Skinny Dipping

  ***

  The taxi swerved. The seatbelt strangled Sophie’s body, holding her flush against the car seat. The vehicle cut across three lanes of traffic, racing a sleek, black Porsche. “I think it's just a few more blocks away,” Sophie blurted. “I really don’t mind if we slow down a little.” The driver didn’t seem to hear because the taxi whirled through the city streets, neck and neck with the Porsche. Neither car slowed.

  The hotel appeared in the distance. The taxi’s indicator clicked on and off as the driver veered. “Maybe we don’t need to go so fast, since we’re practically there,” she whimpered, looking fearfully out the window. A chill crept up Sophie’s spine as the taxi deviated, interfering with the Porsche’s path. Sophie whispered a final prayer as tyres screeched. The Porsche came to a screeching stop on the main road to avoid the collision. Thank God.

  The taxi burst into the hotel driveway, overshot the doorway entrance and parked near the roadside. Sophie would have to walk back to the entrance. Feeling faint, her gaze darted warily around. “We made it.” A grateful sigh escaped her lips, everyone was intact, no crash. The taxi driver panted like he’d run a marathon.

  “I got you here in record time.”

  Sophie nodded shakily and thrust the door open. Why did every man want to be a racing car driver? One leg and then the other found the safety of the pavement beside the vehicle. She handed the driver twenty pounds, and shut the door. The taxi jerked towards the street.

  Sophie saw with a start that the two door Porsche was now positioned directly outside the hotel entrance. The Porsche's occupant catapulted out. A blond man staggered, his face deathly pale. He raced toward the back of the accelerating taxi as it pulled out into the busy London street.

  There was wildness about him. “Learn how to drive,” he shouted.

  Sophie brushed her dress down, suddenly desperate to become invisible and disappear into the pavement. Clients could be anywhere; this was no place to cause a scene.

  The owner of the Porsche stalked back toward his car. He stopped and glared fiercely at Sophie. “We could all have died. Or someone could have been seriously injured. He’s a maniac. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Sophie felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “I tried my best.”

  “Your best?” The blond man shook his head vigorously. “Clearly your best isn’t good enough because people die in accidents. Make things happen. Don’t just try to do something.”

  “Thanks, Daddio, for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind going for my next promotion.” Sophie felt her lips freeze into a tight smile. Who did this guy think he was? She obviously hadn’t asked the taxi driver to be a maniac. Sophie clutched her handbag almost like a protective shield. Scowling, she ignored the glowering man and stepped toward the hotel entrance.

  The man moved at the same time. His feet turned like a mirror image and they faced each other. Sophie stood riveted to the spot. His feet were positioned close to her shoes, the fronts were practically touching. He snorted and examined her patent high heels.

  “Unbelievable.” He fixed his shirt which was half hanging out, tucking the fabric into his trousers.

  Sophie gawped as he continued to dress, pulling a tie out of his pocket. “Excuse me, I’m trying to get past,” she snapped.

  The blond man raised an eyebrow, and continued to fix the tie loosely around his neck. His mouth dropped open as if to speak. Sophie speculated to what his reply might be as he ogled her bulky handbag. She eyeballed him with an element of hostility. As she glared, she hugged her bag closer to her body which had an undesired effect, for now he was looking at her chest.

  “Did you lose your clutch?” he needled. “You look like Mary Poppins with that trunk.”

  Sophie lifted her chin. “Size does matter. Is that a sore point for you?” She hadn’t had time to locate her clutch, knowing it would be somewhere in one of her many boxes. Quite frankly, Sophie had no desire to explain her personal predicament to a stranger.

  The man smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raked a hand through his blond hair, as though he belonged in an aftershave commercial. “I’m sorry if I was insulting. I just hate accidents. Someone I know died in an accident, quite recently.”

  Sophie’s face crumpled in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She took her leave and launched left, and like two awkward dancing partners he moved with her. Again, they faced the other. She inadvertently inhaled his mint cologne.

  She looked at him and sighed and glanced fleetingly at the hotel entrance, wondering who should move first. Neither shifted, both too polite, waiting for the other.

  “This is stupid, now we’re both being polite,” Sophie said. “Look, I should really apologise about the taxi almost crashing into your car. I really did ask the driver to slow down, but he didn’t listen.”

  The man half-grinned, making a dimple appear on his cheek. “It's not your fault. Have a good evening.” He yanked at his tie, frustration clear from his contorted expression. “I hate these things.”

  Sophie put her oversized bag into the man’s arms. He hunched as he bewilderedly held onto her handbag. With a puff of exasperation, Sophie leaned in. “Here, let me help you.” She expertly looped the ends of the tie as though she belonged in a clothing store. The man examined watched her fingers. Threading the tie round, she realised she’d crossed a boundary.

  She froze. “I’m a creature of habit,” she mumbled, suddenly aware of her bold actions. “I used to do my dad’s tie when I was little. ‘Rabbit jumps into the hole’ and all that.”

  “It’s fine. Continue,” he instructed. “First your taxi tries to kill me and then you look after me. Will I ever understand women?”

  “I don’t have high hopes for you. That temper….”

  “Really?” He chuckled. “Low hope or no hope?”

  Sophie avoided his gaze and knotted the tie around his neck. “There you go. Done.” She grabbed her bag from him and turned away, not bothering with pleasant goodbyes. Warmth crept up the back of her neck as she felt his stare on her back.

  A creature of habit? Did she really say that? What crazy inclination caused her to fasten his tie? Who did she think she was? A fool fawning over an over-indulged man with a Porsche? A rude man at that. Sophie must be more tired than she admitted.

  She was pulling her fake fur wrap tightly round her shoulders when the distinct tone of her mobile phone sounded. It must be Matthew Silver. His timing was finally right.

  Sophie began ascending the stone steps leading to the hotel's grand entrance. Multitasking as she often did, she fished through her bag as she climbed. She seized the phone, the name screen reading Roger Smart. Her dad. Not Matthew Silver. Typical, he still hadn’t called. The phone stopped ringing.

  Her foot caught a step and sliding like a novice acrobat, she thrust her arms out to steady herself. Her fur wrap and bag tumbled to the ground, and with a clattering commotion the contents spilled over the stairs.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath and stooped down. She snatched at the wrap and dusted the dirt off. She clocked the blond man, the owner of the Porsche, swiftly squatting beside to assist.

  “If only I had that effect on all women.” His voice was low. “Falling at my feet and all.”

  The cheek of him.

  Sophie darted a glance in his direction. “You might increase your chances of women falling at your feet if you were… nice.”

  His eyes widened. “Nice?” A mocking expression spread across his face. He started gathering her things. “I’m a concerned citizen and I’ve even come to your aid, haven’t I?”

  “Not because you’re nice or well mannered. You feel obliged, not concerned.” For the first time she appraised his eyes. They were large…the kind she could lose herself in. She tore her gaze away. Whatever was she getting into, studying this man? Besides, she had somewhere to be.

  “I’m letting you off the hook from any obligation here.
It’s cool – really. I don’t need help. I’m not the type of girl who always needs help. I’m a competent kind of girl.” Sophie looked anywhere but at him. She focused instead on the ground, grabbing two – three – four chocolate wrappers, and shoving them back where they came from.

  “I’m making an extra effort to be nice and well mannered. You might even consider me charming? What do you think about that? Is that okay?” he questioned pointedly as he handed her a bottle of nail polish, his eyes twinkling playfully. God he was irritating.

  “I’m okay, thank you,” she muttered. “I can get everything, like I said. I don’t need help.”

  “Everyone needs a hand sometimes.” He remained stubbornly crouched next to her. His hands reached, picking up her personal possessions. A mischievous grin crossed his face. “You like chocolate? Yet so slim.”

  “They’re for work.”

  “Yeah, right. I know women can’t resist chocolate.”

  Sophie glared. “You see these wrappers.” She shoved one in her handbag. “They’re all in the name of research for an advertising client.”

  “Is that what you call it, ‘advertising research’?”

  He was purposely teasing her. Yet she couldn’t help herself. “It’s true,” she said. Sophie saw a fifth chocolate wrapper and held the foil up to him. “This is precisely why you don’t understand women.”

  “I’m trying hard.”

  “I recently heard something memorable. I’ll quote from a concerned citizen. ‘Make things happen. Don’t just try to do something’.” She repeated his words right back to him.

  He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded and handed over her hairbrush, which looked like it had combed a horse’s mane. Her makeup bag. Her perfume. Her synthetic purple wallet, with surf patterns and a Velcro pocket.

  He turned the wallet around in his hands and frowned. “A surf wallet?” Sophie almost shuddered, hearing the word “surf”. She couldn’t stand the water, the very thought of it scared her.

  He touched the canvas almost tenderly. “I picked you as someone who liked chocolate, fast cars and adventure. I would have expected hand-stitched leather.”

  “I do like leather.”

  He clutched the wallet. “Then why do you have this?”

  “A gift from my niece, Annie,” she explained.

  “So you like the beach and swimming? Is that why she bought it for you?”

  “I’m not sure why she bought it. She’s twelve and it was a sweet gift.” Sophie tried to yank the wallet from his grip. Bizarrely, it was a moment before he let go. Giving him a sidelong glance, she wondered if he was flirting with her as she finally placed the wallet in her bag.

  He held up her apartment keys with the mini tennis ball on the keychain next. “Makes sense,” he said with a smile. His fingers remained hooked around her keys. He was obviously toying with her because once more she had to pry her keys from his fingers, momentarily brushing his fingertips as she did so.

  He passed her a colourful cardboard box. A tampon packet. Sophie took the box from him. Her neck felt hot. She wished the company spent more time making the box discreet rather than making such bold packaging. Yet the way the man frowned, as if he was contemplating something else entirely, not even noticing the box, nor what it contained. Thank God.

  His whole expression changed and softened. There were tiny creases around his eyes. He shifted as he noticed her surveying him. “I have a proposition,” he volunteered, and a blush touched his cheeks. She was surprised to detect a bead of sweat on his forehead, his whole demeanor transformed. For some reason he wouldn’t quite meet her eye.

  “Oh?” Sophie braced herself. “A proposition?” She couldn’t shake her initial impression of him stalking after the taxi. But the change in his behavior reminded her of something else, like he was about to ask a girl out.

  Her skin prickled. Surely not. Flirting was one thing but he wasn’t going to ask her out. No man lusts after a klutz.

  She pretended to take stock of the contents of her handbag and rearranged items inside. A thrilling sensation soared through her. What if he was going to ask her out? She would refuse. He had made an effort after their confrontation over the taxi by helping her out and if she admitted it, he was charming. But she was still in love with Derek. And there was no doubt that she and Derek would overcome this current hiccup. It was a mere bump in the road.

  Sophie waited for the man to speak. He inhaled and stared deeply into her eyes. He scanned her face, searching for something. He wore hope on his face. Her heart twisted in her chest. Oh God. Please don’t ask me out. Not now.

  She fumbled with the strap on her bag and contemplated escaping up the stairs, avoiding the inevitable awkwardness. She’d been there before. These situations were particularly tricky. Maybe if she was single for a few years, then maybe she might be interested. Sophie mentally rehearsed the words to say.

  He seemed to flounder for a choice of words. “I want to buy your wallet.”

  Sophie blanked her face. Her notion of rejecting him was obviously quite off the mark. “What?” Her mind whirled with questions. Was it the tie? Had she gone too far with the tie?

  His expression appeared serious. “I want to buy your wallet,” he repeated.

  Her cheeks reddened. How could she have ever thought he’d ask her out on a date? Derek dumped her after living together, and Derek really knew her. Like really knew her. Her flaws. Everything.

  He scrutinised her intently. She felt flustered and confused by his attention. God she was a dope. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to put my money.” She realised she was pondering the inane request.

  “Okay,” he considered her response and his brow furrowed. “How about a trade? My leather wallet for your surf wallet? I’ll also give you a hundred pounds. What do you think?”

  Sophie’s thoughts weren’t quite rational because, quite frankly, she didn’t understand, didn’t know how to react. “Gosh, what an interesting offer.” Then clarity slapped her in the face. “Too strange for me, I’m afraid.” She stood up with her bag.

  “A hundred quid and a wallet swap. It’s an excellent offer. Come on, live on the edge. Stranger things have happened.” He proceeded to empty the contents of his black leather wallet. He jammed his personal items into his trouser pockets. Sophie half expected to witness the removal of a condom from the inner pocket. There wasn’t one. So he was in a relationship. The flirt!

  He held the wallet up and fanned out the compartments, proving each to be empty. He proffered a hundred pounds in cash. “Surely your niece wouldn’t mind? Even a twelve year-old knows the value of a hundred pounds.” After pushing the money inside, he relinquished his wallet and thrust it at her.

  Perplexed, Sophie turned the leather over. She focused her attention on the quality and craftsmanship. The wallet was expensive, she could tell. Her mind worked in overdrive, deliberating his strange proposal. What if he called the police, and said she had stolen from him? He was well dressed, in a tuxedo, and had arrived in a Porsche. She didn’t stand a chance. Still with a hundred pounds, she’d be on her way to purchasing a designer handbag.

  A voice of caution sounded loudly in her mind. If he really wanted a surf wallet, surely he could buy one? He obviously had the money.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” he insisted. “Take a chance on me. I took a chance on you.” He touched the tie around his neck.

  Sophie's head darted around the hotel driveway. There were probably security cameras monitoring their every activity. There would be camera footage if anything went wrong. “We’re strangers.”

  “We’re not really strangers,” he asserted. “After all, I know everything you’ve got in your Mary Poppins bag.”

  Sophie finally returned the leather wallet. She didn’t take the money. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Seeing his expression, a burst of sympathy shook her body. Maybe she should just do it? He looked relatively sane a
nd normal. But he could be a thief, a criminal, and she’d end up in handcuffs because the wallet was a piece of evidence from a crime scene. Or something….

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. Bag in hand, contents roughly where they should be, she turned and sprinted up the last dozen steps. Of course her coordination was perfectly fine now. She felt him observing her as she rushed away.

  “You could make a man very happy, just by doing a simple, profitable trade.”

  “Not going to happen.” She reached the hotel entrance and hurled a glance over her shoulder. He shrugged, now appearing amused by the whole incident. He’d recovered from his nutty ideas. He once again displayed the confidence she’d first seen.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he called.

  “I doubt it.”

  He smiled slowly and their eyes connected, but only briefly as she rushed inside the grand hotel.

  Following the cardboard arrows to the London Annual Advertising Awards she raced through the corridors, trying to forget the stranger. Strange. Quirky. Unforgettable.

  The arrows led her to the hotel ballroom. A familiar tune could be heard from inside. A small table was set up outside and an assistant sat behind tapping her long, manicured fingernails.

  “I’m Sophie Smart.”

  The assistant pointedly examined her watch. “Smart, Smart, Smart.” Her nail ran down the register. The assistant nodded and finally gave Sophie a nametag. “Table 94.”

  “Thanks,” Sophie nodded. “Do you know if Matthew Silver has arrived?”

  The assistant scanned the guest list for the second time. Sophie noticed Matthew Silver’s name tag on the table. “It’s okay,” Sophie interjected, “his badge is still here. I guess he’s later than I am.”

  She entered the ballroom, instantly recognising a potential client, Tom Johnson from Barney’s Chocolate Bars. Sophie definitely had plenty to discuss with him. All those chocolate wrappers in her bag were there for a reason. She planned to convince Tom Johnson that she was his ultimate advertising consultant.

  Sophie inhaled deeply and dived in headfirst. She could do this.

  Matthew Silver did not turn up to the gala.