"The Gentleman." Copyright E. Payne. All Rights Reserved.
A soft orange glow from a smoldering cigarette revealed the smooth brown cheeks of the woman who stood facing me.
“Smoking’s bad for you,” I said quietly outside her front door, speaking into the darkness that separated us.
“For all I know…” the woman said out of one side of her mouth while holding the cigarette in place with the other, “…you are too.”
A few hours earlier we had been complete strangers sitting across from each other on the F Train from the City to Queens. I couldn’t help but stare. She was gorgeous and I was nearly drunk after a night out with friends. Thirty years old and unconcerned with failure, it was easy to introduce myself. She told me her name was Jean, pronounced the way the French do. Our conversation went so well, I managed to talk her off the train at my stop to join me for a cup of coffee at a diner near my apartment. It got late quickly as we sipped and I sobered up.
I was excited when she accepted my offer to drive her home.
“I only smoke outside every once in a while, but you’re right, you know,” admitted Jean with a sigh. “I actually quit a month ago…been holding onto this last pack…a crutch I guess.” She took two deep drags before letting the white stick fall from her fingers. We both watched the cloud of smoke rise and fade beneath the streetlights. She shrugged her shoulders and uttered a whimsical, “oh well,” before popping an Altoid.
“Maybe I make you nervous.” I said smiling.
Jean gave me a sly smile as she bent down to collect her half-smoked cigarette.
“Maybe,” she admitted coyly.
She stood and opened her door —- a heavy piece of oak attached to a well manicured, brown brick Tudor on a treeless street in Laurelton. A bark that sounded more like a question than a statement or a warning greeted us.
I peered over her shoulder.
“My boyfriend,” Jean explained, smiling. “He doesn’t like it when I’m out late.”
“Big or small?”
“Medium…he’s a mutt.” Jean paused to glance up and down her block. “Well, what a pleasant surprise for a Thursday! I’m so glad I didn’t ignore you on the train…but it’s getting late.”
I was going to protest, but before I could, she grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me close. Her high-styled, asymmetrical flapper’s bob tilted back as she gazed up at me. The full moon overhead floated as a reflection in her large brown eyes.
Jean stopped, seemingly suddenly aware of the mixed signal she was sending. She hastily let me go, leaving behind her hand prints in the black velvet of my jacket.
“Thanks for everything,” she said in a restrained tone, “…the conversation, the coffee and the ride home from the train. And thanks for walking me to the door…you’re truly a gentleman.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” I said. “You have my number. Maybe we can get together again for more coffee…or something.”
“Or something. Goodnight, Elijah.”
“Goodnight, Jean.”
The door closed behind her. I stayed on the porch long enough to hear the lock click.
“Don’t be a stranger,” I muttered sarcastically to myself thinking back to times when I uttered more silken lyrics to less silken females. I took in the night air and unexpectedly caught the soft scent of her perfume left behind on my jacket.
I descended the four gray stone steps of her porch. Cold and night nipped at me every step of the way to my empty car. I appreciated Jean’s restraint. I had given up one-night stands and all other kinds of meaningless sex as a New Year’s resolution. So far so good, one week into February.
But in truth, it was cold, I was lonely and it was late. I most certainly would’ve taken her had she taken me.
Originally published at Spindle Magazine © 2008.
Eric Payne. I am a writer, a poet, a burgeoning photographer, a father, a son, a husband and a lover of art. You can visit my blog, Makes Me Wanna Holler, at http://www.makesmewannaholler.com
