There is a moment in every woman’s life when she wonders, and she wonders, and, she wonders.

He tossed around the pen he clutched in between his long fingers – clean nails – I always like men who kept their nails neatly cut, rounded, and clean.

I wonder how I can be paying attention to such details – now.

But what is so special about this moment?

Now

How is it any different?

I blink sharply. My poise is par excellence. I can feel the stiffness in my body shoot sparks that hit the top of his head - diagonally.

I can sense my calm and composure unnerve him.

I know I have that effect.

And I know that I fake it.

I am a pro.

He continues to fiddle with the pen, then his head jerks up suddenly and for a moment our eyes lock. One spectacular second when our train of thoughts – derailed – get on track together and we’re in sync – our thoughts comfortably peeping into each others’ – understanding stellar and consummate – we know what we need to.

The perfect moment of sync is broken when he unlocks the stare and his fingers abandon the pen. He begins clicking on the mouse, speeding the cursor on his laptop screen in careless frenzy.

‘What if I refuse?’ I ask him.

My voice sounds cold – narrowly missing frigid – but my ears are flushed.

I wonder why I am asking him the question when I know the answer.

Don’t I know all the answers?

Are there any answers?

Aren’t they just established facts?

He looks up. I notice that he is almost boyish. The thirty nine years haven’t caused much damage. He is not particularly nervous, just restless. He is not particularly vexed, just impatient.

He opens his mouth to say something. Then he closes it.

I cannot say with surety if he is embarrassed.

I’m not embarrassed.

I believe in least resistance. It has worked well for me.

I stopped feeling embarrassed a long time ago.

‘Nothing happens if you refuse. Absolutely nothing.’ He says evasively. Then he shrugs his shoulders as if to make his point.

I stare at his face; I try to shut my mind as it concentrates on the lines around his mouth. Sexy. He has a good mouth.

I try to concentrate, rather on the moral dilemma presented before me.

Moral dilemma?

A deep throaty laughter - born inside the pit of my stomach claws to climb up and carouse on my lips. I close my eyes for a second to press down the urge to laugh.

‘I will call you.’ I tell him.

I nod at him, silently wishing him good day.

Then I leave.

**********

I play with my dog. My dog loves to lick at my feet. My dog is my best friend. Long ago I decided that no man or woman needed to, or could fill that place in my life.

A vacant spot for many years, now my dog fit into it perfectly.

I switch off the TV and slip my feet in faded worn out poppy slippers. I squish my toes, as is my habit as soon I slip my feet inside my slippers – every time, unfailingly – and I feel their comfortable leather allow space for my toes to snuggle deep in their inner cracks and hollows.

I pour myself a drink of orange juice and I go and sit in front of my dresser.

I want to put my mind to rest.

I stare at my face.

What am I thinking?

The reflection stares at me passively – waiting for me to answer.

My eyes bore deep into the reflection in the mirror. ‘Today, I want you to answer.’

It’s almost scary that I don’t see the frown I can feel on my face reflect on the face of the woman inside the mirror.

The mirror always plays game with me.

‘He wants to sleep with me. My new boss. Before my appraisal. Just once. He’s attracted to me. Been attracted to me a long time, he says. He is the one who decides if I get that chance to go abroad. Full three years, abroad. I like it. I want that chance. It’s my dream job. My dream place. I want it. I have worked hard for it. I really want it.’

I rattle off in monotone.

I know that slight nod – occasional – I see the woman inside the mirror give me – is real. She listens carefully.

Even I’m attracted to him. The girls have a crush on him, all three of us. Yea. Even me. What’s the harm? It’s just one night. I’m not even sure if it’s a night. Maybe just a Sunday afternoon. I will be in and out, before I will know. I don’t care if anyone else knows. Really, it’s just a part of the job.’

The reflection continues staring at me impassively.

‘Should I do it?’ I ask the reflection.

It’s rare – even for me to have heard this tone, this lilt – quite and rare – very rare – the slight inflection in the voice – almost childlike, beseeching, imploring, ‘Should I do it?’

Who are you; I wonder – at that inflection in my voice – you’re not me. Can’t be me. You’re almost childlike.

The reflection smiles back at me. I can feel my lips spread apart in a full smile. Not the kind in which I grind my teeth and keep my lips together, stuck to each other – a grimace for a smile – but a toothy smile – young smile, and old smile – much younger than my thirty one years.

**********

He yawns into the phone but his yawn is cut short sharply as he hears my voice on this other side.

Lazy Sunday, lying by his wife, he must have expected me to be more discreet.

‘Hey,’ I chirp into the phone.

‘Hi,’ his voice sounds muffled and I can hear him struggle out of the bed covers and shuffle away.

The balcony, most probably.

‘You know,’ I sing into the phone – it’s a beautiful morning. I love beautiful mornings. ‘I think I find you very attractive too.’

I can hear him smile into the phone.

The lines around his sexy mouth coalescing - and giving the impression of faux dimples around the mouth.

‘I think all the girls I know in office are pretty floored by you too. You’re something.’ I tell him.

He chuckles. I imagine him chuckling, his bare chest, him in his pyjamas. He cuts a sexy figure but I think everyone knows that by now.

‘But I think I will pass,’ I say in the same breath.

‘What?’ After a small silence, he whispers.

Maybe he is shocked.

Maybe he is just looking around to check if his wife has come after him.

Maybe he is just looking for some vent.

‘No really. I think my dog will miss me.’ I tell him matter of factly, still smiling.

This time I can sense rankled astonishment directed at me, across the phone lines.

‘Dog?’ he asks, confused.

‘Yea. My dog. I didn’t realize that I don’t really want to take up that position yet – abroad – I’ll miss my dog too much.’

‘Okay’ he mumbles.

‘You know, I don’t know how many men I’ve slept with in all these years,’ I say quietly, ‘but they were the men I chose freely.  Are you with me?’ I ask him.

‘Yes,’ he whispers.

‘I’m not too sure if I’ll like me enough if I sleep with you – I do find you sexy and all – but it’s forceful. You want it in return for something. That’s not my way, you know.’

I tell him like I’m explaining rocket science to a kid.

‘Sure,’ he mumbles – his voice closed.

‘I guess you’re a good boss,’ I tell him, laughing.

I don’t even hear what says in reply.

‘Have a good day,’ I instinctively nod, as I speak the words and cut the connection.

My dog pulls at my skirt. Doggie wants to go to the park to play Frisbee.

I think it’s a beautiful morning.

I scuttle around to check the windows and the door to the balcony.

In passing I look around at the mirror – into it.

The reflection is still there.

I wink at it.

Moral dilemma, my ass. I mumble under my breath.

I see it wink back, seconds later.

The only question is if I want it a certain way.

And the only answer in inside me.

Just some established facts.





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