Conversations with a stranger….

Let's take a long walk around the park after dark /Find a spot for us to spark

Conversations, verbal elation, stimulation / Share our situations, Temptations, 

education, Relaxations, elevations / ...Or maybe we can see a movie 

or maybe we can see a play on Saturday / feel the breeze and listen to a symphony

or maybe we can chill and just be or maybe/ Maybe we can take a cruise 

and listen to The Roots / Or maybe eat some passion fruit/Or maybe cry to the blues

Or maybe we can just be silent.

Jill Scott: Who is Jill Scott…Words and Sounds. Vol. 1

Stef sat down at the sidewalk of the Café De Bongiono nursing her cappuccino.

What is it with this place, she thought, she didn’t seem to want to get up. Café De Bongiono was a quaint tea and coffee shop that also served meals, but at specific times. It was located amidst the line of shops that lined the canal in Venice, Italy, with inner and outdoor seating provided for its customers. It had slight entertainment in the manner of the many tourists who boarded the gondolas opposite and a couple of spectacles that were apt to happen now and again, in a lovesick city like Venice.

She had taken a vantage position in the café, ready to embrace the sights and spectacles that day had to behold, seated facing the river entrance, watching the various people board the boats, backing the café but with a side view - enough to observe the goings-on.

She looked at the couple a few tables from her. They barely looked away from each other’s faces, closely staring at each other; nose to nose was the appropriate term to describe them. They must love each other uncontrollably to feel the need to express their love out here in public without a care in the world.

The atmosphere in Italy was such that required a defense mechanism to the passionate expressive lovers that parade in front of you or you would end up bawling your eyes out that you are alone. However, that wasn’t what she came for. She came to relax, to get her head in gear, to breathe in the sweet serene air as it unclogged her pores.

Then, a tall young man walked in through the river entrance. He had just gotten off a boat, shaking off his clothes to dry out some water just as he alighted. He was tall and fine, his face full and healthy, with glinting blond hair that messed up his face, a casual demeanor and baby blue eyes. His blond hair made her think, he’s not European, I think. What a surprise, hope he’s American.

He looked around the exterior of the café for an empty table, a spare seat but he couldn’t find any. His eyes brushed past Stef’s empty seat. He gave her the look that asked, “Are you expecting somebody?” She blushed, flirted with her eyes girlishly, stared down into her cup, and looked up to face him with a chuckle, shaking her head in response.

He looked pleased, so he strutted over to join her, all 6 foot 1 of him was now face to face from Stef with just a couple of feet between them.
“Hey.” His voice was soft. “Is this seat taken?”
Stef smiled. He was American, good clean cut American. His accent was refreshing to her after a month of French, Italian and Spanish speaking dialects that had begun to bore into her second skin. “Yeah, well, no…em… I’m sorry, no one’s here. You can have it. I should be leaving soon too.”

He pulled up the chair and sat down facing Stef, his side to the river entrance, and her back to the café. “I hope it’s not on my account?” he asked politely flashing a lovely exhilarating smile.

“No, of ‘course not. I’ve been here all morning - well not all morning - but the better part of the morning. You really should come here by 7 - that’s when you can get good seats for yourself, and watch the sun dancing on the river. It’s beautiful.”
“So, you’ve been here since 7?” he asked, adjusting his tall frame into the small wooden chair of the café.

“Yep, I have, that’s how I could get this seat,” Stef replied, proudly like it was some kind of achievement to sit this close to the water.
He smiled and looked up to catch the waiter's eyes, when he did he called his attention. “Would you like another cappuccino, Miss?” he asked Stef.

“No,” she looked down at her cup, this one should be stone cold by now, she thought. “Yeah, sure why not.” He ordered a cappuccino for Stef and a latte for himself. The waiter, a young man in his teens with a gaunt frame and jet black hair, pretended like he couldn’t grasp the order properly underneath the slurred accent, then Stef lent her Italian skills to the aid. He was pleased and left with their orders in mind.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m so not good at speaking this stuff.”
“Really, I could have assumed you were French or something when I saw you,” she teased.

“Yeah, really, like my blond hair didn’t give me away,” Stef laughed, she had been thinking the same thing too.

“How was your boat ride?” She pointed to the gondola on the riverside.
“That, phew,” he squealed excitedly. “I LOVED IT,” he yelled out. “Everything about it was exactly how I had imagined.” “You should try it at night,” Stef remarked.
“Really…can anything possibly top this?” He leaned closer, keen with interest as if to hear her describe the most pleasurable experience known to man.
“Yeah,” Stef nodded with a smile. “You wouldn’t believe what the stars do to the river at night and the air it’s so smooth and…” She closed her eyes to imagine it, and to somehow let the words jump into her mind that would appropriately describe the feeling she felt the first time she rode on the river at night.
“Sensual,” he finished for Stef appropriately while her eyes were still closed.

“Yeah,” she opened them abruptly to behold his starlet blues staring at her. “Sensual. That’s the word.” She turned back to her cold, and now stale cappuccino avoiding the tension staring into them had caused in her.
“How long have you been here?” he asked a pensive Stef.
“Here in Venice?” He nodded in response. “Well,” she thought for about half a second. “It will be at least a month on Thursday.” The day was Sunday.
“Wow,” he shrieked in his chair. “No wonder you know the language. I’ve only been here a week day after tomorrow.”
“That’s five days,” Stef corrected.
“Yeah, five days.” He was stunned at her correction of his miscalculation of time but he shrugged it off. “What do you do?”

A cold glance from Stef was the response he got to this off setting question. Just then, the waiter brought their cups, placed it in front of them carefully and took away the old one Stef had left to dry out.

“I’m sorry, I’m being nosy, aren’t I?” he apologized.
“No, you’re not. I just hate that question so much, you know. Back home it’s like THE all-important question. Everyone wants to know where you work. Is it a dot com, fortune 500, or in entertainment? Do you get to travel, an expense account, all expense paid car? Gibberish work macho bullshit,” Stef lamented cautiously rolling her eyes, guarding vital information about herself.
He shrugged his shoulders and made for his latte. He took a sip carefully, and then dropped the cup clumsily on its saucer. It was steaming hot, too hot to grasp the taste of it.
“See, there’s a free table over there if you want to move over?” She pointed to a table across them. The occupants were a couple just like them who had been having coffee together all morning like Stef. They had just left, walking towards the gondolas.

He looked over his shoulder at the table, “No, I like this place.” He looked at Stef and added, softly, “I like sitting next to you.” She was bemused so she let out a childish snicker. “Why, because I’m the only American woman here?”

“No, not really," he began, and staring straight at Stef, he finished. "Maybe, ‘cos…you’re the most intriguing woman here, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to understand why you should be sitting here alone.” The glint in his eye depicted the sincerity and honesty embedded in that statement. No doubt he wasn't speaking from his rear, it was a well thought out compliment that blew Stef's guards away.

Stef was near shock and embarrassment at this, her face blushing uncontrollably.
“Th…thanks. Thanks I guess.” Stef was not sure how to react to his genuine compliment. “But you know flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“I’m not looking for it to. I’m just trying to have fun, relax, and have a good time. Life’s too short to be uptight.” He ran his hands through his cropped blond hair, causing it to fall back over his face as unruly as it had when he first walked over to Stef. He leaned back on his chair, stretching his lengthy legs, arms and torso like a cat’s. “Wow, the air here is so nice. Reminds me of Miami in the summer.” He let out a deep refreshing breath.
“No.” Stef laughed in objection. “This place is nowhere near Miami, in any weather. They have so much culture here and the people here, they are curious and nice. Nice…Italians are nice, romantic ones, a bit rowdy at times but they do okay,” Stef corrected.

“You like correcting people, don’t you?” he asked, sitting back up on the chair.

“Well, not all the time. I just hate it when people don’t know what in the world they are talking about, it just irks my ears.” She took a sip from her cup, lifting up her eyes from it, awaiting his calculated response.

But he didn’t say a word. He just made silent notes in his head about Stef and the direction their conversation was headed.

This lady is nice, a little older than I am but she’s still nice. She has a pretty face, lovely brown hair that glitters in the sun's rays, a nice enriching smile, beautiful full lips and a somewhat friendly demeanor. But why is she so goddamned compulsive? Should I ask her? I probably shouldn’t. I don’t even know her name. Besides I’m here to have a good time, not to let anything bug me, so I don’t think I should ask her. I don’t think she knows who I am anyway; if she did maybe she would have asked me how it feels to be me, be in my business. Maybe, she would have made some corrections about that too.

He took a sip of his latte again. It tasted nicer now that it was colder, maybe the cold breeze had added to the taste. That’s not right, he thought.
“Are you going to take me to the museum this afternoon?” he asked Stef confidently, maybe too confident.

“You haven’t been?" she gasped at the absurdity. Stay in Venice without viewing the museum that was the first stop on her agenda, coupled with a midnight gondola ride, after a tour of the vineyards. "I can’t anyway, you should ask one of your hotel staff to get a guide for you,” she suggested, straightening the red polka dot mat on the table, nervously. She hated to refuse people anything on a normal basis especially one that just paid her a compliment. Saying NO was definitely not one of her strong points.

“Hmm, maybe…” he had no reply to that. He kept quiet for a while, staring at Stef sipping her coffee. Her lips pursed into a nice thin line each time she did, and when she swallowed she would roll her eyes and lick her lips satisfactorily before she set the cup down. She did it each time, with each sip, it was almost like a pattern for her; a system she had developed and looked forward to perfecting.

“I quit my job,” he began.

Stef looked up at him stunned, stumbling her cup on the saucer. “Wow! Why? No, em...not why, but how come…?” she asked stuttering. She knew who he was, but she had pretended not to because this was Italy, not America. Anybody here from the States was entitled to their privacy.
“Oh, you’re so concerned?” he said in sarcasm.
“Yes, I am. I lost mine.” He stared back at her, aghast. “I know Miss Perfection like me, how did I manage to fuck that up, right?” Stef expressed, waving her hands in the air. She was suddenly at ease with this young man, so she felt comfortable telling him the truth, and cursing in front of him.
“This had nothing to do with your controlling behavior now, does it?” he inquired, careful because he knew he might have been stepping on dangerous territory.

“Well, a little. I couldn’t work under a man.” His eyes almost popped out at the belittling way she phrased the male's species blatant superiority so she went further to explain, “You see, I was supposed to get a promotion as the Chief Media Executive for the firm. But instead of me, they bring in some man from another company to take the job that I am so sure has no idea what he’s doing. It’s just so male chauvinist macho bullshit if you ask me. I couldn’t handle it. So they let me go, nicely, with a good pay-off too,” Stef spat out.
He was stunned that so much anger was inherent in this astute charming young lady. He felt a need to calm her anger. “I’m so sorry.” He brushed his hand lightly across hers on the table.

“Hey,” Stef was touched, “it’s okay, and I’m so over it.” He stared at her disbelieving her words of assurance. “No, really I am. After a month here, don’t you think I would be?” Stef bent down her head to hide the tears that had started to percolate in her eyes.
“Is that why you came here?”
“Yeah, look at this place,” she marveled, looking around she sniffed the air and let out a big sigh. “You don’t ever wanna leave, and of course I’ve always had this dream…” she stopped abruptly.
“What?” he reached forward as if to catch the words from her mouth. “Hold on a second. Let me order another latte. These things are great, aren’t they?” He beckoned the waiter, the same waiter from earlier. This time he just handed him the empty cups and murmured “the same”, and the waiter nodded in comprehension.
“So what’s your dream?” he inquired immediately after the waiter left.
“Why did you quit your job?” Stef asked, changing the subject from her and referring to his earlier submission about quitting his job.
He stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts before he replied, “I didn’t leave. I just walked out. I got tired of being ignored basically. Being the youngest person there all of a sudden felt like no one wanted to listen to a thing I was saying. Everybody else’s decision mattered, not mine.”
“But you are the youngest?” Stef asked, intuitively.
“Yes, but…” he stopped, gave Stef an angry face which made her smile. It was not just the anger written in the eyes but the fact that he masked it with a smirk, jolting smirk, the kind of expression one gave off while having intense sexual pleasure, you're angry but smirking. Angry but sexy, she thought, how intriguing.

Nick continued, oblivious of the woman's private observations. “I know I’m the youngest but…most times every mess we’ve fallen into - if they had listened to any of my suggestions maybe we wouldn’t have fallen into them, don’t you think?”
“Like what, pray tell me?” Stef asked in sarcasm.

“Well, the last album for sure,” he snapped.
“Oh that…I’m so sorry it was such a flop worldwide, critics had a field day with it. Everybody kept asking why you guys made the turn in your music when the old method was working just fine for you all.”

“Exactly…and I suggested…wait…you knew about that?” he asked, puzzled. Stef nodded, “I’m in media, remember? It’s our job to seek people who need more or better publicity or image or something.”
He nodded, dismissed the answer and continued. “Anyway, I suggested that since we’ve already started the crossover why don’t we go all the way, put some hip-hop, rap, R&B, funk it up a little bit, the works, but they said ‘No. It’s not us’ …what do you fucking mean ‘it’s not us’? Right now I don’t even know what ‘us’ even sounds like anymore.”

Stef was put aback. The waiter caught his ramblings in anger and hurriedly dropped their cups of coffee. He grabbed his and practically drained the cup. It was not as hot as the first one, or maybe it was and he had just grown thirstier.
“I am sorry,” Stef said genuinely, batting her eyelids.
“Why, you shouldn’t be,” he snapped.

“No, I should, my company campaigned to handle you guys’ publicity for a while and then we dropped the bid. I guess we didn’t really push for it then because you guys were not considered “heavy-hitters” so to speak.”
“Maybe, you should have,” he retorted amidst hisses.

“Yeah, maybe we should. Maybe if we had, I would have still had my job by now, maybe they would have made me Chief Media Executive if I had brought in your big account.” Stef regretted that moment her intern secretary had mentioned his group and how they needed a new image and some major publicity for their new album, but she had reprimanded the girl, thinking she was young, daft and too into the teen-pop music to understand what a major account meant. A major account was an A-list celebrity, not a once former A-list pop group. To the young high school crowd his pop group was the most exciting thing to happen to them in decades, and they had studiously made it their duty to get interested in every bit of news concerning them, something that worked for and against them. However, considering their media fumble, and loss of their wholesome image, the intern was right to point them out to Stef as needing a new image. Who knew she was acting on a good lead and an excellent hunch, certainly not Stef.

“But you’re going to go back, aren’t you?” Stef asked the impulsive young man.
“Yep,” he smacked his lips till they turned ruby red. “Of course I’m going to go back. I have to. I’ve done this all my life, what else can I do. I just needed to disappear for a while, to give them some time to sweat it out, look for me, miss me a little, you know the drill. You women do it all the time?”

Stef was amused. “Do what, disappear? Well I wouldn’t know anything about that now, would I? I’m just a girl…” she sang out the No Doubt tune in less than perfect harmony. This amused him greatly, her voice must be a far cry from the lovely lead singers he had in his team.

“Yeah, yeah. You should take your act on the road,” he teased.

“Yes, I just might. The Porto Ilagiano would be very happy to throw me out.” Stef heard herself chuckle loudly.
They both sat there and laughed for a minute, cradling their cups. They had been chatting for close to 2 hours and the people on the café sidewalk were beginning to stare, needing to occupy their table.

“I’m getting kinda hungry.” He patted his stomach, checking the watch, he exclaimed, “It’s almost noon.”
“Yeah, that means I’ve been here for five hours, and you’ve been here for two. You can order lunch, they start serving it by noon anyway.”
“I can see you know everything about this place.”

“A month, I said. No more, no less than a month. If I don’t know anything about the place after a month, then when would I?” Stef scratched her mass of hair that was being harassed by the wind. She might need a shampoo later on this week or maybe not, after all she is on vacation, she thought. “Hope he doesn’t get close to me to get a whiff of it though; it really might have an odor,” she gasped to her self.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
“Well, the pasta in olive oil sauce is pretty good with sautéed vegetables and Parmesan chicken, you would go crazy,” she exclaimed, remembering the taste of the lunch she had been having here for the past two weeks.
“You’ve eaten here a lot, I can see.”
“Well, only for about two weeks. At first when I got here I ate at the restaurant by the market square, the shoppers were a bit too noisy for me. I couldn’t handle the intrusion and the men asking me ‘Are you tourist?’ ever so often trying to hit on me like my black self didn’t give me away.”

“They see a beautiful woman, what do they care?”
“I know men don’t think sometimes. Italian men don’t, they just want someone they can fib to about their inability to understand a word of English so they can use that as an excuse to screw her brains out before she leaves,” Stef remarked, remembering the many Italian, non-English speaking, suave young men that had approached her pointlessly trying to chat her up for a date. “Miss, you so beautiful, so very beautiful,” she mimicked in her worst male Italian accent, crucifying the language.

He burst out laughing at the details and her very hilarious mimic. He could barely sit upright on the chair, his eyes went teary and his face turned red in hysteria. “You crack me up sister,” he said, gasping in bouts of laughter, his stomach churned every note.

Stef smirked. It all didn’t seem so funny to her now. Maybe because she had spent a good portion of the vacation chasing away their advances instead of relaxing as she had intended to.
“Well, you asked for it, coming here all alone and looking fine as you are, you really can’t blame them.”
Stef shrugged. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yep, you did,” he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Isn’t that what your dream is, about coming here to have a lurid affair with some Italian hunk?”
“No…” Stef shook her head persistently. “No, it has nothing to do with it. Well," she smirked. “I wouldn’t mind an artist hunk who would paint nude pictures of me at the beach all day long, but there aren’t any, at least out of all the people that have approached me. My dream cuts deeper than that; that is so shallow.”

“Uh-uh, I hear you.” He nodded darting his starlet blues.
She paused. “It’s to live here, that's my dream. To live here in anonymity, lead a simple life, have a simple income and be content. To live here and not have to worry about deadlines, accounts, mergers, promotions, crummy staff meetings where you have to flash fake smiles for your co-workers and reel pitches for the bosses that never appreciate them…aargh!” She rubbed on her temples in meditation, a headache was forming just thinking about the rigorous antics of work life.

“Think about when you’re stuck to the hip with four other guys like me, then what happens? It’s like, I can’t make a move without telling any of them or running it by our management team or our publicist.”
“It can’t be all that bad. They seem like nice guys,” Stef complimented.
“They are, the best. But I want my own life sometimes,” he emphasized, rubbing his chest.
“So you run away, disappear to Venice?”

“Yep, the land of romance and escapism, I learnt it from you. You’ve set a good example.” He nodded in her direction. “Anyway, the other day, I got this pitch for a movie; an action role and I really like it. But for the life of me I don’t think the others will, and if it clashes with our schedule, you know they can’t have that.” He shook his head regrettably. “You always have to think of the good ole' schedule now.” He emphasized with his eyes, rolling out a bad Southern drawl. “We’re meant to go back to the studio to record the new album soon. They want to do some writing with some professionals.”

“You don’t want to?” Stef peered for an answer.
“I do, I feel like I have to go with them. It’s the most natural thing to do, but I feel like if I don’t follow my heart now I’ll live with that regret all my life, especially if this one ends up being another flop.”
“Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?” Stef assured.
“No, we can’t. Not at all.”

The waiter passed by their table as if to ask what else they wanted and to possibly hint that they had exceeded the morning time limit not unless they ordered lunch. Stef called out to him, “Roberto, my friend and I want lunch.”
“You know his name?” he gasped.
“Yep." Stef smiled proudly. “A month, remember,” she mused, and then gave Roberto their orders for lunch and told him to bring them a jug of ice water. It was getting sunny and humid. She yanked at the sleeves of her sundress. It was cotton yet she was heating up inside. She reached into her pockets to retrieve a handkerchief to wipe her forehead, her arms and the beads of sweat that had percolated in between her cleavage.
“What time is it?” she asked him.
“It’s a little past 1 now,” he said, glancing at his silver Tag Heuer watch. Stef licked her lips, slightly wetting them. “It would be better if it wasn’t so hot.”
“Yeah, it would be. We could take a walk or a boat ride on the river,” he offered. “It can be a bit refreshing.”
“Yeah, I know, maybe after lunch. I’m a little hungry myself.” She wiped her forehead again. She noticed that he was staring at her as she did so. Why is he staring?

A sudden refreshing breeze cut towards her, coming from the river, blowing through her hair, into her dress, in between her cleavage, cleansing her with its freshness and cooling her off, however temporarily. She suddenly felt refreshed, however, slightly, and the uncomfortable icky sweat that had gathered under her armpits had evaporated with the fleeting wind. She looked to the direction the wind had come. Where did it come? And just as quickly as it had come, it had disappeared.

She turned back to him, to the young man she had been sitting with all afternoon. He is so young, she thought. She couldn’t quite remember how old the papers said he was, but she could remember he was reasonably young but mature. “How old are you again?” she bravely asked.
He scrunched his nose for a second, “I’m 24, 25 in a bit.”
“How much of a bit?” Stef asked like an older sister.
He laughed mischievously, “Okay, you caught me - in roughly five months,” he confessed.
“Oh, well it’s a bit. A long bit, but still a bit, depending on how you look at it. I’m 32. That’s pretty steep, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” He pursed his lips to the side in contemplation. “I’ve been with older women before. Well, just a bit older.”
“Knowing your bits, that’ll be like my age, right?”
“A little less than your age. Four years older is the highest I’ve ever gone for. You can’t help it. All the guys hang around older women, a girl my age would just get lost in the program.” He scratched his neck in thought. Pretty lady, I knew she was older, he thought. But it makes her more attractive though, the fact that she knows more about life than I do and is so intuitive about everything. I can deal with that, he assured himself.

“What’s the most fascinating thing you find in a woman?” Stef asked, since they were on the gender preference topic.
He thought for a second. “A lot. Her smile for one has to say a lot to me. She has to be someone that can send a million messages with just one smile.”
“She has to be beautiful…” Stef hinted.

“Not necessarily. Good to look at, but not beautiful. If I want beautiful, I date a model. And personally, I have. The relationship can’t go past sex, boring sex but good sex either way.”
Stef was put aback with his frankness. “Wow!” she kept on exclaiming.
“I’m a superstar,” he boasted. “Women come a dime a dozen to people like us.”
“But you have to pick and choose the good ones from the crap or as you say ‘good boring sexy’ ones?”
“Yeah, and it’s such a tough job,” he joked. “But someone has to do it.”

“How do you handle groupies?”
“We have bodyguards and dancers and stuff who keep them occupied.” He boasted unknowingly.
“What if you like one?”

“Rarely happens,” he brushed off. “Most times, we do them the courtesy of going out to dinner or something, just so they can go back home happy that they ‘mingled’ with us, but apart from that they are just the same ole ‘boring sexy women’ to all of us,” he explained, concisely driving his point home. The women had played an important role in their careers, and no matter how they tried to deny it the women were the only ones who really cared for their music, as fans and as admirers so they always did their best to be nice and courteous to them.

“I’m sorry, did I upset you with my statement?” he asked Stef when he noticed her face set off to the distance.
“No, I’m not upset.” The waiter dropped off their jug of water with some ice cubes and two glasses. She instantly poured herself a glass, and gulped down its contents thirstily. She let out a refreshed sigh when she was done. “That was what was wrong with me. When I’m thirsty I turn to a grouchy confused woman.” She turned back to face him after she had drowned out her second glass of water.

“Okay, how do you handle the ‘boxer/briefs’ question?”
He laughed. “Aahh, that all-important question. Funny, no matter how many times we answer that question so many people still want to know the answer as if it would possibly have changed within the time frame between interviews. ‘‘One caller asks: Boxers or Briefs?’” he mimicked an interviewer’s voice.

Stef was amused. She never realized this side of the artists’ life, the cynic irritable side. She knew the question was annoying but they often answered it with such ease and valor, as if it was second nature to be asked such a personal question, so she assumed they might have been enjoying the attention, the wanton attention. She thought wrong. “What is it then, boxers or briefs?” she teased, like she was opening an already scathing wound.

He gave her an angry face again, that angry sex face that Stef saw he was accustomed to pulling whenever he heard a question or intended to make a remark that might not be so pleasing to the average young lady. “Its’ briefs, but at times it’s neither. You know, I just let the dingy dangle freely without a hook.” he joked.

Stef was in stitches, “I bet. The dingy, I haven’t heard it referred to as that before.”

Roberto and another female waitress, who kept her stare on Stef’s companion, served lunch quietly. After serving the lunch, she nudged Roberto playfully then he leaned over and asked him for an autograph.

“It’s for my niece, she’s 11,” Roberto excused, grinning apologetically. He obliged them taking the paper with his left hand and scribbling something close to a signature. When he was done he was handed another piece of paper.

The female waitress whispered shyly, “This one’s for me,” she said, unashamed.
He obliged her, this time with a smile, surprised that they were fans. When he was done, they thanked him profusely before they let him settle down to lunch with Stef. He apologized to Stef and she nodded in assurance, it didn’t bother her, it rather intrigued her to see him at work.
He admired the appetizing spread of food. “I hope this tastes as good as you described!”

“Unless what, Nick Carter?” she spat out, playfully.

She knew his name after all! He moved back in his seat, startled that she knew his name, his full name. He let his mouth fly open in astonishment.

His near-shock at her outburst amused Stef. “I attended your concert earlier this year. I couldn’t stop screaming,” she snickered. He dropped his napkin in more shock, stared at the mischievous grin on Stef’s face. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, but I guessed you wanted anonymity. That’s what you wanted isn’t it, by coming here? God knows, that’s what I did.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch, he cradled his face with his right hand, elbow on the table absorbing this newness in Stef. “I’m sorry I should have told you. But you should have known I would know, at least a little bit. I’m in media, remember?” She apologized again, peering at his faded blue eyes.

He sighed. “I’m not surprised you know who I am, like I said, we are superstars, it’s just the concert bit that got me. You screamed?” he enquired.

“Yep, persistently. I couldn’t stop. I even got to cry some time in it too. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen, amazing display of testosterone - good testosterone, not the boring kind, and all from five men. It’s like I got the dose five times multiplied.” She giggled, giddy like a schoolgirl, as the events of that night played out in her mind.

He brushed it off. “Anyway, I’m glad you had fun. That’s one satisfied fan I have to cross off my list…” He bent over to his food.

“List, which list?”

“List of unsatisfied ones,” he replied instantly. He picked up his fork and made for the chicken on his plate.

“The fans are not dissatisfied, honey.” She reached for his face across the small table, started to rub it with her palms, running her thumb and forefinger along the creased lines formed on his forehead. “It’s just that sometimes you have to fall to get back up again. It happens to the best of musicians and it’s your ability to rise above it that establishes your longevity and earns you respect in the business. Look at Mariah Carey or worse off, Britney Spears.” Stef’s business mind was talking, giving him advice on how to handle defeat in the game of entertainment.

He smiled sweetly in acceptance, reached for Stef’s hand on his face, taking it in his, he kissed the inside of her palm fondly. His soft lips tickled the lines on her palm, feeling moist and hungry for what they would taste like from up close, from mouth to mouth.

“They should have made you Chief Media Executive,” he remarked.

Stef blushed. His kisses on her palm tickled her, she strained to speak straight. “Yes, I know, and I should have lobbied for your account, at least I would have met you sooner.”

“But now, we’ve met.”

“Yes, now we’ve met. Better late than never.”

“When are you leaving?” he asked, soberly, his mind considering spending his entire vacation time absorbed with Stef.

“In three days. But I have to be in Milan tomorrow. I need to get some shoes there and then it’s off home to go look for another job I love to hate.” He let go of Stef’s hand and placed it carefully on his side of the table. “We have today...” he remarked contrite.

“Yes, we do,” Stef replied, choked with emotion. She went back to the food on her plate, struggling to concentrate on food with the revitalized nerves alert inside her. Just the mere feel of his mouth on her hand had worked her up so badly, that her nipples tore at the seams of her cotton dress. Food didn't seem so appetizing after all.

“You said you cried, when? At what point during the concert did you cry?” He asked, startling Stef.

She squinted her eyes and thought hard to remember the exact moment she did cry. She knew she cried but she couldn’t quite remember when exactly. “Okay.” Her eyes opened up when she remembered, “That song, ‘More Than That’ - there is this part that goes ‘I heard him promise you forever/but forever’s come and gone’ and then it goes on to say ‘I won’t say the words, then take them back/don’t give loneliness a chance/ baby listen to me when I say/ I would love you more than that.’” Stef said, half singing, and half drifting into a deep intoxicating trance. “It was the most beautiful thing a man could ever say to me or you or whoever,” she fumbled.

Nick nodded. He remembered when they had written those words and their manager said they were a bit too mushy, too fragile but when they had played them to a control group of women, every single one of them had a tear in her eye. “You’ve been in a bad relationship, haven’t you?”

“Been in?” Stef exclaimed, “I live in bad relationships. I live with a man I don’t love, I just don’t. I did, but one day it just stopped. It started from a little wrong that never got excused, and then it developed into something neither of us could account for. Then you start by not saying ‘I love you’ for one day and from then, you just stop saying it. The words don’t mean anything to either of you anymore. And you just slowly drift apart.”

They said the few words together. Nick smiled at Stef, and suddenly he felt the need to hold her in his arms and comfort her, squeeze her so tight so that she could forget the misdeeds of the other men in her past. He felt the need to connect with her on a higher level, speak to her those words that no one could take back. He had no idea this enthralling, ever-confident woman could be feeling so much hurt inside her and could succeed in concealing it with brilliance.

I like her, I like her a lot, he thought. She is in touch with her emotions and it, in effect, touches me to see her in so much pain. I wish I could help her, be her, and be in her thoughts to wipe away the pain.

“I want us to spend the day together. I wish you didn’t have to go. If you could stay one more day for my sake, would you?” Nick pleaded, his voice choked with emotion and regret that he hadn’t shown up at this café days ago when the hotel staff had pointed it out to him.

“Let’s see how today goes first, okay. So far it’s going great. But let’s try being...silent. Yes, taking in some silence. That would be nice,” Stef assured rubbing on the hand that had been placed on top of hers.

Nick agreed albeit reluctantly finding it hard to tear his blinding blues from Stef's hurting browns. She consoled him with a small shift from her lips, reassuring him that sometimes speech would get in the way of a perfect calm. Silences could crossover the gap and speak a magnitude of emotions words might misconstrue. With a closed stare, constant absorption of the pain her confession had instilled in him, Stef convinced Nick to stay still while they ate in each other's company; their hearts dancing to the rhythm of the others’ heartbeats.

They bent down to eat their food in silence, no one saying a word or looking up at the other, connecting with each other's imaginations.

On the river beside them, couples sailed by on their gondolas, cuddling, necking, groping, stealing a kiss, being serenaded by their gondolier, whilst some were busy proposing to their partners. Stef took in the environment with every breath inside her, sighing at its splendid composure.

The café blasted Frank Sinatra’s music from their speakers. They did that every afternoon when the couples came in for lunch. It had never occurred to her how romantic it must be for the couples to hear Frank and his endless profession of love and deep affection whilst they ate lunch, by the sea.

Today, for the first time, she was brought into the glow of that splendor just by sitting with this young man. A fine young man he certainly was, young and mature and heartfelt in every way. He was the kind that could love and share his private moments with a lady just the way she wanted him to. Stef felt the romance of Venice engulf her and it was a good, tingling sensational feeling; one that she hoped she could grasp with her hand, trapping it somehow to take back home to America to release at moments of loneliness. It would keep her warm on those lonely cold nights when she longed to avoid the abhorring company of her lover, those Friday nights she longed to hear the words as she ate dinner alone, those moments she sank into a hot tub wishing someone could massage her body inside the bubbles. Those moments and many moments after.

She looked up at him and smiled, likewise he returned hers with his all so innocent one. My honey molasses, she thought. She smirked, that was a good name for him, Honey Molasses. Because he had a smile and eyes that were as sweet as honey.

They were through with lunch and the bill by 5 o’clock, still silent so she walked him over to the river but he insisted that he wasn’t ready to leave her.
“Thought I was joking, didn’t you?” Nick said.

“No, I just want to hear you say it again.” Stef snickered.
“Hear what? That I want to spend the day with you. Okay, I’ll ask…” he leaned forward and made to kneel down when he did a quick look around, he whispered, “You know, I don’t even know your name?”

Stef let out a hysterical laugh. It was true, she hadn't told him her name. “It’s Stef. Stephanie, but Stef to my friends.”

He nodded with a smile, feeling slightly stupid. He knelt down on the concrete paved ground of the Venice streets and held onto Stef’s hands tenderly, “Stef, would you stay for just one day?” He clutched them onto his chest, pleading.

Stef agreed instantly, blushing from corner to sidewalk. This was the most romantic gesture she had had cause to witness, and hence be a part of. “Certainly, Nicholas I would. I would.” She pulled him up to his feet and he leaned over to her face and brushed Stef’s lips with a brief kiss, soft enough to stimulate Stef's nerves. “C’mon, I wanna take you somewhere.” She dragged him off excitedly.

She took him to a local bar where they had margaritas and tequilas until they couldn’t have anymore. They left at 8.30, avoiding the nuisance route and walked back up the river creek towards the café where they had spent the day. On the way, Nick stopped abruptly at the side of the road and started to belt out a tune he had been humming inside him all through the walk. He sang the song, her song, this time he sang them to her. ‘More Than That’, the infamous song that had brought Stef to tears at their concert.

Baby, you deserve much better/ what's the use in holding on.../cos I would love you more than that/I won't say the words then take them back/Don't give loneliness a chance/baby listen to me when I say...I would love you more than that.

THE END.