First Kiss

Antonia: Part 1

I stood in the entranceway of the five-star hotel. I’d been in five-star hotels before, but I had never stayed in one. I couldn’t see spending the money. Sleep is sleep. Once your eyes are closed, does it really matter where you are?

True to form, I wore my blue jeans and black tee. Since this was a formal occasion, I also wore the linen sport coat favored by others who made their daily routine through the sub-tropical Miami heat.

I tossed a tip to the valet. I hated spending money this way, but it was part of the game. A requisite of the trade I had chosen. My nostrils filled with the steamy scent of jasmine combined with the sultry humidity caused by the late afternoon thunderstorm.

She would be there.

Thus far I had avoided her entrapment. Or was it that she had avoided mine? Room 1207, that’s what she had said. 8:00 p.m. sharp. It was 7:58. Past the concierge, past the main desk I walked. The hotel employees were sharp and crisp in their five-star attire. Anywhere else my wardrobe would be out of place, but this was Miami. Different rules blurred the line between formal and casual. I reached out to press the button on the elevator and noticed my hand shook. I puzzled over it for a moment. In the past week I had been shot at, shoved around by both mob-types and law officers alike. Threatened by lawyers, castigated by angry anonymous callers; not once had I felt weak-kneed or frightened. But now my finger shook.

The digital floor-indicator slowly counted its way up to 12. The doors opened and I stepped out into the corridor. Plastic numbers on the wall indicated 1207 to the right. Preprogrammed, my feet delivered me to the proper door. I raised my clenched hand to knock. The hand hesitated in the air, then finally, it fell against the wood and made the sound signifying a request for the occupant to come forward. Time stopped. My mind raced. Perhaps I should have merely slid the envelope under the door. It would have been safer. Now I regretted having knocked. Maybe she hadn’t heard. Maybe the sky was polka-dotted. The door opened.

“Teddy,” she stated when our eyes met.

“I’ve got the…”

“No,” she commanded, “not in the hallway. Come in.”

She pulled me into the room and smoothly closed the door behind me, throwing the security latch in one smooth motion.

She smelled of Chanel. Her black slacks and sweater hugged her form and emphasized her exquisite shape, her hair pulled back loosely in a knot. I drank in her presence, a presence which overwhelmed the room.

“I brought the…” I started again, but she put two fingers softly against my lips, quieting my need to speak.

Silently, our faces slowly moved toward each other. Eyes open, searching the other’s features, reading the expression, reading the desire.

There are two ways a first kiss is delivered. The first, full of passion and desire, is quenched after the bodies have experienced their brief rapture. It is the kiss of a one night affair, of two strangers who will forever be strangers, even after the culminating act.

The second kind of kiss is not as fevered, but rather gazes deeply into the eyes and seeks to search out the secrets of the soul as well as the body. Such was our first kiss…


Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer