The White Room

The third edit of a recent short story of mine

I had not been looking forward to lunch, I didn't have much of an appetite. I had, in fact, almost forgotten about the engagement entirely, but it had been many years... Eight? Nine. Since college, I hadn't seen my old friend. My knack for being chronically out of touch with the world in general had me thinking whether he might have gotten married yet.

The restaurant he had named was not familiar to me, and I was lost and almost wrecked once before I found it, and odd little place between cities. The sun was bright off the walls of the new building, the kind of place he would like, I thought as I saw through my forgotten sunglasses that he had already arrived. I was told that my party was waiting in the White Room, and the host's inflection on the phrase seemed odd, as if he was referring to the only white room in existence. When I was shown in, I was glad to be still wearing sunglasses, even though I hadn't meant to bring them. The room was perfectly cubical, with walls that looked like either salt or white marble. An intense white light was being drawn from an uncharacteristically shabby-looking chandelier hanging above a square table set with white plates, white napkins, a white tablecloth, and gold cutlery. There were two chairs facing each other, and an odd little couch on the left. The usual greetings were exchanged.

Roger old sport so good to see you, it's been too long you know, oh this is my wife, charmed to make your acquaintance, we've ordered already I hope you don't mind, oh not at all, I'll have the salmon, monsieur.

How does he introduce her like that, “my wife” she deserves an entrance with applause. 'This is my wife, the goddess of beauty, the enchanting muse who has graced the poetry of men for centuries.

It truly has been too long, oh surely, but here it's warm in this room isn't it? Take your drink. The clear liquid in my glass filled it halfway without ice, I drank it in three or four gulps. The glasses hit the table, and she leaned back into her chair.

What a curious party of three, indoors at this strange table, all wearing these dark sunglasses; a man, a man, and a woman he didn't deserve. He in a chair facing me, and she on a strange little couch, with enough room to put her legs up. It's a Grecian style, there's a name for it I'm sure, it's slipping my mind at the moment As my friend initiated the conversation, I could not see his eyes, despite the nearly tangible strength of the light pouring from the curved fingertips of the chandelier. I found it almost impossible to intelligently listen, so alluring was the presence of his enchanting wife. I stole glances, and caught her gaze, or what I thought it to be, on my face, my arms, my chest. The waiter returned with more drinks, which we took in silence as before. I took a moment to watch her drink and finished my own glass a bit late, the last drops falling away as I heard the other two glasses hit the table.

I was given the chance to listen much that afternoon, and because I figured that my friend could not see my eyes, they were free to behave as my nature and the drinks would have them. The mere act of looking at this woman felt like a sin, you must understand. I have seen beautiful women before, but something about the mystery of where our eyes were at any given time... they could meet and we would not even know it. That can't really be how she naturally sits, not with her neck like that, her legs so carefully balanced... she moved her head then, perhaps only stretching, and turned towards me. I heard 'Don't you agree?' and remembered my friend, as he called to me from what seemed like another place and time. I snapped my sight off of her and stammered my way through an answer, as she licked her lips in the corner of my eye. The bottle returned, the liquid was again drained. Silence.

I felt as though my every move and expression was being analyzed by these two, as I second-guessed each glance toward this woman, her hair, her chest, her invisible eyes. Every time I had convinced myself that she was not looking at me, she would lick her lips again, or move seductively in her strange seat, subtly presenting her figure to me in different, maddeningly tempting ways. No, no what am I thinking, this is a married woman, it's in your head, old boy, get a hold of yourself. I tried with all my will to stay focused on what my friend was saying... Was business good? Oh, and about that film you mentioned... This is a waste of time, why is it so hot, what's wrong, she's looking? No she's not. What's this now?

More drinks. More silence. The glasses hit the table.

I settled back into my chair, with every intention of leaving the day empty, forget the girl, she's your friend's wife. I barely know what her voice sounds like! She's been drinking with us though... but still, there's a ring there, on her finger. My melancholy gaze at the ring was interrupted when she clasped her hands and stretched over her head, turning her hair this way and that, I could not help myself. Her hands came down with a sigh of pure sexuality, and she dropped the ring on the table. It landed loud, next to her plate, and the male eyes rested on it for a moment. She seemed supremely disinterested in it, and quite obviously was watching me as my eyes darted between their faces, in a vain attempt to discern what was going on. My friend smiled, a smile with a sort of back-story to it, that made me feel there was nothing to fear, but gave me chills both at once. He looked at her and his mouth opened again,

As I was saying...

Always the talker. Maybe that's why she's watching me, maybe she likes a man to listen. No, no, that's the devil. Talk to your friend, he's why you're here.

I could not bring myself to it. Every second I was not looking at her the room felt hotter and hotter, and I reached for the button of my vest. I could feel her looking, maybe not, but there it is again.

Oh this is killing me. I was breaking, cracking, sweating in spite of myself and my somewhat good intentions when the bottle returned.

Good service here, Yes quite.

Silence, the glasses hit the table.

In my mind, I was trying to say that I would refrain from her, if the opportunity arose. She is the wife of a friend; a woman that can be considered dead to all other men in a sexual sense. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My every muscle and synapse yearned just to kiss her hand, to take her away from him... and as if to finally bind and gag the few noble thoughts I could force, she took off her glasses.

Lust has many faces, but only one pair of eyes, and today they are brown. Piercing, judging, and accepting. There could be no doubt, I could not contain my feelings as her stare shattered my ideas of chivalry and respect.

Well, I think we're about through here, don't forget your ring, darling.

We stood around the table for a moment, and my fantasy stayed in the seat. The eyes which I had sought with the crazy hope and desperation of winning roulette wheels turned away to other matters, and mine were drawn to my friend, as I passed in front of her towards the door. I shook his hand, and turned to bid this wishful thought a meaningless goodbye. As I turned, her lips had already met me, full of passion and emotion. No thought could register as I wasted my one moment of perfect unison with the woman who I would have written off as too good to be true. It struck me then that no act of love would surmount my kiss with my friend's wife, even as our lips parted, and I turned to face him, speechless.

Again, his smile. The smile that told me I was wrong, that my moment was but a drop of water after a thirsty mirage. He did not need a mirage, he had her. It was his ring on her hand. Our kiss cannot compare to what he has earned with that gold, that tiny diamond. None of it mattered... our looks, her stretch when she dropped the tiny band of cold metal and stone on the table, not even our kiss. These were child's flirtatious games, and he rightfully placed no importance on them. I felt foolish, even after getting what I most desired.

Let's go darling, you've had your fun. The smile held all the meaning, like a man revealing his poker hand. She walked past me without so much as a backwards look, and replaced her glasses for the ride home. They walked away, his hand around her waist, and he turned, smiling, to whisper something in her ear. His eye looked back at me around the lens of his sunglasses, and she laughed out loud, her head thrown back.

I took mine off for a moment, remembering them, and looked at them. I realized that they were not nearly as dark as his or her's and that of course they could see me the entire time. All my glances that I thought were so surreptitious, all my wide-eyed stares, they took it all in stride. I'm a fool.

It felt strange, the brightness of the afternoon in relation to my feeling, the feeling in my head that was more suited to late night stumbles on the stairs, and inappropriately loud laughter in apartment buildings. I climbed into my car and clumsily backed out into the road. I drove off, away from the setting sun, taking the glasses out of my pocket with effort while putting the window down, throwing them. I watched dumbly to my left, as the they fell anticlimactically towards the road as it turned sharply. The turn, the wheel, where's the brake...

Silence. The glasses hit the ground.