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The swell of people in a small space makes me sweat. I'm damp under the arms in my long red dress, trying to get through the crowd to find you. Small touches interrupt me: a brush of a reporter's hand calling for my attention, the familiar grab of Robert as he tries to calm me.
"Can't be without Pagey, hmm?" He teases, grinning. He's drinking at the bar, leaned cool against it.
Shame burns. I shake my head at him and separate, moving towards the tables.
You're picking at your food with disinterest. Your heavy eyes scan the room until they find me and you smile gently with a small raise of your mouth.
"It's hard coming back from the lobby," I whine and slip in next to you.
"My fault. . . I should have waited there with you." Your scent sweeps me. It is that deep mix of musky cologne and your natural, raw smell.
I knock the idea away with a touch to your arm. "I was thinking of this dream I had a couple of nights ago at the Hyatt. I was back at school and you were there with me and we were walking through the halls. But you were always ahead of me. I couldn't catch up, no matter how fast I was."
You look me over, examining my face to register my emotions. I wonder how I look to you, talking quickly, talking nonsense.
"You feel we're disconnected?" You ask.
"Maybe. I'm not sure. I know that when you're absent from me, I feel empty, without cause."
You look at me brutally. The way your eyes light me and force me to respond, it is intense. My stomach aches. "You feel this way even when I call?"
"Yes. Yes, of course." I laugh to hide my guilt. "It's because I'm young. I'll get used to it."
The room seems to move like a wave as people file out in the aftermath. The talks and after-parties are winding down. You hold no award this time; you're only here to show your face.
You lean towards me at the table, your voice near my hair, your fingers kissing my shoulder. "Do you remember our first time?"
The memory burns back to me: my face in a hotel room pillow, you above and behind me. I opened my eyes to stare at the cream wall and thought of how necessary and primitive it felt to be filled.
I nod at your question. "Of course."
"Do you remember how you felt afterward?"
"When you held me?"
"Yes, then. Think of that when you miss me. Call that thought forward."
I reach to clutch the lapels of your tuxedo and am surprised when your hands join mine. A brush of youth crosses your face, none of the chilling shadow I've seen times before. Instead, you lean towards me and kiss my cheek. I shut my eyes to hold the jewel of our moment together.
You say my name soft and clear. It's only then I realize I'm crying. You wipe my tears with your fingertips. A shrouded vignette surrounds you. There is no ballroom or dinner table, no mocking voices or high stage, only my rush of anguish and sorrow at the future and joy and comfort at the present.
I remember the first time. I recall your arms holding me as I'd never been before. With a murmur of sweet, cooing words, you draw your arms around me again.
