The Kiss -- completed (?)

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.