Where does cheating begin? In the mind, with a kiss, or only with sex? Is there such a thing as the dream woman? What about her is real, and what is just a dream? I think I might have already met my dream woman once…
“What does your dream woman look like?” Dominik asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply.
“You must have some ideas, a picture in your head? A list of qualities she should have?”
“No, I don’t have a picture in my head, and why should I? The dream woman doesn’t exist anyway. All these fantasies just drive me crazy.”
But a few years ago, there was a woman who felt like a dream. To this day, I still can’t distinguish what about her was real and what was fantasy.
Pierre bursts into my New York office. “Hey, I got us two dates for tonight!”
“You mean for you,” I respond, since I’ve been in a pretty solid relationship for three years.
“Fine, stay home and miss out on dinner with models,” Pierre counters.
“What? Models?”
“Yeah, I met this girl on the subway and started talking to her. She invited us to dinner with her model friend Kina,” Pierre says.
Well, my girlfriend is out of town anyway. Why not? Nothing has to happen, and it’s got to be more entertaining than sitting at home in front of the TV.
The waiter clears the table; dinner was excellent and expensive. Kina brought her boyfriend, an arrogant photographer. Pierre is fawning over Stephanie, the Italian. This isn’t how I envisioned dinner with models. Kina is tired and leaves with her photographer boyfriend. Pierre invites Stephanie back to my place.
Hopefully, she declines, so I can play some PlayStation and relax with a smoke, I think.
We sit at the old round table in the corner of my West Village apartment. Outside, taxis honk on Bleecker Street. We drink wine and chat. Stephanie flirts with me, and every time she looks at me, it feels like a stab to my heart. This has been going on for days. Pierre and Stephanie have been coming over every evening.
No, it’s not annoying. In fact, I look forward to it. Pierre has given up by now. We sit together, and she flirts with me—but do I want this? I have a girlfriend. On the other hand, I’ve fallen for her. I can’t deny it. Her eyes, her voice, the things she says—everything about this girl pulls me in. I’m torn.
That night, Stephanie doesn’t want to leave with the others. She stays a bit longer. We drink red wine, talk, and listen to music. We get really close, but somehow, I’m confused, scared, and just can’t make the first move.
We look deep into each other’s eyes, and it’s silent. This is the moment I should kiss her, but I don’t. It happens again. My heart races nervously. Why the hell don’t I make the first move? She finally leaves at 3 a.m. I walk her to a taxi. As I walk back up the stairs, I sigh loudly. I’m too excited to sleep that night. She’s flying back to Rome tomorrow.
Before her flight, Stephanie drops by quickly. I came home during my lunch break just to see her. We have coffee and say goodbye. She thanks me for the “wonderful” evenings in New York. My heart races again, and I can barely breathe. Somehow, it feels much more sobering now in the daylight without alcohol. Still, I’m head over heels in love. My emotions are out of control. Should I kiss her now?
No, it’s too late. She’s about to leave for Rome. Missed my chance! Stephanie gets in her taxi and drives away. Wow, what an experience. What a woman! Hard to believe she wanted me. Me—yes, me. Maybe she was the dream woman? The one for me? Was it destiny?
Now she’s sitting in a taxi to the airport, and soon, she’ll fly out of my life. I’m such an idiot—I should have kissed her. Well, at least I stayed faithful. My girlfriend will probably call tonight. At least I can act like nothing happened. Yes, I stayed loyal and can pat myself on the back for it.
That evening, I come home. The answering machine is blinking. It’s probably Mary Claire, my girlfriend.
“Hello, this is Stephanie. I wanted to clear up a few unspoken things before I leave. I’ve fallen in love with you! You’re the best and kindest man I’ve ever known. I hope we can see each other again soon. Call me and email me. Please, please! I’ll try to come back to New York soon to see you again…”
BEEP! The answering machine cuts her off. I wish I could have heard more—more of her voice, more of her. I’m both sad and happy at the same time. She’s now on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic. I wish I could call her back, tell her how I feel.
I look out the window at the traffic jam below, the honking taxis, and let the past few days play through my mind. Then the phone rings. For a moment, I think it’s Stephanie, but she’s still on the plane. It’s my girlfriend on the line.
“Is something wrong?” she asks after a while. “You seem different than usual.”
“No, everything’s fine. I’ve just got some stress at work,” I reply.
Photo by George Bohunicky on Unsplash
