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She ignored them as Becky, or Emily, or Susan pulled Albert down the hall to the elevator at the end of it.
Knock-knock.
She gave them a wave just before the elevator doors closed on the wife scowling and Albert smiling.
“Hello again, neighbor.”
Melissa’s eyes dipped down Desdemona’s body and then back up again. “Uhm, Alisha, I can see nipples, dear,” she said dryly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Okay. They’re probably not very different from your own or what you see on television. Just nipples,” Desdemona said, liking that the woman was more amused than horrified. “I thought about it. Let’s go get dinner. Tonight, if you’re free . . . and I promise to put the nipples away.”
“Thanks,” Melissa said. “And explain to me how I am supposed to enjoy a great meal and wine with all of this inspiration to work out in front of me. A little cruel. Just pointing that out.”
Desdemona laughed. She was funny. Good. “Ready by seven?” she asked.
“That’ll work,” Melissa said.
Desdemona turned and walked across the hall to her own apartment.
“And now I can see your buttocks. The split and everything,” she called behind her.
“It’s just a butt, Melissa,” Desdemona said before stepping inside and closing the door with a chuckle.
Two hours later the women were seated at the bar of Smith and Williams, a converted carriage house that was small and intimate with a rustic and unique décor of muted shades of green that gave it character.
“I just want to toast your ownership of a bra,” Melissa said lifting her cocktail.
Desdemona inclined her head and raised hers as well. “Next we’ll work on panties,” she said.
The bartender laughed. “I’ll toast to thatnothappening.”
Desdemona gave him a playful wink before sipping her drink. “Another round of oysters,” she said over the chatter of the crowded space.
He nodded and turned to Melissa in question. “Chicken meatballs, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said, before walking down the metal-topped wooden bar.
Melissa leaned over closer to Desdemona. “And your number,” she whispered.
“Seriously?” she asked, eyeing him.
“No. After my divorce I am enjoying some me time and not immersing anyone’s energy with my own,” she said.
“A break is good. Unpack the baggage,” Desdemona said.
“What about you?” Melissa asked, sucking the juices from the orange slice in her drink.
Here we go. Husband? Kids? Career?
“I had a little something with someone special but I ended it,” she admitted, thinking of him and feeling that same warmth spread across her chest.
When will my love for him fade?
“Why?” Melissa asked.
“Huh?”
“Why’d you end it with the special guy?”
