Take the coffee bar in the hotel beside the railway station, where Jane used to arrive on her commuter train in the morning. I usually got there first, and would grab the window table – our table, it was, for a season – looking out over City Square. Sometimes I would sneak a look at the crossword in the local paper before she arrived. It was syndicated from the Washington Post. Jane was tops at the quotations, but I had the edge on her with the spelling – like so many convent school girls, she couldn’t spell for toffee, it went with the designer coats and skirts. So there I would sit, contemplating the first cigarette of the day. The coffee wasn’t very good there, mostly frothy milk. More often I would have a glass of Russian tea. Then Jane would arrive to complete my day. Sometimes she was edgy after a row with her stepfather, sometimes she was full of some new discovery to share with me – a book, a play, an idea for a story. It didn’t matter to me, it was Jane I wanted. In any. She then asked me if I thought she wouldn’t have other options. I was taken aback, and answered honestly when I told her she could have many options. I could tell she was a little tipsy, and she just kind of looked at me for a few moments. It was just enough time for me to think to myself how fucking sexy she really was. Just sitting there doing almost nothing, and she was lovely. I felt bad for her having troubles with her husband. But I’d also never really seen them as a match. Then she floored me when she said. I know you like to look at me. Her Russian accent only accentuated her sexiness. I just looked back at her not knowing how to respond. She then said that she had also seen me through my window also. Feeling as though I had to say something fast, or this all would spin way out of control. She put me at ease when she placed her hand on my leg and said, “Don’t worry; it can be our little secret”. The feeling of dread was quickly replaced by desire as she started rubbing her.
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