Spellbound

1128 Words3 Pages

I walk toward my chair and sit heavily into it as if I’ve been struck. I’m still in a daze, staring right ahead. I’m not sure what to make of that. My beauty inspired him? My beauty? One of the very early lessons I learnt in my love of film was beautiful girls act and intelligent girls… well they direct.
Feeling flustered and shell shocked I open my book in the hope I can just hide behind it. Part of me wants to accept the compliment, but I have way too level a head for that sort of nonsense. Pretty doesn’t cut it. Beauty doesn’t cut it. I don’t want to be thought of as beautiful. My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world and my roguish father dumped her at fifty for a twenty-something year old. My mother is still beautiful, but she pines for my father and lives in loneliness. All because she traded too much off her looks.
I swore I’d never go down the same path.
But where is the harm in a compliment? The man wants to buy you a five dollar glass of wine because he won fifty dollars on some on line gambling game or something. Who cares? You haven’t sold your soul.
This thought gives me a little confidence and I realize I’d let my imagination get the better of me. Save it for work Connie. Don’t get all carried away cause a guy in a bar tells you you’re beautiful. I toss him a swift glance. He’s sitting at the same table, legs elegantly crossed, a folded newspaper in his right hand and his whiskey neat poised in the left. Part of me sighs as I succumb to my reality and let the fantasy of flattery go.
Alfred Hitchcock would understand. After all, he is the great love of my life.
It’s not till I get to the second page of my reading that it occurs to me that Joe hasn’t brought me my wine. I’m thinking there’s been some sort ...

... middle of paper ...

...ank god. He tilts his head to the side and I watch the smile fade as I feel the heat of his gaze travel the length of my body again.
I put my glass down and Joe half fills it with a stern lecture about taking it slow, and something about not being allowed to get drunk on wine like this. I’m starting to wonder if I can re cork it and trade it for some cash. The wine I’ve had is mixing pleasantly into my blood and I’m starting to feel bold. With a gift like this, maybe I have made a really solid first impression. Maybe I can be bold enough to go and chat to the man. After all, he thinks I’m pretty. No beautiful, He said beautiful. With two wines under my belt I can ask him over to share a glass surely. That’s the least I can do.
I make the first resolve in my mind to approach him and ask him to join us.
But when I look up again, his table is empty and he has gone.

Open Document