The Pure Life of Dreams

Siobhan and I were to meet Srba for a late lunch. It was her first introduction to him.

The hotel was the Kensington, and it had ornate gold inlaid chairs and white linen tablecloths and napkins—not our usual meeting place. We arrived early to find a separate room, or at least a separate area, where we could eat in private.

The restaurant fronted the side of the hotel and was long rather than deep, with a glass façade that overlooked the entrance where the cars would drive up to the reception doors. The side rooms were at the back.

At first we were told there weren’t any open tables.

Siobhan knew we should have made a reservation before showing up.

I stood at the podium at the front of restaurant while Siobhan walked through the main room to double check for spaces. The room was dark lit with tabletop candelabra and crowded with the subdued sounds of silverware.

After I tired of waiting I followed her after her, only to discover that was she had settled at a two person table that was pressed against another table which sat four.

‘Why did you get only a table for two?’ I asked. Siobhan was wearing a fluffy pink sweater, and I wondered what Srba would think of that.

‘They didn’t have private rooms,’ she replied.

I sat down.

‘We can use the table next to us when they leave?’ she suggested. Siobhan nodded to the group of four by our side, but they were already getting up to go. Their napkins had been tossed haphazardly on their table.

I scanned the room to see if there was a better place and saw that the room was half empty. We have the pick of tables now that the lunch crowd is leaving, I thought. But are we too late to order?

Just then I saw Srba through the glass façade of the restaurant walking along the reception driveway. He wore a dark blue suit, a dark red tie and white shirt. Srba was still big, but also tall and in his hand he carried a briefcase and a wine bottle gift bag.

‘He’s bigger than you said,’ said Siobhan after I pointed him out—before he disappeared behind the open curtains of the restaurant’s glass front.

As Srba headed towards the entrance I hurried back to the podium to greet him. Siobhan got up to follow.

‘She’s taller than Sophie’, Srba said, as he looked over at Siobhan.

I grabbed him in a bear hug, just as he was about to extend his hand for a handshake.

My face was up against the crook of his neck as I hugged him and I raised my left leg, so that my shin rested comfortably against his inner thigh.

~~’Ox-fuck Street, Pick-a-Willy Circus, or Tottenham Cunt Road, wouldn’t do?’ I asked.~~

We hugged so closely that I felt the smooth skin of his jowls.

RIP ~~Srba Cvetkovic~~ Srba C

We sit in a darkened hotel room in New York City, curtains drawn, Siobhan and I, and I’m in my undershirt and blue boxers.

We are waiting for the arrival of Ruth and FG from the UK.

I haven’t seen them since way back when, and I’m excited to see them again after all this time. When I hear their voices in the corridor I wonder whether to put on trousers because I have a slight erection from the anticipation.

It’s too late. The door swings opens and Ruth comes in first followed closely by John who at first I think is FG’s husband but, up close, I realize that he is Ruth’s husband.

As Ruth walks towards me, I come round the side of the bed, squeezing between the bed and the TV sideboard. I must lean forwards to greet her, I realize, to keep my boxers away from our hug, so that she won’t detect my arousal.

We have a delicious hug, my arms wrapped around the curve of her shoulders, and she kisses me on the cheek. Her dark curly hair is still black despite our ages. It brings back cozy memories of the past, though we never had a thing. It was the writing that was our bond. And suddenly, it doesn’t seem to matter that I’m in my boxers.

Then John, a big burly man, comes up to me and we have a big handshake and a brief hug. It’s good to see him too though we’ve never met before.

Behind John is FG. The cold light of the hotel corridor is behind her and I have fully circled the bed. I am now closer to the door when she and I hug.

FG and I have an even tighter embrace, for she was my first girlfriend, and the memories there are even stronger. Her soft curls are darker than the ginger I remember of her hair then. She smells of Pears soap and fields of sunflowers.

FG and I kiss on the cheeks but in our tight embrace, we fall onto the bed and her crow like black eyes look at me, as if she can see into my memories, or worse, she sees the picture I don’t want seen, developing in the orange light of her photographer’s tray. Her soft curls feel like a down pillow on my cheeks.

We roll across the bed and accidentally, roll off the other side, the side closest to the window. I push out a leg to break the fall as we hold onto each other, and with my ~~right~~ left leg planted on the prickly carpet I stop us from falling to the floor.

Instead, with our bodies hugging in a friendly way, the way of old friends but with a hint of what could have been – only a hint mind – everything seems alright.

Photo by Danny Birchall via Flickr.

Tag: Friendship

At the Kensington with Srba

Dark Room Reunion in New York City