As Luck Would Have It (part 1 of 2)

            Unfortunately, Eddie left the public facilities without remembering to do up his fly.  He was blissfully unaware, and walked through the mall as if nothing was wrong.  He hummed along to the song playing over the radio, a slight skip in his step, at ease.  And was fast approaching a young woman whose prettiness made his heart stutter.  He didn’t know why.  She was pretty without being stunning, and yet, there was something about her.  Hair a white blond, smooth, twisting over her shoulder in imitation of a slow river.  A soft, gently shaped face, eyes that mixed blue and green into something that wasn’t quite turquoise.  He felt like some force hitherto unbeknownst to him was pulling him in her direction.

            #

            Fortunately, he happened to glance at his reflection in a shop window, and was alerted to the indiscretion of his trousers before he got all the way over.  He had time to duck behind an oversized sign and remedy the situation, before he made his cool, self-assured way over to where she was sitting against a shop window, on a low, green-painted bench.

            “Uh…  um…Hi,” He trilled lyrically, gifting her with the best of a flustered, twitching smile.

            “Hi,” her eyes narrowed, unsure what to make of this.  Narrow: they were only intensified in exotic colour.  Only prettier.

            “You must be…” Human?  Bent on world domination?  The woman destined to bear my children?  None of the options seemed to offer him the sophisticated repartee he was looking for.  “That is to say…” Or not say.  Say anything.  Anything’ll do.

            “I’m Nina.”

            “I’m Dean.  No, wait- I’m Eddie.  Dean’s my brother.”

            “Oh.”

            “Eddie.  Short for Edward.”

            “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.”

            “Really?’

            She laughed.  “Really.”

            “That’s a considerable relief.”

            “Glad to help out.”

            “I don’t usually do this, and I’m totally not a freaky stalker, but…” - and here goes nothing - “did you want to get a drink or… something?”

            “Well, I’m meeting someone…”

            “Boyfriend?”  It must show in his voice.  He was sure.

            “My sister.  Otherwise a drink would be great.  Rain check?”

            “For real or polite refusal?”

            She laughed again.  The way nine out of ten websites would later tell him was a good sign.  “For real.  Honest.”

            “It’s a date.  I mean… a… drink… somewhere.  Then.”

            “Then,” her smiled filled universes, slayed dragons, lit the heavens and earth.

            #

            Unfortunately, at no time during that painful but optimistic exchange had he thought to get her phone number, give her his, or arrange a time and place.

            At home, later, cursing himself, Eddie felt dejected and stupid.  He’d had her.  Right in the palm of his hand.  She’d been pretty, nice, and – somewhat improbably, he felt – actually interested.  He’d totally stuffed up.

            He said as much to his brother Dean, later on, in the family basement, playing pool.

            “Moron,” Dean said helpfully.

            “Yes, yes.  But what do I do about it?”

            “Do about it?”

            “Finding her.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            “Because she’s your soul mate, right?  The woman you happened to glance at in the mall?  Who’s probably forgotten you already.”

            “This is why I come to you.

            “Not because we’re related and Mum would stop feeding me if I didn’t listen to all this sad crap?”

            Family.  Gotta love ‘em. 

            Stupid bloody rule.

            “So, anyway,” Eddie leaned on the edge of the table.  “You got any thoughts?”

            “Besides sky-writing?  Or an ad in the paper?”

            “Those sound a little desperate.”

            “Oh.  Really?”

            “You didn’t see her.”

            Dean smiled.  He had a way of making that smile both predatory and conspiratorial.  “That much of a looker?”

            “I thought so.”

            An upward arch of an eyebrow.  “Would I think so?”

            “Don’t take her off me.  This isn’t high school.”

            “You really do need to get over that.  Besides, you’ll never see her again, will you?”

            #

            Fortunatelyou’re y, he did see her again.  Of all the gin joints in all the world she actually did have to walk into his.  He was at the Crowned Rooster with a group of friends, when he saw her walk through the door.  It was one of those slow-motion moments when the world stops and everything in it seems to bleed off towards that one point in the universe.  The background blurred, the noise around him, the songs his friends had been singing.  There was just this moment, with her in it, in a green and yellow patterned dress, wearing a silver-grey cardigan, and with her hair swept up in an elegant bun.  At least as pretty as she’d been the first time he saw her.

            His friend Rickie nudged him: “What’s up?”

            “That girl, over there by the bar.”

            “And you're still over here.”

            “Well, I… I mean I asked her out… but then I didn’t give her my number and then…”

            “You’re still here.”

            “She’s with friends.”

            A withering look was followed by an encouraging smile.  “Go.”

            “You really…?”

            “Piss off already.”

            And so he took that eternity-walk across the floor, over to the bar.  He leaned casually on the bar, almost missed, caught himself too suddenly, and jerked his head up with an over-practiced smile.  “Hi, there.”

            “Eddie.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I would have called you…”

            “…if you’d had my number?”

            “Honest.”

            “Well, here I am… and here’s a place that sells drinks…”

            “A white wine, please.”

            He glanced at the barkeeper.  “You heard the woman.”  But the guy was serving some other customers and hadn’t, and after thirty slow seconds Eddie had to make the request again.  “A white wine please.  That’s two.  No, it’s not.  One’s a whiskey.  On the rocks.  A double.  Thanks.”

            She said the right thing: “I think I might be starting to like you.”

            “Oh, thank God.”  And he wrote his number down on a piece of paper before he could forget again.

            #

            Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten her number.  So the next few days necessitated some painful waiting.  Hours and days in which he imagined her accidentally dropping it, or maybe spilling a glass of water over it, or putting it through the wash.  And come to think of it, was he absolutely sure he’d even written it down right?  In his nightmares, he transposed the four and the six over and over again, woke up with his heart pounding.

            She’s lost the number.  Or she was heading home and ran into the most gorgeous man ever and will never think about me again. 

            #

            Fortunately, she kept it.  She almost didn’t.  She nearly lost it when it fell out of her bag on the way home.  She stuffed it hastily into a pocket and found it again on laundry day.  She remembered the affable, awkward, potentially lovable man she’d met at the Crowned Rooster, and after a moment or two of hesitation, she started dialling.

 

Picture credit/discredit:  author's own work.