Beautiful Illusions (3 page)

At least I am when I am sober.

Our conversation continued from there, for the rest of the evening, and continued when we left the bar to go to dinner at a steakhouse. Natural, flowing, easy, never an awkward moment of silence. It was as if we were childhood friends who grew up together and knew every intimate detail about one another. We were finishing each other’s sentences by the end of the evening.

But, as we talked,
I casually looked around the restaurant. As I did, I noticed quite a few people staring at Ryan. Not just women, but men, too. Even the ones you would never suspect. And I immediately felt self-conscious. I mean, I guess I am somewhat cute, but this guy was magnetic, and everybody in the bar knew it. All the dirty martinis in the world wouldn't erase the self-doubt that was creeping into my brain with every lustful glance I saw from the patrons at the bar.

With a sinking heart, I knew that I would have to cut it short before I became too involved with a guy who was stratospheres out of my league.

My hand shaking, I began “Ryan, this has been an amazing evening. But I don't think-”

I never finished my sentence, because he was over on my side of the table in a flash. He put his hand in my hair and gav
e me a soft kiss. With tongue. Electricity shot through my body and I realized that I was no longer breathing. My heart stopped for a brief second, and I was trembling more than ever. He looked into my eyes with his penetrating green eyes with long, dark lashes.

“Iris, please. I can tell that you feel that I am better than you, but I don’t want you to think that. I like you. I really like you. I want to spend more time with you.”

I wasn’t really hearing him. His kiss had stunned me, had made the rest of the world stop. I could hear my heartbeat, and my breathing, but could hear little else. I realized that I continued just to stare at him. He was still kneeling in front of me, his eyes pleading a little. I could also see desire in his eyes.

“I….” There were no other words. I blinked rapidly, coming out of my brief catatonia
.

He was finally standing up, his hand out. I stood up too, and
he grabbed my hand and smiled.

I still couldn’t speak
.

“I paid the bill. Let’s go get my car, an
d I’ll drive you to yours.”

I dazedly followed. He opened the door, and the night air brought me a little bit more to my senses. It was still over 90 degr
ees, even though it was 11:30. He held my hand as we walked down the street. I could still feel my hand trembling a little. My legs felt like spaghetti.

He was talking. “Now, with mountain biking, you just have to
feel like you are in control. You have to make the bike and the trails your bitch. That's the secret. Don’t worry, you'll get the hang of it. We'll begin you on the slightest grade of trail, although you'll soon get bored with that, and want to graduate to a bigger trail. But I don’t want to rush you.”

I must've had a look of horror on my face when he said that, because he hurriedly added “but only if you feel comfortable.”

God, I feel dumb. Why couldn’t I talk?

We were soon at his car, and I felt even more intimidated. The guy had a brand new Porsche 911.
What the hell is he doing with me?
 

He opened the car door. As I started to get into the door, he put his hands on my shoulders. Then
he put one hand in my hair as he leaned to kiss me again. His tongue was slowly exploring inside my mouth. I was aware that I wasn’t breathing again. I was also aware of his heartbeat, which was surprisingly loud. The kiss was longer and deeper than the one in the restaurant. The jolt of electricity that I felt during the first kiss was stronger now, coursing completely through my body. My heart was beating fast and hard. His kiss remained soft, his lips feathering on mine, his tongue lightly gliding just inside my mouth.

He was an amazing kisser.

After what seemed like an eternity, he broke away. I looked up, and he was looking down at me, smiling, his hand still in my hair. I was aware that his other hand was around my waist gently. My breath caught. I was still shaking. Smiling, he gestured for me to get into the car. I stumbled into the front seat, my legs giving way beneath me. I was vaguely aware that he was fastening my seatbelt, then getting into the driver’s seat next to me. Once he got into the driver’s seat, he leaned over and kissed me again, feathery, light. Then we were off.

We drove in silence to my car
, which was a beat-up 15-year-old RAV4 named Priscilla, because she was purple. I still didn't have words, and he was probably tired of trying to fill the silence. But, at every stop light, he would gently take his hand off the steering wheel, and place it in my hair, gently running his hands through my mane, and sometimes stroking my cheek.

We finally arrived at the
battered car, but I somehow didn’t feel embarrassed about it. And it wasn’t until I arrived home that night, after driving home with the radio on, feeling that every love song was written especially for me, that I came down to earth. He had kissed me again before I got into my car. His kisses were tender, sweet. He was very respectful, keeping his hands around my waist and in my hair. That kiss at my car lasted awhile.

I wanted it to last forever.

However, getting home somewhat brought me back down. Madison, my kitty cat, gave me her usual greeting when I came in the door, which was pawing the cork disk on the floor while mewing. I looked around the apartment. It wasn’t a bad apartment, really, just quite small. I had painted the walls a dark shade of green in the living room (there wasn’t a dining room), and the bedroom was painted a dark shade of rose. Above the fireplace was an enormous Andy Warhol print of Jacqueline Kennedy. I wasn't really a fan of either Warhol or Jackie Kennedy, but, for some reason, that particular picture drew me in, and I had to have it.

My bed was strewn with clothes, both dirty and clean, and I really didn’t feel like throwing the clothes on th
e floor so that I could sleep. So, I plopped on the couch and thought about the night. Was I dreaming it all? 

Then, just before I was about to fall asleep, the phone rang. It was him. “I just wanted to call and wish you a good night.”

“Yes, thank you for tonight,” was all I could manage to say.

“Iris?”

“Yes?”

“I think I might be
falling in love with you.”

I didn’t even r
un my negative loop in my head -
too soon, don’t be crazy, he just wants to get you into bed again.
“Um, yes, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I managed to mumble, stunned once again.

“Tomorrow. Remember, the bike is your bitch.”

I laughed. “Yes, my bitch.”

“Good night beautiful.”

“’Night.” We hung up, and I drifted off to sleep.

Ryan arrived at my apartment at 8 AM, just like he said. I had come down a little since the previous evening, but I couldn’t bring myself to clean up the apartment. I was too wired.

And, oh, God, I didn’t have biking shorts! I couldn
’t possibly bike without biking shorts! 

He was knocking at the door. I shut my bedroom door (my clothes were still all over the bed). At this point, I had to find my keys, as they went missing sometime during the night, and my cell phone, which went missing so
mewhere else during the night. I tore around the apartment, lifting up magazines and newspapers, throwing everything out of drawers, tossing the couch cushions, over and over again. Somehow, I kept looking in the exact same places about 20 times, as if they would somehow magically appear in these places, when they clearly were not there before.

“Just a second!” I called
.
Shit, where are these goddamned things?
I opened up the refrigerator, and there were my keys.
Go figure.
Which gave me an idea – I climbed up on the counter to look on top of the fridge, and my cell phone was there.
Bizarre.
I got the idea to look on top of the fridge because it occurred to me that I might have put the cell phone up there, because years ago I put a pair of glasses on top of the fridge. Of course, I was drunk at the time. But, last night, I was drunker than I had ever been. Not literally, just high from the evening.

I opened the door, breathless. “Gos
h, I am so sorry. I overslept. Um, I can’t go.”

He looked perplexed.
“How come?”

“I wasn’t thinking last night. I don’t have a pair of biking shorts.”

“Ah, well, you aren’t getting out of this so easily, my friend.” He was smiling impishly.

“What do you mean?”

“I picked up a pair of biking shorts for you.”

“This morning? Already?”

“Yeah. Dick’s is open early.”

I wasn’t aware of this.
Somehow, I was suspicious that he got the shorts yesterday afternoon.
Presumptuous.
Or, god forbid, he bought them for somebody else.
Whatever.

“Huh. What's the real story?”

“You caught me. Actually, I have a friend who knows the owner of Dick’s. I called in a favor, and asked him if he would let me shop early this morning, before the store opened.”

I was impressed
.

“Just a sec, let me bring them up and make sure that they fit.” And he was gone
.

In about a minute, he was back, shorts in one hand, his other hand behind his back
.

“Here, try these
on.”

“
Ok, but you can’t come in.”
He can’t possibly be ready for cyclone alley, as my mother would say.

He looked perplexed. I suddenly realized that I was supposed to notice his hand behind hi
s back and ask him about this. “Whatcha got there behind your back?”

His impish smile was back.
“Well, this is a cliché, but I am very much a romantic.” And he then produced a dozen red roses from behind his back.

I was shaking again. Just when I was starting to regain my composure around this guy, and he produces roses. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I received flowers of any kind from anyb
ody. “Oh, these are beautiful. Let me find a vase to put them in. Wait there, though.”
Why, why, why didn’t I clean up the apartment before he got here? What is wrong with me? He probably thinks I am the world’s rudest person.

I dashe
d into the apartment. No vase. I hauled out an empty wine bottle from the trash can, smashed the top of the bottle, filled it with water, and put the roses in that.
That will have to do for now. Must remember to buy a vase.
Then I had to sweep the galley kitchen floor, because I was liable to step on glass with my bare feet, and Madison might get glass in her delicate paws. “Sweet kitty,” I said, picking her up, getting momentarily distracted. She purred loudly in my ear.

Next order of busin
ess was putting on the shorts. They fit perfectly. I threw on a t-shirt, then realized that Ryan’s bike probably had clip pedals. Luckily, I had an old pair of clip shoes and threw them on. However, I couldn’t find my helmet.

On my way out the door, I grabbed a Slim Fast shak
e, shook it up, and downed it.
That’s all you are going to have until lunch time.

I opened the door. Ryan was chatting with my across the hall neighbor. Funny, she never even said hello to me. Ever. She was giggling animatedly, flipping her hair, batting her eyelashes.
Give me a fucking break.
I looked at her, and she looked back. Daggers from her.
Bitch.

Ryan immediate
ly turned his attention to me. “Well, Sheila, it was good to meet you.”

“You too,” she sai
d, giggling and hair flipping. Eyelash batting.

Turning to me, Ryan asked “How did the shorts work?” I then noticed that he had a pair of clip shoes in his hand, and a helmet in the other hand.

“Great, great. Wow, you really think of everything.”

“Well, I see th
at you already have the shoes. But do you need this helmet, at least?”

I nodded.
“I can’t find mine anywhere.” He handed me the helmet, and I adjusted it to fit my head. “Actually, let me see those shoes. Those look nicer than mine.” And, indeed they were. I put them on. They fit better than mine as well. “You get all these things at Dick’s this morning?”

“Yeah.
I realized after I went home last night that I didn’t ask you if you had the right gear, so I just decided to pick this stuff up, just in case. I'm glad that I did.”

“Everything actually fits perfectly,” I said, thinking about the irony of him bringing me shoes that fit perfectly. Cinderella popped into my head for a brief moment.

“Groovy. Then let’s get going.” I smiled at his use of the word “groovy.”
Maybe we are going to get along after all.

Once in the car, Ryan grabbed my hand,
and kissed it, then kissed me. “I know that this is going to sound crazy, but I missed you last night after I left.”