Ever danced with the Devil?
I have.
In November, I met Anatole on a Thursday evening at the Bennett Hotel downtown, two days before I was relocating back to Maryland. I hadn’t spoken to him much beforehand, having been introduced via a dating app and preferring to maintain the mystery until our first meeting.
At the top of the Bennett, there is a boutique rooftop bar I had never heard of. It is sophisticated, intimate, and beautiful. Definite points for taste. I arrived early, as is only right, and made small talk with the bartender for a few minutes. Not wishing to monopolize his time or attention, I moved on to a cushioned sofa out on the balcony, lost in thought.
I was nervous, I’ll admit it. I don’t know why; intuition probably.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Anatole materialized in the seat across from me, sitting down so brusquely that I didn’t have the time to stand and greet him appropriately. I don’t remember how the conversation went precisely, but I remember the impression he left with me. He reminded me of a spark racing up the detonation cord to a stick of dynamite. He burned bright, captivating, his high energy emanating in ripples off of him.
Within a few moments and based on superficial observations, I could deduce he was a man experienced at commanding attention. He spoke fast and direct, probably from a city like New York where there is not a second to be wasted. I found it amusing that he asked me a question only to answer it himself and continue with his monologue. Even more entertaining was when he said he needed to leave in 15 minutes–in case I was a catfish or some psycho, he only allotted a small window of time.
Did I respect the efficiency? Absolutely. Was I slightly annoyed I wasted an outfit and makeup for a 15 minute interview? Damn straight.
But I understood. Poor Mr. Rabbit, the cartoon bubble over his head read, “I’m late, I’m late! For a very important date! No time to say ‘hello, goodbye,’ I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!”
After speaking for that brief amount of time, Anatole asserted he wanted to see me again soon. When I disclosed of my near departure, he decided that he would leave work early and pick me up at 2:30 / 3:00 the following afternoon. I found it amusing he didn’t really give me the option to say no, only verifying the time was convenient.
After my unsolicited consent, he turned to go, but paused as if weighing something in his head. Smooth as a cobra, the silver-tongued Devil grasped my chin in his fingers, tilted my head up, and brought his mouth down to claim mine. His tongue parted my lips and flitted against mine for the briefest of moments, probably to test whether I would bite, before he pulled back. He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip and pressed down, exposing my bottom teeth, gazing with appreciation into my smoky eyes, and smiled, murmuring something I couldn’t comprehend, and then exited as brusquely as he had entered.
Ultimately, I wasn’t sure whether he was cocky, arrogant, or simply self-assured, but what he was without a doubt was charming; albeit, a little highhanded, but charming. I closed my still open mouth and went in search of a restroom; my damn panties were soaking and they’d be more comfortable in my purse than on my person.
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