She looks up and sees him. “Don’t stare.” She admonishes as she lowers her head before he notices her gaze. So softly. Even though her head is lowered she can see the man’s pants legs as they approach her booth and looking down she remembers a job she had selling shoes just like his shiny black wing tips. He inhales and breathes his gentle “Hello.” In an almost trance like response she lifts her head and repeats “hello” as he extends his hand. He asks “do you have this tie in blue?” She looks at his hand and the yellow tie coiled around his thick fingers and knows that they don’t have this in the color he wants, but tells him “let me check” anyway. She says to him “I’ll be one minute” and turns to go to the back of the store where it’s more likely that she’ll walk outside and take a quick herb hit and compose herself for whatever comes next. She’s seen him looking at her before and he is careful and not too intrusive. Grabbing her pouch from behind the boxes of men’s dress shirts and lighting her pipe she remembers how her last boyfriend would argue with her after any get together with friends and say “you’re so boring!” Stepping outside now it occurs to her that she thought for a long time that she was boring mostly because he said so. She actually isn’t as boring as he insisted, but merely at a loss for words on some days when there just isn’t enough words for all of the words going through her head at any given time. She is best on her own, but knows that is not the healthiest way to go through life. She thinks of a party where she was sitting in a circle of strangers and how they were all laughing hysterically while she did an impersonation of her favorite comedian. This moment always reminds her that she has something to say when so inspired. Stuffing her pipe back into her pouch and stashing it back in it’s hidden spot she moves through the curtains and takes her place at the tie counter. “I’m sorry. We don’t have this tie in blue, but I’d be happy to show you some other ties that you may like.” He declines telling her “I really liked this one.” He looks sweetly into her eyes so much so that she lightly gasps, but gently lowers her eyes as she blushes. She smiles and nods her head at him. So softly. He turns his back and makes his way out of her department. Then he turns and comes back towards her and asks hopefully “would you like to meet me for coffee?” Her head and stomach signal a sinking spell although she inhales deeply and acts as if he’s said the most wonderful thing she’s ever heard. “I’d like that.” She manages. He says “would you be free tomorrow after 4:00?” Relieved she has all day to prepare for him as this is her day off, she sweetly answers “Yes. I’ll meet you at P.J.’s around the corner.” His eyes are shining now and feeling so much relief that she handled this well she asks “what’s your name?” “Paul.” He answers and then tells her “ I already know yours.” She’s giggling now more out nervous energy than from his charm. “I’m sure you do.” She responds. He leaves smiling like a man who is right with the world.
Later in the evening when she’s had her bath and is sipping her tea, Marigold, her feline counterpart, mangles a feather that is part of a hair clip recently worn at a wedding, while her human types on her computer stories of connections won and lost. She now glances outside her window and Marigold moves to sit in her lap. “I think I met a nice guy today.” She tells her friend this and leans over to kiss her fluffy grey head. As they both look out on the colony of roofs she sees clouds rolling in and can smell that it will rain soon. Grateful that she can sleep in and go at her own pace when the morning comes she turns off her screen and lamp and makes her way to her bedroom. Marigold trots behind. They settle themselves and when the light is off both are in their favorite sleeping positions. She, in the middle of the bed with a pillow clutched to her left side and kitty curled up on the bottom right. It is now that she relaxes and tells herself it’s okay to put it all away for now. She closes her eyes and is lulled by the sound of a horn from a port train and Marigold’s purring. So softly.
There’s a play of light in her view as she rises the next morning. The tree outside is being blown by the wind and with each increment of the sunrise droplets of rain stud the new leaves and when the light play is more than she can bear, she gets up and makes her way to the bathroom. Once she’s dressed she’ll feed the kitty and have her tea. Across town the man is already awake and on his phone taking care of his business. His business is money and land and finance. If she were sitting here listening in on his conversation she would be completely lost, but intrigued nonetheless. He sips matcha from a coffee cup that says “NOLA: It’s a state of mind” and drifts off from talk of buying and selling and with a glance towards the sunlit window over the sink he thinks of the color of her hair and imagines it spilling on top of his chest as she sits on top of him. Then he imagines her leaning down slipping her tongue into his parched and aching mouth. So softy. “What do you think Paul?” His business partner asks. This snaps him back to reality and with nothing more to add he flatly says “I’ll think this over and get back to you soon.” The phone call ends and he looks in his cabinets for something to eat, but he knows better. He never shops and mostly eats in restaurants.
She lives on the top floor which is just fine with her because she’s always disliked living under someone else. If there’s going to be stomping “I want to be the one doing it.” She tells friends this whenever they make fun of her affectionately named “tree house.” Many windows line the walls and there is always a perfect view for her and Marigold. Not one for going out unless she really sees a live music act she couldn’t miss she spends most evenings home looking out on the city she loves, but likes to enjoy from a safe distance. Once she feeds the cat she pulls out her favorite cookbook and decides she’ll make apricot scones for breakfast. She brews her tea and begins measuring flour into a bowl, cutting cold butter and kneading the dough into triangles. Then she puts them onto a parchment lined baking sheet and puts them into the oven. Her tea is ready and she adds milk and sugar to her cup. The scones won’t be ready for a while and she has time to languish over her tea while sitting in her soft chair by the windows facing south. She tells herself she could sit here forever studying the view of the trees lining the Uptown streets. Because these oaks, so tall and mighty, have always been here. She takes comfort in this and that they provide her with more than visual beauty. They represent a victory. She always wanted to live among the oaks in New Orleans. She takes in their forever green and smiles contentedly. It is always a good idea to be still when you need to be. The rain already came in the night and left a sunny sky which she is intent on enjoying. With her it’s little things that make a day special. She scans the area and looks all around seeing UPS trucks darting back and forth on the streets. It’s then that she remembers that she has a date this evening with a mystery man. Even though she’s met him she doesn’t know anything about him, but he seems to know more about her. She figures he asked someone what her name was, but has chosen to remain cool on how he learned it. Let’s see what he says next. She figures if he has enough class to ask around about her then he must really want to see her. So many points this guy has racked up and he doesn’t even know it. Not to mention he’s dreamy and that dark hair and those probing eyes make her feel like a pat of butter melting in a silky bowl of noodles. So softly. She picks out a cheerful yellow dress for the occasion and has to stop because Marigold is on the vanity batting around the flower clip she was going to wear. “You just must want me not accessorize.” She tosses the clip in the trash and quickly reconsiders what she was going to put on top of her head. “How about a hat?” She says to no one. The new cinnamon polka dot hat she found in a Tuesday Morning is lying on a nearby chair. She brushes her red curly tresses, tops her lipstick with another swipe and grabs her purse. It’s almost time!
He found a way to cut out of a really boring and time consuming meeting about financing in the new millennium. Telling his boss that he was meeting with a business associate wasn’t the best lie he could come up, but he was pressed for time. As he crosses the street towards the block where the coffee shop stands he’s suddenly lighter in both step and heart. He thinks of her and decides to say her name out loud just because. So softly. Walking is always a good way to burn off some nervous energy before a date and he hopes no one from work sees him when he’s supposed to be holed up with some business associate instead of going for coffee and maybe more. If he’s lucky enough to charm her senseless. He hopes. With her though, it’s not exactly about trying to make out with her. He mostly enjoys looking at her just be herself. Her style is more tailored than trendy and she’s more of a classic beauty with a voice that is feminine, articulate and comforting in a way that he didn’t expect. He told himself that he’d be happy to just “sit and talk” with her. Laughing he realizes he really does mean that. Being in her presence is good enough. Dodging a rain puddle he walks up to the shop and sees her quietly looking down at her phone. He sees the yellow dress and how it falls neatly across her legs and he’s entranced at how small her hands are holding her cup. He hasn’t noticed her hands before now. Boldly drinking her in for all to see he takes this stolen moment observing her waiting only on him.
To be continued…
So softly..