“It’s my bag.”
And then she turned around to face me.
“Oh, shit.” I thought to myself when I found myself held in place by a smoky and steady gaze.
“I saw you scrutinizing it.” she continued, talking slowly as if I were a retard. I probably looked like one, with my jaw hanging open like a fish.
“Oh. That’s pretty interesting.” I said, finally gathering my wits.
“It is? How so?”
“Well, for one, it doesn’t look like the kind of bag one will find in a club.”
“You sound like an authority on the fashion scene in a club.” her voice took a mocking edge, and I loved it.
“Or maybe I’m just a quick study. This is my first time in a scene like this.”
“Yes way.” Long forgotten are my frozen limbs from earlier, and anyone watching us would think I usually chat up girls at clubs as a hobby.
I was just thinking that we were too far apart to be having a conversation when she glided over to the stool closest to me.
“You were saying?” Now, I can note the other details of her face I couldn’t see earlier. Her cupid’s bow, perfect aquiline nose and ears that looked almost elfish in their ‘pointedness’. It is all just too much for one person, but, she seems to be handling it commendable panache.
Help me, dear lord.
“You have never been to a club? Why not?” there was a spark of interest in her eyes, and they seemed to invite me to spill my guts.
“Let’s just say it’s not my scene.”
“What is your scene?”
And that is how we really started talking. We went through a series of topics, from music to literature to food, culture and travel! The loud noise didn’t matter, all the other guys coming up to ask her if they could buy her a drink (she had them running along with just one look, it was such a sexy thing to watch) didn’t matter. It felt like the entire world went quiet, and we were the only two things that mattered. I have read that line, in several variations so many times and it always made me roll my eyes. But now that I can feel it, I think I should atone for all those eye rolls.
“What is the deal with your bag?” I asked finally, returning to my initial fascination.
“Why does it interest you so much?”
“Well, asides from the fact that it looks totally out of place here, it just doesn’t look like a bag I’d think you’ll carry.”
How do I explain to her that when she came into the room, I got the same feel from her I got when I read stories about powerful queens of ages past, and I don’t picture any one of them carrying a cute bag that’s a smiley face.
Because words failed me, I settled for a shrug.
She considered me over her glass as she took a sip from her drink before saying, “It’s cute.” with a shrug of her own.
“See, that’s the thing. You don’t look like you do cute. Hell, calling you cute is a wrong usage of that word.”
“What would you call me then?”
“Oh, I dunno, drop dead gorgeous, sexy…” I was already blurting out a reply when I noticed that her eyes were dancing with mischief. She was playing with me.
“Why, thank you.” her smile was loaded with mischief, like a cat that got cream.
“My emoticon bags, yes, I have more of them with different faces, are like a statement. A ‘forget me not’ of sorts.”
Not that anyone can forget a face like hers, but, I didn’t say that.
Three words, but they held a promise, and I desperately wanted her to keep it.