I'm attending the investment banker bro sausage fest to watch my friend F speak on a panel. We are two of the only five women in the entire auditorium, and she was only added at the last minute when she met the organizer on her flight over. In fact, the stage has space for 4 chairs, and it's quite clear there is no space for the 5th one which has her name tag in front of it, half hidden behind the podium. She was clearly added as the after thought.
I have crashed the conference because I hadn't seen her since she moved to Zurich, only to find as I get there that she is in the middle of changing her flight to leave early. "How could you F! You just got here and you're flying back out in 3 hours! What the fuck!" I forget to use my inside voice, and the guy standing next to her turns, startled, at the expletive.
We both muffled our giggles that. She slaps his arm, and said "Oh let me introduce you, you guys were both in the same school and may know each other."
She says his name - famous billionaires son, running the media line - I had heard of him of course, but don't remember him from school. The lean build, crisp white shirt that screams of something expensive because it wasn't rumpled like everyone else's. And those glasses. Uff. I have always found nerd white boys hot. I avoid F's eye because she knows me too well, and knows exactly what she's doing. Her grin is unbearable.
"Oh I was class of 99! Nice to meet you!" I smile at him. He blinks, checking me out, and I inwardly smirk because I know I look hot. My hair was done because of the thing I went to yesterday, and I'm wearing that super expensive designer shirt that hid my newly acquired tummy pudge. Casual, summery, yellow in a sea of black conference suits. I had to state my class year, by way of introducion. It's this weird jig we all do, trying to figure out who we are in the six degrees of separation. Which side of the snob line my pedigree lies in. Somewhere in the middle, thank you very much, he and his ilk are way cooler and way richer than me.
He's looking a little flumoxed. We all pause, confused. "Who were you..." he trails off awkwardly. "I was with A and G" i mention the house captains everyone knew, and he recognizes one of the names.
"Oh how. She was much younger.." and then "Oh I was confusing that with my college year! I was with her elder brother!"
"Ah yes! I just met him recently, he and T had flown up toghether for that school alum game we hosted". Social positioning established, I move back to my friend and we go back to talking. She walked on to the plane that morning with only one earring, and once I'm done with my laughing fit, I offer mine. She cannot go on to stage with that! But she insists, probably because she finds my large freshwater pearls too lahori for her taste.
He's listening to us, amused, but also pretending to be on the phone.
***
It's been months. Random dates. Lots of messages. Lots of missed availability windows because he doesn't live in Lahore. And his work of course. He just got back from Davos and has stopped over in this city, because I was visiting for a wedding.
I'm in his hotel room. Holy shit. I have ducked out from the dholki in the other building. The walk over, jittery with excitement. I couldn't believe it. Me. It was going to happen!
He was SO cute. From the second F introduced us at that conference, it was inevitable.
I've lost weight (thank you Diet by Design), without the GLPs that freak me out. My panties almost incinerate when he opens the door and hustles me in before someone sees.
So clandestine. We've been sexting all day.
He latches the door behind me, his arm trapping my body close. Uff. I know I'll remember that cologne forever.
He looks down at me, and I can tell he likes what he sees. He uses the lack of space to position himself between my legs, his strong arms hook my butt up, so I'm his height now. My legs wrap around him, and we both give a muffled erghm because we're old and not as flexible anymore but then settle into it. "Hi I think I may have the wrong room. I'm looking for my friend X" i quip. We both crack up. He's grinning. I'm grinning.
"Hello." He puts his forehead on mine.
"Hello to you too."
I have a fleeting moment to wonder if that lush head of hair is real or transplanted before I dig my hands into it, and pull him down to my mouth.
***
I've moved back to Karachi, home sweet home. Its a 12 month gig, one academic year, and was messy as hell manage Rs school year and payments, but we made it work because the money is helping me save for his college, because goddamn that kid isn't going to be getting any scholarships.
I enter the elevator to get to the gym on the 20th floor, typically I would avoid these expensive coed ones but this is Karachi and its broken shitty roads that take unnecessarily long to go anywhere, and this is literally 90 seconds from my house, and I'm not going to go out of my way to do something I loathe. So I suck it up, shifting uncomfortably pulling my tshirt down to cover my butt as I pass the security guard.
I emerge and nothing, I mean nothing, beats the view. miles of concrete jungle, stretching into the horizon, soaring with the eagles. I'm momentarily distracted by a 20 yr old doing squats in her sports bra and what can only be described as underwear. The boy cut kind I liked to buy in middle school. I glare at the desk attendant who is staring at her through the glass doors, standing slack jawed ogling her bottom, but he has the courtesy to notice my pointed look and avoid my eye and appears fixated by his feet as he beeps me in.
The trainer is waiting. I would have preferred a woman, but he was the only trained physiotherapist. Thirty year old gym bro trainers are someone I would typically avoid like the plague. Even with this one, I had to explain all the medical stuff three times, and he didn't quite take me seriously till I literally brought my x-rays and had my doc speak to him. Now he is super careful, and actually listens when I tell him not to push it. In fact he's more cautious then I am sometimes, and I caught him sweating in apprehension the last time I tried one of the more advanced stretches.
I discuss the plan for the session (he's recommeding extending the core exercises), and then warm up with a run. Never ever thought I could pull that off with my joints, but the miracle of modern medicine, apparently running is now good for middle aged women.
So I'm red, sweating ungracefuly, in my voluminous tshirt, panting like I'm having an angina episode, when of course he walks in. Fucking billionaire media mogul fucker. The one who didn't have the courtesy to just cheat on me but had to honestly and earnestly confess that his wife wanted to reconcile, and actually asked me what he should do. Of course he needed to go back to his wife and kids. His father in law owned the media house he was employed at. No way in hell i could compete with blocking the reconciliation of two of the richest families in the country. And all for nothing, because they ended things a year later anyway. Fuckers. I squash down the memories. He's taking off his glasses and putting them on the side of the bed so he could kiss me. Breathe. Focus. Doing that thing with his mouth. Stop it. Looking at me like I'm the hottest thing he's ever seen. It meant nothing to him you fool. He went on this weird post divorce cliche, dating a string of models like a fucking walking midlife crisis. I wish I'd worn a nicer tshirt. This one keeps fucking falling off my shoulder showing the ratty sports bra straps. I've even used it to blow my nose 5 minutes ago.
I see in the mirror that he clocks me almost instantly and freezes, pole axed. Someone bumps into him from behind and jostles him out of his double take. He didn't know I've moved here. He looks like he's about to come over. I try to make the unfriendliest expression I can muster, but underwear girls squeals a hello grabs his arm and pulls him in the other direction. Good. Fuck him.
I'm doing floor work on a yoga mat, which is apparently also something only women like to do, because even after months of this I still get the side eye. I'm not doing weighted leg lifts on some gross gym floor mats thank you very much. I swat the trainers hands away as they hover solicitiously near my back, one of the unfortunate side effects of him knowing the number of rods in there. "You can do it maam, just 40 more", he says cheerily, and I want to kill him.
At the 30th rep, I stumble because my knee gives up a bit. Maybe the hip, hard to tell where it starts sometimes. The trainer has a heart attack trying to grab my elbow, and I become completely unstable as I try to shove his arm away. I detest it when medical aides treat me like a patient, because fuck that. Unfortunately, that means I stumble into the back of the guy resetting some weights on a machine helping sports bra chick who had been effortlessly out squatting me. He turns around, and fuck me sideways it's him. Shit.
He smiles good naturedly. He discreetly looks at me, stripping me down to my soul like he always does. He takes in my red sweaty face, ratty tshirt and has the audacity to get that look. The one where he makes me feel special. Hell no.
"How is A doing," I smile and ask cheerily about his ex-wife, and that knocks the smile off his face. I watch the comment land, and he looks gutted. Shit i feel bad
"Oh, she's ok. I think anyway" He's blinking rapidly, a little choked up. He hesitates, and then lowers his voice. "We - we - decided to divorce last year. I was..." he trails off when he meets my eyes, his courage apparently failing unable to complete the sentence.
I resist the urge to jump in and fill the silence.
He looks up at me again, and then shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm just gym buddying with my friend from work", and he jerks his head towards underwear girl. Of course he is. That fucker. I can't help but glance over, and I know there is no way my body - the one that's churned out another human - can hold a candle to her midriff. He looks a little uncomfortable seeing my expression, as if suddenly realizing what I must be thinking. He opens his mouth to say something, but I huff and mumble about cradle snatching and go back to the trainer who's now holding a lighter weight and my knee brace. Damnit.
*
I'm still in the damn knee brace when I'm rooting around the locker. They had kindly given me the ones closer to the floor once they realized with my height, I couldn't reach the top level, but it's super awkward trying to pull my gym bag out with 40 yr old knees and I spill stuff out. The guy with the locker above mine of course approaches at that minute. I am at sock level. A lipstick had rolled over to his shoe. He bends down and picks it up, and crouches down to help. I look up gratefully into beautiful brown eyes. Oh for fucks sake.
He blinks rapidly, and I realize I said the last bit out loud. He looks down at me at his feet and smiles his beautiful sweet open honest smile, and just looks so... happy... to see me. The fucker.
Of course he's been given the locker above mine.
And that moment, with my sweat filled work out clothes, my shirt falling off my shoulder, hair in a French braid, on my bloody knees on a floor with all my stuff strewn around me, he's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Fuck, I feel my cheeks heat up because of his proximity. I try to take a deep breath to get a grip, to step back, but all I get is a wave of that damn cologne of his, and my mind reels unable to think. I put my hand on the floor to brace myself, I think I'm going to keel over.
He holds my elbow and gets me up, and it feels like a hot coal has touched me. I flinch, and my body ignites in flame. He is oblivious, picking up the pieces of my bag strewn around us.
My throat has slammed shut and I can't say anything. He's at my feet. I'm going to scream. He didn't call. I'm going to cry. He's hanging out with hot skinny 20 yr olds. My skin is on fire. I can't breathe. You never meant anything to him.
He's putting the stuff into my open gym bag. He looks up at me, and my heart twists. Every defense gone. He didn't even call.
Oblivious, he's now done picking up my bag. When I don't put my hand out to hold it, he awkwardly puts it on my shoulder. Cross body, how I always do it. We are standing way way too close, but I can't help it. It's like he has some sort of graviational force field. He's this black hole and I'm the star going nova, about to be sucked in. His eyes. Chocolate. So sweet. They have so much hope. So much regret. I'm drowning in his eyes.
He raises his hand like he's going to touch me, but catches himself and stops.
I hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching and we both jump back guiltily.
I don't even thank him. I don't even try to keep my dignity. I just turn and run.
