|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER – 41: The Trip
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I remembered to buy a couple of rolls of B&W and color film for my cameras. After the shopping, I visited my parents for half an hour to bid them goodbye and to pick up my camera bag. Dad was out again. Mom asked about the dinner, and I gave her a short account, mentioning the chance encounter with Alex. She knew I was in a hurry, but was also happy that I dropped by; she sensed my excitement. I was really looking forward to being with Dana, and I guess it showed. Mom seemed almost as excited as I was, seeing me so enthusiastic, and she didn’t ask me in detail about the dinner—or any thing else. As I was leaving, she filled a big glass, and followed me to the car park. When I drove away, I caught her on the rear mirror, throwing the water. Even though Mom wasn’t superstitious, she went through that strange custom every time I went on a trip. I never understood the symbolism of it. Once, when I had asked her she told me it meant ‘go with the water and come with the water,’ but still I failed to see or understand the symbolism.
I even managed to squeeze in an hour of light exercise and an hour under the sun lamp at the gym, before finally driving to Kathy’s to finish my packing. I almost forgot to take my bokken, but I saw it lying on the vanity table at the last minute. In a hurry, I had to look for the leather carry bag for my swords, and took it with me, putting the bokken in it. With its sling, it was easy to carry it on my shoulder, and I knew I wanted to practice it again, curious to find out if I had forgotten any of the skills and techniques. Sarah’s suitcase wasn’t something I could miss, so it ended up in the trunk, next to mine. Finally, I called Sis at the hospital, and bid goodbye. She sounded cheery on the phone, and wished Sarah and me a good trip and a good vacation with Dana.
* * * * *
I drove to the hospital. When I checked at the front desk—Orthopedics—the nurse told me Sarah was busy with a patient. I hung around, waiting for her. A bit later, I saw her with another doctor, and a patient on a gurney. She excused herself to talk to me.
“Sorry, Mitch. We’ve got a patient, and it’s going to take time,” she said apologetically.
“It’s all right, Sarah. Take your time.”
“Thank you for being understanding.”
“Come on, Sarah. You’re a doctor, and the patient needs you.”
She smiled, and hurried down the corridor.
About 40 minutes later, she was back, still in her whites, but carrying a stack of books, a coat and a bag, which I helped her with. We walked to the car, and I asked about the patient. She told me he had two leg fractures, and it took her and her colleague some time to set one of the bones, and put on a cast. There wasn’t much space in the trunk, so we put her hospital whites, coat, books, and other stuff on the back seat, and drove off. About 20 minutes later, we cleared the city traffic, and were out of the city, on a single lane road that led to the highway.
“Are you in a hurry?” she asked, seeing me drive above the speed limits.
“I want to get to the highway soon, so you can drive longer before the light fails,” I said, getting an appreciative smile. “Are you too tired to drive?” I asked.
“I’m never too tired for that,” she replied.
“Better get some rest though,” I suggested.
Taking my advice, she reclined the seat back, and getting comfortable, closed her eyes. It was going to be short rest for her, but I felt she would be better off when she took the wheel. In half an hour we were on the highway. I stopped at a gas station, filled up the tank, and bought a road map; my maps were two years old, and there were new roads being finished. When I took the driver’s seat, Sarah gave me a disappointed look. I told her she could rest a bit more before she took the wheel, but she was like an excited kid with a birthday gift being withheld from her. So, I had to give in, and we changed seats again. Since the road was almost empty, I quickly walked her through some simple things, so that she could get a feel for the car and how it responded.
I asked her to brake hard, a couple of times, at different speeds, so she would know what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised by how patiently she listened to me and did what I asked. After that, I let her have at it. She was a natural, and very shortly, she was relaxed and enjoying the drive. I settled back, and watched the scenery, but I was discreetly observing her. I noticed she didn’t brake at the curves, just easing off the accelerator to let the car slow down, and before we hit the curve, she would shift down, fast and smoothly, and use the engine to brake. Then, just before she cleared the curve, she would speed up, and shift up again. She knew what she was doing, and I realized she was putting on a show for my benefit.
“Show off!” I retorted.
With a soft laugh, she said, “What? You think you know all the stuff?” she replied.
“I learned a lot, some the hard way.”
“I understand, Mitch. I’m enjoying myself immensely, and I want you to relax. You’re in good hands.”
“Yeah! I am. Sorry, Sarah. Don’t mind me.”
“Are there any speed checks on this road?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t know. It’s been a while since I drove this way. Better slow down when you’re approaching a gas station, or the top of cliffs. That’s where they usually hide.”
“OK,” she replied, and stepped on the accelerator, keeping the speed around 160–170, some 40 kilometers above the speed limit. She drove with confidence, but when she took one hand off the steering wheel, I had to interfere.
“Sarah, two hands, please. I’ll explain why,” I said.
She gave a quizzical look, but followed my advice, while reducing speed.
“With power assisted steering, the steering wheel is very light and very responsive. It’s both good and bad. It helps to maneuver easily, when you’re parking, but because it’s so light, you have to be more careful, especially at high speeds. The slightest adjustment translates to quite a bit of lateral movement. You hardly feel the potholes on the road, because the hydraulics of the system dampens the effects of potholes, bumps, debris, but if something goes wrong, you might be caught unaware, and overcompensate. Variable power assisted steering is much nicer. At low speeds the steering is very light, to help you park or maneuver easily, and at higher speeds, the steering is heavier, so it helps the driver, but this car doesn’t have that system,” I explained. Taking a pause, I added, “It’s something I learned from Gary, driving cars on really bad surfaces.”
She nodded but gave me a questioning look.
“Look, this doesn’t exactly apply to this car, but Gary demonstrated something to me with a simple test, and I always keep it in mind. I noticed he always had two hands on the steering wheel at high speeds, and we had a discussion about it. So, one day when we were in a garage, he asked me to get in the car, and after the car was jacked up, he said, ‘Grab the steering wheel as if you’re driving.’ I did, holding it with one hand, lightly, as was my usual style. Grabbing the front tire, he gave a shove—not even a hard shove, by the way—and the bloody thing slipped between my fingers, spinning. We repeated it again, and that time I was ready, holding it with two hands, and it wasn’t that bad. He told me, that was what could happen with a pothole at high speed, or if I had a flat. That was with a Renault with a heavy, non-power assisted steering. Perhaps it may not apply to cars with power steering, but it left an impression on me. I don’t want to find out what could happen when a tire goes flat at high speed, whether it’s with power steering or not.”
“I understand, Mitch,” she said. Mulling something in her mind, she added, “He must have had some experience.”
“I don’t know. I guess... I really enjoyed it whenever he drove. He was a daredevil on the roads. Very fast, but in complete control. He showed me some nifty tricks like a 180 degree turn with the hand-brake, shifting without using the clutch, and a few other things.”
“Shifting without the clutch?”
“You can let the car slow down, by taking your foot off the gas pedal, and keep your hand on the stick, exerting a little pressure. As the rpms go down, at one point, you’ll feel the stick going kinda slack, and you can pull it into neutral. You can also tap the gas pedal to increase the rpms, and try to shift the gear without using the clutch. It’s more difficult, as you need to know the exact rpm and it’s not really good for the gears, although it’s a neat trick.”
“You must have had a ball with him.”
“I did.” I laughed remembering the crazy times with Gary.
“Was it the accident that changed everything for you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Based on what you told me about the accident, and how you’re being careful.”
“Sometimes I take risks, but as I told you before I try to plan it carefully. I guess I also had my fill of the thrills, doing crazy things, and stuff. The roads to the rigs are mostly gravel, and empty, so I used to speed like an idiot. Speedy Gonzales. That was me!” I chuckled at the memory of the cartoon character. “I got to drive under different conditions; mud, snow, or icy surfaces, so I experienced quite a few things.”
“What things?”
“Sort of near-misses, if you know what I mean. They were scary. So I ended up learning some things the hard way.”
“God, Mitch!”
“Honest, Sarah. They weren’t dangerous. That one accident, however, was an eye opener. The ironic part is, I wasn’t even trying to do something crazy at the time. I had a momentary distraction, and things went wrong. The current company is very big on safety, and that includes road safety. Two years ago, they brought a specialist from the UK in for two weeks. I was one of the many that attended the safe driving course from him, and apart from the usual things, I learned a lot. How to create space around the car in traffic, anticipating the moves of other drivers, being ready for any stupid stunts other drivers might pull, how to keep looking for possible trouble and plan ahead, and some other stuff. Driving in that part of the country is really an adventure. For example, at nighttime you have to be extra careful on the roads. Sometimes there are herds crossing the road, and most of the shepherds don’t carry any torch light or anything to signal if they see a vehicle approach. So, if you’re speeding you could end up in an awful accident, before you realized what happened. Once, I remember seeing an eerie green light like a laser beam at a distance, and I immediately braked. That was the light from the high beam reflecting back from the eyes of a herd of sheep.”
“Really? Does it look like that?”
“Yeah. It really does. I guess I was lucky, because I’ve read about it in a book. There was this American who had traveled extensively in the Middle East, and had written his memoirs; the places he visited, the local customs, and any other interesting tidbits. The book was full of really funny and stupid incidents. One of them was about night driving in the deserted roads near villages during the nighttime, and his description was an exact match to what I experienced that particular night. Never drive faster than how far you could see. It’s a lesson I always keep in mind.”
I noticed she had slowed down. “It’s all right, Sarah. If you want to speed up, do it, as long as there aren’t many cars in the other lanes. I do the same. If the road gets crowded, I slow down to the speed limit, and use the right lane.”
She nodded, and speeded up. I put on the stereo, and watched the scenery while listening to the music. We talked about music and other things. At one point, I noticed she was checking the rear mirror frequently with an annoyed expression on her face. We were in the right lane, and using the mirror on the sunshade, I checked the rear.
“He’s been on my bumper for quite sometime,” Sarah said with an annoyed tone.
I noticed she was tapping the brake, not to slow down but enough to get the brake lights lit up, but the asshole was still on our bumper.
“I think it’s a guy and he probably saw a beautiful girl driving a sporty car, and wants to play,” I said.
“Yeah. Annoying asshole,” she replied.
“Unless you slow down, he will probably be on your bumper. If you slow down too much he might decide to stick around, and play games as he would realize you noticed him. Ignore him; try to look as if you’re busy talking with me while bleeding speed slowly, but not too much. He’ll eventually lose interest, especially seeing you busy chatting with me.”
She smiled, and we continued talking. As I expected, after 15 minutes the asshole decided we were driving too slow for his taste, and moved to the left lane, and sped past us.
“If a similar thing happens when you’re driving by yourself, pay attention to him discreetly, but look as if you’re busy with anything other than driving. For example, keep leaning to the stereo as if you’re busy with the radio or something, and let the car slow down. If you want to check him on the mirror, try to look like you’re checking your hair. There’s nothing more annoying than a woman driver who is busy with something else than driving, and that last trick—checking hair on the mirror—really turns off the guys. If you play their game by reducing speed drastically or speeding up, they will keep on doing what they are doing.”
“And if that doesn’t work out?”
“Well, then pull up at the first gas station, and have a coffee or something and get some rest. If he pulls up, ask the pump guy for the nearest traffic police, making sure the asshole hears you, and get a piece of paper and note down his license plate. That should be enough to get him off your tail.”
That last one got a good laugh. “Where did you come up with those? From Kathy?”
“Hell, No!” I exclaimed, but she was partly right in her guess. “Umm... well... kinda. I mean, she told me once how she did the radio trick. The hair trick is my own, because I know how I feel about some drivers, especially women drivers. Before you say anything, yes, I admit; I’m a male chauvinist pig when it comes to driving. I’m sorry to say that, but it drives me nuts when I see a woman checking her hair or make up in the rearview mirror, instead of paying attention to the traffic.”
“You are a male chauvinist pig!” Sarah exclaimed.
“I told you I am,” I retorted.
“But, I still love you,” she added softly, with a smile.
“Umm... thanks I guess.”
“I think you can do better than a simple thanks,” she retorted.
“Like what?”
“You could give me a kiss. Later.”
“Oh! I love to kiss you anytime, Sarah, you know that. I wasn’t talking about you, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re a very good driver.”
“Thank you,” she said, then added, “I think we have a bit of trouble.” Her eyes were on the car in front of us. It was the same car, and now he was slowing and speeding.
“Keep at the same speed, and see what he does. If he slows down overtake him. If he tries to play games, stay in the right lane, keep your distance, and pull up at the first gas station.”
“OK!” she replied, then asked, “What is it with guys when they see a woman driver?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s a stupid and dangerous way to flirt. Especially when we see a beautiful girl in a sporty car. We expect her to be... umm... hot. You know, hot on wheels, hot in bed.”
“Well, I’m hot in bed.”
With a laugh, I said, “Yeah. And on wheels, too, if you want to be. As I said, it’s a guy thing. If I were what I was like some years ago, I would have done what he’s doing, but I know different.”
“Really? You mean you wouldn’t play these games, now? Even if you see a beautiful woman?”
“Well, no. I would keep my distance, and probably tag along to see if she would stop at a gas station, where I might get a chance to meet her if I’m curious enough, but I wouldn’t play road games.”
I saw a gas station sign, and asked her to pull over. Unfortunately, the asshole must have seen our signal, because he slowed down and switched lanes to stop at the gas station, too. We took some refreshments, and I filled the tank, and with a glance at the other car, I carefully wrote down his plate number.
“Is there a problem?” the guy asked, seeing me note down his plate number.
“I don’t know, yet,” I replied. After a pause, I locked my eyes on him, giving him a cold stare and said, “If you keep driving right on my bumper, or keep on playing road games, then I have a problem. I want to make sure I have the correct details to report to the police, in case of an accident.”
He straightened himself in a threatening manner, then responded, “Is that a threat?”
I saw Sarah getting antsy with the developments, so I asked her to get in the car. Turning to the guy, I said, “I don’t care for the way you drive or your attitude. If you’re looking for trouble, you might find yourself in plenty, with the traffic police.”
“Look here, pal. Nobody—”
“I’m not interested. Have a good day,” I said, and ignoring his outbursts, I walked to the driver’s side, and got in the car. I drove the short distance from the pumps to the shop, and parked, shutting the engine down. Opening the bottle of coke we bought, I took a swallow, while keeping an eye on the other car on the rear mirror. A few minutes later he drove off, with screeching tires, flipping me the bird.
“What a creep!” Sarah commented.
“That’s nothing. I think he was reacting because he had to save face, and was trying to intimidate me, the macho crap. There are road psychos, and I hope he’s not one of them. Some are real nuts when they get behind the wheel. It’s a good time to take a short break,” I replied, getting a nod.
About twenty minutes later, we were back on the road, and although I drove above the speed limit, I didn’t drive fast, not wanting to catch up to the asshole. I kept an eye out for his car, as we passed the gas stations, to see if he pulled over, and after driving half an hour, we switched, and Sarah drove. She was tense and kept checking her mirrors frequently, but eventually relaxed, seeing no sign of him. A short while later, we got pulled over by police, where they were doing a speed check, and Sarah quickly informed me she had been driving under the speed limit.
It turned out the asshole had tried to preempt me. I was expecting a search of the car for drugs or something similar—a false tip to the police to give us some trouble—but he had told them he was threatened by a driver. After showing IDs and car registration, and answering some of the basic questions, I let Sarah do the talking to the officer, and explain the situation. We were lucky that the officer was mid-40s, with a fatherly look, and he quickly got the picture of what actually happened: a young and beautiful woman driving a sporty car and an idiot trying to play road games. The fact that she was beautiful and also a doctor in one of the well-known hospitals didn’t hurt us. When she finished her account, I dug out and showed the paper with the plate number of the car, and gave a brief description of where the incident took place. I asked how long ago he passed the traffic check, trying to figure out the distance between us, and learned that he had passed some 20 minutes ago. I told him that we took a short break at the gas station to give him a head start. He asked Sarah how fast she was driving, and Sarah admitted to speeding on the empty stretches. He knew we had been driving fast, but not too fast, so he gave a polite verbal warning to Sarah.
“I’m not going to write you up for speeding, but please do me a favor, Miss. Drive slower,” he said pointedly. “I know the temptation is great when you have a car like that, but you are too young and too beautiful to have a horrible accident and get injured.”
“Thank you, Sir. I’ll be more careful,” Sarah replied, with a sincere tone.
“Good. Have a safe trip,” he said, tipping his hat, and we drove off.
“That went well,” I said.
“Yeah. I was expecting a ticket after admitting to speeding.”
“Well, they didn’t exactly have proof. I mean, they didn’t clock us on the radar officially, but considering the distance and the time, it was obvious we had been speeding at some of the stretches. I think he got the picture correctly. The other guy had also been speeding, and fed them a lie; perhaps he was trying to make up for that. I don’t know. He was nice enough though, and understanding.”
“He was.”
“They are usually nicer to doctors. That’s almost universal, and not only in this country,” I said. “And you’re easy on the eyes. That didn’t hurt either.”
“Is that why you let me do the talking?” she retorted.
“But of course, Sarah,” I returned, and received a slap on my thigh.
An hour later, the light was failing, the dusk settling, and there were more cars on the road, so we switched again. Sarah reclined her seat, getting comfortable, and closed her eyes, resting a bit. We kept chatting and listening to the radio. We caught the weather report. It was going to be cold during the night, but sunny and mild tomorrow.
I wonder if that report will hold up!
I chuckled at the thought, my mind going to the times I had visited that city in the last few years.
Sarah broke into my thoughts with, “What’s the joke?”
“Huh?”
“You were chuckling at something.”
“Oh... I was wondering if the weather report was correct.”
“Why shouldn’t it be? The weather has been great the whole week.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Whenever I went there, it always rained, whether it was summer or winter. Bad coincidence, perhaps.”
“So you think it’s going to rain, despite the weather report.”
“That’s been my experience.”
She gave me a puzzled look. Trying to lighten the atmosphere I said, “Have you ever watched the Pink Panther cartoons?”
Still looking puzzled, she nodded.
“In one episode, a single cloud chases him, raining on him wherever he goes,” I offered.
With a soft laugh, she retorted, “So you think you’re the Pink Panther?”
“I don’t know about that, but that’s what popped up in my mind when I was listening to the weather report.”
That got her laughing more.
“You’re funny, Mitch. You as Pink Panther, and a cloud chasing you, raining over you...”
She started to laugh again, making me smile at the image as well, but that didn’t stop my thoughts from going back to the past again.
Well, that’s not true, is it? You always wondered if Reina knew you were in town. Wasn’t it why you thought you always brought the rains with you whenever you visited?
I used to visit this city and my relatives quite frequently, and I had very good memories: the few weeks during the summer with my grandparents when I was younger, and being spoiled rotten by my grandmother. Grams loved Mom very much, and somehow Mom allowed her to spoil us, even though she was very strict with us, and didn’t allow anybody else to spoil us—but then, Grams wasn’t just anybody. Sometimes, Mom jokingly complained to Grams about having a difficult time repairing the damage when we would return home. Grams used to tease her by telling her that was the job description of all grandparents. Their house had been a second home for us, when they were alive. Then, there were the times when I visited my other relatives.
After the break up with Reina a few years ago, I had rarely visited the city, because in some inexplicable way it had become Reina’s city. I used to love that city, having fallen in love with it at a very early age, perhaps because of the grand time I had with my grandparents. But after Reina, I felt like a stranger there. Wherever I looked I found something that disturbed me: the poor and homeless people on the streets, the hard neon lights at night time, cold and indifferent as some of the folks, and the grim faces of people be them rich or poor, as if all their dreams were shattered, as if their souls were being sucked bit by bit by something hidden. After a few visits, I began to call it ‘city of lost souls’.
Did I call it that because Reina was a lost soul or I thought she had become a lost soul?
I didn’t have an answer, but seeing all the other things about this city somehow reminded me of Reina. It used to be my city, my second home, even after my grandparents passed away, but in the last few years, it became Reina’s city. There were particular places I used to go, and I knew, at the back of my mind, I was hoping to come across her by chance during my forays there; the kind of places she would visit. Perhaps, it was another reason why I rarely visited this city, and kept my visits short. Finding a certain comfort in being closer to her in some ways without looking for her, or seeing her. Breathing the same air she was breathing, and walking the streets she might have walked through, smelling the same smells, but especially, listening to the heartbeat of a city that was so unique and different from other places; a heartbeat that I was very much familiar with, for it resonated with something deep inside me. It was a place that I used to know very well, and used to feel comfortable with, but also a place that kept pushing me away. Now, I was going there again, this time to visit Dana. The thought partially helped ease the momentary disquiet I was having, and I tried concentrate on the road. However, I couldn’t shake away myriad thoughts that seemed to crowd in.
Is that why I worry about my beach? Is that why I never tried to find out if it was really there for me?
Is there a place for me... somewhere... a home of some sorts?
My thoughts drifted to what Pops had said a year ago, about ‘home’: “Your place is where a home is, where your heart is. And I see that your heart isn’t in this place.”
Had he been right? I suspected my heart wasn’t really in that place, but despite everything, I knew I liked something about it. Sure, it wasn’t home; it had never been from the start. But, I also appreciated certain aspects of it. When I was in one of my contemplative moods, and went looking for the inherent but hidden beauty of that stark landscape, it wasn’t difficult to see. Yet, it wasn’t the kind of beauty I liked. Perhaps, in my subconscious, I felt like I was looking at a mirror, and watching the barren landscape inside me. Besides all that, there was the work. I loved my work. Perhaps that made it also easier to shut my eyes to my surroundings, or filter in what I saw. Still, I had mixed feelings about that place, and I needed to seek more answers.
Where’s my heart, then... where’s my home?
Is that why I love the roads, and enjoy traveling?
As my mind went over the questions, I could feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I thought about my travels, and places I visited, but I’ve never felt a bond to any single place, except... except that beach, my beach. But in the last several years, I even stayed away from my beach.
Was I scared of what I would find there? Or was I scared of memories?
I don’t even have a place of my own. I haven’t settled in any place, and I doubt I’m ready to settle somewhere, yet.
I knew I hadn’t found a place of my own, but beyond that, I wasn’t really sure if I would settle down in any single place. I didn’t know if I was scared of commitment, or if it was because of the emptiness inside me. Perhaps, traveling with Dana might help me find some answers to those questions, and I was looking forward to being with her. On the other hand, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, after that. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to return with her and stay at her place, when she would be working. I lit a cigarette, and put in a Gipsy Kings tape, hoping the lively music would help distract me from the questions I didn’t have the answers to.
Sarah had made some good time, covering more than half the distance when she was driving, and the traffic had been light. But, as we got closer to the city, the road got crowded. When I hit the ring around the city, it was slow driving. By then it started to drizzle. Sarah was dozing on and off, and she woke up to the squeaking of the wipers. When she realized it was raining, she straightened her seat and sat up, before giving me a long look.
“Tell me this is a joke.”
“It’s a joke,” I replied, getting an annoyed look, before she hit my arm.
“It’s not funny.”
“What can I say? You have Pink Panther as your boyfriend,” I replied, and that got a laugh as I intended.
However, it was short lived, and gave way to a confused expression. “This is a weird coincidence,” she mumbled softly, and I could see her mind was away, wondering...
“It’s end of October, almost November, Sarah. What did you expect? It’s that time of the year, and the weatherman is rarely correct,” I said, trying to take her mind off... and convince myself at the same time, despite what I felt I knew.
Then, we hit the bridge, and a long queue.
“Maybe we should have taken the ferry instead of crossing the bridge,” I mumbled, absentmindedly, as we made slow progress.
I could see a big tanker and a few of other ships loaded with containers passing beneath us, and the lights of the slow moving traffic along the shores, on both sides of the channel. I didn’t want to wait for a ferry, and then drive around to get on the road to the airport. After the bridge, there was an exit that led all the way to the outskirts of the town, toward the airport. I could see a long queue after the tollbooths. Luckily, we weren’t stuck too long, and once we cleared the bridge I took the exit to the airport. After twenty minutes of driving, I located the junction that would take us to where Dana lived—just before the airport—and we arrived at our destination. I parked the car on the street, next to the curb, opposite to her apartment.
Getting out of the car, I scanned the windows of the apartment building, quickly, trying to catch sight of Dana or somebody who might be looking out the windows. Sarah also stepped out of the car, and following my gaze, she did the same, but we couldn’t see any faces on any of the well-lit windows. I opened the trunk, took out our suitcases, and other belongings—with Sarah helping me by taking the lighter stuff from the backseat. I locked the car and we walked to the building. We saw Dana standing behind the open door of the building. She told us she had seen us from her window, and hurried down the stairs, while I was unloading our suitcases and belongings. After the hugs and kisses, she directed us to the elevator, and a short ride later, we were standing in front of her flat.
* * * * *
Dana led us to the spare room, and I took the suitcases. She helped us with our clothes that needed to be hung; I had only my suit, and Sarah had her evening gown. Then Sarah and I took turns refreshing ourselves in the bathroom, before we went to the living room to relax, over a glass of wine and some appetizers. We talked about the drive while sipping our wine. Sarah told the story of us being stopped by the police. The chime of a timer—the oven—interrupted our talk, and we all went to the dining room.
The dinner was great, and the atmosphere was homey. Taking a moment to reflect, I was surprised to see how comfortable and relaxed all of us were, as if we had done this a thousand times before. We did the clean up all together, with Dana washing, me drying, and Sarah placing them in the cupboard. Then we were back in the living room, talking, before Dana gave us the ‘nickel tour’ at Sarah’s insistence.
It was a two bedroom flat, almost like Kathy’s, but bigger; the kitchen was separate. The master bedroom was spacious with a big built-in wardrobe, its sliding doors had floor to ceiling mirrors, making the room seem larger than it was. She had a king sized bed opposite to the wardrobe, and a vanity table against the wall next to the window. When she saw me giving her a quizzical look about the size of the bed, she told me that she was a space hog in the bed. The spare bedroom was small, with a double bed, and a small vanity table. The bathroom had a tub and a shower, as I had seen from my visit. Her living room was big, L-shaped, and warmly decorated, the smaller section serving as the dining room. The bigger section served as the formal room, den, and entertainment center. She had one of those modular design bookshelves against one of the walls that spanned the whole width of it. The middle portion of it housed the TV, and the stereo. Some of the shelves contained CDs and cassette tapes, and the rest of the shelves were filled with books, and souvenirs. A closer look at the souvenirs revealed various items from different places.
Seeing me eye some of the little crystal items with intricate designs inside them, she told me she bought them in Prague, from Bohemia Crystal Works. There were also Chinese porcelain cups and plates, some beer and coffee mugs from various cities, little wind mills which I guessed were from Holland, various masks from places whose origins I couldn’t even take a guess at, and some dolls. Among the dolls, a pair of Geisha and Samurai dolls in their traditional dresses stood out because of their intricate detail. Sarah was fascinated by the pair. Before I could stop her, she reached to the little Samurai doll. A sharp warning from Dana stopped her, and I caught a hurt expression on her face.
“Sarah, you would have a nasty cut with that sword,” I said quickly, pointing at the small replica of a katana the Samurai doll was holding in his hand. “These dolls are very intricate in their details, but as with many Japanese things, the attention to detail goes further. That little sword is most probably very sharp, like an original Japanese sword is supposed to be.”
Her eyes widened at my explanation, and she turned back to Dana, who nodded in confirmation. With an apologetic smile Dana said, “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I cut my finger when I was unpacking it, and I didn’t even feel it, until I saw the blood dripping.”
“I... I didn’t realize it,” Sarah stammered, a bit embarrassed, but Dana was quick to ease her disquiet.
“It’s all right, Sarah. They are quite beautiful, and irresistible. You can’t help but want to touch to see if they are alive. It’s not the first time a visitor has seen them, and wanted to touch them. I should put them in a glass box or put a small card with a warning, but...”
“But they wouldn’t look so alive, if you did that,” I completed, getting a nod.
“I agree. They are too beautiful to put in a glass box,” Sarah said getting over her embarrassment, and still enraptured by the dolls.
“How did you know about the sword?” Dana asked.
“I have an interest in Japanese culture, and I know they take their time when they do things, and pay extra attention to detail. It’s a Zen thing,” I replied.
“Ah, yes, of course. That explains your interest in Buddhism,” she said. It wasn’t phrased as a question or a comment; more like she was talking to herself, remembering the dinner last night.
Curious about the other items, Sarah asked about the origins of some of them, and Dana explained from which country or continent they were from. It was obvious she had been to many different countries. We returned to our seats, and Dana put on some music. She asked if we would like to go out, reminding us it was Saturday and almost all the places would be open till the early hours of morning. Sarah replied it was cozier to be at home together with her, and received an appreciative smile from her, while I nodded my agreement.
“Let’s get comfortable,” Dana said, pulling Sarah to her feet, and took her to her bedroom.
A few minutes later they reappeared, dressed only in their panties, and long shirts. The sight was more than agreeable, and I quipped, “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
“It’s quite warm and we wanted to be comfortable. Consider us as eye candy,” Dana answered with a teasing smile.
“Umm... I wouldn’t call either of you eye candy. You’re much more beautiful than eye candy, but I sure would like to have some candy,” I retorted.
“Candy is not good for you,” Dana responded with a smirk. “But you might get some dessert if you’re a good boy.”
I tried to pout like a kid whose best toy was taken away from him, but neither relented. They sat opposite to me, on the big couch, pulling their knees under them, giving me a good view of their smooth legs, creamy thighs, and white panties. I tried to take my mind off the scene, and remembered I needed to make a phone call to Tim at the rig.
“Dana, I almost forgot. I need to call my counterpart at the rig. May I use your phone?”
“Of course, Mitch, but isn’t it a bit late?”
“No, not really. He stays up. The work never ends on a rig.”
The radioman answered the phone, and patched me to Tim. After the pleasantries, I asked him why he called. As I had suspected he wanted to shift the schedules.
“I’m sorry, Tim. This year, I have plans,” I replied.
“But you never took off during the holiday season,” he blurted in surprise.
“I know. Things have changed,” I said.
After a momentary silence, he muttered, “Damn! I was counting on you, to be with the kids.”
I wondered if he was trying to make me feel guilty by keeping him from his family. Since I had to rely on his tone of his voice, I couldn’t decipher what was running in his mind. Despite my misgivings at correctly reading him, I couldn’t help myself but feel some resentment at the implication. If I had to be honest with myself, and put myself in his shoes, I knew I couldn’t hold it against him. Everybody, including him, knew I didn’t celebrate Christmas at all, even on the rig, when the crew had some kind of simple celebration going on—with a limited amount of beer or wine for the off-shift personnel, if circumstances allowed, and soft drinks for everybody else, and some great food.
“I’m sorry, Tim. You know I would like to accommodate you, but unfortunately, this year I really can’t,” I replied, politely, hoping he wouldn’t insist, because I had accommodated him before.
“It’s OK, Mitch,” he said, but from his tone, I sensed he was very much disappointed, and my resentment flared again.
Collecting myself I asked, “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. That’s what I wanted to check with you. I guess I should have discussed it earlier,” he replied with a resigned but hopeful tone, as if he was wishing I might reconsider.
“I’m not sure, Tim. Arrangements were made, and I never gave a thought since I would be off duty. I’m sorry. Perhaps next time,” I replied.
“Thanks, Mitch. Enjoy your vacation,” he said, this time with a neutral tone.
“Thank you. And, please extend my apologies to your family,” I replied politely, trying to ignore my resentment.
Finally, he must have collected himself, because he said, “I appreciate the thought, Mitch. I hope you and your family have a good holiday season. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks time.”
“Thank you, Tim. See you then, and take care.”
Dana and Sarah must have been listening to my side of the conversation, because as soon as I took my seat, Dana asked, “That wasn’t work related, was it?”
“Nope. He wanted to shift schedules, so he could be with his family during the holiday season.”
“I see. Is that why you asked about Christmas last night?”
“Yeah. When I heard Tim had called, I guessed he might want to shift schedules, but this year I didn’t want to change my schedule.”
She smiled, then said, “I understand. You looked irritated. Did he say something?”
With a shrug, I said, “Well he was kinda counting on me. I’m not sure, but I think he was trying to make me feel guilty; he mentioned his kids missing him this year. He knows I’m not much on celebrations or special occasions like Christmas or New Year, and I guess it must have come as a surprise.”
“But...” she prompted.
“Well, I’ve accommodated him before, when our schedules didn’t allow him to be away. Usually counterparts take turns each year, and he didn’t miss a single holiday season in the last several years.”
“And now, he didn’t even give a consideration to what you might want to do with your family?” she asked.
“He doesn’t know much about my family or me, in that respect. But, that’s besides the point. In the end, I think he realized it wasn’t fair of him.”
“Is that why you let him off gently?” she asked.
Sarah’s eyebrow went up when she heard the question, but she didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t think I was being especially hard or gentle on him,” I replied, a bit defensively.
With a soft smile, she said, “No, you weren’t. People are usually selfish. You’ve been considerate and patient with him, but he didn’t return it. Yet, you still managed to end it on a good note. I know that there’s a caring, gentle person behind those walls, but seeing it in action was something else.”
I wasn’t sure if I was coloring up after her comment, but Dana’s next words left no doubt. Turning to Sarah, she said, “I think I embarrassed him. Let’s see what we can do about it.”
She stood up, and walked to me, and leaning in, kissed me. Then pulling me to my feet, she directed me to the couch, and we sat, with me sandwiched between the two girls. Turning her gaze to Sarah, she said, “It’s quite warm here, isn’t it?” playing with the buttons of her shirt.
Taking the hint, Sarah smiled, and nodded, while starting to undo the buttons of her shirt, with Dana doing the same. They didn’t take off their shirts, but the tantalizing view of their tits were much more exciting. However, they didn’t tease me further, and both nestled to my sides. They discussed what to do tomorrow, and decided on some shopping. When their conversation ended, Dana asked if we would like to catch a movie on the TV. When everybody agreed, she turned off the stereo, and put on the TV, channel surfing, until she came across a movie. It looked like some kind of a historical/action movie in the medieval times with riders and swords, and such. I didn’t think the girls would be interested in that kind of movie. Before she switched to another channel, the scene changed to modern day New York, confusing us all.
Curious, I asked, “What’s the name of the movie?”
Dana reached for a magazine—the program listing—and after a quick scan she said, “Highlander.” Then, she exclaimed, “Oh! Sean Connery is playing.”
“You like him?”
She nodded with a soft smile and her eyes were still on the program guide. “The other actor is Christopher Lambert.”
This time, Sarah commented, “Sean Connery is sexy, but I like Christopher Lambert better.”
When I gave a quizzical look, she replied, “He has an expressive and interesting face.”
“Yes, they are both handsome and sexy,” Dana commented.
With unspoken agreement, the decision was made. Dana went to the kitchen, and returned with a bottle of wine, and a plate with cheese and crackers. At some point in the movie, we heard the Queen song One Year of Love playing. Dana and I exchanged a look, remembering how we had made love in the hotel; ‘making our moment’ she had said at the time.
“Now, I remember,” Dana said quietly, squeezing my arm. “I’ve seen this movie or parts of it before, and I know the song from this movie.”
A while later, we noticed Sarah was yawning, and she looked sleepy. She smiled apologetically, and said, “I’m sorry. I must be really tired.”
“Sarah, honey. Why don’t you go and get some rest? You had a long day,” Dana said.
“Yes, it was. I didn’t want to be a bore,” Sarah stated.
“It’s all right, honey. We’ll join you in the bed, later.”
“I can take the spare bedroom,” Sarah replied, hesitantly.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you,” Dana insisted, drawing a shy smile from Sarah. When Sarah said she wanted to take a shower, Dana stood up. “Let me get you towels.”
A few minutes later, she returned with a big towel on her arm, and put it aside on the couch. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she said, “I want to christen the couch.”
“Oh! I thought it was a hint for me to go and take a shower,” I replied, and exaggeratedly sniffed my arm-pit.
She shook her head with an amused expression on her face, then settled down on the couch next to me. Nestling under my arm, she looked up and asked, “Are you OK with this? I didn’t want her sleeping by herself.”
“If it’s OK with you, it’s OK with me, Dana.”
“It’s more than OK with me, Mitch. You should know that by now,” she answered, before locking her lips to mine, and we shared a long and wet kiss.
Sarah came in after her shower. She wasn’t tired enough not to notice the towel on the couch, and I saw the girls exchange a look. With a twinkle in her eyes, she said, “Enjoy the movie.” After a goodnight kiss, she left.
* * * * *
|
|
