Perfect Strangers

His exhalation is slow and rough. I imagine him gripping the phone so hard he puts a crack in it.

After a while, I ask, “Are you still there?”

“Just recovering the power of speech. Please hold.”

I smile, gratified I affect him as much as he affects me. “Not to be presumptuous, but it does seem like the feeling is—”

“Mutual. Yes. Jesus. Are you always this direct?”

“Life’s too short to mince words. But since we’re on the subject, I should tell you I’m going to need some time. I can’t just…”

“Hop into bed with me on the first date.”

“Bingo.”

“You want to get to know me better first.”

I think about that. What is it, exactly, that I want? I’m here for three months, then I’ll go back to real life in the States. This can only be a temporary thing, a brief affair with a beautiful stranger to be remembered fondly when I’m sitting in my rocking chair on the front porch of the old folks’ home.

So why waste any time?

I’m hardly a virgin. We’re both adults, we’re both single, and we both know what we want. Aside from a nod to “morality,” what’s the point of delay?

Anticipation, whispers my brain.

The point of delay is to build desire.

I take a moment to marvel at this thirsty new version of myself. Perhaps it’s the influence of my exhibitionist neighbors, but whatever it is, I’m going with it.

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but…no. I don’t need to get to know you better first. Everything I need to know is what happens to me when I look into your eyes.”

He waits, his silence bristling with heat.

“I’m not in Paris for long. If this gets personal, if we get too close and share all our sad stories, it will be much harder when I leave. I’d rather keep things light.” I close my eyes, ashamed by how mercenary that sounded. “Forgive me if that’s crass or insulting. It’s just the way I feel.”

“So you only want me for my body,” he says in a throaty, teasing drawl. “Well, I never.”

I whisper, “It is a pretty good body.”

He sounds insulted. “Pretty good? Oh, stop, you’ll spoil me.”

“Okay, fine, egomaniac, it’s an amazing body. Satisfied?”

He sniffs. “No.”

Smiling, still with my eyes closed, I say, “It’s hands down the best body I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot since I haven’t even seen you naked.”

Yet.

“What about the face?”

“Oh my God! You’re totally fishing for compliments!”

“It’s a small price to pay for using me for my many charms, don’t you think?”

I start to laugh and can’t stop. “Okay, fine. Your face. Your face is…well, it’s pretty good, too.”

“I’m going to hang up on you.”

“No, you’re not.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “You’re right. I’m not. Now give me another compliment before my ego deflates and I go off and cry in a corner.”

“Fine. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

I picture his face, all those perfect angles and lines. “Your face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Surprisingly, I actually mean it.

“Go on…”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh. Adopting a theatrical breathy voice, I say, “And your eyes…your eyes are like two limpid pools. Your voice is the honey-smoke croon of a blues singer, setting all my nerves aflutter. And your lips—oh! Your lips are like strawberry wine!”

He mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

My tone turns practical. “Hey, you started it.”

“You must’ve grown up with very annoying siblings.”

I start to make a joke about how annoying my older brothers actually were, but stop myself.

My hesitation isn’t lost on James. “Right. We’re not getting personal.”

I make a face. “Is that weird? Will it get too awkward and weird if we can’t talk to each other?”

“I’m sure we’ll find plenty of things to talk about.”