The drinks had made Brent feel hot so he looked round for an exit. There were some French doors open which led out onto a raised flagstone terrace. The sheer, free-hanging curtains covering the doors lilted in the weak breeze. It was about 9 p.m. and the party was a good one, especially the dancing. Brent had already danced at least eight numbers. He especially liked "salsa" and had become quite good at it. After considerable practice, of course.
A few guests milled about outside on the extensive terrace. Over to Brent’s right was a couple standing against the wall losing themselves in the art of kissing and the pressing together of two warm, happy bodies. Over to his left was a lone woman, also standing, near the waist-high wall. Brent took another look and saw that she had the most beautiful neck he’d ever seen on a woman. It was long and thin, reminding one of a swan’s. She was a brunette and had pinned her hair up. The long white and beige dress she was wearing was sheer and elegance itself.
Now here was a new experience no more than a few feet away from him. Brent decided to wait no longer. He’d approach the woman and get to know her a little.
When she turned upon hearing his footsteps and he saw her face, he was startled.
“Oh, I had no idea it was you. Imagine, both of us here at the same party,” he said. He actually wanted to say how breathtakingly beautiful he’d always considered her to be. Indeed, most of the world. But, pace yourself reasonably, Fellow, he told himself.
“I'm surprised too,” she countered. “And I’m a fan of yours. A loyal fan. I don’t think I’ve missed a picture.”
“Then I’m flattered,” Brent responded.
“Can you say you’ve seen all of mine?” she asked, sure of his answer.
“There you have me. Though I’m sure I’ve seen the best two.”
“You’re smart. The others aren’t worth seeing,” she said. “Are you in town for very long?”
“Ten days to go. Filming, of course.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in having dinner with me. I’m inviting,” she said.
“I’m sure I would,” Brent responded quickly, surprising himself. “You mean right now?”
“Right now,” she answered, rubbing the tip of his sculptured nose with her tiny index finger. “Let’s get our things.”
“You know I’m married,” he said gently.
“I would, wouldn’t I?” she said, looking him directly in the eyes. “Aren’t well-kept secrets in Hollywood rarities? And you know something else?” she asked.
“What’s that?” Brent replied.
“Life is imperfect. Don’t expect differently.”
Both superstars left the patio together and made their way toward the host and hostess in order to bid them goodnight.
“Wait till you see Tilly’s and Bert’s faces,” she laughed, elbowing Brent.
“Such class,” thought Brent. “Not easy to find in this world.”
END OF “THE WOMAN ON THE PATIO”
