Lust in all directions

My eyes lusted for success in all directions. I was seduced by the riches, the fast cars and the vibe. It was so different from my previous life. I dived in. But the waters were murky. My dream to be big in the City. Within weeks I knew there was no return. It was the spring of optimism that turned into the winter of despair. It started well or so I thought.

Lunchtime queue. Early July. Long warm summer evenings. London is beautiful at any time.

Our eyes met in a lunch queue.

Long black lustrous hair, the whites of her green eyes seemed huge. Medium-height, medium-build. She looked liked she lived and worked all day in the gym. Her magnolia T-shirt bore the message 'stop looking at the bottle, it's the quality inside.' Her face and limbs positively glowed.

I got my lunch and sat down as I had done a hundred times. I enjoy my own company. Don't you?

The dining room was crowded, the noise relentless. A waiter dropped a tray bringing applause from the bored bankers. The bonus of another dull day came early.

Two minutes later she appeared from nowhere. The girl with the lustrous hair asked if she could sit opposite me. I looked around. There was nowhere else! She'd sat down before I answered.

I don’t like talking while I’m eating. I’m good at both, but I prefer one at a time.

She talked; music, pop festivals, art, celebrities, tattoos, her studies, ambitions. 

Her name was Anna from the Philippines - Spanish father - mother from Galway. She spoke with an affected American accent.

Her internship ended in three weeks and then a month off. She started at another big bank in September. Not in banking but marketing. She was a creative wanting to soften the face of Banking. 

She said she joined in May. She worked on the 10th floor. She ate in the staff restaurant every day. I’d never seen her before. ‘Are you sure you've never noticed me before? ’she asked.

You’d notice her. She was expressive and energetic. Brown skin. Flashing teeth, eyes and a slightly broken alluring smile. The rock on her left hand looked like somebody's huge investment in her future. 

She could really talk. It was good. I had no need. There was absolutely no requirement to say anything, and I had nothing to say that would improve things. It was a private show except for the hundred other diners. She spoke of colour, design, and textures.

She named famous artisans as if she knew them personally. She alluded to leading politicians. One of her friends sat five seats away from the Home Secretary at a charity dinner. She was practically salivating just talking about moving in those circles. She valued celebrity more than anything. She stood up to model her tight red leather skirt and remarked at the difficulties of buying bespoke garments made at a fair price. I nodded and listened to each detail intently. She said I was a great conversationalist and this was the best conversation she’d enjoyed for months.

I thought she was joking. I remember saying my name and that I’d recently moved from the north.

I said good luck with the holiday and the job. Softening the face of Banking wouldn’t be easy. She finished her salad and I said goodbye. Literally, 'Goodbye'.

It sounded final. Goodbye. I’d met girls like her before. Compelling, educated, funny. They’re buoyant with their hopes and desires and fragile egos. The moment you show a glimmer of interest, you’re history. They’ve pigeon-holed you in 15 minutes and it’s over before it began. Dating these girls is impossible. They’re elusive. They ask for the earth and you want to give it if only they’d stop playing games, games that you can’t win. Here today, gone forever. Elusive types. I was no better. A young man's battered disappointments needed rest and recuperation. Like a championship boxer, too many defeats in one year can knock you senseless.

I thought about her a lot that evening. I thought about her smile, with such high dimples. I thought about her eyes and then her teeth and the half-excited giggle she found in every sentence. Her hands, long and slim and those nails looked like a manicure from the Gods. Then there was the untold story of the diamond ring.

I liked how she'd turned a drab lunchtime into something extraordinary. I was enthralled that those 15 minutes had left me elated. A unique experience in that oppressive office.

The following afternoon I was in the corridor on my way to a meeting and there she was? Our eyes met again and I raised a half-smile at the coincidence - thousands of people in the building and so our paths crossed. She was with colleagues, I thought nothing of it. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by pretending I knew her.

As I left the building that evening, there she was again at the reception - signing out. I hoped she wouldn’t notice me as I slipped out of the side entrance and into the summer evening.

‘Hey Vic,’ she called.

‘Anna.’ 

‘You’re from the north you said, is that still correct?’

Strangely phrased question, I thought.

Ten minutes later we were sitting outside a wine bar near St Paul’s, drinking Pimms. The waiter poured our first glasses as sh excitedly downloaded and unpacked her day. It was strange. The usual 'cheers' turned into a lovers' entwined wrists. Our eyes met - her smile ignited. She looked down and away as I glanced at the ring which she covered with her hand.

I touched her chin and raised it high. Our eyes level.

I wanted to say something smart. How lucky we were to meet. How much I enjoyed her laughter, all her exciting interests. How confused she had made me since our first meeting. 

Too many words that said nothing. She was expressive. She got to the point. I was a great conversationalist, after all.

Previous disappointments shot across my mind. What am I doing here? It had to be deep. It had to be significant. I was confused...

'I want you.  Now!'

She blushed, smiled and turned away.

I raised her chin again.

'I want you...'