Authors: Gina Elle
Your Song (2 page)
It’s Amy calling. I haven’t heard from her in a while.
“Hey, stranger. Where’ve you been?” is exactly how Amy greets me after I say hello.
“Good morning to you too, Amy,” I reply not hiding the slight bit of annoyance I’m feeling at this moment.
“Hi, Eric. Long time, no hear. What up?” In that instant I am reminded how young Amy really is.
“Shouldn’t you be in class or something? It’s Monday morning,” I question using my best parental tone of voice.
“I finished classes a few weeks ago. Summer ‘vacay’ has officially begun. Well, almost begun. I still have to defend my Masters thesis next month and then after that, south of France, here I come. So what part of the continent do you find yourself in this morning?” she asks.
“I’m leaving O’Hare airport any minute now. Heading back home,” I answer distractedly. I’m still looking over my shoulder for Sweet Caroline.
“Cool. Maybe we can hook up sometime this week then? Drinks? Dinner? Coffee?” Amy is gauging my mood.
“Umm . . .
sure . . . that sounds all right,” I say scanning my immediate area once again hoping my girl is somewhere in the vicinity.
“Great,” Amy interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll text you then,” she adds before hanging up.
Absentmindedly, I return my iPhone back to my breast pocket forgetting in no time how the conversation with Amy ended. My mind is focused on one thing right now, or should I say, one person. And, that is exactly when I spot her. From behind, with her back to me, she is seated at a round table in a far corner of a food court. The food court is relatively quiet at this time of the morning except for a few occupied tables. I watch her from afar. Or, by now, should we just call it what it is? I stalk her from afar.
Sweet Caroline has books and papers sprawled all over the table in front of her. She is looking down, reading and taking notes on her propped up
iPad. Every few seconds I watch as she rakes her fingers through her long light brown hair, and then returns to tapping away at the screen in front of her. Concentrating so intently, she rarely looks up from her work. Hot! She’s damn hot.
I grab a seat at one of the tables in the food court, far away enough from her so tha
t she can’t see me, but from where I have a perfect view of her. Do I look like a stalker? I must. So, I get up and go buy a coffee that I know I won’t drink. If it’s not espresso,
illy
espresso to be exact, the chances are I won’t drink it. I sit down again with my coffee and newspaper and try to look like a regular patron instead of an obsessed teenager fawning over his hot math teacher. I pull back the lid on the coffee cup and bring it to my lips pretending to take small sips. My eyes don’t veer far from this Mystery Woman sitting steps away from me. This is actually the closest I have gotten to her all morning.
Her movements are graceful. The way her fingers tap so lightly on the screen, the sexy way she crosses one leg over the other, even the way she twirls a strand of hair around and around. Sweet. I study her some more. Instinctively, again, I check for a ring on her left hand but don’t see one. Hmmm. Whatever it is she’s been reading has captured her full attention because she hasn’t looked up or around once. I wonder what this intriguing woman is finding so absorbing? What was she doing in Chicago? Maybe she lives here?
The speaker is blaring again. Boarding on flight #8131 is now beginning, the attendant announces. Sweet Caroline has begun to pack up her things. Not wanting to be noticed, I gather myself up quickly, toss my full cup of coffee in the nearby trash and make my way to the gate. Once I arrive there, I stand behind a pillar so I could watch her arrive at the gate. Stalker move, to say the least.
They’re beginning by boarding passengers seated in first class. Normally, I’d be right up there in line anxious to get on board and settle in. Today I wait and look around the terminal. And here she comes. Sweet Caroline enters stage right. Gliding her way across the waiting area, she finds her place in line. So, it looks like she’ll be sitting in first class with me. Happy day, Eric! I feel like a schoolboy anticipating his first kiss, I’m that excited. I do the quick calculations: Typically there are eight to twelve seats in first class, and estimating the number of passengers i
n line right now, I count nine. . . . Counting me, that makes ten passengers in first class. I, therefore, have a one in eight chance of sitting next to Sweet Caroline. Then again, if I were in Vegas, would I be hedging a 1 in 8 chance on a bet? Probably not. But, a man can dream. Crazier things have happened. Neil Diamond’s first verse rings in my ear.
What I do next is even bold by my standards. I take my place in line behind so that there are two passengers separating myself from Sweet Caroline. Of course, it goes without saying, that I don’t take my eyes off her. Specifically, though, I want to see if I could catch a glimpse of her passport and her name when she hands it to the attendant during pre-boarding. Better still, if I could read her surname printed on the boarding pass, I’d be in really awesome shape.
I inch my way up close to the gentleman standing in front of me, hoping to look over his shoulder. When Sweet Caroline hands over her documents, I wait as patiently as I can. For some reason, being this close to her I feel so nervous. Very edgy and I don’t know why. And when I’m nervous I always scratch my head, which is what I’m doing right now. I‘ve been a business traveler for years, in and out of dozens of airports and this is the first time I’ve been captivated by a fellow passenger this way. Man, I got it bad.
She hands over her documents and gives a slight smile to the attendant as she hands over her . . . do my eyes deceive me . . .
really
? I see it. I see the familiar dark blue leather cover . . . it is . . . a Canadian passport. Yes! She’s Canadian . . . maybe she’s returning home…to Toronto . . .
hmmm
. Second verse is coming.
And, just like that, faster than the snap of her fingers, the attendant tears off half her portion of the boarding card and hands Sweet Caroline the remaining slip. Sweet Caroline accepts her half of the card, clips it into her passport and walks straight onto the gangway. With the transaction quickly and efficiently executed, yet another of my carefully and swiftly thought out plans this morning goes awry. Didn’t catch her full name.
One in eight chance, Eric . . . don’t lose sight of the odds, I try to pump some optimism into my quickly deflating excitement. Like a boxer in the ring, my efforts at meeting Sweet Caroline have been pummeled this morning. I adjust my boxing gloves, step back into the ring and give it my all. What more can I do but board the plane and hope for the best.
Here I go. Wish me luck. I need it.
I’ve been assigned seat 3C. I step on board and take a deep breath. Familiar with the boarding routine as if on autopilot, I walk through the steps mindlessly. I step into the aircraft, greet the crew at the entranceway; show them my boarding pass and turn to locate my seat. Today, however, I know that once I turn into the cabin there will be someone there that I need to make eye contact with. Which makes me feel so nervous. And childish. But it is also making me feel so alive. I love the chase as much as the next guy, probably more than any other guy, I assure you. But today feels completely different.
Although the connection is a strong physical one with Sweet Caroline, I also have this unexplainable need to know her. On some level I don’t yet understand, I feel compellingly drawn to her. I know that sounds all new-age coming from a so-not- new-age kind of guy, but it is the only way I can explain this incredible pull I am feeling in her direction.
So, I make a right into the cabin. And, she is there. Settled into the first seat of the first row. Seat 1B. Wow! She is even lovelier than I thought. Perfectly set hazel eyes, luminous skin, and a lightly lip glossed mouth to absolutely die for.
Unfortunately, we don’t make eye contact because she’s looking down. I move down the aisle at a snail’s pace. I settle into my aisle seat in the final row of first class, two rows behind her, on the opposi
te side. From here, I have a forty-five degree angle view of her. I settle into my seat and notice that the business traveller next to me is already devouring his copy of the
Globe and Mail
, one of Canada’s national newspapers.
The seat next to Sweet Caroline is still unoccupied. How I would give up my firstborn to be assigned that seat right now. With the rest of the passengers boarding at this time, my view of Sweet Caroline is temporarily obstructed. What the hell has come over me this morning?
Googly-eyed and weak-limbed around a pretty woman has never been my style. In my thirty-two years, I certainly have had my share of women. Some I’ve fallen for more than others but never have I had this type of reaction before, to a woman I haven’t even spoken to.
By the time the crowd clears, I see that a woman traveler has taken the seat beside Caroline. Damn. Today is just not my day. The woman and Sweet Caroline are chatting, a bit too softly for me to hear anything they are saying. That’s real stalker behavior. Attempted eavesdropping, your Honor, I plead guilty.
The flight attendant delivers some refreshments before takeoff. My much-desired passenger in 1B accepts a glass of water, as do I when it is my turn. I sip my water and continue to stare at her. Man, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The flight attendants have just received word to prepare the cabin for takeoff. I note that I’ve exactly one hour to make contact with Sweet Caroline.
That’s when the theme from the classic 70s movie
Rocky
begins humming in my head. You know, about the eye of the tiger. I check my watch. It’s 10:40 A.M. precisely. Sweet Caroline is fastened into her seat with ear buds secured in her ears tuned into the airline radio, I’m assuming. A classy woman, listening to classical music. My sense of self-awareness is acute enough to know that I‘ve been staring in the direction of 1B long enough. Before the man next to me alerts the authorities upon arrival in Toronto of the freak in seat 3D, I make myself look busy.
Once in mid-air, I pull out my
iPad and start to read some work documents I’ve been meaning to read for some time. In between articles, I look up at Sweet Caroline. From the angle I’m looking at her, I can see her eyes closed and the buds still resting in her ears. Her hands are sitting in her lap. Her left leg, so long and lithe, crosses over her right leg leaving her left foot dangling seductively in the aisle. Seductively to me, that is, the things I’d love to do with that foot . . . and those legs . . . those hips . . . those . . . I am getting way too ahead of myself now.
Three articles still left to read and right now I couldn’t care less about any of them. The time on the screen says 10:55 A.M., already. Shit. I’ve got less than an hour to make a move. Any move. I need to engage my Sweet Caroline somehow, some way in less than three quarters of an hour. I channel Barry White for inspiration.
Alas, my light bulb moment comes. Immediately, I unbuckle my seatbelt, get up and walk the few steps it takes to get to the front of the plane. She’s sitting there to my left, eyes closed, still listening to music. Her left foot, sexy as ever, sways back and forth slightly. She looks like an angel. A Victoria’s Secret angel. Perfection. My insides twitch being in such proximity to her. I could only imagine how I’d feel if I actually touched her.
Now, back to what feels like my five hundredth plan of the day. The restroom door is on my left. If I turn the door latch and gently swing the door open, hoping that the door ‘accidentally’ hits the top of Sweet Caroline’s foot, then she’d open her eyes. If she opened her eyes then we’d make eye contact. If we made eye contact then I could apologize to her. If I could apologize to her then I could flirt. If I could flirt with her a bit then who knows where that could lead? It’s a plan. I’m going to give it a go.
Right hand on door latch. Check. Turn latch. Check. So far, so good. Door starts to open. Check. Swing door with a little extra force. Yes. All systems are a go. Door hits beautiful woman’s foot. Check! Sweet Caroline does not open her eyes. What! She’s asleep!
I slip into the vacant restroom, lock the door and turn to face myself in the mirror. You sorry little thing, you! What the hell are you doing? Playing games like a teenage boy? Man up! You’ve done this a million times before. Go up to the woman and just start talking to her.
I wash my hands and dry them using the paper towels on the basin. I exit the restroom more calmly than when I entered it. Sleeping beauty is still asleep.
Back at my seat, I refasten my seatbelt and glance at my watch. 11:00 A.M. My neighbor to the left is still memorizing today’s paper. I do what comes the most natural thing to do
; I resume staring at Sweet Caroline. I am honing in on my newfound skill at stalking this beautiful woman. I watch her every movement and mentally document her every nuance. I think about the effect she is having on me and find it pretty exhilarating. And that’s when I spot it. Right there on the sole of her ballet flat shoe: The hugest wad of gum I have ever seen.
Inspiration comes to me once again. I summon the flight attendant named Deb over for some assistance. She willingly obliges.
I sit and wait.
Moments later, the ever-helpful Deb hands Sweet Caroline my handwritten note. I watch Caroline extend her exquisite hand to accept it. I specifically asked Deb not to point out whom the note was from. Just hand it to her and walk away was my instruction. Fortunately, Deb is on her game this morning. Poker-faced, she taps Caroline lightly on her shoulder, slips the note in her hand and walks towards the back of the plane, grinning at me as she passes my seat.