My attention was focused on Jillian and I didn’t bother to look at the two women who took the stools to my right. Suddenly I heard my name.
“Mike? Is that you?”
I turned to see a middle-aged blond next to me and on the other side of her was Chastity, those blue blue eyes wide with surprise. My heart stuttered.
“Chastity?”
She got up, came to me, put her arms around me, and kissed me. Her body had filled out; she was no longer as thin as I remembered. The years had softened her and made her more beautiful.
The blond watched us kiss and said, “I guess you two know each other.” She moved over to let Chastity sit next to me.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“Anne invited me to have a drink. We went to the theater.” She explained that she was a publicist at a hospital in the city and Anne was her boss. “My god, Mike. It’s so good to see you. How long has it been?”
“Eleven years, six months, two weeks, two days, and—what time is it?” I said, checking my wristwatch for effect, “and twelve hours and about ten minutes, give or take.”
She stared at me for a moment and then laughed, a throaty laugh in a voice age had made deeper, lower. It reminded me of the way she used to laugh after good sex. Her long hair was gone, replaced by a medium length wavy style. The years seemed to dissolve and her presence roused my old feelings.
We had a couple of drinks and caught up with what we had been doing since we broke up. Anne, realizing she was left out of the conversation, had left after one drink.
“Are you with someone?” she asked.
“Nu-huh. How about you?” I said, not really wanting to know.
“Not anymore. I was, but I ended it months ago.”
“You must be getting good at it,” I said. I regretted it immediately when I saw the hurt in her eyes. “Sorry. It was a cheap shot.”
She touched my cheek and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry, too. I know I hurt you.” She turned and picked up her glass and took a drink. She looked straight ahead at the bottles behind the bar and said, “It took me a long time to get over it, too.”
“It’s okay, baby. I survived.” She turned to me and studied my face and a great wave of emotion washed over me. I had to swallow and compose myself before I could say, “But I never stopped loving you.”
Wetness filled her eyes and she touched the back of my neck and pulled me to her and we kissed again. Her lips were soft and warm. So much feeling seemed to pass between us that I thought there might be a chance she still loved me, too.
Jillian called her a cab and I walked her out to the street to wait for it. When the taxi pulled up we embraced and kissed. She took a business card from her purse and pressed it into my palm. “Please, call me,” she said.
I told her I would and watched the cab take her away. I was choked up. I didn’t want to go back inside the club. Jillian didn’t interest me anymore. I decided to walk the six blocks to my apartment.
I was tired, but I lay in bed for hours thinking about Chastity, listening to the voices in my head arguing over calling her. Part of me wanted her back; the other was afraid to expose my wounded heart to another break. My thoughts swung like a pendulum from one side of the argument to the other.
An old question came back. “Where did the love go?” It had troubled me constantly for months after Chastity left. Gallons of alcohol and a parade of willing women hadn’t rid me of it. Lying in bed that night I asked it over and over again until finally I reminded myself I had no answer. Maybe there was none.
My shift at the paper was three-to-eleven, Sunday to Thursday. As the weekend approached the part of me that obviously has more optimistic courage than good sense urged me to call her. I did.
We chatted for a few minutes and then I screwed up enough courage to ask to see her. “I’m off Friday and Saturday,” I said. “Have dinner with me Friday.” The phone was silent a moment. I held my breath.
“I think we should,” she said finally.
We agreed to meet at a restaurant she liked in center city. I got there early and waited outside. I was a nice spring day, warm and breezy, and I saw her drive into the parking lot and followed her. She was dressed for business in a gray suit with a knee-length skirt and a white blouse. She looked stunning. We hugged and kissed easily and walked to the entrance holding hands.
The cuisine was Asian fusion, pricy but good. Chastity had clams in a chili broth and I had sea bass. The fish was cooked perfectly, flaky and delicious. We killed a bottle of Pinot blanc that was dry and full-bodied, and cost more than my shirt.
I walked her to her car and kissed her again. It was a nice friendly kiss that I couldn’t read into. She had a condo in the suburbs just west of the city. I thought about her all weekend, and was glad to go to work Sunday afternoon. I needed work to occupy my mind.
We exchanged a few friendly text messages on Monday, only light chat, nothing serious. I was still having second thoughts about renewing our relationship. Wednesday night she called me at work about seven. When I heard her voice dread gripped my gut.
“Mike, I want to see you,” she said.
“Okay, sure. Do you want to have dinner again?”
“I was thinking tonight, when you finish work.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Is everything okay?” I said.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. If you don’t want to, it’s alright . . .” Her words trailed off. I heard disappointment in her voice.
“No, listen. It’s a slow night. I’ll leave early, nine o’clock. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”
After a pause she said, “I was hoping I could come to your place.”
My heart skipped two beats. “Sure, sure. That’s fine.” I gave her directions and my address and told her to call me when she arrived in the parking garage so I could meet her. I spent the next two hours in a whirl of anxiety, barely able to focus on work. My mouth was dry and my hands were trembled.
I ran home, like a guy in a Hollywood romance trying to stop the girl he finally discovers he loves before she gets on that plane that would take her away.