Hey, remember when I told you about the time I went to that wedding, you know the one where I nearly got involved with my friend’s brother’s girlfriend; quite the sexiest woman I never got to dally with. Well very recently the same thing happened again. Kind of…
Okay this time I’m overseas, the States to be precise. My folks have relatives there and a distant cousin was getting hitched, so for a change I was the one selected to be the UK emissary. This was pretty weird in itself seeing these are rellies who’ve not laid eyes on me since I was a wee whippersnapper. Indeed on the actual big day I found I had to re-introduce myself to at least half of them, accompanied by their proverbial “Oh my god, I last saw you when you were just that high” etc.
Anyway, being a cousin and travelling light (i.e. single) I was put on one of the tables near the back with other friends and cousins from both sides of the bride/groom divide, and to be honest this suited me fine. Why? Well I was already weary of the “Why aren’t you married yet?” and the “So is there anyone special in your life?” as well as the “So when are your parents going to get any grandchildren?” kind of questioning issuing from some of my more mature namesakes who seemed to disapprove of my wastrel thirties bachelordom. It probably didn’t help that I obviously appeared to be enjoying this whispered notoriety, and I’d made sure BD had dressed me suitably suave for the occasion too, just to give the international playboy myth some further substance.
That’s all a lot of rubbish by the way – but they didn’t know that!
Well, as luck (or misfortune) would have it, I found myself sat next to a close friend of the bride’s (my cousin by the way) who it appeared had been pretty much adopted into our Stateside family too. She was late thirties, laughing eyes, a big smile, curvaceous figure and an accent to die for (ever since Tammy I’ve just had a thing for American accents). On introducing ourselves it turned out she too was single and once we’d established how this status suited us both fine, we clinked glasses and the game inevitably began.
It didn’t help we were both drinking spirits too (a free bar) instead of the wine. She latched onto this immediately when I said this was my preference, to which she heartily agreed adding, “Although it makes me go a little wild.” Well of course I had to respond by enquiring just how wild, to which she coyly replied, “Maybe you’ll see,” while flashing her eyes. Now that I thought about it, they were bad eyes. I told her so. She liked that.
What was fun about our conversation as it progressed, what made it sexy, was the fact it was all being done in between smiles, polite conversations and group photos with our fellows at the table. We’d lean back and make quick asides, sometimes not even looking at each other as we spoke. I mean it was almost like a covert duel; who could come out with the smartest, riskiest comment, verbal swords flashing for just a brief second, then parting, then returning.
Of course with us both being partnerless we’d share a dance. That was a mutual given, we agreed. Meanwhile in-between those wider pleasantries yet more sparring. Being the two older singletons in our group made people nervous didn’t it? We should be hitched to shouldn’t we? But we weren’t were we. Instead we enjoyed our freedom didn’t we (didn’t we?), that we could do what we wanted, when we wanted… and of course ‘who’ we wanted. Yes definitely ‘who’ we wanted. And as long as we were adult about it, then nobody got hurt did they.
Occasionally one of us would disappear, wander round, say hi to more of those we should be saying hi to, and then we’d return, the muttered observations and mutual rapport continuing afresh. Where was I staying? With family, I told her. Shame, was her response. I let that lie. The eyes, the bad eyes, said enough. Later she accidentally dropped her napkin by her leg; the leg with the revealing slit down one side. I offered, as a gentleman, to retrieve it. She declined with a coy grin, but quietly added, “There’s time for that later. We’ll go somewhere.”
So that was pretty much established then. Very direct, and it came from her. Indeed it rather reminded me of what happened at the theatre not too long ago. Ah the games we singletons play to keep ourselves amused, thumbing our noses to all those boring, twee couples out there and their perceived superfluous conversations. I mean how did anyone know at this oh so respectable shindig two of its more subversive elements were planning something of a quite titillating escapade where the prying eyes hopefully couldn’t see.
Before that though, our dance – and that was our mistake. You see in that one move we went public. All eyes were on us, surreptitiously of course, but eyes nonetheless. And maybe we’d been outmanoeuvred after all. There we were, cocky in our supposed superiority to everyone here, when all along this probably had been the plan by the higher powers who organised the seating. For with such eyes on us came expectation. Not the expectation we were about to sneak away and rip off the more essential parts of our clothing, but rather something a lot more wholesome. Awww look they’re dancing. It worked! They can now join our world.
And that killed it. In that moment we both knew whatever we’d been building up to wasn’t going to happen. In fact she pretty much admitted it when she confessed, “Suddenly I don’t feel bad any more, not with my family here.” Of course they were actually my family not hers, but I knew what she meant. And to be honest despite being slightly disappointed I felt the same. I reconciled it that maybe someone upstairs was looking out for me, us. After all it wouldn’t have done my reputation much good to have reappeared after all these years, cause some sort of scandal, and then leave the disapproving fallout to her while I scurried back over the pond and into a few more years worth of obscurity. I might not be the shy boy they all remembered – which had surprised them – but this was not a new legacy to leave behind either.
Thus once the dance ended, so did the adventure. It was carriages soon after anyhow, with a final knowing smile but a polite goodbye.
Oh well, more proof maybe that it really is time for those so-called “superfluous conversations” instead…
By Bastian Dash read more of stories on your personal home page
