked at her closely. She was not at all self-conscious alone with him there. She wore black trousers and a white silk shirt open to the second button. The thin fabric revealed that she was without a bra and he could see her nipples through the fabric of her blouse. She was a bit drunk.
She led him to the living room. They sat on opposite couches. He looked around the room and couldn't help but envy it. It was everything he wanted for himself, the beautiful furniture, the great music, the delicious wine, and her. Everything he wanted, it was there.
They made small talk about their week, current events, jazz, dogs, children, and the like. Her children were at a friend's house for a sleep over. She poured more wine, fed him, and as the night went on he realized that he was falling in love with her. She moved to sit next to him. It was intolerable.
And then it began. She began to tell him of her loneliness. Although she and her husband were still having sex, he did not satisfy her, and hadn't in a long time. She continued to talk but he wasn't listening.
"Here it is, everything," he thought. "I am in his house, sitting on his custom made couch, listening to his music, drinking wine from his cellar, and I am going to have his wife." And he meant it. This wasn't going to be about one Friday night, this was going to be forever. This is what he wanted, and once having it, he did not want to go without it. He couldn't. He would have done anything to have her once, but once would not be enough. No, not once.
And what about her? Would sleeping with him solve anything for her? What was he for her anyway? Just some guy lonely, horny, or stupid enough to get involved with her? What if she fell in love with him? Would she divorce her husband? Did she even care how her husband felt about her? Did she care how he felt about her? And what of their children? He would have loved to had been a father. It was all there, everything. He wanted it all. He wanted her. She wanted him. He was going to have it all.
But no, he wouldn't have her. He couldn't do it. He didn't know why, but he wasn't going to do it. Karma, Chaos, Entropy, Fate, and Nothing, all at once told him this. No, it wasn't going to happen. He looked at her long legs, her tanned skin, her soft hair. No. He looked at her breasts and imagined her with him. He wanted her. He needed her. She was everything he wanted. There in that house, was everything he wanted. But no, it wasn't going to happen.
He looked her in the eyes and asked quietly, "How long would it take for me to get your pants off?"
She looked right back at him and said nothing.
"I have to go, sorry." Without letting her say another word, he put his wine down, stood up, and showed himself out.
Everything he wanted.
...
A monk's Death Poem
My whole life long I've sharpened my sword
And now, face to face with death
I unsheathe it and lo--
The blade is broken--
Alas!
Dairin Soto
Hallelujah!