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Used to work for AVIVA offshoring IT to India.  Now retired through ill health, writing my life story as a series of blogs chronologically from birth to current time.  At www.jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.com

Friday, 12 October 2012

Keeping the Mystery Alive

We took a taxi to the Restaurant and walked in just after 7pm to find Monique sat in the bar, sipping wine and looking like, well, she looked stunning!  Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a pony tail, her skin glowed and she wore a deep red silk dress off the shoulders that hugged her figure and emphasised the body beneath and all of its curves, wow!  I looked non too shabby if I do say so myself dressed as I was in a classic pair of Levi 501’s replete with tears and worn patches.  A white Tuxedo shirt that had tight sharp pleats down the front which I’d bought from International Male on Melrose Ave, LA, when I met Brooke Victoria for a weekend of sex and shopping and nothing more. A black belt with the word Triumph in chrome forming the buckle and my black Crocodile Skin cowboy boots polished to a brilliant shine with silver toecaps.  All in all I was George Michael circa the release of his Faith album.  Mum dressed elegantly in a neat skirt and blouse, with her Turquoise jewellery and her hair curled and set in place with mousse and fixing spray.  She discovered mousse when I started using it to fix my hair back, which I succeeded in doing by laying on my back on the bed, head over the edge so my hair fell away with gravity, the hairdryer going full blast as I pulled my fingers through the hair starting at the front and working back.  I’d then sit up in front of the mirror and with a ball of mousse work through again, teasing each strand into place.  What a tart!

Monique literally jumped off of her bar stool and walked toward us stopping Mum in her tracks, as she grasped her hands and kissed her cheek. Mum responded in kind and Monique giggled as Mum said “What a wonderful greeting Monique”.  I stood beside Mum marvelling at this beautiful woman as she released mum and turned towards me.  She held out her hand which I took in mine and she lent forward to kiss me full on the mouth, again I responded in kind as a sting of arousal chased down my stomach into my groin and set off fluttering butterflies in my midriff.  I slowly pulled away from her lips, so slowly that a small section of our bottom lips stayed together until the movement apart finally released us from one another with a soft “puck” sound.  I noticed I had stopped breathing and sucked in air realising that Monique was doing the same as we locked eyes and smiled together.  The cat had got the cream but the question was, just who was the cat and who was the cream?  I half expected Mum to interrupt this with a discreet “Ahem!” but Mum was much too ladylike and waited whilst we both recovered from a kiss that probably appeared to anyone watching as a greeting between long lost lovers.  The night had barely begun and already my thoughts were charging ahead setting off various synapses, which in turn fired nerve endings, inspiring hormones to flood through my body, which resulted in heightened blood flow to bodily parts eager to grow and fill any space available.

We took seats at the bar and I ordered drinks; Mum wanted only Slimline tonic water a sure sign that she was once again watching her weight, and a refill of wine for Monique, and I had a ‘Dos Equis’ Mexican dark beer.  Monique held my hand in hers as Mum told her of our exciting day at the beach with Monique nodding approvingly upon hearing that I had gone for a long jog on the beach and then playfully scowling and furrowing her brow as Mum told of her worry, as she sat alone and surrounded by the mob.  A waiter arrived at my side saying our table on the patio was available whenever we wanted and after some more chatter about our adventure, we walked through to the garden and I held out her chairs as Mum, then Monique took their seats.  That I should hold their chairs as they sat down may appear as my being ‘Mr Smooth’ but in fact, I was brought up by my parents to do such things as; hold a chair whilst a woman took her seat, offer my seat up on a bus to others less able to stand, hold open doors for others, answer the telephone politely, sit up at the table, mind my P’s and Q’s and generally behave well in company.  It has done me no harm and I instil these behaviours in my children and expect nothing less of them.

The menu was not overloaded with options and I would bet that Mum ordered Fish, (her usual favourite of Breaded Scampi, very likely not on the menu!).  Over dinner with Monique and Mum on either side of me, we laughed and joked about various topics.  Surprisingly, Monique was not too interested in my (George’s) current musical activities beyond that already known and we talked of family, travel all the usual banter at table.  As the night drew on my marvellous mother made motions towards tiredness and we asked if we could take coffee in the bar, along with brandy for Monique and whisky for myself. Mum paid the bill despite protestations from Monique and I wasn’t arguing as the CO-OP Insurance was picking up the tab anyway!  The evening drew on and Monique asked whether we’d like to move on to the Jazz Bar where we’d first met the night before?  Mum looked at me and said with a mischievous glint in her eye that “Thank you, but I am tired and need a good nights sleep after all the sun and excitement I had today”, (Monique of course unaware of Mum’s recent heart attack and need for rest), but happy to hear that I was all for a further extension to the evening.

It was at that point that I realised that to pursue with the ‘George” scenario playing out since we met, either Mum would have to check in to the Biltmore Hotel (not going to happen) or I’d have to think on my feet for a plan by which I could safely deliver mum to the Motel and continue onward with Monique.  All without Monique discovering the deception.  Bugger!  With all thoughts now focused on devising a plan I excused myself and went to the restroom to think.  Try as I might, every idea ended with either discovery or was such an entangled web that failure would be the only outcome.  With Monique driving, why would she not drop Mum at the Biltmore or why would Mum and I get a cab, then another for me to get to the Jazz Bar?  “Bollocks to this” I thought, the game is up!  I washed my hands, checked my appearance in the mirror and walked back to where they were sat in the bar.  Mum was smiling at me and Monique was staring at me, a playful look said something was up.  I sat down and Mum said, “Monique knows you are not George Michael, Jonathan”.  I looked across at Monique who was laughing now and so was Mum.  

I did not know where to look other than dumbfounded.  Monique stopped laughing took my hand and said that she half expected that I was not George and had been happy to play out the ruse until it became incompatible to carry on.  That point had now been reached as mum had realised the difficulty in continuing and had asked whether she could be honest with Monique in my absence?  Monique had said of course so Mum has said, “He’s not really George Michael you know?” to which Monique had replied, “Yes, I know.”  They had then discussed how Monique had rumbled us and MTV had been my undoing, or rather MTV News to be precise.  It had run a segment on George’s current tour of the East Coast and had told how he was currently in Miami where he was playing dates before moving on, or some such thing.  I looked at Monique who smiled as if to say “its ok” and I smiled back.  I suggested we move on then and asked if Monique would mind dropping mum back at the Motel Bilt-more or less?  She laughed and said “of course” so we stood and walked out Monique taking my hand as we walked a few paces behind Mum.  I softly squeezed her hand and we arrived at her car, Mum taking the front seat next to Monique and I got in the back.

At the Motel, Monique waited in the car whilst I let Mum in the room, made her a cup of Tea, put her glass of water by the bed and asked whether there was anything else she wanted?  “No Jonathan, you go now and have a nice time” she said.  I walked to the door and looked back to see her sitting on her bed, taking her tablets.  A pang of guilt shot through me as she looked up and smiled.  I was leaving her alone for the first time since her release from hospital, was it wrong, should I be doing that?  “Go on then” she said, with some emphasis to her voice and I turned and closed the door, locking it behind me.  I sat in Monique’s car and said “Lets go then” false bravado apparent in my voice, as I was worried for Mum and not for what lay ahead for me that night; that I could deal with.  I looked at Monique and she lent into me and kissed me passionately.  We settled into a long searching kiss, exploring with tongues and clashing teeth as our heads turned to get closer to each other.  Neither of us wanted to stop the kiss but breathing became difficult and we parted, took a breath and dived back in.  My worries for Mum started to dissipate as we kissed and I opened my eyes as we were still locked together and looked at her.  I looked at her eyes; closed and relaxed, little nerves twitching on her eyelids.  I closed my eyes again, only to open them seconds later to find her looking at me, we broke apart laughing and said, “wow” simultaneously.

“To the jazz bar then” I said.  “OK”, she replied laughing again and drove out of the car park and down State Street toward the beachside road, turning left and heading out towards Summerland.  Arriving at the bar she parked and we entered to a heady mix of music, smoke, loud voices searching to be heard and the smell of beer.  We looked at each other and turned as one and walked out of the bar, “my place?” she asked.  “Yea, why not” I said, “lead the way”.  Back in her car we kissed again and turning inland drove up hill past groups of townhouses and low level apartment blocks until about half way up, where she turned into a parking space in front of a group of two storey townhouses running parallel to the coast.  She parked and we walked towards the door of one of the apartments my hand in hers until we reached the door.  She let us in, closing and locking the door behind as I stepped into the house and along a corridor past a doorway to a bathroom and into a large open plan room with large patio doors leading to a wooden deck.  

The living room was sparsely furnished; a couch, some art on the walls, a TV in the corner.  It was open plan as the breakfast bar gave way to the kitchen area and against the wall were stairs fixed with a balustrade leading to a large balcony overlooking the living room.  Monique flicked a light switch and walked past me to the kitchen where she pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, collected two glasses from a cupboard and came back into the living area and gestured to the couch.  I sat down, propping my back in the corner against large soft cushions and took a glass of wine.

She told me about how she’d been sure I was George Michael the first night we’d met but that she could work out who the older lady was.  So when she came across to where we sat and the lady (mum) had confirmed that I was George, she had believed her, why would a little old lady lie?  Finding out that I was not who I purported to be, (I corrected that and said in fact Mum had said who I was not me), it was then a game to see when and if the ruse would break down.  

“Were you angry” I asked, “yea a little at first, but then I liked your mum, if that’s who she was and thought what would be wrong in meeting up again, but I like you and want to fuck you.  Who cares whether you’re George or not” she replied and my heart started kicking the shit out of my chest wall.

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