I'd been waiting for quite some time. To long in fact. And to tell the truth it took some planning - lots of planning - and now the big day's here and I'm anxious like a boxer stepping into the ring.

For months I'd watched her from afar. Until my transfer to her floor where I could study her more closely.

I watched her movements. Everything! I knew what she ate for lunch, and how she took her
coffee. I knew the perfume she wore on Monday's and when she did aerobics at the gym. I knew her entirely before I dared make my move.

I was certain that she'd noticed me too. Like the other girls in the office she would think me a little quiet and quirky, which was okay. Techie's are a meant to be quirky. Girls like quirky! I read that in a glossy magazine.

I caught her eye from time to time; over the top of the partition or at the copier. Still I waited for I knew there'd be a better time when I'd feel more confident.

I'd join a gym soon. Yes! Then I'd definitely talk to her. We'd have something in common.

I pictured us training together. My hands around her small waist, her buttocks clenched and groaning as she pushed the weight up harder and harder. "Yes...Yes", I screamed as I nuzzled closely to her perfumed neck that glistened with perspiration. "Phew!"

I was never good with first contact. My palms would itch and sweat and my under arms would flood, making me round my shoulders to hide the marks appearing in my shirt. My brow would crease involuntarily and I'd feel the tickle of sweat slowly drip down my neck to stain my collar. I'd mumble, confusing, choking my words; sometimes developing
a stammer so I would catch upon a word for a minute while my embarrassed audience looks on, eager to j...jum...jump in to help me finish.

The day came sooner than expected. As usual I arrived early into work.

I'd developed something of a repartee with the cleaner, Bill, who was a Bull's fan like me. We'd chat in the foyer before I'd catch the elevator up to the forty-second. That morning Bill was in a particularly chatty mood. Something about a car crash down on Seventh and Bill wanted to talk so bad that it seemed forever till he took a breath

"Gotta go to work Bill," I said apologetically.

Bill was still talking as I stepped into the elevator so I almost didn't notice her there as I walked through the doors.

My heart jumped as though I'd touched a power main so I looked immediately to the
floor, studying a patch on the toe of my boot where I had not scraped the polish so it sat like a booger waiting to be picked. My palms became moist so I gripped them like a rope and hunched my shoulders as I felt the moisture accumulate then start running down my side.

"You're on forty-second?" she said quietly with that accent I'd heard only spoken to others.

It seemed softer, more sensual and sophisticated now it was directed at me.

"Umm, yeah," I said as I slowly looked upwards from my shoes.

Tech support, right?" she asked.

"Umm, yeah", I mumbled.

She was even more beautiful this close. Her hair was black as ebony. Her eyes - dark and alluring, like a winter moon. Her honey-coloured skin shone under the fluorescence of the elevator lights. I could imagine tasting that skin.      

"Mmm"

"I've got a problem with my system. Perhaps you could take a look?"

"Umm, y-yeah," I spat out as though chewing a gumball. "I'm kinda busy 'til lunch. Perhaps we could have a look at it over... over lunch?"

She looked at me and it was then I saw that glint in her eye. The silent smirk I get from women as though they're holding back laughter. It makes me so angry!

"Sounds great! I'll grab you a b-bagel," she said with a laugh. "By the way, my name's Tina."

That was a month ago now, and who'd have imagined it would have led to this?

She liked asian vegetables. I knew that from way back. A week ago I went to Little China and almost cleared the cookbooks from Mr Lee's book shelves, learning the secrets of bok choi and Chinese Lettuce, I practised a new dish each night. I bought a wok, new dishes and chopsticks, which I took to work and practised with at lunchtime. On Thursday I set the table, and shook my head with disappointment. "Noooo!" Time for a new table, perhaps some bamboo mats!

It's six o'clock now and she's due at seven. The table's laid perfect with the candles left to burn for a while so that they did not have that just bought look. I take a shower and a shave, collecting my new Armani shirt, laying it upon the bed, which I straighten, fluffing the pillows before slapping the CK 1 into my cheeks. "Ouch!"   

It's now exactly seven and I'm checking the pots, cautiously lifting the lid, sampling the main course to make sure it's just right.

"Mmm..." better than just right. Beyond all expectation. So soft and tender it falls right off the bone and melts in your mouth.

It turns out I was right. Tina tastes just perfect!

09/01/2003

Posted on 09/01/2003
Copyright © 2024 Graeme Fielden