Contact

3048873605

Follow

©2019 by Debra Tabor Brewster. Proudly created with Wix.com

Scenes from a Life - Chapter 22 - Excerpt

***Excerpts from Scenes from a Life - Chapter 22***

(On her hotel balcony. The afternoon before being introduced to Nigel Finlay, a musician and sort of rebel from the band The Dark, at the benefit she attends with her literary agent. Olivia is completely unaware of how her life path is about to change—)

     When they say New York never sleeps, they're right. On just about any given night there are more than a few stragglers on the streets. But that's part of the charm, that underlying hyper-pace which seems to say life is too good (and too short) to be slept away. One can always see the city's veins pumping with human plasma--sometimes literally too. Olivia loved this about New York just as she loved the fact that places like Baileysville rolled up their sidewalks at nine o'clock. In a town the size of Baileysville there was a simple mischievousness to being a night owl, as if one was getting ahead of the locals by seeing the wee hours of the day. In a city the size of New York, one hadn't that same sort of isolation, accompanied with the knowledge that they weren't alone, that thousands of others were seeing those wee hours-whether they embraced them or not.

(Two days after having met Nigel and spent time in deep conversations at a late night jazz bar, at dinner, on a walk around the city, Olivia and Nigel return to her hotel room where they talk and then slow dance --)

     “Do I really make you uncomfortable?" she asked.
     "To attempt your chain of thought--uncomfortably comfortable," he explained in his thick Irish accent, still holding her glance. "I never worried about control until now." They were moving slower. She looked into his eyes.
     “Funny, I always worried about control till now," she whispered. They stopped moving and gazed into each other's eyes.
     “Do you trust me?" he whispered, kissing her temple. She leaned into his kisses to her cheek, her forehead.
     “Implicitly," she whispered. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
     “I don't think there is any going back," he said, his accent heavy but breathy. The touch of his hand to her inner thigh sent quivers throughout her body as he kissed her so gently on the lips, his other hand around her back holding her like something precious, some priceless work of art as her eased her onto the bed. His hand began to travel up her thigh to that warm, sweet divide, and his slow approach made her nearly go completely limp in anticipation of his actual touch. When, after seconds that seemed like eternities entwined in infinity, he finally moved his fingers to grace her there, she went limp and opened to him, acquiesced to every sensation he drew from her with his kisses, his whispers, his breath on her skin. Every. Single. Move. was as if a first time and a lifetime of getting each stroke, every small touch, and deliberate sway to a perfect rhythmic musical movement. Slow piano notes of a long ago story. The fluidity of a jazz lounge echo long left to history and the darkness of a sleepless - be it so very worthy and nowhere long enough - night. This would be unbelievably divine yet simply so sweet, so honest so unexpected. There. Was. No. Going. Back.
     If life could exist in such a state of peaceful bliss as that which engulfed the two lovers that black and silent night, then there would never be pain or suffering, frustration or regret. There could be no harmony as perfect, no music as beautiful as the last tone that drifted through their bodies, bringing tears to Olivia's eyes. He looked at her and they wept together, grasping each other, sharing the pain as once the peace was blown away by the breeze. Even minutes were too long to wait for the wonder of the feelings they had made to be roused again for the wonder of the connection that took them to another world was stronger than both of them.
     She awoke in his arms. They had fallen asleep on the floor, enshrouded in the sheets from the bed. The scent of his cologne brought back vivid images of hours before. Slowly she slipped out of his arms, grabbed his shirt, and put it on. It was chilly in the suite as the doors to the balcony had been left
open. She took a bottle of water from the bar, and went out onto the balcony.
     A dim grey-blueness painted the horizon. Life was both winding down and winding up in the city for that Saturday morning. She watched it as she leaned on the edge of the balcony railing, the whirl of a police siren echoing in the distance. It would be fully awake, this city, in a couple of hours, calling, clamoring, bustling, and for a moment that early morning it all had ceased to exist for Olivia. She held back tears, tears for the moments she had just shared, tears for the place she had just entered and realized that no matter what, she could never leave those moments behind. Her life was destined to be a wreck without him, and she knew not what it would be with him. For a girl who never thought that such things were possible, she now believed nothing else would do in her life.
     She lay her forehead on her arms and closed her eyes. Perhaps she didn't know anything, or she now knew too much of what made life too complex to comprehend.