The Kiss
“Now what are you
thinking?” He watched as the words
formed on her lips. They were spoken
lightly, almost soundlessly; with just a small amount of, what was it,
seduction? No, more a sense of knowing
than anything else. He so wanted to move
closer, to feel her breath on his skin, the touch of her lips on his. But he stopped himself. He couldn’t.
It just wasn’t right.
Julie and Andrew had been
friends now for close to 4 months. They
were introduced through a mutual friend.
A colleague of his; a member of the same gym for her. The friend, Jane, thought they would hit it
off. Not as lovers but as friends. They were two lonely people living in a city
of lonely people, but Jane saw a commonality between them. The commonality of not being common. Two people in need of, well, a friend.
The three met over drinks and
as the conversation turned to movies, Jane felt herself back away. She was never much of a moviegoer but knew
that these two were. Often one or the
other would mention wanting to see a new movie and planning to go it
alone. Well, she thought, why not go
alone, but with each other.
And there were movies. Dramas for her. Science Fiction for him. Comedies for the two of them. They’d have a light dinner beforehand to
discuss expectations and a nice snack after to discuss in more detail. And to plan for the next. And they dated. Not each other, nope, that wouldn’t do. They had diner dates and beach dates and
museum dates, but never movie dates.
That was reserved for their unique friendship.
Three months, two weeks and
four days after their first movie excursion, an independent love story neither
of them were really in the mood to see but both rather enjoyed, was released on
Blu Ray. They decided they needed to get
a copy and watch it together. A nice remembrance
of their friendship so far.
The date was set for Saturday
night, Andrew’s apartment. It seems he
had the bigger television. Andrew would
cook (he so wanted to just order a pizza but Julie insisted they be more
civil). Julie agreed to bring the
dessert. And to balance the home
cooking, something she made from scratch.
He shopped for all the fixings that go with Linguine with Clam sauce
(which amounted to a box of linguine and a jar of sauce) as well as an Italian
bread, garlic butter and frozen, microwavable Brussels sprouts. She bought vanilla ice cream and box of
chocolate chip cookies. Homemade ice
cream sandwiches were her specialty.
Saturday night arrived. Andrew got to his cooking and loaded the disc
into the player while the pasta boiled.
As he watched the trailer for the movie (he wanted to make sure
everything was in working order) he felt compelled to put a candle out on the
coffee table in the den. Seemed to fit the mood of the movie and the
evening. There was a sudden twinge in
his gut. Where did his mind just
go? No time to think about it as the
kitchen timer buzzed. The pasta was
ready and Julie would be there soon. He
lit the candle, almost mindlessly, and moved into the kitchen to finish
preparing dinner.
Julie had made the ice cream
sandwiches the night before. She wanted
to make sure they were fully frozen for the trip to Andrew’s apartment. What to wear, there was the question. She was usually quite casual on their movie
dates. Dates? Was that really the right word? They were more like movie club meetings given
all the discussion before and afterward.
Julie actually joked once that she felt like they were in a sort of book
club but without the wine and they actually see the movies. Tonight was a bit different. She had been to Andrew’s apartment
before. Mostly to watch some old movie
that hadn’t been in movie theatres since before the Home Video market. Usually when it had its “re-mastered” release
on Blu ray. She’d wear jeans and a
sweatshirt and they’d down a few bowls of popcorn (air popped, not microwaved,
they were at the movies for heaven’s sake) with sparkling water or, on some
very rare occasions, a beer.
But tonight seemed to be
different. They were having dinner. Well, they’d had dinner before but always at
a restaurant before or after a film. It
was a celebration of sorts. Their first
really. In the few months they’d known
each other neither had had a birthday nor were there any major holidays. So this was, in a sense, a first for
them. She felt an odd twinge in her
stomach as she took off the jeans she had been wearing and went to her closet
for something different. Twenty minutes,
and three outfits later, she thought she was ready to go. She had chosen a pair of black cotton pants
and a button down blouse decorated in a pink and green floral pattern. She decided to forgo the flat leather sandals
she normally wore for a pair of black open strappy heels. She liked these especially as they showed off
the pedicure she had gotten that morning.
She checked herself in the mirror for what seemed like the tenth
time. She fluffed her hair and adjusted
her blouse over her shoulders. She
unbuttoned the third button, opened the shirt a bit more, tilted her head to
see herself, and then re-buttoned the third button. She frowned, considered changing her blouse
again, looked at the the time and thought better of it. If she left right now she would only be 10
minutes late. She turned from the mirror
to stare at her phone. She considered
calling but opted to wait as she turned back to the mirror, leaned forward and gritted
her teeth in a strange grimace of a smile to assure she had no lipstick on them. Though there was none she rubbed her teeth
with her right index finger and then ran her tongue across them. “Oh what the hell, time to go.” She spoke the words aloud to no one in
particular.
While the linguine drained in
the colander and the clam sauce warmed on the stove, Andrew placed the plastic package
of Brussels sprouts in the microwave. As
he was setting the timer for the necessary 7 minutes, the phone rang.
“Hey there,” Julie’s voice
was unmistakable. “I’m running a few minutes late. Sorry about that. Did you want me to stop and,” she paused,
considering what she was going to ask, “Uhm, pick up a bottle of wine on my way
over?” She rushed the words to get them out. Why was she suddenly feeling uncomfortable?
Andrew smiled and his
expression cam through the phone. “No,
that’s okay. I’ve actually got a bottle
of ‘White Zinfandel chillin’ on some ice right now.’” They both laughed. It was a line from the movie they were about
to see. He said it in the same faked
southern accent the male lead of the movie faked when he delivered it in the
movie. “Seriously, though,” his voice
softened almost unnoticeably, “I did get a bottle just for this occasion.” He felt a warmth in his cheeks.
“Okay, great! I’m on my way.”
On her way, that gives me
about 10 more minutes. He set the
microwave and turned down the already low flame under the pot of sauce. He made his way to the den to check on the
place settings he had arranged on the coffee table. Where normally they would rest their feet,
there were two placemats. Each in the
shape and design of a movie clapboard.
He had picked these up years ago at a rundown souvenir shop he found
while making his first pilgrimage to Hollywood.
They had remained in a box in the back of his closet, waiting for just
the right moment. A fork, a knife, a
spoon and a wine glass completed the settings.
In the middle of the table sat the candle, just starting to burn down,
and a bucket of ice with an open bottle of wine, wrapped in a towel. The table looked fine. He moved on to the bedroom and especially the
floor length mirror to check himself out.
He had already decided khaki
pants instead of the jeans and a Hawaiian shirt of mostly blues. Earlier that evening he replaced his sneakers
with a more comfortable and slightly better looking pair of off white canvas
shoes, no socks. He breathed into his
hand to check his breath. Just a slight
minty scent from the mouthwash he swished and rinsed three times about an hour
ago. He looked at himself again. Checked and found his zipper was up. Leaned
in and smiled to make sure nothing was on or between his teeth. He picked up a brush from the end table next
to his bed and ran it through his recently groomed hair. He smelled under his arms. Though there was no noticeable odor he went
to the bathroom, which was adjacent to the bedroom, and reapplied deodorant,
sprayed cologne in the air in front of him and walked through it.
The microwave buzzer went
off. He rinsed his hands in the sink and
then returned to the kitchen, looking over the den once again as he passed
through. Everything seemed in
order. His stomach twinged again. Why was he feeling nervous?
He opened the microwave,
almost burned his fingers attempting to pick up the bag of Brussels sprouts and
dropped it on the floor. This, he
realized, is why they suggest waiting 90 seconds before opening the bag. He grabbed a towel off the counter and picked
up the bag which had fortunately not been damaged. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and
was greeted with just enough steam to fog his glasses. As they cleared he saw the sauce, slightly
bubbling. He replaced the lid and turned
the burner off. He reached up to the
cabinet above the counter and removed two plates, placing them on the
counter. He thought back to when he first
saw the apartment and his reaction to the kitchen. What would possess someone to take the doors
off the cabinets (all were open air except for the floor to ceiling pantry)? After living with it for less than a week he
was more impressed than anything else by the design. He took down a bowl and proceeded to empty
the contents of the bag of Brussels sprouts into it. As usual with these things, it seemed to him
that there wasn’t enough for the two f them but he figured they could make
do. As he was taking the butter out of
the refrigerator, the doorbell rang. He
placed the butter next to the Italian bread he had sliced earlier and left on
the wooden chopping board. He wiped his
hands with a towel as he called toward the door, “Give me a second. Be right there.” He checked his zipper again and scanned the
den one more time as he headed to the door.
“Wow!” Andrew couldn’t have stopped the word from
leaving his lips if he tried. He had
never seen Julie looking like this, not even when they first met. He, without thinking of what he was doing,
let his eyes scan her from the top of her head to the tips of her red polished
toes. And then back up again.
“Uhm, excuse me,” Julie
wasn’t sure how to react. She held the
faux Tupperware container out to hand to him.
“You wanna take this? It’s cold.”
This broke his trance,
barely. “Sure.” He took it from
her. It was colder than he originally
thought and he almost lost his grip.
“Does this need to go in the freezer?
Not sure I can fit this whole thing.”
“No, it’ll be fine for at
least the next 45 minutes or so. You may
want to put it in the refrigerator if you have room.” She walked past him as he stood seemingly
cemented to the spot, only turning his head to follow her. “Oh, I love the placemats.”
This brought him back to the
moment. “Thanks,” he said as he closed
the door and headed to the kitchen,” I got them on my first trip to
Hollywood. Some sleazy souvenir place. Got them and a set of glasses with a picture
of the Chinese Theatre on them. Which
broke in my luggage before I got home.”
This last a bit under his breath with just a hint of anger.
“I didn’t know you’ve been to
Hollywood.” She seemed impressed.
“Yep, three times.” This a bit louder as he had his head in the
refrigerator trying to find a place for the dessert.
“Wow, that’s pretty
cool. I’ve always wanted to go. What’s it like?” The refrigerator door closed.
“Much nicer the last two
times. The first time I was there it was
kinda dirty but they’ve done a bunch to clean it up. Please, sit down.” She had been standing, bending slightly over
the table and examining its contents.
She sat on the couch that faced the TV and reached toward the wine
bottle.
“You really did go all
out.” She turned the bottle to read the
label. “’White Zinfandel’” she quoted,
raising her voice and taking on a slightly southern accent, “’I do not
understand why they don’t call it pink’” she covered her mouth and giggled to
herself, imitating the female lead.
Andrew smiled as he sat down on the loveseat perpendicular to the couch
Julie occupied.
“Shall I pour?” He took the bottle from Julie’s hand. Their fingers touched for a brief
second. Butterflies attacked his stomach
as he pulled the bottle away, a bit too quickly. “Uh, sorry,” he said for no apparent reason.
For Julie, it was almost a
shock. The kind you felt as a kid when
you rubbed your feet on the carpet and touched your little sister’s cheek. But there was no static in the air, it was
that brief touch of his skin that sent a quick feel of electricity through
her. He’s sorry? Why would he be sorry? Did he feel that too?
Andrew turned away from her
as he lifted her glass and filled it halfway to the top with the pink
liquid. The wine rippled gently as he
felt his hand shake almost unperceptively.
Without turning to face her, he set down her glass and moved the tip of
the bottle to his glass, still on the table.
He poured without lifting the glass, he could feel his hand shake just a
little more and didn’t want her to notice.
The room was almost disturbingly quiet as he set the bottle down on the
table. The bottom of the bottle settled
on the remote control and the TV came on, “No, that’s okay. I’ve actually got a bottle of ‘White Zinfandel
chillin’ on some ice right now” came through the speakers while the menu screen
appeared. Andrew almost dropped the
bottle between the awkwardness of the remote it nearly rested on and the sudden
break to the silence. He moved the
bottle to a clear space on the table and turned to Julie, who seemed to be
coming out of a daze as the voice from the TV rang through the room. The caught each other’s eyes and both smiled
and began to giggle at the same moment.
The line repeated. He reached for
the remote and muted the TV, still smiling.
The silence had been broken. The
awkwardness seemed to dissipate. He picked
up his glass as he sat back down in the chair next to the couch Julie
occupied. The tremble in his hand was no
more. She looked at him, picked up her
glass, and held it out to him. He
touched his glass to hers. “Cheers,”
they said in unison and she stopped and waited for his usual “and Roebucks” to
complete the toast. As always, he didn’t
disappoint. She smiled, not at the joke
but at the tradition. The glasses parted
and they sipped the wine.
Julie let the wine roll on
her tongue, looked to Andrew with a smile, “So. That’s White Zinfandel.” No comment about the color; no southern
accent.
Two hours and 15 minutes
later the table was laden with dishes and dinnerware and bread crumbs and
little else. They both did a pretty good
job eating their meals and ice cream.
The wine bottle was now empty; upside down and immersed in the cold
water remaining in the bucket. The wine
glasses sat, mostly empty (or should that be barely filled). The candle had burned out leaving the room
lit mostly by the screen of the TV and the kitchen light behind them. After their main meal was competed, Andrew
had moved onto the couch, but made sure that he was a respectable distance from
Julie. The last chords of the music
played as the credits expressed gratitude to a number of people and organizations,
including the Mayor of Barboursville (where ever that might be) and the Governor
of West Virginia (hmm, perhaps a clue).
Andrew reached for the remote. As
he was about to turn the player off, the male lead of the movie appeared on
screen, seemingly shirtless with the female lead in the shadows behind
him. Was she nude? They were in a starkly lit room. His bedroom as we had seen a few times during
the movie? It was hard to tell. Andrew turned to Julie with a puzzled look on
his face.
“I don’t recall a scene after
the credits,” she responded to his unasked question. They both looked back to the screen of the
TV. The woman moved up behind the man,
touching him on the shoulder. He turned to
her, leaned in to kiss her, then turned back to the camera. It seemed he was looking right at Andrew as
he quietly spoke the words, “Go ahead, it’s your turn.” The screen went blank. Andrew and Julie silently stared as the list
of copyright warnings in various languages flashed on the screen. Without making a sound, Andrew pressed the
power button on the remote. It dropped
from his hand to the floor. The light from behind barely illuminated the room.
Julie broke the silence. “How did we miss this the first time? We always sit through the credits.” This last sentence, just a tad
sarcastic. It was Andrew who always
insisted.
“You know what, we didn’t for
this one. I remember we were joking
about how lame and predictable the story was and that these little independent jobbies
never go to the post credit scenes.
Guess we learned a lesson here.”
He smiled as he picked up his glass of wine, swirling the remaining
liquid before swallowing in one sip. As
the wine coursed down his throat, he felt a very slight warmth in his
cheeks. He looked at Julie, who was just
about to finish the last drops of wine in her glass. “What do you think he meant by that?” The words seemed to slur just a little. Had that last bit reawakened the slight
buzzed feeling he had as they watched the movie?
Julie was looking into the
distance. She also felt warm with the
last sip. What was that guy on the
screen telling her? She and Andrew placed
their glasses on the table in an almost synchronized move. The glasses clinked, as in the earlier toast,
as they settled on the table. Julie
looked to Andrew with a smile. It was
supposed to be a that’s-kind-of-funny-the-way-that-happened kind of smile. But there was a bit more warmth in it. A bit more, intimate? Is that the right word? Their eyes met, but held this time. He looked at her. He didn’t know if it was the wine or the
illumination from the kitchen or the last words spoken in the movie, but he saw
Julie as if he had never seen he before.
The curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes. He could sense her nearness. His skin felt a slight tingle. He felt the hairs on his hand arise slightly
and the skin on his arms turn slightly to goose flesh. The room was warm, but there was a chill. A nice chill.
A comfortable chill.
What is he looking at, Julie
thought to herself as their eyes met?
She noticed for the first time that his mostly brown eyes, had small
flecks of hazel in them. Was that a
small, almost imperceptible, scar on the side of his nose? She had always appreciated his smile. The way his lips turned up just the slightest
amount at the corners. How many times
had being greeted by that smile brought her spirits up, not matter how low she felt? The room seemed warm to her. She felt a small knot forming in her stomach. Not from the linguine, the dinner he made was
delicious. Not from the wine.
The moment seemed to last an
eternity. Finally,
“Now what are you
thinking?” He watched as the words
formed on her lips. They were spoken
lightly, almost soundlessly; with just a small amount of, what was it,
seduction? No, more a sense of knowing
than anything else. He so wanted to move
closer, to feel her breath on his skin, the touch of her lips on his. But he stopped himself. He couldn’t.
It just wasn’t right.
