Short Story: The Encounter-Part II

 This story has been divided into three parts due to its length. If you are reading this part as a solo hub please begin with Part I.  Thank you. 

As smoothly as he maneuvered himself between her and the man she stood beside, he slid the gold band off his finger, dropping it deep into the pocket of his gray dress slacks, and pressing his body subtly against hers at the crowded bar, flashed her his most engaging smile. What he would converse to her about was of no consequence. His talent was to listen and focus on her interests.

He knew the drill well: keep it casual and light initially, then switch to deeper concerns, whatever she was passionate about. From that point it would be a game of chance, (odds in his favor), that she would be putty in his hands.

“Let me guess,” he initiated, touching his temple with his eyes slightly closed, “white wine, probably something along the lines of a chardonnay.”

Her shy smile made his heart soar, and she softly replied, with a slight shake of her head. This caused the golden curls to tumble over each other. He had a sudden urge to thrust his hands into the thick mass and slowly follow each coiled tendril to its end. He enjoyed the thought and imagined what would be waiting in the future.

It was easy to fantasize about her. The image of their naked bodies--hers a smooth, creamy white and his, darker and heavier, rolling amidst the bed sheets--caused him to quickly suck his breath in to stay in control.

“Actually,” she was saying, “you’re right, I did order wine. But, you’re completely wrong about the type. How did you guess?”

He shrugged, nonchalantly, “you have a charge so I figured you would be drinking something light.”

He had caught her off guard and her confusion delighted him. He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “There aren’t too many young children here--is she your little sister?”

“Oh, Mindy!” she exclaimed as her face lit up with understanding, “no, she’s not my sister.”

One eyebrow went up in a feigned surprise, a movement he had perfected as part of his repertoire, as his hand flew to his chest. “Surely you are not the mother of this darling dancer?”

It always amazed him at how far he would go with his lines. He hadn’t noticed much about the child other than she was an appendage to his point of interest, but most certainly it was not the little girl’s moves on the dance floor that held his attention.

Her laugh came easily then, and he liked how her chin tilted up as she did so, revealing her slender neck.

“No,” she said, “I’m not related to her at all. I’m a tag-a-long. I’m only helping out for the evening.”

She smiled at his perplexed face, “A nanny of sorts, but only in the bare limits of the word.”

“Oh!” he nodded slowly, “I get it. Well, by all means don’t let me hold you up. I’m sure they’re missing you and I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

She smiled again, “I’m not on the clock anymore or I wouldn’t be here having a drink. Our agreement was midnight and I believe that was about half an hour ago.”

Her green eyes made contact with his blue and he lifted his glass.

“Here’s to a night of surprises shared with good company.”

“Cheers.”

She smiled as their glasses clinked sending into the air a familiar ring. He took a swallow and set the glass down hard.

“Now that’s a drink!”

“Oh?” she responded more out of courtesy than curiosity.

“Scotch and water.”

He waited, but there was not the slightest bit of interest coming from her.

“Ever have it?”

She shook her head politely, content with sipping her Merlot.

“Here, try some.”

“No, thanks.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” he cajoled her. “Just take a little sip.”

He rubbed his body against hers ever so slightly and with a wicked little grin said enchantingly, “You just might find that you enjoy something new and different.”

Satisfied that his foot was in the door, he watched smugly as she lifted the glass to her lips. He was a master at manipulation and he knew it. It was an art, after all.

The outcome of her taste made him laugh heartily as he watched her push the glass away quickly, frowning and wrinkling up her nose.

“Ugh!” her body shivered, “How can you drink that? It’s disgusting!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still chuckling, “You’re a good sport. Now it’s your turn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You get to pick a diabolical elixir for me to sample.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh, such innocence,”he thought amused.

“Paybacks,” he replied aloud to her, “Don’t you get into revenge?”

He was not surprised when she shook her head no.

“I don’t drink very much,” he heard her explaining. “But, if I were to make you drink a ‘diabolical elixir’, as you so perfectly called it, it would be Pine-sol.”

“Pine-sol! What are you trying to do, kill me?”

She laughed showing off perfect white teeth, “It’s no different than what you were trying to do to me with that awful drink you gave me.”

“Oh, that’s cruel,” he moaned.

Cocking his head toward the dance floor, he heard the slow beat of the music.

“Come on,” he said grabbing her hand and escorting her to the floor before she could protest, “let me make it up to you.”

It was his ace in the hole and it worked. A dance or two, and a few more cocktails, or vice versa, would have him playing out his final hand.

As their bodies moved in unison across the varnished wood, he leaned into her whispering in her ear, “I don’t want this evening with you to end…care to join me for a nightcap?”

She pushed her body away from him, gazing into his eyes for a long moment.

“I might be persuaded,” she finally said, “as long as it’s not Scotch.”

“Touché,” he laughed heartily, “Scouts honor and it’ll be something you’ll enjoy.”

Gliding her off the dance floor he grabbed her hand and they left together for the short drive to his hotel, making one quick stop at a convenience store for her wine and a package of condoms. It was not the idea of S.T.D.’s that concerned him--he was careful to select his partners well. He preferred to go ‘au naturel’, but had one unfortunate incident that left him alone and frustrated, foiled after his pick up refused to engage without protection. Since then, he made sure he had a pack on hand.

I created The Encounter from a basic writing exercise. In the attempt to build the character of Jack, the depth of the story unfolded as the psychological makeup of this man’s behavior was revealed. This short story was completed in 2009.

No part of this original short story may be used, copied, or reproduced in any way without the expressed written permission of the author, Denise Handlon