Heads or Tails (MF)

     There ought to be a rule against it.  Well, maybe not
a rule, perhaps something stronger--a law.  I don't know,
well something anyway.
     "Welcome back," she said.  
     Welcome back indeed.  Why is a welcome the most unwelcome
expression I've ever heard.  Because I never intended to be
back?  Because being back meant being a failure?  Who knows?
I do know a few things.  Honest, I do.  Like the fact
that I don't want to be here, and neither do many others.
Well, that last isn't a fact, though it could be.  Merely a
supposition.  I shouldn't get my suppositions confused with
facts, should I?  If I do, you'll never know when to believe
me.
     Belief.  It's an important thing.  No, I don't mean 
belief in a god or gods, I mean belief in your word--other's
belief in your word.  My word used to be good.  Where did
it all go wrong?  When did the 'little white lie' become
something more?
     I'm babbling.  I know it.  Sorry.  It's just that
sometimes . . . . Ah, the hell with it.  Why bother to explain?

     She came out of the sun and into the comparative gloom
of the bar.  Like all the others she stopped short, waiting
for her eyes to adjust.  In those few seconds I looked her
over carefully.  I had picked my seat for just that purpose.
I had an unblocked view of anyone who might step through the
door, and in the moments after they stepped through I could
study without them ever being aware that I was doing so.
     All it took was a few seconds.  In a few seconds I could
tell whether or not I'd be interested.  If not, by the time
her eyes had adjusted, I'd be looking back at my drink.  She'd
never know anything.  If I was, then I'd have time to decide
whether I cared if she knew I was interested or not.  Sometimes
it is better to be up front, sometimes not.  This was one of
those latter times.  I was interested, all right, but I didn't
show it.  Showing it would have frightened her.
     She wasn't from around here.  You could see it in her 
uncertainty.  She was a frail bird, ready to take flight at a 
moments notice.  I looked down at my drink, watching her 
obliquely, from the corners of my eyes.  I rested my left elbow 
on the table and lowered my face into it and stared morosely 
into my drink.  Just one more businessman trying to forget a 
bad day.  Self absorbed.  Safe.
     She glanced around the room, checking for danger.  That's
another sign.  I noted it.  She wasn't here to meet someone
or, if she was, she was early and the meeting wasn't legit.
Seat choice would be interesting.  
     I was right, and I put a mark on my mental tally sheet.
She chose a seat which, although it gave a good view of the
room, wasn't optimal for looking at the door.  She wasn't
waiting for anyone.  She was on the hunt, whether she knew
it or not.  I was her target--whether she knew it or not.
     It wouldn't be difficult to attract her attention, hell,
we were practically facing each other.  All I had to do was
to play my cards right.
     The server came over and asked her for her order which,
after a moment's indecision, she gave.  I took the opportunity
to look up casually and survey the room, allowing my gaze to
run over, then past, her in that war-weary way the defeated
have--looking but not really seeing.  I was looking straight
forward, turning my head to shift my gaze.  
     The slow, lazy turn of my head ended abruptly, shortly
after I'd passed over her.  My body tensed just that little,
betraying my shift from the dead to the living and my eyes
jumped to her face--for about a quarter of a second . . . half
second, tops--then dropped back to the table top in front
of me.
     She had caught it.  I would have been very surprised 
had she not.  I straightened up just that little bit, 
seemingly unobtrusively yet, to this woman who was now aware, 
very obviously.  She now knew I was interested and she had to
be just that little bit thrilled, for had it not been she who
had caught my attention?  Was she not someone whose mere 
presence had brought me out of my lethargy?  I smiled sadly to
myself as I toyed with the glass on the table, movement meant 
to draw her attention to me.  I was on display now, like the
peacock, fanning my plumage.
     The server brought her drink--a glass of wine, good, she
wasn't trying for a quick killing of the senses--then came
over to me to see if I wanted another.  In a voice I pitched
so that she could just hear, I told the server, "Just soda
water this time."  I was a man with something on my mind
which wouldn't be improved by another drink.  I was a man
who wanted to be in full control of his faculties.  I was
not a man who needed an extra drink for courage.
     While waiting we played the usual game.  When I looked
up she'd look away, allowing me a moment's glance at her
face without her being aware I was doing so.  Then I'd look
back down and she'd resume her study of me, though never
quite fixing me with her gaze.  She didn't want to frighten
me off.  I sat straighter now.
     The drink came.  I gave a nice tip, then pocketed the
money which was still sitting on the table before me.  It
was obvious.  I'd come here to drink but had changed my mind.
The soda water would be my last drink.  I left a single 
quarter sitting on the table and I fixed it with my stare.
     After a few sips I picked it up and began turning it
over and over with my fingers, concentrating on it.  Jaw
set I gave a quick glance around, to make sure no one was
watching, then gave the coin a quick flip.  Heads or Tails.
     My shoulders slumped slightly at the result.  I took
another swallow.  I took a deep breath then let it out with
a long sigh, my head bowing slightly at the end, my lips 
pressed tightly together.  
     It took a while, a few sips, a few breaths to buoy my
spirits, but I flipped again.  Heads or Tails.  This time I 
lowered my forearm to the arm of the chair and looked down 
at the floor.  Down: two to nil.
     Heads or Tails.  Flip.  At my first win I gave the
merest hint of a smile.  Quickly now, Heads or Tails.  The
smile disappeared.  Down:  three to one.  Best out of seven?
     Why even bother?  I sat up and straightened my coat.
It was time to go.  I took one last look at the quarter, then
began to put it in my pocket.  I froze.  No.  One more try.
Heads or Tails.  Flip.  Three to two.  
     I was breathing a little faster now.  Heads or Tails.
If one could do a whole body slump, I managed it.  Finish.
Down: four to two.  What was the use.  I stood, still holding
the quarter tightly in my fist.  My path to the door would 
take me right past her.
     This is your chance, lady.  Take it.  Three steps and
then I'd be past her.  Two steps.  One step, last chance.
     "Did you win or lose the toss?"  Her voice was treading
the fine line between sultry and edgy.
     I stopped short.  I looked at her, wary and unsure.  I
breathed in, then let it out suddenly with a small half laugh
half snort.  "Lost."  Her mouth curved up, just a bit. "Best 
of seven."  I shrugged.
     She stared me straight in the eyes.  I tried to look 
away but failed.  I opened my mouth to say something else,
but no words came.
     "Maybe you should try best of nine."
     We held each others gaze for a long time.  I straightened
from my semi-slouch.  "Best of one," I said firmly.  Heads or
Tails.  I flipped but made no move to catch the coin on its
way down.  It hit the floor and rolled away.  I held her gaze
as I smiled, a little more confident now.  She stood.
     "It's a nice evening, let's take a walk."
     I nodded and we went out into the sunlight.
     She was confident now, directed, purposeful.

     Her hotel room was like any other hotel room--anonymous.  
I didn't ask her name and she didn't ask mine.  My hunch had
been right.  She was from out of town.  Business trip.  
Husband and children left behind, I guessed.  Husband a 
bastard, otherwise she wouldn't be doing this.  She just wanted
to be wanted.  I knew the feeling very well.  I had just wanted
to be wanted, too.  Before.
     In the hotel our roles reversed.  I led her along, admiring
her in every state of dress to undress.  As we progressed my 
admiration grew and her inhibitions shrank until she was there
before me, naked.  Such faith.  I wish I still had it.
     The curtains moved gently in the breeze, casting moving
shadows which swayed and rolled as we found each others' bodies.
Such sweet, smooth skin.  Lovely breasts, just the right size
and shape (for when are they not just the right size and shape?)
and oh, so sensitive to the touch.
     I loved to touch.  A whisper soft touch here, a gentle
stroke there.  Caressing and fondling.  She moved with a poetry
now ages old, sang her song in a sweet hum which rose and fell
like the waves of the ocean within.  And I was carried along
on her waves, carried deep into the moment, uncaring of anything
other than this, the woman I loved.  
     Nuzzling her throat, her arms about me, holding my head,
stroking my back, I was where I wanted to be.  The joy was upon
me.  I smelled her skin, the hint of perfume in her hair, the
smell of her, almost intangible; and my hands moved softly,
surely down to her delta, my fingers became with her waters.
     A moan, music to my ears, issued forth, then another
as my fingers did their duty, the duty they lived for.  She
was mine, this woman; I was hers, a man.
     "Oh god," I gasped as her fingers, her hand, began to
retaliate.  She laughed out loud at my cry, giddy with the
joy, the release, and pushed me over, onto my back.
     She gloated, in full flush of her power over me, touching
and stroking as I had touched and stroked, bending down to
enclose me in a warm moistness that sent spasms of wonder
through me.
     Then she was up and astride, holding me, positioning me.
Slowly, so very slowly she lowered herself.  There was 
resistance then it was gone and I was sliding in, so warm,
so soft, so safe.
     Joined, we looked at each other, unmoving.  Doubt, the
veriest beginning of doubt touched her face.  I tweaked a
nipple and we were both laughing.  The ride began in earnest,
fun, joyous, each trying to push the other over, each holding
back, making sweeter the moment.  Then there was only panting
breath, hot bodies, and cries.

     She lay on her side and I carefully covered her with 
sheet and blanket.  We had snuggled together for a time,
then I had risen.  The sun was gone and the room was lit
only by a lamp above the little writing desk.
     I sat down, pulled out the hotel stationary and began
to write.  It had been a long day and she watched me through
drooping eyelids, comforted by my presence, near sleep.
     I wrote until the rhythm of her breathing told me she
was asleep.  Then I stood, dressed, folded the paper and
placed it in the envelope.  On the outside I addressed it.

My Love

     It shouldn't have worked so well between us.  I don't know
what it was.  We clicked.  We shouldn't have clicked.  I can't
go through that again.  Need is strong within me--else how could
I do what I do.  Why did I write the letter?  What is there
in me that allows me to do such things?  It could never be, I
know.  Two different lives disrupted because we clicked in bed?
A good lay.  She was a good lay, that's all.
     My word used to be good.  Once I could be trusted, could
trust myself.

     "Welcome back," the server greeted me with a smile.
     Welcome back, indeed.  I should never have been here in
the first place.
     "What will it be?"
     "Scotch."  The server was about to leave when I held up
my hand.  I took out a quarter.  Heads or Tails.  Flip.
     "A triple."