The room was still alive with him. His scent lingered on the snowy pillows. She rubbed her nose breathing in lung-full of his existence. Like a stray shower he had come, stayed a while and gone. She did not know when he would return again. She would just wait in luxurious patience awaiting that phone call, which would intimate her of his arrival. She settled in deeper on the soft mattress willing the world to ignore her just for that moment longer. In that moment she met him all over again.
‘Do you work here?’ he asked as she helped him out of his coat. She smiled regally and bowed her head in acknowledgement. She stood at a respectable distance as his business partner was being made comfortable by yet another stewardess. He didn’t look at her, but he could still see her. Somehow she did not belong here. It was not the colour of her skin or anything as such. It was her bearing. She stood tall and proud, with a slight hint of haughtiness, her black eyes tinged with the silent humour which the royal family reserve for meaningless social occasions. She looked more like she owned the place, yet she was dressed as a stewardess. She disturbed him.
All throughout dinner, his mind kept straying towards her. He admired the straightness of her back, the rigidity of her spine, the way in which she spoke softly but surely. The all time rich and horny party also treated her with a difference. When they passed a cheap joke she just looked down her elegant nose and smiled. It was a smile which could freeze desert rains in the midst of summers. Conversation dwindled to gulps. She was like a princess who had forgotten she belonged to some faraway kingdom.
“You are happily married buddy,” his business partner reminded him with wicked glee. He just gave an uncomfortable laugh and proceeded to conclude the dinner. But she stayed with him long into the wee hours of the night. He couldn’t get her off his mind. He felt haunted by this princess from nowhere. He looked towards the other end of the bed. His wife was already filling the distance in their loveless marriage with downy cushions. But he had been loyal to her. Twenty years of loyalty to a marriage which had reaped neither satisfaction nor joy, but he had done it. But somehow tonight as he thought of the princess, the emptiness of his marriage felt like a noose around his neck. Not tight enough to choke him, but heavy on his shoulders, reminding him of a fatal end.
The morning was gray and rainy. He stood in the foyer of his elegant office awaiting the arrival of business minded associates who would wake this space up to greet a corporate world. He was staring quite aimlessly outside the glass door when he saw her again. She was dressed in the same clothes as last night. She had hurried under the shelter of the canopy outside his door to wait the rain out.
The winds blew torrents of rain towards her, the canopy a useless barrier against this horizontal onslaught. She turned slightly allowing the side of her body to bear the brunt of the drench, shielding her face with the width of her elegant palms. The blowing winds moulded her skirt to her thighs, highlighting the length of her slender long legs. The white blouse, now wet from the rain, did little to disguise the outlines of her lacey bra as they pushed through the thin cotton barriers. She must be getting wet, he thought. The picture his mind conjured of water from her soaking skirts running down the length of her legs made him almost groan out loud in the agony of submerged lust. Not quite knowing why, he had invited her in…
He had a wife. She could not be his wife. She was not sure he even loved her. But in the throes of passion, when their bodies met and he seemed to crave for more, even heavens would not be able to convince her that they were not meant to be.
He stood at the door watching her snuggle further into a comfortable position. The swell of her naked breasts evident under the thin satin of the sheet. She was lying lustrously naked beneath it. She was his. This princess from nowhere. It gave him a sense of power which defied logic. Yet, it humbled him to be owned in return. Ironical that the woman he had come to love, should be called his mistress and the woman towards whom he felt nothing other than a sense of financial responsibility should be called his wife.