Frayed Feisty Threads - Book IV

Feminine Intelligence 7/8/1997

"You're a hell of a lover."The gentle, dark-haired man with broad shoulders standing in front of me is studying the blue pages in his hand intently, casually ignoring my startled "What!?" His tiredness is evident as he reads the script in his hands. With a face that reflects a range of feelings, changing quicker than I can read, he hands me back the manuscript. Deep liquid brown eyes peer at me through glasses that make his boyish looks appear less so. Kindness and compassion is etched into his fluid face, with an endless light in his eyes conveying a sense of hope and life.

Settling on the floor, fighting exhaustion from his weekend, he rests his head on his arms and leans into the couch. For an instant, I want to tell him to stop, and sleep…..he looks quite worn, and this problem seems so trivial in comparison. He studies my reaction to his presence, and begins to talk, stretching his arm toward me. I reach my hand toward him instinctively, in response, then pull it back and shift in my seat.

I am not comfortable with him there. That is not his role. So I lean back and let him rest, while I chatter. It is a compromise.

His comment runs again through my mind as he stretches up from the floor and settles into a chair aside me. And his question to me flounders in my half-attentive mind. I am still wondering about his declaration and hoping for a response that is something other than standard therapeutic…..something all-knowing and insightful, from this acquaintance of mine…..so knowledgeable and so compassionate.

I answer with half-hearted conviction, and he knows it. Damn, there is little I can slide by him! As he attempts to push the point, the time is ending. I lose my concentration here, and find myself nervous and anxious. So I try to joke, to play on the long-standing respectful relationship we have. And I am left pondering only one sentence on my way home…….

"You're a hell of a lover".

© 07/08/97
tuc