Blinded (6 page)

A
MAN STANDS OUTSIDE THE OPEN DOOR
looking around without expression. A couple stand nearby smoking and laughing. Jasmine nods at the guy and moves one of the heavy black curtains that rest in front of the doorway. You follow her into muted color and funky vibes.

A bar is thronged with well-dressed bodies and happy faces that pay attention to Jasmine but ignore you. Broad cushioned couches line the wall, and candles make the mood. You pass the crowd and enter through another curtain down a corridor to an open room with romantically lit alcoves. Jasmine has been here before. She leads you into a section snuggled away from the main floor and sinks back into a comfortable couch and motions for you to sit next to her.

“I won’t bite,” she says for the second time.

This is a dream and it’s not happening. It can’t be. You rest on the couch and feel Jasmine shift toward you. The bass throbs and your mind feels dizzy and you know you really need a drink.

What would Lisa think?

You think of the cheesy little saying you’ve seen on wrists and bumper stickers.
What would Jesus do?

Chances are Lisa wouldn’t be happy and Jesus wouldn’t be here.

And you don’t know why you’re thinking of either of them. Why can’t you have a night off not to worry or feel pressure? Why can’t you simply have fun with a strange and beautiful woman knowing nothing is going to happen?

I’m safe and nothing is going to happen
.

The waitress comes and Jasmine orders for you. She’s your guide into this night and you wonder where she’s going to take you.

I’ve never spent time with a woman this attractive
.

She doesn’t seem to mind the silence. You’re immersed in the music, which both relaxes and hypnotizes you. It makes you feel free, just like the alcohol does and will. Perhaps they are the perfect temporary solution for the busyness and emptiness of the working day. It might almost work.

Almost
.

“What do you think of this place?”

“Very funky,” you reply.

The waiter brings you the order of Long Island Iced Teas. Jasmine smiles and takes a sip and squeezes her lips together.

“They make the best Long Islands here.”

You take a sip and taste first the sweetness and then the liquor inside. It’s strong and warms you as it goes down.

“Like it?”

You nod.

“That’ll make you relax a little more.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?”

“About being more relaxed?”

“Your body says more than your mouth can. Your shoulders are tight. The way you rub your hands together and look around as though someone you know might be just around the corner. Your fidgetiness. The way you sometimes brush your eyebrows.”

“So you don’t worry about anything?”

“What’s there to worry about? It’s a Friday night in New York, and I feel great.”

“What about Riley showing up?”

She shakes her head. “He won’t come here.”

Her face glows and her lips look soft and wet and you can’t keep from staring at her. She takes another sip and you follow her example.

“Sometimes seeing the same people gets old, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

“Every now and then I pick a perfect stranger—like you— and decide just to hang out with him.”

“Always a him?”

“Sure. Sometimes. It’s not like I’m picking guys up. It’s just—I don’t know. I have my reasons. My friends say I’m a little too easy-spirited, and sometimes that gets me in trouble. With guys like Riley, you know. But most of the time it’s just fun shaking things up and getting to know someone you never would have met if you didn’t take the initiative.”

“Where would you be if you weren’t here?”

She crosses a leg and moves closer to you. It’s hard to hear so you have to talk in her ear. You smell her perfume, the scent of her hair.

“I’d be here regardless. I love 345.”

“That’s what this place is called? I didn’t see a name on the front.”

For the next few minutes, you get closer and continue to work on your drink and continue to look into her green-blue eyes. The music rolls and the lights seem to dim and you order another drink and watch Jasmine move her lips and laugh. You keep feeling more comfortable and relaxed and uncaring and everything around you is cushioning you.

You no longer look away when you’re lost in Jasmine’s gaze. She can read your mind and you’re okay with her knowing what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face.

“So what about you, Mr. Businessman-on-a-business-trip?”

“What about me?”

“Where would you be?”

You think of the image of being at home with a four-year-old and a two-year-old. Chuck E. Cheese’s doesn’t do candlelight or Long Island Iced Teas. You picture your finished basement that has become the play area with a thousand toys spread out over the plush carpet. Long gone are the nights when you and Lisa could simply curl up on a couch and watch a movie, or maybe do more than that. There are two constant needs that you have to care for, and while their needs are ones you’ll happily oblige, sometimes you forget what it’s like to sit down on a couch by yourself instead of holding Peyton or sitting on top of one of Olivia’s toys.

“Somewhere very far away,” you reply. “So far away, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Reality, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t think about it. Not if you don’t want to. It’s fine by me.”

The DNA of this woman is off, is different, is very unlike that of most of the women you know. You know Lisa’s friends and the women in your small group and at your office and at your church. You see them in the neighborhood and out at dinner with a few couples or at the movies.

You’ve never encountered a woman like Jasmine.

She stares at you, through you. Her smile is replaced with
a deep gaze, seductive and sincere. It scares you with its desire.

“You’re never going to meet someone like me,” she says.

Confident, assured, in control.

Her face is close to yours. And your mind turns and twists and all you can think is one thing.

Okay, so look, Michael. Here’s the deal. If you have a thought, any thought, tonight, tell me. Tell me at that very moment. Okay?

So you tell her exactly what you’re thinking.

“I want to kiss you,” you say.

And an amused smile crosses the lips you want to touch. She doesn’t move away, but she almost seems to watch and wait to see what you’re going to do.

As you’re lost looking at Jasmine, your mind overwhelmed at being around her, you barely notice the man approaching your table.

He slides up on the couch next to you and smiles.

“Having a good time?”

The moment you’re in pops like a floating bubble.

You can smell a shower of cologne and regardless of how it smells you know it’s too much. A white grin gleams at you as his hand moves your glass. You notice the pinky ring, then the necklace, then his large, glistening watch. He’s not a big guy, whoever this is. But his glance doesn’t waver as he looks at you and waits for a response. You look over to Jasmine to see if she recognizes him.

“Not tonight,” is all she says.

“Not tonight? Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Another man, this one with shoulders that take up half the wall and a military buzz cut, sits next to Jasmine.

“What do you want?”

The guy next to you is the one doing the talking, the one that Jasmine talks to. He ignores you and looks at her. His voice is loud and can be heard clearly over the music. His hair is slicked back and greasy looking.

“We have some unfinished business.”

“It’s never finished with you,” Jasmine says, unrattled by the men surrounding you.

“It can always be finished with me.”

“Not tonight,” Jasmine says.

“What’s your story?” he asks you.

“No story here.”

“Maybe this friendly soul can help you out.”

“Clark—” Jasmine says.

“Tell me, you know this young lady?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” you say.

Amazing how a little liquor can inject bravado into your spirit.

He puts a finger in your face. “Everything is my business when I want it to be.”

“Can this wait?” Jasmine asks.

“I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“But tonight?”

“The habits of rich New York kids never stop. Tonight’s as good a night as any.”

“Maybe she wants some space,” you say.

He looks at you and puts an arm around you.

“Who the hell are you?”

“A friend.”

He nods. “Shreve has lots of friends.”

You wonder if Shreve is her last name. You try not to react.

“The problem is, Shreve has
too many
friends. Too many places to go. Too many things to do. Too many opportunities to slip away. Don’t you?”

“Let’s go outside,” Jasmine says.

“Really?”

She glares at the man she called Clark. “Yeah, really. Tell steroids here to move over.”

You’re about to say something when Jasmine grabs your hand. “I’m fine. I’m sorry—let me just talk with them for a few minutes.”

“You sure?”

She nods and squeezes your leg to calm you down.

The heavy next to Jasmine stands up, and she and the man next to you walk away.

“I’ll be right back. Swear.”

You nod.

“Why don’t you stay in here and order another drink?” Clark says.

Jasmine glances at you, and you see the tough, fearless look on her face has vanished. She looks like she’s about to say something else, then she turns. The guys follow her through the curtain and away.

You eat the ice in your drink and when the waiter comes by you decide why not and order another.

Midnight is closing in and you’re more awake than you were six hours ago and you relax on the comfortable sofa and watch the crowd around you and you feel like a different man.

There are pressures that await you that you don’t want to think about. The family suburban house dog mortgage bills friends family church whole ball of wax.

You just want a little breathing room. Right now, on this sofa, in this dimly lit room packed with strangers, syncopated beats bouncing off you, your head warm and relaxed, you want to simply enjoy this. Jasmine will come back and will sit next to you and whisper in your ear and you’ll enjoy glancing at those eyes and those lips and that smile and the long blonde hair and you’ll think you’re a different person living a different life without the heaviness and you’ll enjoy it just for a moment.

Just for one moment. That’s all you want.

So you wait for Jasmine to return.

And wait.

And wait.

Y
OU PRESS
4
ON YOUR CELL PHONE
and get your voice mail at work. You check it all the time and now that you’re waiting here you decide why not.

You have one new message. From your mother.

“Michael, I was wondering if you could come over and take care of Whisper for the weekend. I’m going to be taking a business trip to California for a few days. Can you give me a call, please?”

You have to laugh. In fact, you laugh so hard your side hurts.

Sometimes all you can do is laugh. Laugh or cry, as they say.

Whisper is your mother’s cat that died about ten years ago. Your mother hasn’t worked in at least twenty years.

The Alzheimer’s is doing a number on her.

You are used to getting voice mails like this. Or calls out of the blue. They used to freak you out before you understood what was going on. Sometimes it would make you deeply sad. But now, the only way of dealing with it and moving on is to laugh.

Dear Mom
.

You’d like to think that your prayers for your mother could be answered. But now you just pray that she keeps herself out of trouble and harm’s way and that the disease moves as slowly as possible.

But the writing is on the wall. You know it. Prayers aren’t going to help.

Mom has always cheered you up. And even now, without intending to, she manages to make you smile.

You save the message because you’ll want to play it again sometime when you’re having a bad day.