Marie allowed herself another glance around the club. She'd been allowing herself these quick glances – had been quite generous, in fact - periodically throughout the night. Was she a glutton for punishment? It wasn't even in this place that they met. Why did she have to be quite so pathetic?
She met him a couple of weeks ago. The drinks had been flowing, as usual, and she'd left all her inhibitions at the bar. Marie was a happy, sexy drunk that night, which was not quite so usual. She'd been showing off her moves on the dance floor, handbag between her and Donna on the sticky, beer-drenched floor. Donna was oblivious to anything she did; she busily checked her reflection in the full-length mirror that spread the width of the dance floor. Marie looked up, and there he was, leaning against the pillar like it was holding him up. She smiled. The poor boy looked so shocked that his elbow slipped from the wall and he nearly toppled to the floor. Marie laughed, and his cheeks reddened and then he smiled back.
Marie still wasn't sure where she got her confidence from that night, despite the copious drink that naturally helped her along. Her dad told her often enough she needed to lose the layers of flesh that coated her body because, he slurred, boys these days just don't like fat girls. Marie's natural reaction when she felt eyes on her was to check that the guy wasn't looking at her skinny friend. But she felt none of this with this guy. She knew he was looking at her, and she knew he liked what he saw. Marie held out her outstretched arm. She laughed when the guy glanced left and right to check that she was holding the arm out for him. Marie didn't long for a strong, perfect guy to protect her; she wanted a guy with all the insecurities she possessed, who understood and loved her despite her flaws. It felt fantastic that she was the one in control. The boy put down his pint with a splash and followed her hand.
Hungry Eyes came on just as he placed his foot on the dance floor. She remembered the video that was waiting for her in the VHS when she finally got home. Marie looked up at the ceiling. There was a God. She held the boy close. His body felt large and warm and cuddly. His hands rested on her hips. His forehead nestled against her own. She tugged at his shirt and felt the hardness in his trousers press against her belly. Marie smiled.
The boy pulled away. She watched as he scurried away, his head bowed. Marie wanted to pull him back. He kept on walking. She looked up at Donna. She hadn't even noticed the boy. It was like he never happened, like he never existed.
Even though it was only a few weeks ago, it felt like a distant memory, a figment of her imagination. Marie wanted to see the boy again for a whole range of reasons. One was that she wanted to say sorry. She had no idea how she'd upset him, but she wanted him to know she hadn't meant to. Another reason was that, even though they hadn't even exchanged a single word, she really liked him. But he wasn't here. She'd probably never see him again, would she?
She's had enough now. She stands up. Somebody instantly takes her place on the sofa, no doubt ready to try their luck with her friend. Marie makes sure Donna catches her eye , sees her hand held in the air in a parting gesture.
Marie heads for the exit. Reaches the corridor at the top of the wide stairs. Something tugs at her hand. She turns around, ready to give Donna some choice words. But it isn't her. It is a guy.
"I've been watching you, and I've been building up the courage to come and talk to you, and now you're leaving?"
He speaks in hushed, fluid tones, long fingers caressing her arm. His eyes are a fantastic grey, his face almost feminine in its beauty and yet, glancing down, Marie senses undeniable power in the wiry frame. His hands move from her arm to her waist, to where the boy had touched her weeks before.
Marie gives an open-mouthed nod. She was leaving.
"Listen," the boy says. "Let me join you? I'll just go and tell my friends I'm going and I'll meet you. I'll tell them I'm ill or something. If they see me going with you they'll want to come or they'll try to stop me going. It will be our little secret. Meet me over at the church in ten minutes? "
Stretching out his arm, he points in the direction of the church. Marie follows his hand and, mouth still open, she speaks no words.
This is ridiculous, she thinks, walking down the wide stairs with the thick, surprisingly luxurious carpet, saying goodnight to the doormen. She didn't know this boy. She didn't know his name. And she was a good girl. But then, she thought, maybe that was the whole point? The last thing anybody would expect her to do would be to meet this stranger. And the church? Surely
