Monday, July 17, 2006
Core of the Soul
The influence of alcohol does wonders for the restrained soul. It magnifies what the restrained soul attempts to hide and provides in the least, a sneak peek into the nature that nurture fails to touch.
****
On Friday, they reconvened at their usual rendezvous. P loves the plush and tastefully furnished hotel lobby bar that emanates the air of old wealth charm. The soft, dim lighting, heavy wood furniture and thick carpets combined with the lasseiz faire melody of American jazz standards played by the pianist and the double bass player lends an atmosphere that seemed to have their time suspended. Proffering a transitory respite from their mundane lives, they tried to indulge in that here- and- now- moment for what little time they could spend together. Time is a luxury for grey arrangements like themselves as they are always short on it. Always squeezing time for that one quick sneak peek, their ill timings have endlessly kept one party busy keeping watch on the ticking minutes and the seconds- sometimes it's him , precariously waiting for that one phone call where he would be summoned to be at service (to his domestics) yet again or occasionally it's she, running late to catch that bus back for the weekend with her own entourage awaiting eagerly for her return...
They would usually request to sit themselves tightly on that victorian chaise lounge for three in that quiet, semi-obscure non-smoking area. Service tends to be prompt. Perusing quickly through the extensive selection of cocktails and wines conscious of the omnipotence of reality, they would usually settle for two wines on "rush" days or cocktails and a nibbly platter on a more leisurely night where he would have informed the necessary party of that "function" he needed to attend.
****
Tonight like the last time they arrived six weeks ago, their usual seat was taken.
P and her beau seemed a little young for that place, she felt sometimes. The setting reeks of an era where charming middle-aged gentlemen in bow ties, a whisky in hand and a cigar in another would spend the evening with beautiful young lovers in beautiful fur coats, wearing luxurious strands of pearl necklaces and shimmery vintage evening clutch bags. In her fuschia tweed suit, her signature pearl necklace getup and nice pointy shoes, P and her tall and corporate yuppie- looking partner look quite the elegant pair. As always, they get served most politely and professionally.
Dope glanced across and noticed the couple, an age gap in the likes of Rupert Murdoch and his current wife. The caucasian man wore a clean white shirt and a bow tie and despite his greying hair, still retained the charming remnants of his cassanova youth and still looked quite the ladies' man. His female companion with her arms linked to his, a lover no doubt, was a sophisticatedly dressed Fillippino lady possibly a good 30 years his junior. P wondered silently if the parents of her beau might too have been postulated and scrutinised by the public in their dating days, given the similar age gap and their cross cultural romance during a more conservative 1970s era. As it appears on a Friday night, this favourite haunt of theirs would provide a social demography for illicit rendezvous often in the parlance of older professional/ moneyed white men with significantly younger professionally dressed Asian women.
"They were here the last time we came," Dope said.
"Yeah, now that you mentioned...," she slowly recalled.
So they settled in an even more obscure, dark corner and sat in two large Victorian armchairs, positioned as close to each other as possible. Quietly, she slided her fingers into his under the table and held it, allowing their joined palms to rest on her thigh. Tonight, he held her hand more assuredly and less ambivalently, perhaps due to that displayal of affection hidden from public sight.
"What's the matter?" he asked quietly and gently, alluding to that email she sent him that insisted on seeing him after work that night. That email mentioned that she wanted to feel that here-and- now feeling that she was experiencing for him there and then as she typed furiously away to him, a zillion thoughts whizzing across her head, where her fingers could barely catch pace. She wanted him to grant her spontaneity for once and to see how far he would bent backwards for her despite his domestic and social commitments for the night.
"Nothing, really. Well, I don't know. I just want to spend time with Dope," she replied as she dragged on those last words in a semi whiney tone and she placed her head against his arm. And he nodded slightly. It had been a frustrating week for her. And they chatted away about work and anything that came their way...
Again, she was conscious of his time. He had less than hour for her and would need to head for his next short meeting with a troubled mate before rushing back home for his due-to-arrive future- in-laws and her relatives' alike (darn those baby cuzzies whom she seemed so fond of playing surrogate mother to given her strong maternal and domestic instincts which P is so lacking) . She was aware that he was pushing his appointments late and between cosy moments of affections, she watched the clock.
****
"You corrupt me," he started with a quiet slight smile, the alcohol from work and the current finishing glass had slowly loosened him up.
"No, I don't. You are very capable of doing what you could do. It's in the core of your soul. I am merely the Devil's Advocate." She eyed him askance in that flirty half-smile. Her hand had slowly found its way to stray while still holding his, the back of it had rested between his legs, her loosening fingers lightly stroking him.
And then he continued. "You know what? I am really enjoying where your hand is at the moment and am getting quite an erection. It's sad." he said half amusingly and perhaps part ironically.
"Well, you always like the way I touch you," she smiled coyly and leaned over and kissed his cheek whilst continuing to run her finger along his bulge. He had only mentioned that to her once in those rare, behind- the- door golden moments. Then she held his hand up and brought the back of it to her lips.
"Why didn't you look my way back then, C?" she spoke his name, the abandonment of addressing in pet name often warranting a serious undertone. She was still leaning on him.
"Maybe our lives would have been somewhat different," she continued. A lot different for her, really, her sad soul echoed.
"But I was a different person and perhaps you wouldn't really like me. Just like all my ex-girlfriends, we might stop talking altogether." he said.
"Maybe..." her voice trailed away as she smiled weakly, her eyes a little glazed and semi-lost in thoughts.
Then he held her hand tight and hid it in the pocket of his coat and placed it on his throbbing member and gave a cheeky smile. Quite a big leap of faith for Dope, a gentleman of great restraint and a serious disposition. Just like that magical day of spontaneity and spring where they met in this big city again two months before they hooked up. On that night, he told her how he remembered her by two things. The first day he met her (many, many moons ago) and that incident at the bay when they were young and basking in that positiveness of youth... Then he took the first step of recklessness to kiss her...
But as guys she fancy do, they get rational too fast too soon...
Organically, that gesture warmed her up and made her day. Like her best friend, Dope takes some time to open up as she lightly tickles this dormant volcanoe to awakeness. Bit by bit, she manages to wade her way through the shrouds of his elusiveness surrounding his aura and learns to understand his soul a little better.
"Isn't it time to go? We better get going," she offered, determined not to be lost in the light-headedness of self-congratulatory joy. Taking steps to sever that umbilical cord of momentary elation, she struggled to switch to practical mode.
"No, let's stay for another wine. For another 15 minutes. My friend hasn't called yet anyway," he placed his hand on her arm as she got up to put on her coat.
"Are you sure?"
"Would you like me to call him?" It was always that way. He never ever let slip that he wants to see her. It would usually expressed in the form of a question that leaves the onus of decision-making on her. Like would you like me to come? While P always starts with "Let's do this or that..." Even his lapses into these desires are rare. He had began to motion to the waiter for two more glasses of wine.
"Yes!" she perked up and like an inexperienced warrior, she opened her empty palm and made known her intentions with no sword or armour to shield herself from hurt. Then she hugged him and kissed his cheek again.
"Goody. Dope is wanting to spend more time with P, finally!" She slipped back into the third- person narration to part redeem herself.
And they lingered until he could no longer hold off his social responsibility for that mate who had been kept waiting for a good two hours.
She felt that vibe of that restrained soul unpeeling slowly yet another layer of his skin to proffer her with an exclusive view. What her practical-minded best friend would deem as instubstantial. But precisely it is that found in those split-second snap shot moments of joint experiences between lovers and herself unfolding in the form of slight gestures- ranging from the squeeze of one's hand, the sigh in one's tone and that look in one's eye- are what made P believe life is perhaps worth living on the edge. The imperfection marred and characterised by human fallacies and that dash of recklessness committed in those carpe diem actions that perfects "living"...
*****
As they parted at the train station, she walked in her semi-tipsy state, that warm and fuzzy feeling enlightening her entire being. It was only 7.30pm. The bumpy train ride, despite triggering bouts of nausea and embarrassment by creating havoc in her empty stomach and causing ill convenience to fellow commuters, did nothing to dispel that wave of certainty she felt from him and the kaleidoscope of emotions she experienced so surely tonight.
Staggering up the stairs to her bedroom, her eyes a tad glassy, P stripped herself off her clothes and flopped limply onto her bed. She closed her eyes and was transported into a snug and blissful slumber...
The influence of alcohol does wonders for the restrained soul. It magnifies what the restrained soul attempts to hide and provides in the least, a sneak peek into the nature that nurture fails to touch.
****
On Friday, they reconvened at their usual rendezvous. P loves the plush and tastefully furnished hotel lobby bar that emanates the air of old wealth charm. The soft, dim lighting, heavy wood furniture and thick carpets combined with the lasseiz faire melody of American jazz standards played by the pianist and the double bass player lends an atmosphere that seemed to have their time suspended. Proffering a transitory respite from their mundane lives, they tried to indulge in that here- and- now- moment for what little time they could spend together. Time is a luxury for grey arrangements like themselves as they are always short on it. Always squeezing time for that one quick sneak peek, their ill timings have endlessly kept one party busy keeping watch on the ticking minutes and the seconds- sometimes it's him , precariously waiting for that one phone call where he would be summoned to be at service (to his domestics) yet again or occasionally it's she, running late to catch that bus back for the weekend with her own entourage awaiting eagerly for her return...
They would usually request to sit themselves tightly on that victorian chaise lounge for three in that quiet, semi-obscure non-smoking area. Service tends to be prompt. Perusing quickly through the extensive selection of cocktails and wines conscious of the omnipotence of reality, they would usually settle for two wines on "rush" days or cocktails and a nibbly platter on a more leisurely night where he would have informed the necessary party of that "function" he needed to attend.
****
Tonight like the last time they arrived six weeks ago, their usual seat was taken.
P and her beau seemed a little young for that place, she felt sometimes. The setting reeks of an era where charming middle-aged gentlemen in bow ties, a whisky in hand and a cigar in another would spend the evening with beautiful young lovers in beautiful fur coats, wearing luxurious strands of pearl necklaces and shimmery vintage evening clutch bags. In her fuschia tweed suit, her signature pearl necklace getup and nice pointy shoes, P and her tall and corporate yuppie- looking partner look quite the elegant pair. As always, they get served most politely and professionally.
Dope glanced across and noticed the couple, an age gap in the likes of Rupert Murdoch and his current wife. The caucasian man wore a clean white shirt and a bow tie and despite his greying hair, still retained the charming remnants of his cassanova youth and still looked quite the ladies' man. His female companion with her arms linked to his, a lover no doubt, was a sophisticatedly dressed Fillippino lady possibly a good 30 years his junior. P wondered silently if the parents of her beau might too have been postulated and scrutinised by the public in their dating days, given the similar age gap and their cross cultural romance during a more conservative 1970s era. As it appears on a Friday night, this favourite haunt of theirs would provide a social demography for illicit rendezvous often in the parlance of older professional/ moneyed white men with significantly younger professionally dressed Asian women.
"They were here the last time we came," Dope said.
"Yeah, now that you mentioned...," she slowly recalled.
So they settled in an even more obscure, dark corner and sat in two large Victorian armchairs, positioned as close to each other as possible. Quietly, she slided her fingers into his under the table and held it, allowing their joined palms to rest on her thigh. Tonight, he held her hand more assuredly and less ambivalently, perhaps due to that displayal of affection hidden from public sight.
"What's the matter?" he asked quietly and gently, alluding to that email she sent him that insisted on seeing him after work that night. That email mentioned that she wanted to feel that here-and- now feeling that she was experiencing for him there and then as she typed furiously away to him, a zillion thoughts whizzing across her head, where her fingers could barely catch pace. She wanted him to grant her spontaneity for once and to see how far he would bent backwards for her despite his domestic and social commitments for the night.
"Nothing, really. Well, I don't know. I just want to spend time with Dope," she replied as she dragged on those last words in a semi whiney tone and she placed her head against his arm. And he nodded slightly. It had been a frustrating week for her. And they chatted away about work and anything that came their way...
Again, she was conscious of his time. He had less than hour for her and would need to head for his next short meeting with a troubled mate before rushing back home for his due-to-arrive future- in-laws and her relatives' alike (darn those baby cuzzies whom she seemed so fond of playing surrogate mother to given her strong maternal and domestic instincts which P is so lacking) . She was aware that he was pushing his appointments late and between cosy moments of affections, she watched the clock.
****
"You corrupt me," he started with a quiet slight smile, the alcohol from work and the current finishing glass had slowly loosened him up.
"No, I don't. You are very capable of doing what you could do. It's in the core of your soul. I am merely the Devil's Advocate." She eyed him askance in that flirty half-smile. Her hand had slowly found its way to stray while still holding his, the back of it had rested between his legs, her loosening fingers lightly stroking him.
And then he continued. "You know what? I am really enjoying where your hand is at the moment and am getting quite an erection. It's sad." he said half amusingly and perhaps part ironically.
"Well, you always like the way I touch you," she smiled coyly and leaned over and kissed his cheek whilst continuing to run her finger along his bulge. He had only mentioned that to her once in those rare, behind- the- door golden moments. Then she held his hand up and brought the back of it to her lips.
"Why didn't you look my way back then, C?" she spoke his name, the abandonment of addressing in pet name often warranting a serious undertone. She was still leaning on him.
"Maybe our lives would have been somewhat different," she continued. A lot different for her, really, her sad soul echoed.
"But I was a different person and perhaps you wouldn't really like me. Just like all my ex-girlfriends, we might stop talking altogether." he said.
"Maybe..." her voice trailed away as she smiled weakly, her eyes a little glazed and semi-lost in thoughts.
Then he held her hand tight and hid it in the pocket of his coat and placed it on his throbbing member and gave a cheeky smile. Quite a big leap of faith for Dope, a gentleman of great restraint and a serious disposition. Just like that magical day of spontaneity and spring where they met in this big city again two months before they hooked up. On that night, he told her how he remembered her by two things. The first day he met her (many, many moons ago) and that incident at the bay when they were young and basking in that positiveness of youth... Then he took the first step of recklessness to kiss her...
But as guys she fancy do, they get rational too fast too soon...
Organically, that gesture warmed her up and made her day. Like her best friend, Dope takes some time to open up as she lightly tickles this dormant volcanoe to awakeness. Bit by bit, she manages to wade her way through the shrouds of his elusiveness surrounding his aura and learns to understand his soul a little better.
"Isn't it time to go? We better get going," she offered, determined not to be lost in the light-headedness of self-congratulatory joy. Taking steps to sever that umbilical cord of momentary elation, she struggled to switch to practical mode.
"No, let's stay for another wine. For another 15 minutes. My friend hasn't called yet anyway," he placed his hand on her arm as she got up to put on her coat.
"Are you sure?"
"Would you like me to call him?" It was always that way. He never ever let slip that he wants to see her. It would usually expressed in the form of a question that leaves the onus of decision-making on her. Like would you like me to come? While P always starts with "Let's do this or that..." Even his lapses into these desires are rare. He had began to motion to the waiter for two more glasses of wine.
"Yes!" she perked up and like an inexperienced warrior, she opened her empty palm and made known her intentions with no sword or armour to shield herself from hurt. Then she hugged him and kissed his cheek again.
"Goody. Dope is wanting to spend more time with P, finally!" She slipped back into the third- person narration to part redeem herself.
And they lingered until he could no longer hold off his social responsibility for that mate who had been kept waiting for a good two hours.
She felt that vibe of that restrained soul unpeeling slowly yet another layer of his skin to proffer her with an exclusive view. What her practical-minded best friend would deem as instubstantial. But precisely it is that found in those split-second snap shot moments of joint experiences between lovers and herself unfolding in the form of slight gestures- ranging from the squeeze of one's hand, the sigh in one's tone and that look in one's eye- are what made P believe life is perhaps worth living on the edge. The imperfection marred and characterised by human fallacies and that dash of recklessness committed in those carpe diem actions that perfects "living"...
*****
As they parted at the train station, she walked in her semi-tipsy state, that warm and fuzzy feeling enlightening her entire being. It was only 7.30pm. The bumpy train ride, despite triggering bouts of nausea and embarrassment by creating havoc in her empty stomach and causing ill convenience to fellow commuters, did nothing to dispel that wave of certainty she felt from him and the kaleidoscope of emotions she experienced so surely tonight.
Staggering up the stairs to her bedroom, her eyes a tad glassy, P stripped herself off her clothes and flopped limply onto her bed. She closed her eyes and was transported into a snug and blissful slumber...
Labels: THE P-oignant Moments
