― Henry Rollins
Flora
Flora was aptly named―goddess of flowers, spirit of seedtime―her vernal beauty intoxicating as her eternal spring seemed invincible.
Yes, I know―I was rhapsodizing, but not exaggerating. Harold called her a 'looker'. He didn't realize he was married to a Muse.
A middle-aged woman of incredible beauty deserved such compliments and even I, despite Ella's unswerving devotion and charms of her own, yes, even I, could be easily swayed by such a Siren.
I was standing in shadows watching her show sunlight how to burn bright, conversing with a friend ten years her junior who couldn't hold a candle to her beauty or compete with her bewitchment.
I knew she was waiting to speak with me. She had seen me enter the coffee shop but preferred to wait and allow me to come to her. I suppose that was the way it should be.
I was trembling with fear or dread―I wasn't sure which, because I knew she'd use her charms to entice and wasn't at all sure I could resist.
Poor Harold―he had no idea what an ally he had in her.
I had delayed long enough waiting to be sure I read her plan and inevitably I'd have to go out or she'd relent and come in and I wasn't sure which alternative favoured her allurement.
I opted for the sunny side of the street and sure enough she broke away from her younger friend and contrived as if by chance to appear before me.
"Hello, Flora," I gave her the lop-sided grin some women think charming. I didn't know it then, but I had already succumbed to her witchery.
"Hello, Scott," she grinned mischievously. "A sunny day with somewhere to go―it never fails to make me happy―and of course, running into you. It feels like a garden party."
"It's a beautiful summer day," I conceded dispassionately.
"Harold told me about your talk. Can I assume our names won't be part of the evening news?"
I decided to cut to the chase and let her preserve her dignity.
"Harold is not a person of interest in my case. He was a cooperating witness and I see no reason involve him further. I assure you, Flora, I respect your privacy."
I could see the relief in her features and was surprised to see her eyes grow moist.
She reached out her hand and softly touched mine. "Thank you, Scott. I appreciate that."
A great weight seemed lifted off her. Did she expect some quid pro quo? I wondered if that had been the case in past transactions.
I wanted to say more but any word from me would only enmesh me further.
'It's all good, Flora―really, it is. Don't worry."
She wasn't expecting that. She was disarmed and the hauteur that usually clung to her deserted her leaving her vulnerable.
"Enjoy the day, what's left of it," I told her and walked away without glancing backward.
I felt genuinely sorry for both of them and wanted to spare her feelings.
Maybe my own feelings were involved here―maybe that's why I was walking away when part of me was longing to stay.
I knew I'd never be sure, except to say, in the end she won her victory.