The ancient, creaky elevator groaned as it slowly descended the high rise building that housed the law offices of Greenburgh, Davis, Weise, and Associates. Nothing in the building had been updated since George had come to work there as a fresh-faced optimist some twenty years ago. It was dangerously overloaded but he squeezed himself tightly into the corner anyway, it had been known to take fifteen minutes to get all the way back up to his floor. He didn’t imagine his skinny frame would make too much difference in the broader scheme of things, unlike Marjory from reception whose three hundred pounds plus a package of blonde perky curls and never-ending giggles stood right beside him, her ample bosom pressing deliberately into him every time she breathed. He had been skillfully avoiding her since she set her sights on him almost a year ago. She couldn’t hold a candle to his Celia.
George had worked at the company since graduating summa cum laude with a degree in accounting and economics, was it really twenty years ago? At the time he thought he had the world at his feet and started his career as a junior accountant for the prestigious team of attorneys, working his way up the corporate ladder to become the company controller. He now had a six-figure income and a secure position but his life, in general, had never become more than the dull drudgery that welcomed him like an old friend. Over the years the realities of life had shot down his youthful enthusiasm and he clung to every little bit of happiness that happened his way. Celia was the one effervescent, bright spot in his otherwise banal existence.
He slipped out as soon as the doors opened and hurried to the basement, losing Marjory in its wake. Climbed into his five-year-old Volvo he pulled out of the underground parking lot and into the stream of never-ending snakes of red lights. His apartment was only ten minutes from the office but on a Friday night in the incessant Atlanta traffic, it would take at least thirty to forty minutes to get home. He had once seriously considered a move to the less humid, sunny climes of California but it had never amounted to anything, like most of the hopes and dreams he had nurtured in his youth. He held onto the security his job afforded, rather than take a risk. Security was the yardstick by which he measured his life.
He balked at the garish, ten foot Christmas tree in the foyer with the mounds of fake gifts underneath and waved to the doorman of his apartment building, taking the elevator to the eighteenth floor, this one ran smoothly and quickly to the top without incident. His fingers shook a little as he unlocked the heavy door and closed it behind him. It was Friday night and Celia, as with every other Friday, was anxious to go out into the town. He leaned against the door with a mixture of trepidation and excitement at who she would likely encounter tonight. He knew everything about her, every little nuance, the things she liked and the things she did, but like every other Friday night, he would make no move to try and stop her.
The freezing cold December wind was relentless, carrying the pretty flakes of snow and biting into any tiny exposed piece of flesh and Celia Denton was very relieved as she stepped over the threshold of her favorite wine bar. She had to look every week at the name above the door to remind herself. When she first started coming here almost two decades ago it was an Irish pub called Finnegans, named after the owner, Seamus Finnegan, a first-generation American who had fiercely held onto his broad Irish accent loved by his patrons. The place hadn’t seen many changes over the years, not until failing health had seen Seamus reluctantly retire and move to a neat suburban home overlooking the 16th hole at a prestigious Atlanta golf community, to be near his son and to watch his beloved grandchildren grow. His daughter Siobhan, a black haired, blue eyed beauty, had taken over the running of the place and completely revamped it, turning it into one of Atlanta's most ‘go to’ places.
Celia smiled at the twinkling fairy lights netted across the ceiling and the tall, slim Christmas tree just inside the door. An old classic Christmas song was playing in the background and she wanted to tap her feet in tune. The thing she loved most about Christmas was the change in people’s mood. They were always infinitely happier, more relaxed and much more willing to pay her attention. She stamped her feet and shook the light dusting of snow from her jacket and perched on the edge of a high top chair at the bar, the spiked heel of her black stilettos showing her long slim legs, encased in gossamer-sheer pantyhose, to their advantage. She hated bare legs, even in summertime. Her late mother, a sweet southern belle through and through had never gone a day in her life without pantyhose or full makeup and her hair was always beautifully coiffed.
She gestured to the barman and he placed a tall slim glass of Clicquot in front of her, the advantages of being a regular. She sipped on her drink, enjoying the prickling sensations of the bubbles on her tongue, she never drank anything but champagne. She placed her glass on the bar top and hung her jacket on the back of the chair and unwound the scarf from her neck.
She wore a sleeveless black jersey dress that fit her slim body like a second skin, stopping just above the knee. The square neckline was classy, showing only the creamy skin of her neck, leaving her full breasts outlined but modestly covered, she abhorred seeing cleavage on display. She opened her purse and took out a small mirror and reapplied her lip gloss to her full pouting lips and tweaked her long red hair, immaculately curled to tumble down her back. Hanging her purse on the chair she watched the bar fill up quickly, Friday nights were always the busiest. She picked up her drink and sipped it, the long slim fingers with immaculate, polished nails rested on the cool glass and saw herself reflected in the mirror behind the bar.
Celia was in her early forties but knew she would pass for much younger. She wore just a little too much makeup and was expert at applying eyelashes but here in the dimmer lights it gave her a creamy, youthful complexion. She ignored the blatant stares of the young studs out cruising around looking for any action that would cross their paths and concentrated on the more mature men in the bar. They knew how to eat a lady.
Her internal radar picked up and she turned slightly in her chair as she made eye contact and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. He watched her for a few seconds and she held his curious gaze before he broke away from his friends and slowly came towards her, a smile stretched her face and she saw his warm honey colored eyes widen at her silent invitation. He gestured to the vacant space beside her and she nodded, pleased that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. She loved the cut of the expensive business suit and the crisp white shirt he wore, open at the neck, the tie probably in his pocket now that he was out of the office, he definitely looked like a tie wearer. He raised his hand to the barman and ordered her another glass of champagne. He was drinking a twelve-year-old malt and felt her stomach tighten as she wondered what the whiskey would taste like on his lips. He introduced himself as Jeff and she knew that probably wasn’t his real name as she took in the white gold wedding band on his left hand. No matter, Celia didn’t really care if he was married or not. She felt a moment of heavy disapproval as she thought about George but pushed it aside and concentrated on the man in front of her.
They spoke about frivolous things, nothing remotely personal, that was her golden rule. He ordered them a second drink and she relaxed into the chair, he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. He was very good looking, thick dark hair, a little stubble on his face and a row of beautiful white teeth that seemed to have become an American rite of passage. He had an air of absolute confidence which attracted her like a moth to a flame. She said something amusing and he threw back his head and laughed out loud and she reached out and touched his scratchy jaw with the flat of her hand, pressing her other onto his muscled chest. He looked a little surprised but covered her hand with his own and then brought it to his mouth and kissed it. She saw the desire reflected in his eyes and she crossed her legs on the stool, her dress lifting just a little at the hem and watched his eyes roam hungrily over her exposed, nylon clad thigh. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and pictured his lips on her skin there.
He put his drink on the bar and moved in closer putting his arm around her chair a little possessively as he leaned down so that she could hear what he was saying above the increasing noise. His cologne was spicy and she inhaled deeply. Over his shoulder, she saw his two friends looking their way and she acknowledged the envious glanced coming from one of them and she flashed him a dazzling smile, the other clearly thought his friend a fool as he turned his back to them.
She gently placed her hand on the back of his neck as he leaned in close and pressed her lips to the side of his face and she heard his sharp intake of breath. He curled her long hair around his fingers and turned her face toward him before he crushed his lips to hers. Celia’s heart hammered in her chest as his tongue explored every crevice of her mouth and she could taste the tang of whiskey on his breath. They were surrounded by people not really paying them any attention or else they didn’t care and she felt the desire coming from him in waves. The sweet, heart-stopping, poignant moment of a first kiss always surprised her. She explored him as deeply as she could, savoring every last sweet taste as her arousal grew and she caught her breath as he moaned. Shielding her body from the people around them, she felt his fingers lightly brush over her thigh and she pressed herself closer to him. He drew back from her for just a moment, brushing the loose strands of her hair back from her face, his eyes clouded with desire.
“Let’s get out of here Celia, I have a room at the Four Seasons,” he said gently, those mesmerizing honey eyes searched hers and he couldn’t know just how much she wanted to. Her heart constricted painfully as she knew that the evening was over.
She pulled him towards her and kissed him again, savoring the sweet taste of the alcohol and the woodsy scent of him. She stood up and slid her arms inside his jacket and wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his warmth on her body. He seemed to take it as her acceptance that she would go with him and kissed her again before she let him go. He left her side for a moment to tell his friends he was leaving and she quickly threw some notes on the bar, picked up her jacket and slipped out the side door before he had the chance to turn around again.
By the time he looked around the bar and realized she was gone, she would be in a cab, halfway home. Only then would she let the hot tears spill down her face, streaking her makeup and hear George’s angry voice in her head telling her over and over again that she was a fool. Some were harder than others and she knew this one would be harder to forget. The cab sped through the night and pulled up at the door. She handed him a handful of scrunched up bills and hurried into the warmth of the lobby. Her makeup was steaky and her eyes red but she didn’t care as she wearily stepped into the empty elevator.
She didn’t know why she put herself through this again and again. No that was a bare lie, she knew exactly why she did it. It was that first kiss, that gut-wrenching moment when your heart jumps out of your chest, spinning like the tail rotor on a helicopter, so fast you think you may take off. The taste, the smell, the eyes, hungry at that moment for you, only you. You can only ever have that first kiss one time and it’s magical. For others, they may take it further and have a lot of firsts with a man as handsome and charming as him. Just the thought of having those strong, muscular arms around her and his naked body warm and inviting, making love, way into the night, brought another round of fresh tears. Celia knew with certainty she would never allow it to go beyond that first kiss, nothing else would ever compare to it anyway.
She took a bottle from the refrigerator and poured herself another glass of champagne and walked to the floor length windows of the apartment. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, staring without really seeing the Christmas trees lit in the windows of the high rise buildings. The view over the city at night was breathtaking, alive with people out celebrating the festive season or drowning their sorrows and she felt her nerves calm as she stood in the comfortable, familiar surroundings. She kicked off her shoes, drained her glass and stoically went into the bedroom to face George once again.
Celia stared at herself in the mirror by the dim light of the bedside lamp and removed her false nails, eyelashes, and makeup. She took a last longing look before she gently pulled off the beautiful, long, red wig and hung it on the stand beside the array of short and long, straight and curly, blonde and brunette ones. Running slim fingers through the dark, greying crew cut and feeling the waxed, smooth skin on his makeup-free chin, George once again stared bleakly back from the mirror. With a resigned sigh, he removed the padded bra and pantyhose, throwing them in the laundry hamper and climbed into bed alone. He closed his eyes and let his emotions overtake him for just a moment, his stomach clenched as he thought again about that first kiss and he and Celia’s tortured souls once again merged into one.
