The Lost Reflection Read online

  Samantha jabbed her sister in the ribs, hard. She was saying something to Dana I could not hear. It looked as though Samantha was not on board with the wager. Samantha was too occupied giving her sister an earful to look up.

  I handed my shades to Phillip. “I am out of here. Have my cash ready when I get back.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Phillip insisted.

  I surveyed below for a landing sight, put two fingers to my lips, and blew the crowd a kiss. Without another thought, I grabbed the rail, flipped up and over, dropping quickly to the ground. Hitting the ground on two feet, I dropped into a crouch and quickly popped back up on my feet. Lacking time for any pre-flight fanfare, immediately upon sticking the landing a voracious cheer rang out. Samantha was to my back, but the instant I turned we made eye contact. I felt a lump in my throat and a sudden rush of adrenaline that failed to exist seconds before. Samantha looked as though she had seen a ghost, her mouth gaping in disbelief or shock

  “I think you owe my friend on the balcony a little performance,” I said, smiling slyly at Dana, not acknowledging Samantha.

  Without saying a word, Dana reached over and grabbed Samantha by the arm and jerked her close. Facing Phillip on the balcony, “Sorry, sis,” is all she could say, shocked by the stupidity of my stunt. Samantha kept her head turned to me, a queer expression on her face. I was not sure how to interpret it, but whatever the meaning, it certainly was not, “Hey, Brian, I’m so very glad to see you again.”

  “Dee!” Samantha hissed at her sister while her eyes grew venomous.

  “Come on, Sam, this will only take a second and we’ll be done. Try to think of it as a liberating expression of letting yourself go, after years of wasting your life on an asshole. Just think how pissed he’d be if he could see you right now.”

  “Yeah, Sam, just let yourself go.” I taunted with my best boy scout smile.

  “Brian! You asshole, I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Hey, I never said I did not enjoy a good party,” I said, defending my honor. “Besides, you were the only reason I did it.”

  “Sam, please don’t tell me this guy is your secret agent buddy from the flight.”

  “Disappointingly so. Dee, meet Brian the asshole. Brian the asshole, this is my sister, Dee.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dana.” Preferring to keep things proper for the time being, I dusted off my hand then extended it. Dee did not offer her hand in return but looked back at her sister with a most irritated glare. “I told my sister you were full of shit,” she explained without breaking eye contact with Samantha.

  “Hey, what the hell is going on down there? It’s showtime, baby,” Phillip cried out impatiently. “My boy almost killed himself for God’s sake. Time to pay up.”

  The vast majority of eyes were on Dee and Samantha. The girls looked at each other. Only hours earlier, Samantha had confessed personal, intimate details to a complete stranger, one she believed was unique and trustworthy. Her eyes now sharp enough to cut steel, she grabbed her shirt and began to lift it.

  “Wait a minute! I really do not need to see this.” Grabbing Samantha’s hand, a spark of exhilaration charged through my body. “I am going to go back inside. Dana it was a pleasure to meet you. Samantha . . .”

  “Oh no you don’t, mister! You most certainly are not going anywhere.” The seductress who placed her hand on my leg hours earlier returned with a vengeance. “I want you to see what you will never see again.”

  Dee’s jaw dislodged, almost resting on her chest, broadsided by her sister’s brashness. She stared at Sam in disbelief as Samantha flashed a smile. “You said it, Dee. Time to cut loose.”

  “Ladies, thank you, but this whole bead chucking ritual really is not my bag. But my buddy up there, as well as the rest of the guys, will surely appreciate what you have to offer.” I repositioned myself directly behind the girls. Dee and Samantha turned to Phillip and the rest of the balcony audience. Grabbing their shirts, working up to their bras, Samantha let out a nervous sigh.

  Phillip called out jovially, “Showtime, baby,” even though the end result was about to increase his debt by twenty thousand. Through his glassy eyes, the battle lost was worth the cost.

  As they fidgeted in preparation, I leaned in between their heads. By this time the catcalls were beckoning for a performance. “Excuse me, I would like to offer an alternative solution.” With my face close enough between the two to kiss either, they both backed away a safe distance. “Come inside, have a drink with us, and we will call it even.”

  The women scanned each other’s reaction. “Just a drink, nothing more.” Dee laid down her terms with an unjustified accusatory finger.

  “I don’t know, Dee. We can just do this and it’s over. I’m sure we will find better company elsewhere.” Samantha’s demeanor glistened with irritation.

  “Just a drink,” I beckoned, not ready for the encounter to end, “unless you really have somewhere better to be,”

  “Bed,” Samantha replied sarcastically.

  “Slow down, girl. I might look easy, but down deep I am quite old-fashioned. You will have to get me drunk before you get anywhere near my pants,” I teased.

  Dee nodded her head toward the door, instructing Sam to relent.

  “What’s going on down there?” Phillip whined.

  “Come on. One small drink.”

  We approached the door with a roar of pathetic cries from above. “No, no, no.”

  “Your friend is upset,” Dee proudly observed, unaware of the full extent of Phillip’s disappointment.

  “Believe me, he will get over it. He gets his heart broken five or six times a day. It usually takes five minutes or so for him to totally forget who upset him and why.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Upon entering the bar, the band had just returned from a break, affording an ample supply of tables. Just as I was about to sit, Phillip came staggering our way. “Excuse me, ladies. I need to find the bathroom,” I said.

  I grabbed Phillip by the arm and led him away. Eyes glassy as waxed marbles, I had to accept responsibility for the drunk before me. “Phillip, go easy on the bullshit. This one is different.”

  Phillip tugged at my ears as if to pull a mask off. “You fucking impostor, what did you do with my best friend?”

  “Phillip,” I said firmly, “this time is different. I want more out of life. Something down deep has changed.”

  “I know what you need. You need to take a piss, have another drink, and get laid. Am I wrong?”

  “That is what I love about you, Phillip. You can completely blow off anyone’s coherent thoughts and flip the scenario to fit your needs without stressing a single brain cell.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Phillip slapped my back and ushered me into the john.

  Phillip and I finished our business in the men’s room. As we walked back to the table, the mere sight of Samantha put a fresh lump in my throat. I suddenly worried that she might not have appreciated my peculiar sense of humor. When had I ever been concerned about a woman’s impression of me? N-E-V-E-R. Phillip was right, I was completely off my game, big time.

  Although he had to be trashed, his swagger had virtually returned to normal. Phillip, eager to impress, had screwed on his best game face. Despite the tequila-induced glossy eyes, his moderately charming mannerisms were in full throttle.

  For the next hour, the conversation consisted of Phillip and Dee immersed in the art of impressing each other. The effort was entirely unnecessary. It was evident from the outset they were mutually enamored. It did not take a rocket scientist to see where they were headed. We worked through several rounds of drinks. I smiled often, laughed at all the appropriate points and used as few words as possible, avoiding any words with more than four letters. The entire affair appeared somewhat awkward for Sam as well. By the third round of drinks, Sam’s irritated demeanor had softened. She was smiling and interacting with Romeo and Juliet. I, on the other hand, continued to critique every word I contemplated speaking, deciding nothing was right, and resolved to play the role of mute geek to perfection.

  Mercifully, the band continued ripping out one great song after another, affording me the opportunity to bob my head to the beat, assuring my friends I had not died at the table. The intensity of inebriated party people had ramped up to a fever-pitched frenzy. Packed tighter than imaginable, they resembled a giant coral anemone whipping rhythmically to storm-driven ocean currents.

  “I like the band.” Samantha labored to strike up a conversation in absence of any from my end of the table. “Are you feeling alright?” Samantha asked, disappointed with my lack of involvement. “You seem like you want to be somewhere else.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am not alright and would much rather be somewhere else.” I stood up abruptly. The three stared intently, my words piercing the deafening beat of the music. “I would much rather be over there,” I pointed to the crowded dance floor, “dancing with you,” now directing my words to Sam, “rather than listening to these two carry on.” Extending my hand, Samantha eagerly took hold, leaving Ken and Barbie in her wake.

  Not to be insulted without response, Phillip shouted out, “Watch out for him, Sam, he’s a real scumbag on the dance floor. He’s been known to cop a feel while pretending to dance.”

  Samantha’s smile turned devilish. “I certainly hope so.”

  Sam and I worked our way over to the jam-packed dance floor. For almost an hour, with hardly room to maneuver, the cramped quarters forced us to dance exceptionally close. “So which one?” Sam asked, scanning the crowd.

  “Which one what?”

  “If we had not come along, who would you be with right now?”

  “I would be back in my hotel ro
om working on the job, had you not come along.”

  “Brian, do you honestly expect me to believe with all of these hot young women in here, you would not have tried to take one back to your hotel?” Sam surveyed the crowd as a smirk curled up her lip. “I don’t recognize anybody from our flight, no golden rule BS.”

  I could not help but smile at her insightfulness.

  Grinding her glistening body seductively against mine, her expression told of undeniable desire.

  As if on some karmic cue, the band geared down to Jonny Lang’s Touch as the vocalist soulfully belted out the lyrics. With decisively sensual rhythm, Sam backed her body against mine, arching the back of her head on my shoulder as she began mesmerizingly gyrating her ass against me. I placed my left arm around her taut waist and ran my other hand through her silky hair, pulling it back tightly, drawing her face even closer.

  Okay, I would love to have blamed my lack of self-control on the alcohol at this juncture, but it was pointless. The truth be told, I was absolutely into the moment. I was totally into Sam and not about to let her stop taking advantage of me. I turned my head and lightly brushed the side of her face with my lips. The mere contact electrified my entire body, pulsing shock waves of uncontrollable passion throughout. Out of control? Hell yes!

  “765-233-0947.” I recited the cell number she had given me at the airport. “I cannot tell you how many times I fought calling your number all day.” Her sweet fragrance filled every molecule of my existence. “I have not been able to stop thinking about you.” She pivoted in my arms, now facing me. With my arm still around her neck, I pulled her face to mine and our lips together. We kissed. It lingered an hour, or was it only a minute? For one brief moment the world evaporated around us. Isolated amongst the crowd, an inferno of passion made the surrounding air frigid and lifeless.

  “Can we leave?” Abruptly ending the kiss, Sam’s eyes ignited with hunger and anticipation.

  “I don’t know if I can make it out the door.”

  She took my hand and jerked me from the dance floor, leaving years of shattered excuses behind.

  “Let’s go tell Dee and Phillip we are leaving,” she suggested, voice trembling.

  I nodded, not that my opinion mattered. Phillip and Dee had abandoned the post and were nowhere in plain sight. “They must be upstairs,” I observed, but knowing Phillip they were most likely somewhere else. “We could call—”

  “They’ll just have to wonder what happened to us.” Sam had no interest in calling or organizing a search party. She fired up her twin diesels and with the force of a tugboat, towed me out the door.

  I was not accustomed to this treatment, being led around like a little bitch poodle on a leash.

  Bow wow. We cleared the doors and blew out onto Bourbon Street, not wasting a precious second.

  “Which way?” Sam eagerly awaited direction, face aglow with anticipation.

  I pointed left in the direction of Toulouse. Once again in tow, Sam forged through the crowded street. Moving less than a block away, she halted abruptly and pulled me close for another volley. We kissed, this time longer and harder. She was beaming and giggling in jubilation. I felt after all of the years of abstinence from airplane relationships I should resist this on principle alone or at least put on a facade of intention of such.

  Frankly, for once in my life it would be nice not to analyze every damn detail and just go with it. “My hotel is this way.” I took her hand, but did not enjoy the opportunity to lead as she took my cue and pulled ahead. Grinning like nuns in the wine cellar, anticipating imminent passion, our pace accelerated.

  It was well after three in the morning as we discreetly entered the empty hotel lobby. There was no trace of the night manager as we moved briskly to the elevators. I pushed the up button as Sam fell against me with a chuckle. The elevator door opened and we tumbled into the back wall with a muffled thud, rocking the car as we attempted to contain our laughter. Sam stared into my eyes once again with famished desire. We frantically embraced and kissed, as if the moment would pass forever if we did lay siege immediately. I looked out of the corner of my eye, leaned, and then stumbled. Sam refused to loosen her grip or be interrupted as we fell into the control panel, mashing all the buttons, including the alarm. The door closed and the gravitational momentum of the elevator lifting apparently created a similar reaction of items much more personal.

  The elevator door opened as if rusted gears were being cranked by a one-armed field mouse. Come on. Key card in hand, I led Sam to the door, heart pounding wildly as if I were sixteen and this was the first time I . . . screw that, this was far worse. In the heat of a gun fight in the jungles of Colombia, I had never experienced such palpitations. Having key card issues in my frantic state, I was unable to manage the door.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Smooth? Having trouble getting it in? I can come back later, maybe in the morning,” Sam taunted with a coy smile.

  “Thanks for the offer, but no, that will not be necessary. Just step back and let a seasoned professional do his job.”

  “Seasoned professional?” She began poking her fingers in my ribs, attempting to locate an area to tickle. “I hope you won’t mind, Mister Seasoned Professional, if I reserve judgment until the morning.”

  With a joyful click, the sound of success, the door swung open, banging into the wall from my impatient thrust. The faint street lights below cast long shadows barely illuminating the bed in the dim quarters. We catapulted onto the bed, kicking the door shut as I passed. The kissing and caressing accelerated, becoming increasingly intimate as lips and hands explored uncharted territory. Sam attempted to unbutton my shirt as she straddled on top. I brushed her hair back, revealing a face filled with anticipation. I caressed her face, exploring the definition of her cheeks and jaw, then the texture of her lips.

  Impatient with her progress, Sam ripped my shirt open. “Sorry,” she said with an unsympathetic devilish smile.

  “No you’re not.” At the moment, I was not remotely concerned with the welfare of a relatively new Armani shirt either. Being stupid drunk, the words rolled out as if someone else planted them. “Alcohol-induced frenzied sex followed by regretful awkwardness in the morning is no way to start a relationship.”

  Sam studied my face, digesting my reasoning. The frown turned to an expression of understanding and quite possibly a touch of admiration. In the heat of passion, I had stopped the sex freight train in its tracks and rejected her advances, all for the sake of virtue.

  “Start a relationship? Kind of egotistical to imply anything beyond tonight, don’t you think?”

  “I hope so.” Without a trace of internal deliberation, I had unintentionally confessed to aspirations beyond a one-night stand.

  The intense stare down was on. Who would crack?

  “Are you quite certain it’s not fear holding you back? If it is, you can still search me for weapons.”

  “If your offer remains on the table in the morning, you will not have to ask twice. Meanwhile, park your ass in the bed and get some sleep. I have a few business-related details requiring my attention.” I glanced at my laptop, alluding to the nature of work. “I would suggest you get plenty of rest. You are going to need all of your energy in the morning.”

  “Are you absolutely sure I can’t change your mind?” Sam unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

  “You could, rather easily I fear, but I would prefer you not. In the morning you might decide this was all wrong, and I want no part of that.” Having voiced my objection a second time, I rolled her off the top, laid her beside me, and continued to gaze into her wanting eyes, avoiding the new, dangerously lowered button line. “We have the morning . . . and all day if you want.”

  “All day?”

  “As long as you desire.” At this point, I was saying all the wrong lines, wrong by a set of standards held in highest regard . . . once upon a time.

  “You’d better be very careful, Brian Denman. If word of your behavior tonight leaks out, people will say you’ve lost your edge.”

  She was absolutely right. Men are from Mars. We are pigs. Men have a one-track mind. Little head always rules the big one. Suddenly, struck upside the head by the realization of emotional attachment, I needed her to understand my twisted, conflicted predicament.