Chapter 5

Saturday. The temperature was a dozen degrees warmer than forecasted. I looked in the mirror and adjusted my tunic blouse. I was a bit anxious and telephoned the doctor. She was an early riser. “I recall ah…you said something to the effect that Saturday was Micah’s day’s off.”

“Right.”

“And he usually heads to an art museum, correct?”

“He said something about the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He’ll probably be there this morning, a few minutes after it opens up, knowing him.”

“Thanks. Let’s stay in touch.”

“We will, Reine. My best.”

“Thanks.” I then called my appointment and suggested to him the time and place we would meet.

“Sure,” he said. “I’m taking a taxi…meet you there when it opens.”

“Sounds good.”

How does one accurately calculate a person’s courage and desire? Micah’s attitude was “know who you’re becoming,” I mused to myself. Chemistry. Was it one-sided? I hate misleading people. My self-talk ended as I arrived to meet my appointment at the museum.

As I was walking up the steps to the museum I looked around at the heavy mist. It clung to the skin of the buildings, cars, and people crowding the streets with miniscule drops forming streams of wetness. I was hoping I’d catch up with Micah while simultaneously curtailing the business arrangement with the vice president. The arrangement was already becoming sticky, so to speak. Actually, sticky is good in some relationships. Just not this one. I didn’t want business with him affecting my potential relationship with the professor.

Micah, meanwhile, took the subway to the museum after he finished eating breakfast. Upon arriving, he entered the museum, glanced around, showed his membership card to the staff and headed toward the galleries. He cherished the jazzy ambience of a splendid art museum. Works of art possessed a sensuality in which he could immerse himself. The crowded galleries were ones in which few people bothered him. He viewed artistic creations imagining the voices from the past he would later tell me.

Standing among the milling crowds I looked around at the faces of mutual voyeurs and spectators. Walking through the Great Hall of the art museum was like being in a secular basilica. It aroused my epicurean intellect. As I felt certain it did the same for Micah.

“I feel like fucking when I’m in this place,” A young woman exclaimed to her companion.

I smiled, thinking of Micah. My heart raced. Lascivious outlines of naked male and female bodies pirouetted on the tableau of my mind. I wanted him. I looked about for my appointment. The vice-president was standing several meters from the entrance. He noticed me and strolled over to me.

“Greetings! Shall we walk while we’re discussing our mutual business interests?” I asked him.

“By all means,” he said.

I was hoping I’d spot Micah. I wore black pumps with ankle straps. My toenails were painted dark burgundy to compliment my outfit. My lips were a similar color. I ran my fingers through my long dark brown hair as I looked toward a group of people walking by. “There.”

“What?”

“Just thinking out loud.”

I could see Micah. He noticed me. I could feel my heart pound. I was wearing my medieval white linen blouse with the outline of my nipples offering an au-natural glimpse underneath a jacket. My short black skirt showcased my long-legs. My heels were aligned below the abstract tattoo above my ankle on the outside of my left leg. Dr. Sheila told me the abstract sexual quality of the tattoo was alluring to him. It was part of my history. Eventually, I wanted to reveal myself.

The crowd surged back and forth. I lost sight of him for a second and bit my lip then noticed he was moving his head to catch a better glimpse of me. Perhaps he was anxious. We both were, I suppose. Neither of us knew we’d see, let alone meet the other. I peered at my business partner. He considered himself a debonair looking man. He had a protruding stomach and short, salt and pepper hair on the sides and balding on the top, a suntanned face and an elongated nose elevated toward the ceiling. I guided us toward where Micah was standing.

My partner and I approached where Micah stood. I purposefully bumped Micah’s arm. “Hi. On my. I’m sorry. I need to look where I’m walking.”

His look was of genuine surprise or he was a good actor. Growing up watching my mother on stage I had a sense of what good acting looked like. Micah was genuine. I decided he wasn’t a good actor. “Good morning. I probably needed to watch where I’m standing.” He said, and absent-mindedly dropped a brochure and his museum member card he held in his hand, and as he stooped to pick the items up, I quickly reached down with the agility of a ballet dancer, scooped up the brochure, and handed it to him before he could retrieve it. I kept his membership card. Neither man noticed the sleight of hand, as I placed the card with my own brochure.

Looking at my face he seemed to have a difficult time avoiding my stare. Perhaps it was the other way around. Provocative and assertive my ex-husband said of me. On the other hand. Micah’s presence overwhelmed my senses. There was something different about him the closer I got to him. His brief stare lasted a second but felt much longer. The minute is deceptive. He stumbled for words. “Thanks…I…”

“You’re fine.” I paused while looking into his eyes. Both of our gazes might be considered hypnotic. He seemed to take a few extra moments looking at my lips. It was as if he wanted to kiss me. “It’s my pleasure,” I added. My grin was fleeting and wanton. I wanted to bite his neck. I handed him the brochure touching his hand in the process.

Micah’s mouth fell open sucking in the air around him. Did he feel my energy enter his body? Was it like the glow a person feels after the familiar tremble experienced during foreplay? I was fantasizing. But, then I noticed he peeked down at my erotic tattoo as I walked away and was about to disappear into one of the galleries.

Turning the corner, I looked over my shoulder toward him. He returned my gaze, squinting as if to zoom in on me. I did the same. We connected. It was symbiotic. I could feel my heart pound. I looked down at my brochure and asked my companion to go on as I accidently kept the other man’s membership card, when I retrieved his brochure. I told him I’d meet him in the modern art gallery.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.” It was as if he didn’t know for sure how to respond.

I returned to Micah who had slowly been walking and looking at the art works when I approached him. “Sorry Micah, I accidently picked up your card.”

“Oh. To be frank, I didn’t even miss it.” He said.

“Micah, I saw you…at the bookstore and of course yesterday thanks in part to Dr. Sheila. I’m sure you’re familiar with the ancient Greek or Roman cliché, it’s what we don’t know at times that bothers us the most.”

“Hmm. I’m familiar with it. Perhaps, either Socrates or Caesar’s words. I forget if it referred to a poison or a knife?”

“You’re funny. Micah, please forgive me for what might be appear as indiscreet. I want to be open with you,” I said, certain he detected an urgency in my voice. “I know what I want in life and appreciate you know so little about me.”

His lips parted and with a softness to his voice, “I…thank you. I have similar unexplained feelings.”

Doubt. A whirling image danced in my brain, like an old black and white photograph of a past love blowing across an empty theater stage. “I guess we all need to be careful of what we wish for. I’m a butterfly. In recent years I’ve moved from a one flower to the next. I don’t want, desire or need the toxic narcissism of a child in man’s body. I’m looking for devotion from a seeker and penitent who will adore me alone. And …please know I like the humble and courageous looking man I see in front of me. I’ve done my homework.” I then leaned over, kissed him on the lips and whispered, “Think about us,” and then walked away.