A Fantasy About Love Read online

  She startled me, since I had been staring at her sparkling eyes, her face alive with her fascination with this topic. She was so different from the woman who had sat there staring at her laptop and now she'd transformed from a young girl into a pretty woman. My attention had been to be a guest at Peter's party and hoping to get away early to continue my project, and now I was hoping to stay a few more minutes or hours with her. I wasn't quite sure had caused this response in me - a pretty and smiling woman in front of me making me forget my loneliness as I worked feverishly during all these months?

  "Oh, yes. Sorry, I was somewhere else. You said see, sniff, swirl, sip. Let's do it."

  I did everything I was told, and it created a sensory explosion in my mouth. The fullness of the wine, the complexity, the balance of tannins and acids - it was one of the best wines I'd ever experienced. She watched me and a small smile of satisfaction appeared on her lovely face. Happy with my reaction, she started to continue her lecture when there was a crash somewhere back in the house and voices were raised. We glanced at each other -- neither interested in getting into a tense situation. There was silence again and we relaxed, but suddenly, everything started again and then it got worse. People were yelling, doors were slammed, and a strange, sweet smell drifted to the front where we were sitting.

  I asked Maureen to stay put and started to walk back when Peter appeared.

  "Look, the two of you. I apologize, but things are getting out of control. I saw some people using drugs, asked them to leave and they have become violent. I called the police. Unfortunately, I suggest you leave before the situation becomes ugly and I don't want my friends involved in all this. You can even take the Grange with you..."

  Maureen and I looked at each other again and I shrugged. What could we do? I grabbed the bottle, but not before Peter had a final sniff, helped Maureen up from the couch and left the house. Even outside we still heard loud arguments and things breaking.

  "Maureen, I apologize for this problem. Not that I could do anything about it, but I prevented you from leaving early. Can I make it up getting you to your hotel? Where are you staying?"

  "I stay at the Meriton in the World Trade Tower on Liverpool Street, but I can call a cab."

  "Nonsense. I have my car down the street, and we have to walk less than three minutes. I insist."

  Maureen looked at me again, took out her telephone -- thank God no signal -- and seemed to accept her fate. We walked for a few steps and she started to shiver. Suddenly, a cold front had come in during the last hour and it was now cold and windy. I took off my cashmere pullover and put it over her shoulders. She smiled, nodded her head in thanks and when we arrived at my car, she seemed surprised in an agreeable way. I had bought a Porsche Carrera from the colleague transferred to the States, and it was in wonderful condition. A dark, sparkling blue finish, polished and shining. After all, everyone expects German to have one of the ultimate driving machines! I handed her into the car with due respect for the Grange she had in her hands, made her close her seat belt and entered the other side.

  Starting the car, I turned on the AC to bring the temperature up to comfortable levels, selected one of my favorite Mozart piano concerts as soft background music, and glanced at her.

  "Maureen, I drank only one glass of wine today, so you are safe with me. You seemed upset -- are you OK now?"

  "I had a bad day in one of my seminars arguing with a stupid professor, was dragged to a party because my mother insisted to meet her friend... " she grinned with a sparkle in her eyes, " and got hijacked by a German! But I must say the Grange made it worthwhile, and this car is the right finish. I love the Carreras and promised myself I would buy one day one for myself, but first I have to finish and earn some money."

  "And that is all you have to say? No comment on the German?"

  "Well, I was not very impressed at the beginning, but I am slowly changing my mind. The company could have been worse, sir."

  Not the compliment I was hoping for, but it was better than the cold eye I had received at the first contact. She leaned back and sighed again, apparently feeling better with the comfortable temperature and the soft leather seats. What could I do to change her mind more quickly? Suddenly an idea sprang up -- I looked at her for a few moments as she expected me to drive off to her hotel. Then I made the ultimate sacrifice that a man with a Porsche can make.

  "Maureen, I assume that you do drive a decent car, right?"

  "A little sporty Mazda, but nothing like this."

  Swallowing deeply and praying for what I could not decide -- a recusal or acceptance -- I asked her: "Do you want to drive the Porsche?"

  "Are you insane? This car is expensive and if anything happens to it, I do not have the money to pay for it. I'd love to, but no, thanks."

  There was, however, a longing in her eyes which almost hurt. I made up my mind, got out of the car, opened her side and took the Grange out of her hands.

  "Come on, get out and drive the car. Do I have to say Please? I am suddenly very lazy and do not want to drive anymore. It's been a long day and I would prefer that someone drove me home. I assume that you know the way to the hotel?"

  She nodded and considered what I had said, re-considered it, and finally, came to a decision. She took a deep breath, opened her safety belt, and climbed out -- remember that the Porsche is a rather low car. We were looking at each other and suddenly she leaned forward and gave me a little peck on my cheek.

  "You are weird, but sweet, James."

  Her smile lightened up her face when she walked around the car and got into the driver's seat. She seemed to be competent: adjusting the seat, the mirrors, testing the brake, the gear shift, everything one should do when one enters a new car. Perhaps I still had an unblemished car at the end of the night! Turning on the engine, we listened to the rumbling of a highly tuned motor, and both of us were happy; she, because she was going to drive a performance car, and I, because just looking at her joy and delight was wonderful. Slowly she took the car out of the parking space and drove down the street. The road was narrow, but soon we entered a major avenue and to her glee, she could put her foot on the accelerator. I laid my hand on hers.

  "Careful, Maureen. This is a sports car and you are already over 40 miles an hour. The speed limit is 30."

  "Damn. Oh, sorry, I was carried away, but I'll behave."

  And she did. She did not talk -- all her concentration was on driving the Porsche and enjoying it. We arrived at her hotel and there was regret in both our faces as we stepped out of the car and I decided to see whether I could lure her into staying another hour. Her company was sweet, and I do enjoy looking at a pretty woman.

  "Maureen, before you say goodbye, may I suggest something? You do not have to agree, and I will let you go, but could you consider having dinner with me? I am hungry and I might have imagined it, but your stomach grumbled also once or twice. I know a very decent little Italian restaurant not far from here; the food is first-class, and it is not noisy, and at least nobody will be yelling and fighting. We also have to finish the Grange. And whilst the restaurant is near, we still have to drive to it, but I assume that you might want to sacrifice yourself for this task?"

  She did not seem to be a person who decided rapidly. It was the same procedure as before: consideration, re-consideration, reflection and decision.

  "Give me the address, James " and stepped back into the car.

  Off we went to Luigi's with her still not saying a lot but driving with pleasure and safety. It was a bit late, but when we arrived Luigi was opening the door for us.

  Luigi was surprised. "James? And who is this lovely lady?"

  I told him that the lovely lady was Maureen, explained our need for a good dinner and he nodded.

  "James, what a pleasure. And even more so for the company you bring to my restaurant. Miss, I am Luigi, the chef of the best Italian restaurant in Sydney and whatever you will want to dine, I will cook it personally for you. This oaf at your side comes he
re occasionally, but he doesn't understand what I do. He eats and goes home -- and always alone. Please come in and I shall get you the best table."

  Maureen looked at me and seemed a bit confused. While Luigi was arranging things, I explained that I had met his brother in New York, where he had a similar and also very good restaurant. I had been able to help him out in a difficult situation and he had asked his brother in Sydney to lookout after me. The food was excellent, and I enjoyed his company; he was loud and boisterous, but always honest in his dealings with me. He believed also that I was working more than enjoying life and was trying to change this. Since this was the first time I came accompanied to his restaurant, he wanted to make the evening memorable for both of us and I was certain that he could do this. She just had to accept him as he was: he always treated the people he liked -- and there were few of them -- with complete disdain and lack of courtesy. He could, however, be very cold and efficient if the customer did not appreciate his food; this had put me off at first, but as I got accustomed to it, I responded in kind -- and the food was really great.

  He came back and led us to our table. It was a smallish restaurant, normally booked out and tastefully decorated with photographs from the Tuscany. The lighting was sufficient to see the plates but dim enough to give the lady a soft shimmer on her face. As always, it was perfect.

  "Luigi, we have this bottle of wine to finish and Maureen tells me it's better than good. What would you recommend accompanying it?"

  I gave him the bottle and he looked at it. He stopped, stared, turned to Maureen and asked her: "Did he say that this is quite good?" He glanced at me again and started to say something. I just shook my head slowly and he gazed at me, then at Maureen, then at me again. Slowly a smile appeared on his face -- yes, he understood the situation.

  "Ms. Maureen, I see that you understand wines better than this ignorant fool. I try to each him, but it is always work, work, work, and nothing useful adheres in his mind. James, go away and bring the lady a glass of Chardonnay and she and I will discuss this serious problem."

  I obeyed and went to the bar to get a glass of the house Chardonnay and took it back to Maureen. She didn't even look at it and continued her conversation. All I heard were comments like 'Grange nose', dark berries', black liquorice', and when I heard that it had a 'plush satin/cashmere mouthful', I gave up. They didn't even look at me when I turned away to go back to the bar and ordered a glass of water. From my business travels and meetings, I had acquired a basic knowledge of wines, but it was great fun playing with Maureen's mind.

  Luigi came back and told me that the problem was resolved, and I should get back to the table.

  "James, keep her! She is smart, pretty, alive, and knows about the good things in life. You could not do better!"

  I went back to Maureen, who was glancing at me with a very satisfied smile. She said that Luigi knew what he was doing, that they had selected a special Mayura Wagyu beef with a few vegetables, and that the evening was wonderful.

  "James, tell me a bit about you. I met you this evening, did not like you at first, and now I am enjoying the evening. How did you do this?"

  "My charming nature? My cashmere pullover, which you are still wearing? My friend Peter? If you look at this evening, you will see that I did not do anything except giving you options and you chose the way that we ended up here. I must say, however, that I cannot imagine a better way than to spend the evening at your side, drinking a good wine -- and please don't start again on the Grange -- eating something special, and especially having your company. Maureen, I don't know what happened to me, but this is the first time I go out since I arrived in Sydney, and just for fun, not on business. I am very happy to be here and just to look at you. Don't take me wrong; I enjoy the conversation very much, and somehow I feel comfortable around you."

  She gazed at me for a long time and this gave me the chance to really look at her.

  She was tall, about five foot eight? and luscious red-gold hair that came to her shoulders dominated her face until you looked at her eyes. They were huge, green with a grey-blue shimmer, and I saw her questioning the situation between us. She had no makeup and did not need one. Her skin was perfect with a few freckles diminishing the serious expression she seemed to have all the time. Her lips were starting to smile, showing perfect white teeth. Her neck was proud and the black pullover she wore could not hide that she was a woman.

  "Do I have a smudge somewhere on my face? Why do you look at me this way?"

  I was caught and wondered what the right response would be. Standard clichés about a pretty woman or something closer to the truth? I jumped into the cold water and repeated what I had already said.

  "Maureen, I don't really know what is happening. I've met you this evening, seeing a graduate student ignoring the world around her and now, at this moment, I am looking at an intelligent and pretty woman. Don't misunderstand me: I know that graduate students are normally intelligent, but they don't have to be pretty. But what impresses me most is that I feel comfortable around you as we can talk about wines (not too much, I hope), politics, sports, and I feel that you are part of the conversation, giving and taking, not just a figure sitting there. I feel better than I have felt in a long time and I am grateful. I just hope that you feel similarly."

  She went into her decision-making procedure -- she did not seem to be a very impulsive person -- and slowly a real smile evolved, not only on her lips, but also in her eyes.

  "James, did I tell you that you are ... not weird, no ... exquisite ... no ... out of the ordinary ... yes, ... courteous, yes ... impulsive ... yes ... impossible, probably ... sweet, yes ... and I have a strong feeling that I can trust you, which I normally don't do easily. Let's forget the character analysis and enjoy the evening and see what will happen."

  I smiled back at her and felt a nice and warm tingly feeling running through my body. Luigi had said to keep her, and I would try. The dishes arrived and were accompanied by a proud chef.

  "Miss Maureen, you will not eat anything as good as this anywhere in Sydney or Australia. I gave my best just to see you smile and enjoy the dish. Ignore the guy next to you: all he does is work and eat. Show him how to appreciate a work of art."

  Did I mention that Luigi was very proud of himself? And definitively not shy, but he was right. The combination of this special beef and the Grange was exquisite and perfect. So we started to eat and somehow the conversation went on and on. I stopped the Grange Heritage explanation and we changed to politics -- another subject she knew a lot about. She tried to explain the differences between the Labour and the Liberal party, but without too much success, then Aussie Rules against American Football and we had to abandon that subject, too, because the discussion became heated. There was golf, theatre (which she liked), music (she preferred classical music, operas, but enjoyed Pink Floyd) and whatever came to mind.

  When we finished, I asked Luigi to keep the empty bottle of the Grange and I told her that it would always remind me of a wonderful night with a very interesting lady, and that I would keep it forever.

  She laughed "James, you are silly, but I agree that it was an interesting evening.".

  We thanked Luigi and I took her back to the car. She gave me the keys and said that after all this wine, she preferred to be driven.

  I handed her back into the car and looked at her again.

  "Do you know that you are very pretty?"

  "Thank you, kind sir. And if I may say so, you are not very bad to look at either. It was a beautiful finish to a bad day -- thank you, James."

  Driving back to her hotel I wondered what else I could do get to know her better -- and to give me a chance to come closer to her.

  "What are your plans for the weekend?"

  "Well, I'd booked my return flight for Sunday afternoon, but the seminar cancelled several meetings on Sunday and perhaps I try to go back tomorrow."

  "Is there any chance that I might interest you to have lunch with me tomorrow? Peter
told me about this traditional seafood restaurant. and he said that it is quite good."

  The decision process again, but this time the answer was negative. She said that she was tempted but had still other things to do in Brisbane; she had to study for some tests in two weeks' time and things had gone too fast for her today. She appreciated my company and if I ever came to Brisbane to call her and we could meet. What could I do? Arriving at the hotel, I helped her out of the car and accompanied her into the Lobby. Suddenly an idea flashed through my mind. She had said that she liked the theatre and loved music, and that there were no real first-class performances in her city.

  "Maureen, I'm sad to see you go, but ... Did you not say that you like music and miss the really good artists in Brisbane?"

  She agreed and said that this was the way things were up south. A smile spread across my lips and I asked her whether she liked opera. She wondered visibly why I had asked this.

  "I have two tickets for tomorrow night at the Opera House for Bellini's 'Norma' with Joan Sutherland. Tickets were impossible to get, so I put my name on the waiting list. A miracle happened and today I received two tickets. My colleague had to travel suddenly to the States, and this means that there is one empty seat in the Opera House. Do you want to come with me? Unfortunately, you would have to stay until Sunday night."

  She stopped, looked at me and ordered me to sit down.