The Airport girl
The Airport Girl
She met me at the Airport. We weren’t known to each other.
I was at the Check-in counter when the perfume she was wearing reached me from behind. Alarmed, at the sensuality of the intimacy it scored on me, I struggled hard to fight a masculine alarm. After all, I cursed, the inhibited society calls for a restraint. And no matter however realistic the desire, it is always labeled as a perverted aspiration of a wandering mind incapable of being controlled by the poor man in us. So, I didn’t turn.
Check-in formalities done and gotten rid of the suitcase, I turned with transparent eyes in anticipation and brushed past her. But not without noticing a slim lady fanning her face with a ticket, her eyes boldly scanning the nothingness that lay ahead beyond. The touch fanned another wave of wildness through my cultured exterior. But as always, I arrived beyond the experience without regret – the ingrained city bred sanity successfully, as always, mowing over the triviality that caused the turbulence somewhere deep down. In other words, despite the unintended provocation, I faked a no-response.
There seemed to be at least forty-five minutes for the plane to depart. That meant at least half an hour in the lounge. Sipping coffee and struggling with the newspaper, I committed myself to the wasteful tranquility, unmindful of the smell that the merging stench from the mopped floor and the stale aroma of coffee that hung heavy on the passengers.
But when moments later, a familiar fragrance got my eyes up from the newspaper, I found myself confronting a beautiful face. It was the same Check-in counter girl, my senses reckoned. She had, on a freshly done face, a brilliant smile.
Note - Picture only for illustrative purposes
Note - Picture only for illustrative purposes
“Hi!”
“Hi” I mumbled, unable to take the eyes off her. An escaping blade of sunlight shone mischievously on her full reddened lips. Her eyes spread on her face like masterpieces done in black and blue. And a set of curious and friendly eyeballs darted in them scanning my face. Her confidence wrinkled my practiced response. I knew I looked miserable.
“You forgot your frequent flyer card at the counter”, was all she said and handing over the plastic, walked past my stare and sat leaving two empty chairs between us.
A wave of hand signaled my thanks and I got back to my reading. But this time, with the civility in me seemed somewhat impaled I struggled hard not to stare at her. And ended up doing just the same. She was reading a novel. Her absolute engrossment in the book flooded my confidence and I kept on stealing glances of her. In jeans, with a cream coloured pullover making her top tout over two shapely bumps, and a bouncy brown disarrayed cluster of hair on her head, she looked every bit desirous.
As I found myself in difficulty, arresting the chemistry – or physics or biology, or whatever – the cracking noise of an under confident voice on the main broadcast came to my rescue. The boarding was announced. I was no longer sure if this was good news or bad, but got up. Her heels got her up too, but this time I was able to smile back in return.
In the aircraft, she got the seat next to mine at the window. I initiated a conversation abruptly halfway through the flight. She said her name. I said mine.
A surprise came on her face. She closed the book she was reading and showed me the cover. You mean you are the author of the book I am reading!
Seeing the book in her hands, my confidence soared. She gleamed over me and began staring till the time I became uncomfortable. For a moment I thought I must tell her that her staring was discomforting me. It was a kind of role reversal. I avoided looking at her after I signed the copy of the book she was reading. But she seemed unrelenting. I tried reading newspaper, the In-flight magazine and even played a game on my mobile explaining to the prying eyes of the hostess that I was very much in the aircraft mode on my mobile. But she still continued regardless.
“Why are you staring at me?” At last unable to pacify myself, I asked her the question.
“I am just doing what you were doing at the airport lounge.” She was smiling though there seemed an unmistakable rasp in her voice.
“What do you mean?” I looked in her eyes and struggled to keep my confidence from shaking.
“You guys, you all are the same”, was all she said, before getting back to her reading. Now the staring once again switched sides. I took over my turn greedily. She looked lovely. I noticed her hands clasping the book with a delicate authority, I glanced at the slender neck next to mine resting in a tilt, I noticed the faint smile curling the corner of the eyes, and I noticed soft pearly lips tenderly mumbling the words – the words of my book. Her company was intoxicating enough to yet again send the juices hammering against the sluice gates.
We arrived just after at our destination. Near the conveyor belts she was lucky enough to get her baggage first. I waited smiling at her. Before pulling away her trendy bag, she came over and bid farewell. “I am Sheila, the actress.”
She turned and sped away leaving me to deal with the agony of not taking the autograph of a very famous star. I cursed, “Only if I took my watching movies as seriously as my writing.”
© candid cogitation., all rights reserved.
In case you missed...
Some other recent posts by candid cogitation
© 1998-2008 Copyright Sulekha.com Connecting Indians Worldwide, All Rights Reserved.
Recommend
votes