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“Shall we continue?” he asks.
“More?!” I ask. “Why?”
“What will you wear in the evening?” he returns a question.
“In the evening?” All at once, the doubt in my own good judgement for agreeing to this strange adventure rears its ugly head. I suddenly realize what kind of money I would have to spend.
“Michael, I feel really bad about this, but I think it’s best if we call it off. I really wanted to say ‘yes’ and, for a change, to go with the flow without fear, but more and more shopping is going to get me out of the mood.”
“So, you’re not really into shopping, apparently,” he chuckles and hands me the bag.
“On the contrary, I usually love shopping, but not at the moment. I have to be in a certain mood to do it, otherwise it doesn’t really work.” I laugh awkwardly.
“Whatever,” he replies. “I really love shopping, I’m in the mood, and also have the patience. So, you’ll wait for me here, half an hour, tops, and I’ll be right back.”
“What? Michael, where are you going? There’s really no need.” I add in wonder.
“I’m going,” he replies, “see you soon.” He waves and moves away.
After twenty long minutes of window shopping and worrying about where he could have gone and what he could have meant, he returned.
“That’s it. Let’s split this joint.”
“What’s this?” I ask, feeling very uncomfortable.
“It’s a stunning evening dress and will fit you perfectly!” he replies with a smile. “After all, with the two of us on a yacht, I thought we could restage that scene from Titanic. What do you think?” He raises his eyebrows at me teasingly, and smiles.
“But I feel really uncomfortable. I didn’t ask you to pay for my clothes.” I’m embarrassed.
“All I did was buy you a little gift. After all, I was the one who proposed we escape together, and you agreed to join me. So, really, please just forget about it,” he concludes decisively.
“Alright. You’re very kind. Thank you.” I answer and gently kiss his cheek. He smiles. He seems to really like me. Oh! I really hope he does.
We continue along together, with two full shopping bags, towards the row of yachts. It’s a perfect day. A hot July sun burns my skin, the sky is clear; occasionally, pairs of seagulls look for a juicy fish to satiate their hunger. I walk towards the yacht, about to sail away to Greece for the first time in my life with this amazing man of whom I’ve been a fan for years on end. He’s raked in every possible award and makes an appearance in the gossip and paparazzi columns every other day or so. And I? I’ve been fantasizing about him since forever, as I apply lotion after taking a shower, running my hands over the contours of my smooth, delicate body to the sound of his music and his warm, caressing voice. Dreaming that one day I’d get to see him in a concert. And here I am, in a completely illogical, random, incomprehensible situation with him. Alone. For two days. Sailing on a yacht to Greece.
“Hello, I’m Max, skipper of the yacht, ‘Silver’. Welcome, and have a pleasant cruise.”
“Thank you very much, Max.” Michael shakes his hand appreciatively. Then, he takes my hand and we get on board, headed for a two-day adventure.
I always reply before I think. Usually, I also act before I think. That’s how I see myself, and that’s what leads to the consequences of my rashness, indecisiveness, anger, shame, and hatred. Hatred of myself.
How can a woman my age, who’s been employed for years at an international cosmetics marketing company and who knows very well how to sell things to everyone else, forget I’m a mother? That I have responsibilities? This is, after all, an impulsive, juvenile, inexplicable decision. Why can’t I just grow up? I scold myself. There have always been thrills, and there always will be. Why am I putting myself at risk? While I do know Michael as a character, it isn’t necessarily his true nature.
And yet, I’m here. For two days. No biggie. With the most attractive, beautiful, and talented man in this entire universe.
I’ve always struggled with acting hastily, and so I’ve done everything in my power to avoid getting myself into potentially reckless adventures. The truth is that I’ve also been afraid of living life to its fullest for fear that I would lose the basic feeling of stability in my home and family. Each time I’ve acted impulsively, I’ve had to deal with difficult challenges and always paid heavy prices. Matthew has never liked my friends and he would tease me about it. In his eyes, their goal was to break up our home due to their envy and jealousy. That’s why I preferred to close myself off and not reveal too much of myself. I was willing to do anything but be dragged into infinite arguments and loud, horrible squabbles.
The harder we fought, the more I used his attraction for me to divert his focus and undo the tension. Sex has always been a refuge, and even a weapon for me. Each time an argument broke out with one of my partners, I would switch to wearing skimpier and skimpier clothes. I was able to seduce strong men without too much effort. My looks and burgeoning femininity have always stood out, and so, slowly but surely, I increasingly counted on my looks and, by doing so, have lost my principles, my desires, and my own identity, which hurt me the most. ‘But none of this convinces you, does it?’ I take a jab at my inner self, who just wants to be swept of her feet by this delicious god of a man. Mmm.... yummy...
‘Listen, what’s the worst that could happen? Worst case scenario we’ll have amazing sex. You’re divorced, a free agent and, just between you and me, it’s not like you don’t want him. Perhaps it would help you to release some endorphins and really soothe you.’ I finally decide it’s wise to asked him if he has anything to help me relax and get rid of the annoying noises pestering at the back of my mind. It is, after all, common knowledge that celebrities usually rely on external fortifications. I could use a little help right now.
“Michael, do you have something that could calm me down a bit? Like some booze, or weed?” I awkwardly ask.
Michael approaches and stands across from me, looking at me with a beautiful, piercing, yet playful gaze.
“So you don’t think I can’t calm you down on my own?” he says, watching my surprised expression at his sly question.
“Psyche! I’m just messing with you,” he pats my nose with his finger. “Follow me.”
