Tofino (Narrative 2)

Margot worked as a sous-chef in a restaurant owned by friends of mine.We?d crossed paths a few times, but nothing of consequence had ever happened between us. From a distance, I had*taken note of her extraordinary pale gray eyes, and the way she spoke with the faintest of lisps. Kind of sexy, actually. I also knew that she had a boyfriend: a brawny one. Erring on the side of caution, I always kept my conversations with her short and to the point.In October of ?98, I headed off to Chile on a survey project. Six months later*I returned home to Tofino, now flush with cash. Taking some down time, I pretty much lived at the restaurant in the evenings: I really wasn?t into cooking fancy meals for myself at that point.Margot was still working there, and apparently she was single again. What a difference six months can make.I began looking forward to seeing her. There was something almost risqué about her: soft-spoken but sharp, quiet on the surface but smoldering underneath. Even dressed in her stained chef?s jacket and ratty jeans, she was extraordinarily pretty. She stood about 5?5?, willowy, with shoulder length auburn hair and - like I said - those icy gray eyes.One evening, after I?d been back for a few weeks, things*changed. It was around 11 p.m., and the restaurant had closed for the night. I?d joined my friends and their employees at the staff table for some late night pasta and wine.Half way through the meal, Margot walked out of the kitchen to the crowded table. There were no seats available. She looked at me. Smiling, she stepped over and, without saying a word, sat in my lap. Picking up a spare fork, she started eating my pasta, totally ignoring me. I sat there speechless. I wasn?t sure if she was coming on to me, or if I was just serving as a surrogate seat-cushion.I secretly enjoyed having her on my lap, though. The occasional waggle of her bum did*get me going. I was desperately hoping she didn?t feel the*bulge in my pants.Thirty minutes later, the table was half empty. Margot, however, was still sitting on me, an arm draped round my neck, drinking my wine. She didn?t seem to be going anywhere, and I was perfectly fine with that. For reasons I couldn?t explain, I hadn?t felt more relaxed and centred in months. There was something about her presence that just seemed right.*It was like we?d known each other all our lives.My friends announced they were going to lock up, and Margot şişli escort groaned in protest. ?I just got off work,? she said, ?and everyone?s going home. Not*fair.? She sounded petulant. I loved it.Now or never,*I thought. I screwed up my courage, and murmured quietly into her ear, ?Do you want to come back to my place for some wine and a quiet fire?? I immediately realized how cheesy I sounded. ?A quiet fire?? *Jesus Christ.She pulled away, looking at me with those disconcerting eyes. It was like gazing into a cloudy winter sky.She shrugged, said, ?Why not?? and stood up. ?Just going to change. Give me a sec.? She disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later she was back again, still in the ratty jeans and chef?s T-shirt, but now wearing a thin, tailored jacket. ?After you,? she said, gesturing towards the door.Jenna, my restaurant-owner friend, looked over at me with a concerned look on her face. ?Be careful?, she mouthed silently to me, shaking her head. I, of course, ignored her advice completely._________________________*Twenty minutes later, we were back at my cabin. It was an old, cozy place. All on one floor, it had a small galley kitchen, a large living space that doubled as my bedroom, and a retro 30?s bathroom with an ancient cast-iron tub. The most attractive feature, though, was the imposing stone fireplace in the big room. During the winter months I had it going most of the time: it was the only way to stave off the damp that rolled in from the ocean on stormy days.Margot stepped in through the front door and looked around - at first sceptically, and then warming to what she saw. ?Comfy,? she finally said.I put on some Keith Jarrett and stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Joining her on the futon couch, I poured us both a glass and then sat back, looking at her without wanting her to see*that I was looking at her.I?d forgotten something. Ah - the fire. I quickly got up, threw some kindling and small logs on the embers, and brought it back to life. The dry fir crackled, throwing off a scent like piñon.I turned back towards Margot, and found her stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. She was turning the half-full wine glass slowly in her hands, watching me. I joined her on the floor, and we talked. For hours. About everything.Around 2 a.m., she simply fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, exhausted from the long day at the restaurant mecidiyeköy escort and the two bottles of wine that we?d downed.I quietly stood up, trying to figure out what to do. Leave her on the floor in front of the fire with a blanket and a pillow, or wake her up and tuck her into bed? I thought about how she was going to feel in the morning, and opted for the latter. Pulling the futon couch out into a bed, I made it up, and turned to wake her. She was dead to the world. I stepped over, and tried to quietly rouse her. No dice. Sighing, I knelt down and picked her up, cradling her in my arms. I was surprised at how little she weighed.I placed her on the bed, and started to pull the duvet over her. Still wearing her work clothes, I noticed the smell of the restaurant kitchen: not a bad scent, but not something she?d want to wake up wearing. In all innocence, I said to her ?Do you want to get out of those jeans?? She mumbled something unintelligible. It sounded like a yes, but I wasn?t sure. Leaning over, I gently undid the button, and pulled down the zipper. ?Bum up,? I said. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hips up off the bed. I pulled the jeans down her legs, and off over her feet.Trying my best not to ogle her, I couldn?t ignore how stunning she looked. Lying there in her white T-shirt and lace underwear; her hair in disarray; long, silky legs and exquisite bare feet; a look of complete innocence on her face.She cracked open one eye and looked at me. ?Is this how you get your jollies?? she murmured, and then rolled over to face the wall, dropping back to sleep.I placed the duvet over her, put on some Charlie Haden, and sat down in an armchair, watching her as she slept. I ended up sitting there all night, wide awake, in equal parts transfixed and adrift. Something important was happening here: my life was arcing off in a totally new direction._________________________*I woke up in the morning, still in the armchair, hung over from the wine, my neck stiff. I heard a soft, whimpering sound and looked over at Margot. She was no longer on the bed. The duvet was slowly moving across the floor towards the bathroom.?Jesus,?*she said from underneath it. ?Oh crap.? *She was obviously feeling even worse than I was. All I could see of her was legs and bum, sticking out from beneath the duvet as she crawled away. I almost burst out laughing.Toothbrush, I suddenly thought.*Shit.*I didn?t have a spare.The bathroom door closed, followed by the sound of the tub?s faucet running. Two minutes later, I heard an unmistakable sigh as she eased herself into the hot water.After half an hour, she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind her. She was wearing my housecoat, which was obviously three sizes two big. She looked gorgeous - her face flushed, hair pinned up off her long neck, eyes (still a bit bloodshot) sparkling in the early morning light.I silently handed her a cup of coffee. Trying to think of something to say, I apologized for not having a spare toothbrush. She looked at me, smiled slightly, and said, ?No problem - I used yours.?_________________________*I was scheduled to head down-island to Victoria that day for some follow-up work on the Chile project. I was going to be there for a week or so. The timing was terrible: I?d just met Margot, and now I was leaving.I told her about my plans, and she studied me carefully. ?Where are you staying?? she asked. I told her the name of the small, old-fashioned hotel that I used. ?Nice spot,? she replied, and sighed. She was feeling the same way I was. The timing sucked for both of us.She got dressed, and prepared to leave. ?Thanks,? she said. ?It was a nice night.? She paused. ?But what happened to the quick fuck?? she asked.?The what??*I blurted out, completely taken aback.?You asked me at the restaurant if I wanted to come back for a bottle of wine and a quick fuck,? she replied.?Quiet fire,?*I responded quickly. Christ. ?Not quick fuck.??Huh?, she replied, nonplussed. ?I?m a bit deaf in that ear. Must have misheard you. See you when you get back?? She smiled coyly, and then headed out the front door. I stood there, dumbfounded, watching her walk away._________________________*Later that evening, now down in Victoria, I headed to my hotel to check in. It was close to 8 p.m., and I?d just put in a long day of travel and work.The manager at the front desk looked at me warily. ?Welcome back,? he said. ?Will that be one key, or two???Just one,? I replied. ?As usual.??Ah,? he said, giving me a strained smile. ?And the lady??What lady??The lady waiting in the bar,? he enunciated, nodding towards the snug off the lobby.Confused, I told him there was*no lady. He must be mistaken. He tilted his head and said ?Mmm? she?s been waiting for almost three hours. We?ve already taken her bags up to your room.?I had no idea what was going on. I turned and walked across the lobby to the pub. It was quite dark inside, and smelled faintly of tobacco and spilled scotch.