Loveless

Chapter One

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solitary she walks
she waits in patience
her heart of hope in bearing
hope's dream
love's desire
today, tomorrow
added odds
she waits in patience

      ©America Joseph

Clears throat. Umm Still waiting!

tomorrows love
*
wait in patience

So they say! Ahh well...here goes.

Chapter one

Clear throat.

35, sitting in a bar, watching a strip pole dance with my mother, a Cinderalla mocktail pressed to my lips, because it has to be Cinderalla, dressed in some outfit mum chose for me when I was five, reading a romance novel, expecting Fabio to stroll in and immediately ask for my hand...Was happy here? I think. Happy...?

Guess which page I'm on.

Fist. America Joseph!

And they lived happily ever after.

Eye roll. Huh. Same old. Same old. Nice read though. America Joseph!

Saani Ariori, that's me, yep can you believe it, sighed and closed her book.
"Good ending?" Mum, or mother as I should call her according to America Joseph.
"The best." She, me, bored yet, turned the book over and looked at the front cover. "I always wanted this. The rush of first love, the thrill of the kiss, the pounding heartbeat of making love for the first time with the one. True love. Didn't think I'd be pushing thirty five with over fifty blind dates, a profile on every dating site, and a permanent seat at every bar, restaurant, club, library..." Maybe its just a little too many America Joseph romance novels. Somewhere, in some place I know it's true. Mum...
"Time," Nayra Ariori, my-
Hmm, hmm.
Her mother, and her sixty year old twin, slipped a hand over hers. "That's all you need darling."
Saani sighed, placed the book down on the counter and reached for her fruity mocktail, The Cinderalla, and watched a woman gyrate around a pole across the stage.
"A strip club?"
"That's where I met your father one drunken night. You've been everywhere else, and this is New York."
"Okay." She drained her glass and set it down.
"You drink like you're addicted." Her mother pushed the glass away from her.
"Back to the plan. You see any prospectives?" Saani did a quick 360 but as she already knew. There were the biker types, the obviously married men sneaking on their wives, the couples, and the one's who were here for only one reason, to get stinking drunk. The man on her left was well on his way, and besides none of them made her feel the sharp fall of hunger, the race of desire, the bruise of a hammering heart. That immediate call that said he's the one, like in Blue Fire, or Hunger, or her absolute favorite Shorelines of Ardor.
Wells Cassy, her favorite author couldn't be wrong. America Joseph couldn't be wrong could she? Fist America Joseph.
"Him." Her mother made a sneaky move with her hand.
"Nayra."
"He's solid, looks dependable and like he has a good job." She grasped for her arm. "Don't look at him so boldly...he'll know we're talking about him."
"No."
"He's perfect-"
Not according to every hero in every romance novel  I've ever read.
"He looks like Dad."
"I thought you said you wanted someone like your father. You'd make a perfect couple. You with your cocoa complexion and black hair."
"It's not black anymore, I dyed it bronze, curled it, cut, and let it fall to my shoulders. You like it?"
"Hmmm..."
"Besides, that's not what I meant when I said like Dad."
"Okay, what about him?"
"Who?"
"Him, by the door."
There was a low buzz of voices. The women left the stage, more came out from the back, and the ladies, and she had to admit there were many here tonight, rose and flowed toward the doorway.
"What's happening?"
"I think Adonis himself just entered the building."
"Please Nayra. He can't be that good looking."
The women were like a pack of wolves, they primped and preened and walked to the side of the club and the long black leather seats. A thick mass, bees to nectar, moths to a flame.
Saani could only make out the top of his head. Dark hair, a touch longer than the norm, touching his neck like some rake or knave. Something flowed off him like beckoning sin. It pulled, it called.
Halt the presses. Call every steamy romance author she had ever read...unless...
She pinched herself.
No she was not in chapter one of a romance novel, no she was not still reading, she certainly wasn't having one of her dreams...
Bad boy enters classy but sinful bar, girl next door turns to see him walk through the doorway...
Was she breathless?
"Who is he?"
"Well go find out sweetheart." Her mother gave her a nudge off her seat.
Wasn't this the point where she rushed her away from the bad wolf, and wolf he was...the worst kind. You could tell.
The man had taken a seat on the lush cushions. The women lined up before him, screening him. They were like the horde of bees in the park that had chased that poor dog round and round.
"I don't know...who is he? Some kind of celebrity?"
Oh quit with the pretense Saani.
"Navarro Sioux." The man who'd been seated beside her all night. Drinking, heavy. He continued as though bored. "Billionaire businessman. He owns a production company, publishing house, and a TV station. They call him Saturday Night Wonder."
Saturday Night Wonder?
"Why?" Why would anyone call...
"Women show up from all neighborhoods, worlds to get their shot with him every Saturday. Every Saturday he shows up and leaves with one woman. Word is he gives whichever lucky female it is the night and morning of her life." He rolled his eyes and swirled his drink. "He's like a lottery ticket. Women kill for the chance to be with him. Kind of what they're doing right now." He snorted. "Some men get all the luck." He picked up his drink and stumbled away.
"He sounds horrible. I'm looking for a husband not..."
She wondered if the female protagonists usually lost their mind at the beginning of the story. Didn't that usually happen later on?
Laughter, and the sound of a voice. A man's voice.
Saani turned. His voice again.
"You're right honey, the nerve. I ought to go right over there and give him a piece of my mind. Tonight was a waste, maybe we'll try the library again tomorrow? It's more in line with you, being a book editor and all. You love a man who reads."
"Maybe I should just take a look-"
"Saani."
Saani pushed through the perfume of women. She hadn't noticed before but the haves and have nots were all here. Tribeca, Manhattan, the Bronx...
They were in an array of dress, high fashion, to the street. She counted almost a hundred, and they were still flowing in through the door.
"Excuse me-"
"Wait your turn."
Now she was really curious. She lied. "My seats over there. I have to get my purse."
They let her through and for some strange reason her heart started to pound and perspiration covered her forehead.
Her toes fixed to the floor, and her limbs stopped moving. Charlotte Brontë, Margaret Mitchell, Nicholas Sparks, Loretta Chase described it well, but their words could never say what she was feeling, what was coursing through her.
He was seated in the corner of the upscale club in soft gold lights, flash, and money. Black fitted jeans, and dusty boots, a form fitting black t-shirt covered in a dull worn leather jacket. He was sex and he was sin. An edge of a rule breaker, male. Native American bear claw and beads fell across his neck and covered his wrist. Wild, electric. Green, gold eyes.
He barely glanced at her.
She stood there staring as her heart beat and her breath came when it remembered. He seemed to want to relax, sit back but there were too many women, including her. She saw the moment he decided to make his pick, and her heart hammered. She raised her hand before she knew what she was doing and waved it to get his attention.
Saani!
What am I doing?
He finally looked at her. His eyes fell to her chest and she realized she was clutching her romance novel. Feliciano and Rose were locked in lust on the front cover. His eyes lifted to hers then he was turning away. He indicated for a Persian with waist long hair to follow him, then he was heading outside.
There was a collective moan of disappointment.
She rushed after him.
What am I doing?
Should she call out his name? Go up to him?
The Persian wrapped her arm around his and smothered him with her body. She was like some perfect model, complementing his over six feet in height. They got on his motorcycle.
He's leaving, he's leaving.
The cool air of the industrial stretch of East Williamsburg calmed her skin and settled her racing heart. Her senses were everywhere.
"Hello." Had she said that?
He glanced at her, and some shadow entered his eyes then he looked away and blazed away on his bike, the woman clamped to him like her Christmas present.
"Saani." Nayra behind her.
"The Saturday Wonder strikes again. Don't worry chick," the heavy drinker who'd been seated next to her barreled out the door to join her on the pavement. "He'll be back next Saturday. Some of these women have been trying for years and you got the looks."
"Maybe next time don't wear dresses like a two year old and don't bring your mother." A woman next to her. She walked away.
She's my best friend, my...only friend...and this is my best outfit...
"What was that?" Nayra came over, clutching and covering her in her coat.
I just fell in love for the first time in thirty-five years, and I know what passion feels like.
"Saani."
She was still staring after the motorbike.
"That man is an egomaniac. It's better not to know him, I don't ever want to see you with him, clear?"
Ahh the parents hate him. Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending?
Saturday Night Wonder.
Cars were moving about, people were walking about. The sky was black. How could everything still be the same?
"Clear?"
"Clear."