A Kiss and a Cuddle (7 page)

After
the gig that night, the taxi took all four of us back downtown, and Rex and I
sat on a bench on Larimer Street for a while before saying good night.  Johnny
and Clive said that they would go for a short walk downtown to give us some
space, but I was sure that they were still watching us from a hidden window or
from behind a tree.

Rex
put his arm around me, and I snuggled close to try to stay warm.  The air was
crisp, and our cheeks and noses were pink with cold.  The sky was completely
clear and black, and if you looked up, you could see the speckling of stars
despite the bright city lights.  Out of the whole world and galaxy, there was
nowhere else I would have wanted to be.

“So,
next time I see you, are you going to cook me dinner?” he asked with a grin,
and he put his other hand on my knee.

“Ha! 
If you know what’s good for you, you won’t want to eat my cooking,” I replied
honestly and put my hand over his.

“Oh
really?  So you aren’t a domestic goddess?” he asked, half joking, but probably
half disappointed that I wouldn’t ever be the wife to bring him breakfast in
bed or cook a pot roast dinner on Sunday.

“No
way.  I’m a singer.  That’s what I do.  Cooking is not my forte.  Besides, do
you think that Beyoncé ever has to cook?  Come on.  There are some household
duties you can refuse when you are a superstar.  Or when you’re as hot as
that.  Haven’t you ever heard of the ‘hot crazy matrix’?”

“The
hot crazy what?” he asked.  The matrix obviously hadn’t made its way across the
Atlantic yet.

“The
hot crazy matrix.  There is a horizontal x axis labelled ‘hot’, and a vertical
y axis labelled ‘crazy’.  Within the graph, there are areas labelled as ‘no go
zone’, ‘fun zone’, ‘date zone’, and ‘wife zone’.  The premise is that the
hotter the girl is, the crazier she is allowed to be, and guys will still date
her.”

“That
is utter nonsense,” he replied.  “So you are saying that you are so hot, you
don’t have to cook, and you can be crazy?”

“Something
like that,” I friskily teased.  “But for me, the vertical y axis should be
labelled ‘lack of cooking skills’, not ‘crazy’.  But who knows, if you play
your cards right, I will treat you and whip up my speciality, Hamburger
Helper.”

“Oh
my, I’m not sure I want to play my cards right, then!” he joked. “Luckily for
you, I am an old-fashioned romantic who likes to treat his lady.  You won’t
need to be a slave in the kitchen with me.”

“That’s
alright by me,” I replied.  “Do you really consider yourself a romantic?”  Not
many men these days would admit to that.  Usually now was about the time my
romantic interests would start the ‘I’m not looking for anything serious’
speech, just in case I let myself start to think he was a decent, different
guy.  Rex, however, was letting me fall into the fantasy.

“Most
definitely.  I do believe in true love, and I do believe that once you have
found that person, you should never let them go,” he said softly.  “That is
something my mum used to tell me.”

“I
see,” I said encouragingly, hoping that he would continue to open up and tell
me more.

“I
realize now that it was a harder lesson for my dad to learn.  I mean, when my
mum was taken from us, he didn’t know what to do.  She was the focus of his
whole life.  Did you know that he fell in love with her when he painted her
portrait over 40 years ago?  And he painted her portrait every year after until
she was taken from us.  I think he feels guilty for the way that the media
hounded her and made her feel unsafe.  I know he will never forgive himself for
not being with her to protect her that night,” he said gently and sadly.  “Now
I know the importance of finding the right girl, treating her well, and not
letting her slip away.”

“Yes,
that is good,” I said softly and squeezed his hand.  “There must be an intense
pressure for an heir like you to choose the right girl to marry.”

“You
don’t know the half of it,” he said.  “Especially since I am over 30 years old
now,” he sighed.  “Anyway, listen to me blathering on.  Tell me about your
parents.”

“Oh,
there isn’t much to say,” I said shyly.  This was a topic that I didn’t
normally talk about.  This was one of the doors inside of me that I liked to
keep closed.  Rex, however, had been completely open and honest with me, and I
felt like we had developed a bond.  With his troubled past, I knew that he
would understand my story.  “My mom still lives in San Antonio, and I talk to
her every day,” I smiled.  “My dad… well, I haven’t seen him since I was six
years old,” I said cautiously.

“That
is a shame,” Rex replied.  “He is missing out on one very special girl.”  He
squeezed my hand.

“It’s
okay now.  I try not to think about it.  If anything, it has made me and my mom
closer, and it helped me dive into music and find my true passion.”  I didn’t
want to seem overly dramatic, even though I was still hurt by it.  He had
experienced worse tragedies than me.

“It
still is really hard to lose a parent like that, Rose.  It’s okay if you still
feel upset by it,” he said kindly.  “It is remarkable that you have been able
to look on the bright side and put your energy into something as beautiful as
your music.”  He looked at me with his kind blue eyes, and I smiled.

“I
don’t normally talk about these things,” I admitted. “I find it hard sometimes
to let people in and trust them.  But I feel like I could share my life stories
with you.”

“I
feel like I could share my life with you,” he quickly replied, and I snuggled
further into his chest.  He sure knew how to make me feel special.  It was hard
to believe that a week ago, I thought he was a spoiled, pompous, and arrogant
twit, and now I knew he was a kind-hearted, caring, and romantic gentleman.  I
looked up and met his eyes.  I wondered if he could also feel the warm electric
current between us.  I thought he might kiss me then, but he didn’t, and that
was fine too.  When you meet the right person, there was absolutely no need to
rush when there was no end in sight.

I
woke up the next morning to texts from my mom, Derek, and Rex.

My
mom texted: “How is everything coming together for your album release?”

Derek
texted: “Did you enjoy the show last night?”

Rex
texted: “Can I take you for dinner tonight?”

I
sat up in bed and tucked my duvet to the side of my body.  Time to reply to the
early morning text interrogation.

I
replied to my mom: “It’s going great, Ma!  I have another radio interview in a
few days to promote the show, and I wrote the lyrics to my last song.  I
finished recording it last week.  Can’t wait to see you at my show!”

To
Derek: “It was an amazing show!  Your best performance yet.”

To
Rex: “Sure.”

I
always read that it was best to text as little as possible to guys you like. 
When they asked you out, you should only reply with “Sure”, rather than listing
all the dates and times you were available.  Let him ask.  Let him chase.  He
wanted to.

I
thought it would be nice to go for dinner with Rex.  I wanted to ask questions
to get to know him better.  Besides our chat on the bench last night, it seemed
like we were just “having a laugh”, as he would say.  I needed to remember to
ask him why he was in Denver, what he plans to do while during his stay, and
when he has to return to England.  That seemed like a bit of an interrogation itself
though.  I had to remember to space out the questions and act carefree.  It’s
not like I was planning the rest of his trip together, or our future wedding.

I
waffled between wanting to know more about him and wanting to stay blind enough
to carry on as we were.  I enjoyed his company, and I hadn’t felt a connection like
this for a long time.  Usually only music could stir up these electric feelings
inside of me.  I decided that it was best not to let him know my feelings. 
Before long, he would be flying back home to his real life – filled with
pampering, palaces, and plenty of women.  I couldn’t continue to fall for him. 
In the end, all men leave.

In
high school, I had never dated because I was so shy.  Things started to change
after I became more confident and comfortable in my own skin after graduation. 
I must have blossomed overnight, because suddenly, there was a steady stream of
guys who were interested in me.  These relationships never seemed to make it
past the six month point, however.  I wasn’t sure what it was, but around that
time, invariably, the guy would say something hurtful, do something selfish, or
try to make me jealous, and I had to walk away.  I was more like a ‘one strike
and you’re out’ kind of girl, which was unfortunate for the longevity of my
relationships.  With the guys that I dated, once they made one false move, I
was gone.  Their name was blackened forever as far as I was concerned.  I knew
that relationships would always have quarrels and arguments, but I hadn’t met a
guy yet who was worth fighting with or fighting for.  Deep down, I knew that
these patterns could mean that I had troubles with letting people in.  There
were certain doors that I kept closed after my father left, and I didn’t want
to re-open them and get re-injured. 

But
to other people, I justified my lack of serious relationships by complaining
about the quality of men.  Men these days didn’t want anything serious and
wanted to keep their options open with other women, but of course, they wanted
the bedroom perks of being in a serious relationship.  It was a tough place out
there for decent girls.  Especially ones as naïve as I was.  I couldn’t always
tell when a guy was just saying something romantic to try to get me into bed. 
I was idealistic and always believed the best of everyone I had met, until they
proved otherwise and were promptly cut out of my life.  I didn’t even bother
getting angry or yelling.  I didn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing I
cared enough to be upset.  I would just completely cut off all communication,
which I liked to think annoyed them even more.  One day I was there; the next
day, I wasn’t. 

I
had only experienced one brief run-in with love in my life.  I was sixteen
years old, and he was my guitar teacher for one year.  Remy.  He was a
University exchange student from France, and I would go to his campus residence
at the University of Texas at San Antonio.  My lessons were on Thursday
evenings, but I would walk past the campus residence nearly every day, just
hoping to bump into him.

He
had a small studio apartment in residence, and it was filled with textbooks and
covered in posters.  They weren’t your typical ‘guy’ posters, though.  He had
posters of human anatomy, brains, nasal cavities, and skeletal systems; it was
like being in a doctor’s office.  I didn’t notice how strange it was at the
time, but thinking back, he was an engineering student, not in medical
studies.  Nevertheless, he was older, smarter, and far more cultured than I
was.  That both attracted and intimidated me.  He wasn’t charming at all; he
didn’t really say much of anything.  In fact, he wasn’t even that attractive,
thinking back to his lanky body and mushroom haircut, but he had kind eyes. 
The kindest eyes.  And with every compliment he gave me like “good technique”,
“nice rhythm”, and “strong strumming”, I fell further into our fantasy love
affair.

I
suppose he didn’t notice, or he didn’t want to notice.  And on our final
lesson, before he flew back to France at the end of the semester, I played a
song for him that I had secretly written.  I had practiced the song for weeks,
if not months.  But my fingers were clammy and slippery, and my voice was
quivering as I played it for him that night.  Thinking back on it, I was sure
the song was full of teenage yearning and wanting what you can’t have.  I
looked up at him after, and he smiled politely with his kind eyes.  Did he
realize the song was about him?  Did he know that I loved him?  

He
didn’t let on, either way.  And it certainly didn’t stop him from saying ‘au
revoir’ and boarding a plane back to France.  Our goodbye was brief and
cordial, with an empty hug and a false smile.  I closed the door to his
residence with a sigh and carried my guitar home.  Was it love?  Maybe not, but
it certainly felt tragic enough to be.

“After
you, my dear,” Rex said, as he opened the doors to Beatrice & Woodsley, one
of the finest restaurants in the south of Denver.

“Why,
thank you, kind sir,” I replied.  I looked around the restaurant in amazement. 
There were aspen trees growing tall throughout the dining area, wooden floors,
and cedar arches.  It was like we had walked into a big tree house.  “This is
unreal.”

“I
am glad you like it.  I asked Johnny and Clive to research and find me the most
romantic restaurant around.”

We
walked past the doormen, and the hostess led us to our private table.  It had
sheer hanging white linen that acted as an intimate partition.  The restaurant
was surprisingly not busy for a Saturday night.  Rex politely pulled out my
chair, and I sat down as he rounded the table to sit across from me.  He was
wearing a navy blue suit with a red tie.  Without his baseball cap, I could
clearly see his face.  His hair was styled with some extra height and texture
at the front tonight, and his blue eyes were sparkling.

“You
are looking rather dapper tonight.  What happened to the American disguise?” I
asked and looked around the room.  “And where are your bodyguards?”

“I
gave them the night off,” he replied.  “Or I may have snuck out of the hotel...”

“Rex! 
They will alert the police if they think you are missing!  It will be an
international drama!”

“Fine,
fine.  I will text them to let them know I am alright.  Besides, I haven’t been
recognized here for the last week.  I think I am in the clear.”

“If
you say so.”  It was true, though.  I hadn’t seen a photographer follow him
around since my gig.  I scanned the menu, trying to find something delicious I
could eat, but it actually came down to me trying to find something I could
pronounce.

The
waitress arrived to take our order.

“We
will share a bottle of your Pinot Noir from the Crémant de Loire,” Rex recited
confidently, making his noble pedigree apparent.  “We will share the ‘Ragout de
Moules’ for an appetizer, and I will have the ‘Artichoke Cassoulet’.  And for
the lady…”

“I
will have the catfish, please,” I said and blushed.  “Sorry, I’m still a
southern girl.”

“That’s
why you are one-of-a-kind,” Rex winked at me, and the waitress left us alone at
the table. 

“So
I wanted to ask you,” I said, trying to remember the questions I had for him. 
“Why are you in Denver, what do you plan on doing for the rest of your trip,
and when do you return to England?”  I blurted out my list of questions without
pausing for a breath.

“Whoa,
all of these questions.  You know that I hate exams, right?” he laughed.  “I
didn’t expect a Spanish Inquisition.” He raised both of his eyebrows.

“
Nobody
expects the Spanish Inquisition,” I joked, quoting the famous Monty Python
skit.  We both laughed.  Rex laid the table napkin across his legs.  I did the
same.

“To
answer your first question, I am here to attend an art event on behalf of my
father.  To answer your third question, I am heading back to England in a
couple of weeks,” he explained.  “And to answer your second question, I plan on
spending a lot of time with an effervescent young lady I met in Denver.”

“Is
that right?  Tell me more about this young lady.”

“Well,
let’s see here… she has a spine-tingling singing voice.  She has these big,
beautiful eyes, long eyelashes, and delicate features, but you know, she has
these unusually bushy eyebrows, almost like a caveman… or a gorilla.”

“I
do not!” I laughed.  “My eyebrows are perfectly normal and well-groomed, I’ll
have you know.”

Just
then, the waitress returned with two wine glasses and the bottle.  She poured
the wine into Rex’s glass to create a shallow red pool, and allowed him to
taste it.  He swirled the wine around in the glass, held his nose over it, and
then took a sip.  He nodded to the waitress, and she finished filling his glass
and mine. 

“So
you are allowed to stay here for such a long time?  Don’t you have duties back
home?” I asked, taking a sip of the wine.

“I
am allowed to go on holiday.  Besides, the media can’t help but focus on me and
my wayward life lately.  It is perfect tea-table gossip.  It seems like
everyone else is getting married and having babies, and I am the irresponsible
dud who can’t even find a girlfriend,” he explained.

“Somehow
I don’t think that you have that much difficulty with the ladies,” I replied. 
I was nervously running my fingers up and down the stem of my glass.  Oh gosh,
stop that, Rose.  He was going to think I was giving him dirty hand signals.

“You
would be surprised.  Not many women are willing to take on the responsibility of
being in the public eye.  It is quite an undertaking,” he explained.  “And
unfortunately, I am drawn to girls with free spirits.  Free thinkers.  Girls
who wouldn’t want to be muted or stifled by rules and traditions,” Rex paused
for a moment and took a sip of wine.  “Maybe I need to change my type, hmm?”

“No
way.  Never settle for anything less.  Marriage lasts a long time, and you
don’t want to be unhappy for the rest of your life.  When the right girl comes
along, everything will click into place,” I said encouragingly.  “When you
know, you know.”

“I
like that.  When you know, you know,” he repeated, as he ran his fingers around
the rim of his glass.  Now was he giving me dirty hand signals?

“Your
previous girlfriends, Esme and Trinny,” I started. “Were they not up to the
challenge?”

“Ahh,
time for the ‘ex talk’, is it?” Rex joked.  “Well, they both have said thanks,
but no thanks, as it were.  Esme was not particularly fond of the media
attention, and Trinny… well, she is so young that she needs to find out who she
really is before she can dive into a serious relationship.”

“I
see,” I said, and started to wonder how I compared to his beautiful, well-bred
ex-girlfriends.  I had seen pictures of Rex with these girls during my
late-night google investigation.  They seemed to have what it takes to be in
the spotlight.  Always impeccably dressed and poised. 

“The
relationships may have worked out, given a bit more time,” he explained, “but the
media puts an intense pressure on the situation.  The status.  Are they on or
off?  So they each made a decision, and I completely understand.  I am on good
terms with both of them.”

“Oh,
that is good,” I replied, trying to sound as pleased as you can when a guy told
you he was still good friends with his ex-girlfriends.

“What
about you, Rose?  Are there any big, strong ex-boyfriends lurking around the
corners, waiting to club me over the head?  Should I be worried?”

“You
don’t have to worry about that,” I replied. “I have lived a pretty tame life. 
Who needs a man to sweep me off my feet when I have music to whisk me away? 
Besides, with the life of an aspiring singer, I probably wouldn’t be a great
girlfriend.”

“Oh,
I am sure you would have some redeeming qualities,” he said. “And talents.”

I
smiled, and he smiled back, envisioning what my many ‘talents’ were, I was
sure.
 
My train of thought was broken, as the waitress arrived with our
dishes.  We started to eat right away.  I made sure to cut my catfish into
tiny, lady-like pieces and dab my mouth with my napkin often.

“So
what is this art event about?” I asked after swallowing my first bite of
cat-fish.

“It
is an art appreciation dinner in Boulder.  There will be famous artists from
all over the world.  My father was invited as a guest of honour, along with a
plus one.  He can’t make it, but they were more than happy to accept me in his
place to do the speech.  It will be a great night.  You would probably enjoy
it,” he replied. “Can you come over beforehand, and you can help me with my
speech?” 

“Sure,
what night is the event on?” I asked.  Wow, he was going to take me as his
official plus one to this big event?  Maybe he did have serious feelings for
me.

“It
is on Monday night. The day after tomorrow,” he said, while cutting his chicken. 
“I would appreciate your help with the speech, since you are such a talented
lyricist.”

“I
would love to help, but you probably don’t want your speech to rhyme like my
songs.”

“It
could rhyme, but I don’t know if I can really pull off the gangster rapper
vibe,” he replied, while trying to throw some sloppy gang signs with his
hands. 

We
both laughed at his lack of swagger and finished our meals.  The waitress came
to fetch our dinner plates.  She showed us the dessert menu and gave us time to
decide.

“Would
you like to share something?” Rex asked.

“Sure. 
What tickles your fancy tonight?”

Rex
scanned the dessert menu and let out a few tasty exclamations.  “Mmm, do you
fancy the dark chocolate cake?  Ooo, or the caramel pear pie?”

“The
chocolate cake sounds much more appetizing.  Why did they have to ruin the
caramel pie by adding pears?  Blegh,” I said.

“Oh,
you don’t like fruit?”

“I
like fruit.  Sure, I do.  But there is a time and a place for fruit, and it’s
certainly not during my indulgent dessert!  Bring on chocolate, caramel,
cinnamon, and, hey, even a little vanilla.  But don’t try to sneak fruits and
veggies in there.”

Rex
chuckled.  “Alright, the lady has spoken.  Chocolate cake it is.  I have never
heard such strong feelings towards fruit in dessert before.”

“That
is what makes me one-of-a-kind, I think.” I winked and smiled playfully,
thinking of myself as quite the comedian.

Rex
gazed at me, with a sparkle in his eye, and finally asked, “If I could have one
wish in the world, do you know what it would be?”

“Hmm…
would it be to invent a day that goes between Saturday and Sunday?”

“Well,
that would be a glorious wish, but no,” Rex laughed, but his face turned
serious as he looked into my eyes. “I would wish that I could see that
beautiful smile of yours every day.”

“Ohh,
thank you,” I blushed, and naturally, I smiled again.  Was this just all part
of Rex’s notorious charisma?  Was this part of the ‘putting on a good show’
that he told me about?
 
I stopped myself right there and decided to stop
thinking, questioning, and analyzing, and did something I rarely did – I let go
and enjoyed the moment, submerging my mind in the romantic fantasy that Rex was
orchestrating.

We
were interrupted by the waitress once again.  We ordered dessert and coffees,
and it soon arrived at our table with extra chocolate drizzle and two forks. 
We ate the cake slowly, enjoying every mouthful.

“There
was something I wanted to ask you, Rose,” Rex said softly.

“Oh?”
I replied.  I tried to imagine what he could possibly ask.  Would I officially
be his girlfriend?  Would I move to London with him?  Would I promptly remove
the chocolate smudges from all over my face?

“I
wanted to know,” he continued as his face became flushed, “if I could kiss
you.”

I
smiled instantly and knew the answer in my head was ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ but I
coyly replied, “Sure.”

He
leaned over the table and gently touched my chin with his hand to guide me to
his lips.  I closed my eyes as our lips touched.  It was a tender, teasing kiss
that was soft and slow, and I knew that we were both fully in the moment,
feeling every curvature and movement of the other’s lips.  After our lips
parted, we nuzzled our foreheads together like lions.  I made a fake purring
sound and he said, “You’re completely bonkers, you are,” he laughed.  “And I
love it.” He slowly moved back into his seat, and we looked into each other’s
eyes.  We both knew that we wanted more. 

My
head was still dizzy from the kiss, and I could barely think, let alone speak. 
There was a lot of anticipation leading up to that kiss, and it was more
mind-blowing than I had imagined.  I couldn’t wait to kiss him again. 

The
waitress came back with our bill and Rex paid.  We lingered in the restaurant to
finish our coffees, and we talked and laughed about our life stories.  I
couldn’t believe that he had visited Kenya to start an art charity for
children.  He believed that art made the world a better place, and he wanted to
inspire the children in small towns along the coast like Lamu, Malindi, and
Mombasa.  He set up art centres, taught adults how to instruct art to children,
and provided art supplies.  He sometimes went without a shower for weeks.  He
was determined to carry on his mother’s charitable legacy.  I could hardly
compete with his stories of Africa, but he was surprised to hear that I once
won a prize at a singing competition to meet Elton John in Houston when I was
14 years old.   Rex explained that Elton was a dear friend of his parents, and
he had the pleasure of meeting him and seeing him perform on many occasions.  Suddenly,
I saw lights flashing from outside the restaurant. 

“What
on earth is that flashing?” I asked shockingly.

Rex
looked out the window, as the flashing continued.  “One moment.  I will take
care of this.”