ZIG-ZAG, Surtsey Ana [suggested reading txt] 📗

Calvin Klein skirt-suit that I wear for work, one of three that I bought at Macy's – they we're on sale. The occasion screams romance but my attire says business. I feel inappropriately dressed.

Proving himself an attentive type, Dominic somehow, senses my discomfort. He removes his tie to appear attired more casually, and asks if I'd like a glass of wine.

I tell him, "NO thank you."

I'm in love with this place. I'm in heaven, and having a deep, hands-on, understanding of the expression, wined and dined. The Carbonara was exquisite, to die for – it'll put pounds on my butt but it tastes so good. I've no recollection of when the bottle of Prosecco arrived but it's empty now, and I'm feeling light-headed.

Dominic lightly taps his stomach. "I'm full. No more room at the inn. I think I'll skip dessert."

"Me too," I agree, slouching in my chair. My mind compares his behaviour to that of my ex. Brett would belch loudly after a hefty meal – the man-child was an embarrassment. But Cupid has a way of blinding its victims to the shortcomings of his matches.

Dominic signals for the check. 

I pause to recount my drinks on fingers: four in The Kings Bar and two, maybe three in here. That's me done for the night – definitely. If I was feeling slightly tipsy the numbers on the bill sober me up – Damn! This more than I earn in a week. Jeez. I can't afford this. I'll go hungry for an entire month but I don't want to feel obligated in any way. "Let's split this," I insist.

"Maybe next time," he replies, selecting one from his full deck of credit cards. "I'm a man of my word. I said this is my treat."

 

In hindsight, I really should have said goodnight at this point. It really should have ended there – but I think I definitely zigged in a place where a zag may have been more appropriate.

 

All things considered I've had a nice evening but it's time to go home now. We loiter on the street outside the restaurant. It's awkward. I want to give him my number but I need him to ask me for it. "Well, goodnight then," I say, stepping forward and offering my hand.

Dominic ignores my offer of a handshake. He stares into my eyes. There's a brief moment when I expected him to lean in. And what should I do then? Should I step back? Or maybe I should turn my head slightly to offer him a cheek. Or maybe I should close my eyes and enjoy what's coming. After returning from my mental excursion I discover he's hailed a cab. "After you, beautiful," he says, opening the door for me.

"Let's get this straight and on the record. I'm not going home with you," I say, slamming the cab door closed.

"But the night is still young," he insists, re-opening the cab door.

"NO," I tell him, taking my phone from my bag. "I'm going home, to my house – where I live. I'll get an Uber."

"Don't be silly," he says. "We live in increasingly dangerous times. I'm not leaving you out here on your own."

"I'll be fine."

"You and I both know . . . The District of Columbia isn't exactly 2nd Amendment friendly. How's a girl like you supposed to defend herself?"

"Don't sweat it. I've managed fine for twenty years and then some."

"How many's some?"

"Mind your biz! . . .  And just because I work for a Democrat don't be so foolish as to assume that I don't possess a firearm." First black mark. I suspect Dominic may be a Republican.

He takes my hand. "Come on. I'll keep you safe. It's no bother to drop you home on my way."

I study him before getting into the cab. His five o'clock shadow has turned to midnight bristle. I wonder how it would feel against my skin. He seems a really nice, genuine guy, sexy, smart, sweet, a keeper maybe. I want to do this differently. If I'm gonna do this I want to take it slow.

Maybe I am a little drunk? On entering the taxi I stumble. Dominic catches me before I fall.

I'm aware that I just zigged again when I should have zagged but that's what I did. And I make no apologies for it.

 

I've never grown up. This is bad. I'm trembling like I'm still a fucking teen. Be assertive but not pushy. During the ride home I take his phone. I just met you, but this is crazy. I type my digits into his phone.

"Thanks." He raises his brows.  "But I still don't have your name."

"My mother gave me my name – it's mine. If you're sensing a theme, here, it's that I don't give anything up easily."

"But I already told you my name."

"Yeah, you did, and, this is not my fist rodeo. I Googled you already Relax, it's all good."

"That's a relief."

"No scandals that I can find, well, nothing, no dirt that would raise a red flag." I force a smile. Call me maybe?

"If anything untoward should surface, don't believe a word," he insists, straight faced. "It's fake news. That sheep was sick. It was going to die anyway."

"You are one disturbed individual." I remark, shaking my head. "It's all good. Look, I'm busy tomorrow but if I move some stuff around I can be free Sunday."

"Sure. Great." He saves my number under 'DB' and immediately calls me so I have his number too.

"Awesome," I reply. Tucking my phone away, I note that I'm Android and he's Apple. It's not so much as another black mark – more like a smudge or a blemish.

 Our conversation's petered out, and the after-effects of the wine are beginning to kick in. My head's spinning. Dominic's sitting beside me, cool, calm, relaxed, exuding confidence. To the contrary, I'm beginning to perspire. My heart is racing. I move my bag off my lap and let my hand rest on my thigh, hoping he'll take it in his. I haven't felt this way since I was in high-school, making out in the back seat of Max Renwick's Pontiac,

After an uncomfortable silence he looks across to me. "You okay?"

I nod tentatively. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He reaches across and feels my forehead with the back of his hand. "How do you feel?"

I shrug. "I dunno . . . a little juvenile, perhaps?"

"I know the feeling."

"It's just here on the left – 1412," I announce.

The taxi pulls up outside my apartment building. I look up to the windows of my third floor apartment. Either she's home or she's left the lights on again. I take a breath and place my hand on the door-release lever but linger a moment. I want him to lean across and kiss me but instead I feel a rush of cold air followed by the sound of his door closing. Dominic's out of the vehicle and quickly round to my side to open the door for me. I accept his outstretched hand to help me out of the car.  The rain has eased to a persistent drizzle but the wind has picket up. There's an awkward moment before I kiss his bristly cheek, tell him to call me, and start to walk away.

Dominic takes my hand and pulls me back, spins me round, and now we're close – face to face. He takes my jaw in his hand, and gives me a real kiss, a proper kiss – the one I wanted, and it's a zinger.

"Good night," I whisper, rummaging in my bag for my keys.

"No coffee, then?" he says.

"Double-down NO," I say, still rummaging for my house keys. It's not going to happen, not tonight anyways.  I'm a little tired and, Jesus, way to drunk, bordering on wasted, way too drunk. Call me tomorrow." Eventually I locate my elusive house keys, I look up and he's doing it again – the curled lip sulky face.

"C'est la vie," I tell him, pointing to the waiting cab.

"You never can tell," he retorts, shrugging his shoulders.

"Quit it with the sulky face. You played the sympathy card already – back when we were in the bar. You can't use it again. Go home," I order him. "Wait. What's going on? Why's the cab leaving? What did you do?"

"Yeah." He thrusts his hands into his pockets, rolling his eyes. "I guess I shouldn't have done that." He looks up to the heavens. "Because now I'm getting very wet."

Tell me about it. I insert my key into the door. "Me too."

1.4 THE #METOO EXPERIENCE

 

The moment I entered my apartment I do the first thing I always do – free my long-suffering feet. It's automatic, passing my bedroom door I crack it open and toss the offending pumps into my room. On entering the lounge I take a moment, wiggling my toes to restore circulation. Freedom!

"It's nice and warm in here, cosy even," remarks Dominic, removing his wet jacket.

"'Because she's left the heating on again – does she think we're made of money?" I take his jacket. I was right. The label says Armani. "Let me hang that up for you." For the first time I see him in his shirtsleeves. He works out, I can tell. His forearms are muscular, smoother than my legs. An errant thought escapes my subconscious: a hairy back would be a deal-breaker. "NO," I object.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud . . . How to you take your coffee?"

"Three sugars, please. Without cream," he says, easing himself into the armchair.

Second black mark. Personally, I find the whole 'sweet tooth' thing bizarre. "We're interns," I reply, reaching into bag. "Unfortunately, our budget doesn't stretch to cream. You'll have to have it without milk."

"Very funny. I have to ask though, why do you keep sugar sachets in your bag?"

"It's a long story."

"How about you give me the bullet points?"

"I share this apartment with my friend Cindy. She works for the AG's office but she's not home right now. She's with her boyfriend. There's a  convention in town this weekend, and they're Trekkies."

"What has that got to do with sugar?"

"Nothing. Cindy has a bizarre reaction to sugar." It's her cocaine. She turns into the Energizer Bunny. It's weird. So we don't like to keep sugar in our apartment."

"And you're both interns?"

"We're not exactly interns but if you ever set eyes on any of our pay-checks – we may as well be interns."

He glances at his watch.

"It's not just because of the convention, Cindy spends most weekends at her boyfriend's. We probably won't see hide or hair of her 'til Monday."  OMG. Why did I even say that? That sounded really bad.

"I see. So it's just the two of us."

"Just the two of us if you don't include; the CCTV cameras, the panic buttons, the very thin walls, and at least a hundred nosey neighbours. Oh," I add, pointing to the tank. "And the fish. I forgot about the fish."

"Good to know." He smiles. "I feel so much safer now."

"I'll make you your coffee," I tell him. "Is instant okay for you?"

He smiles cheekily. "I'm all about instant. Instant is my jam."

I roll my eyes. "One cup of instant coming up, but then you really have to go." Midway between the couch and the kitchen I pause, turn, and wag a finger. For the record, there's no punani on the menu, not tonight. And to be clear, this punani's not instant. It's a special order – you have to wait for it."

 

I return with his coffee and pass it to him. "Before I get comfortable, taste it and tell me if it's okay."

He's staring at the fish tank, as if mesmerised by it.

"Hello?" I wave a hand in front of his face.

"Hey." He smiles.

"I know. It needs a new bulb. The flickering can be distracting. Taste your coffee."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Dominic ignores my instructions, sets the coffee on the side table, and pulls me onto his lap.

"NO. None of that," I tell him. "There'll be no fooling around. Not