The scene is central Venice in the full heat of summer, a walkway along a small and quiet canal at noon. Stevan is wearing a cream suit, sitting by himself at an outdoor cafe. He looks at the play of light on the water as he reminiscences. His panama hat is on a chair. Sylvia, wearing a long yellow dress and impractical shoes, trips on a cobblestone. She collides with Stevan, knocks the coffee out of his hand, spilling it over his pale lavender shirt.Sylvia - I'm terribly sorry. Oh God! You are all covered in caffeine. I should pay for dry cleaning.
- Don't worry, it will wash off.
- At least let me buy you a coffee to replace it.
He smiles as he looks at her. She is not pretty, but there is something sweet about her face, and it is redoubled when she smiles, as she does now. Her yellow hair curves beguilingly around her face. Her eyes are brown.
- I can't refuse such an offer.
They enter the cafe, which is almost empty and quiet inside. At the curved wooden bar, Sylvia orders double shot cappuccinos for both of them and sits down opposite Stevan on a white wooden chair with no padding. They are at a small table by the large window giving onto the canal. She leans on her elbows as the smell of freshly roasted coffee envelops them. A young couple is speaking softly to their left.
Stevan - So what brings you to Venice?
- I always wanted to come here, but somehow it never worked out on past trips. I absolutely love it! Even the tourist masses don't spoil it for me.
They both sip their coffees then look each other in the eyes fixedly.
- Venice is unique. It's my favourite city in the whole world.
- You've been here before?
- It's my 5th time. I envy you for seeing it afresh.
- Why do you keep coming back?
- I'm an architect. The Grand Canal is the most beautiful street in the world.
Stevan forgot to sweeten his; it is bitter. He looks down and stirs. He stirs rather too long.
- What is your favourite part?
- The palaces on the Grand Canal and the Dodges' Palace, of course. But I also enjoy the back streets, away from us tourists.
He sips his coffee, she does too. She smiles. He can't help smiling back.
Sylvia - (Wistfully) I'm only here for three days.
- Venice is large and you really want to spend time wandering at random and getting lost in the maze.
- That sounds romantic.
Sylvia downs most of her cappuccino.
Stevan - It's the most romantic city in the world.
- I plan to go to the Rialto to have a look at some glass figures.
He looks outside, down then up into her eyes.
- What are you thinking of buying?
- A fancy sculpture.
- I know a big shop near the Rialto that has some artistic pieces.
- Please take me there.
- I'd love to.
Stevan finishes his coffee and they stroll to the white marble bridge, looking into the numerous glass shops along the way. There are many people around and there is a hubbub from their voices, mixed with that of the boats below. The sun beats down.
After examining the contents of the entire shop, which has two floors, and vacillating between two crazy pieces, Sylvia buys a Picasso-inspired head with a face in profile and another head-on. The shop will mail it to her.
- Thanks for taking me here and for helping me choose. You are very patient.
- No, I enjoyed being part of the selection process. I think you got the best piece in the entire shop. Say, are you hungry?
- Sure am, I had an early breakfast. Did not want to waste my precious time here.
- I know a great Neapolitan pizzeria. Do you like pizza?
- Do I ever!
The pizzeria is near the ferry stop on the Grand Canal near the Rialto. There is a hubbub of puffing ferries and silent black and gold gondolas.
They sit in a corner on stools at a small table beneath a low ceiling. The eatery is crowded with tourists. Both devour the margheritas using their hands, each with a glass of good chianti. Operatic music is playing and they need to speak up to be heard.Stevan - What films do you like?
- I like romcoms and documentaries.
- I like action movies and science fiction best.
- What do you read?
- Only non-fiction, reality is so much more interesting than something concocted by a writer.
There is a loud crash as a child knocks a bottle off a nearby table. A tired-looking waitress comes to clean up.
- I only read novels. I like how they explore character and motivation. What's your favourite food?
- Mexican.
- That's too spicy and doughy for me. My favourite is Japanese.
- It looks like we are not compatible at all!
She fans herself with her red suede handbag. It is hot, as the pizzeria is not air-conditioned, providing instead a pungent aroma of garlic.
- Our tastes are different, but that's surface stuff.
He leans forward, as the eatery is noisy.
- True. You know... Something about you is hugely attractive...
- What is that?
- You are warm. You make me feel valued and listened to, that you are really, really interested in what I say.
- That's a nice quality you also have. When I say something you really pay attention.
- Why wouldn't I?
- I think many people don't. They focus on themselves and what they want to say next.
- You are right. But that means there is no real interaction, just two people talking at each other.
The pizzas are followed by sweet and generous tiramisus, brought by a busty woman with short hair and an abrupt manner.
Sylvia - This is my favourite dessert, though I'm not sure I can eat that much.
- Mine too. At last we have something in common!
She looks him in the eyes and tries to look serious.
- Let's play a game. Tell me a guilty secret.
- That's a tough one... OK. Last year, at a Christmas party, I kissed a girl passionately, even though my wife was there, in another room.
- Did you take it any further?
- To tell the truth, I regret not doing so, though I would feel even more guilty and ashamed if I had.
- That's a mixture of guilt and regret. Do you feel like a cheat?
- I felt it then. Now it's history.
- But feelings live on, don't they?
He looks up to the dark ceiling and ponders this for a few seconds.
- You are right, I've rationalised it away... But you tell me one of yours.
- Back at school, I blabbered something I was told in secret. It got me and the other person into a lot of hot water.
- Was it a good friend?
- Yes, my best friend at the time, but no longer friends afterwards.
- That must be a very painful memory. Losing a friend is a big deal.
She looks sad momentarily.
- Yes, it hurts still, like a sore that won't heal.
- How do we get over these things?
- I wish I knew!
- Somehow, telling you about the kissing incident makes it feel less shameful. Maybe because you are the first person I have told about it.
- That is why we need our friends.
She eats the last piece of pizza and folds her brown cloth napkin. Silvia looks intently in his eyes.
- What is your hidden talent?
- I wish I knew.
- You must be good at something.
- Perhaps. Sometimes, I think I can't do anything well. That even in areas where I try hard to be proficient, I'm not.
- It sounds like you have an over-active inner critic.
- You are right.
- Can't you think of even one thing you do well?
- There's rear angle parking. But that's hardly a biggie.
- What about chatting up females?
- I'm hopeless there.
She raises her arms to counter his statement.
- You're doing well with me.
- It's not me. It's you. You're just so very easy to talk to. You are positive and unjudgemental. Above all, you are interested.
- Thanks. But it takes two to converse as we do.
He smiles, a little embarrassed.
- You somehow draw the best out of me.
- But it has to be there in the first place. You know, I've never met a man as easy to talk to as you.
- That's a huge compliment. I only wish I deserved it.
- That sounds like false modesty.
- You're probably right. (Sheepishly) Sorry.
He leans back in his chair and smiles. The pizzeria is quieter now, as most people have left.
Stevan - Guess what? I have a bunch of non-trivial questions I ask people to get to know them.
- I like that idea.
He takes out his silver mobile and rummages around in it to find the questions.
- The first one is, oh dear, it's a tough one, "Who are you really?"
She leans back, looks up to the left then closes her eyes.
- Who am I? I don't know how to answer. No-one ever asked me this.
- Maybe you could start by eliminating wrong answers. Who are you not?
- I'm not a mother or a wife.
- You are single?
- No, I have two kids and I'm married. But these roles are not who I am. I work as a fashion buyer, but that does not define me either.
He nods to encourage her.
- Go on.
- I'm not any of my roles. I'm not even a woman.
- Go on.
- I'm just a little girl who has pretended to grow up.
- I like that answer.
She takes the phone from him.
- Now it's your turn.
- When is the last time I cried? Oh, that was when my dog died. He was like a close friend. No, he was a close friend. Look, I'm getting teary thinking about it even now, a year later. He was a hugely special dog.
- I know what you mean. We bond with their canine souls.
- One more for you: what do you wish you could share with someone?
- My love of travel. Bert and I are very compatible, but he has no wish to travel outside Australia. I can't understand that. It's a whole world out there.
- It sounds like he is less open than you.
- He's open to culture, new ideas, food and so forth, but he has this mind-set that we have it all in Australia.
- How lucky for me!!
They finish the dessert and wipe their mouths.
Sylvia - How do you rate this sweet?
- I'd give it nine out of ten.
- Why? What could be improved? It's exactly right.
- Come to think of it, you are right. It's a ten indeed.
- You didn't start your working life making desserts?
He grimaces.
- No, but that is another painful memory.
- Why so?
- I worked as a mechanic's assistant in a garage. I was hopeless... Last question for you: whom do you envy?
She lowers her voice and leans forward.
- That's my big weakness. I envy so many people. Mothers whose kids are smarter than mine, mothers who are better mothers, or have more beautiful houses, or are much better at playing bridge... women who are beautiful, of course. I don't want to go on. I'm the most envious person - you'll think me awful.
- I appreciate your honesty. We all have something we are not proud of. The positive thing about envy is that it makes you strive to achieve what you envy.
- And you, what do you envy?
- I envy people who are much smarter than me, more competent, who have far more savoir vivre. I compare myself and it makes me feel small and inferior. The things I do seem trivial.
- You are very hard on yourself.
- Rationally, I can argue against these feelings, but it doesn't help. I feel like a fraud, a pretend person.
- You are nothing of the sort.
=========================================================
They meet again the next morning in St Mark's Square, by the bell tower. The swarm of tourists is thick, snapping selfies prolifically. They stroll away from the crowds towards the Arsenal.
Sylvia - Do you believe one can love two people at the same time?
They sit down on a shaded stone bench by a fountain with turtles in a small park. It is much quieter here.
- Obviously, yes. A mother loves her children, and hopefully her husband as well.
- What about two romantic loves?
- I think so. The human heart is volatile and elastic.
- That sounds mechanistic!
- Yes, I phrased it badly. But, but...
- Go on.
(Blurting it out) I already love you, as well as my partner, who is blissfully skiing as we speak.
Sylvia is visibly startled. Her cheeks redden and her mouth opens involuntarily. The conversation pauses. She struggles to regain her composure.
- Really? Why would you love me?
- Why? Because you are the sweetest woman I have ever met. When you smile, I melt.
- It looks like I have power over you. I don't like that idea. I don't want to be seductive...
- I know. It's not physical. There is something entirely fresh and naive about you. Also, you are so open, delightfully so.
- Since we are being open, I too am drawn to you. Your gentleness and honesty pull me to you.
- Thanks.
- You make yourself vulnerable to me. That is what touches me.
- Why so?
- It means we connect at the core, not at the superficial level.
- Yes, you are right.
- I feel like I've known you for a long time. I trust you completely. Yet this is only our second meeting.
- I feel that way too. I don't think you could ever betray my trust.
- But we have a problem.
- I know.
- I can't just let you go. Yet I love Bert.
- I have the same quandary. Should we elope?
- (Throwing up her hands) I wish it were that simple.
They fall silent for a while, looking out across the water to the island.
Stevan - What is your greatest fear?
- Being abandoned alone. I feel I am nothing without a deep connection to someone.
- Do you fear for your kids?
- Yes, every mother does.
- My greatest fear is that I am nothing, a failure.
- Why?
- I feel I need to achieve something, be productive, or else how can I justify being here?
- What about love?
- Loving someone is an achievement.
- You love your wife, don't you? - Yes, I do. But here I am, betraying her with you.
- It's not betrayal.
- You are right, it's not betrayal, not yet, anyway.
- What do we do, you and I?
- I don't know. We could walk away from each other. Or we could lead a double life...
- I can't walk away from you.
- Nor can I. The thought terrifies me.
- How would your wife react if she knew?
- I think, I think she would try to understand, but she would be hurt. She would think she is not good enough to hold me.
- I think my husband would be jealous, though he isn't a jealous person.
He takes her hand in both of his and leans toward her, pulling her gently. He whispers.
- Do you get lots of affection from Bert?
- Yes, he is affectionate alright. I don't really lack for anything from him.
- So how come you were drawn to me?
- Because, like Bert, you have these beautiful qualities, ones that touch my heart.
- Yet I am quite different?
- Of course.
They stroll aimlessly till they reach a small, paved square churchless and bereft of tourists, with just an empty cafe and its striped yellow and white umbrella. The sun is almost vertical, there are no clouds and the sky has the bright summer blue. The mercury is high. Incongruously there is the chirping of birds plus the vague sound of boats in the distance.
Sylvia - What are you thinking?
- That I want to kiss you.
- (Startled) Here?!
- No-one knows us. It won't make the society pages.
- It doesn't feel right to do it in public.
- Do you want me to hire a motel room?
- Don't be silly!
He embraces her very lightly and slowly draws his face close to hers, till their lips almost touch. She cannot help smiling. Then it is she who closes the gap. They kiss lightly, but for a long time. It feels like an electric current between them, despite the lightness of contact. He inhales her citrus scent. She pulls away. Sylvia - We'll have to do this again, some time.
He gently takes hold of her shoulders. She looks down, as if embarrassed, then raises her brown eyes to meet his. He fancies seeing a sparkle in her eyes. He touches her nose with his, then turns his head to kiss her lips side-on. She closes her eyes and embraces him very lightly. He lets go of her shoulders, causing her to hold him more tightly.
At last, he pulls away. They stand a little apart in the small empty square, framed by the bare stone walls. Her light red dress wafts in the breeze as they search each others' eyes. When her hair covers her face, she brushes it aside reflexively.
Stevan - That was something. I don't think I've ever felt a kiss as intimate as that.
- Yes. It's not physical. It's the way our feelings meld with each other.
- I feel that too.
He lightly takes her arm as they pass over the paving stones diagonally across the empty square. Her hard heels make a satisfying clack, whereas his sandshoes make not a sound. They walk along a narrow canal and then cross a small bridge to the other side.
- It's your gentleness that speaks to me, that turns me on.
- For me, it's your softness, your receptiveness. It's like you have no barriers, no defences.
- That's true. I leave myself vulnerable and sometimes people hurt me.
- I hope you never lose this quality.
- Speaking of losing, tomorrow is my last day here. I leave early the next morning.
His face plummets and he stops mid-stride.
- Oh, God! Where did the time go? I could not bear to ask when you were leaving.
She looks at him intently.
- Can you absolutely promise me one thing?
- (Quickly) Of course.
- That we never lose contact.
He breaks into a wide smile.
- I'm so relieved you said that.
He kisses her hand, squints as he looks at her face, back lit by the sun. She too is smiling broadly, showing her dimples.
Stevan - I dreaded getting a "return to sender" message.
- That's not going to happen.
- For that matter, when do you arrive in Sydney?
- July 28th.
- I'm still going to Spain, so I return two weeks after you. Say, where do you live in Sydney? Not in Penrith or Windsor, I hope?
- No, I'm a city girl. I live in Leichhardt.
- That's good. I live in Chippendale, in one of those row houses.
She gestures to cut him off with her arm and puts her hand on his shoulder.
- Let's forget about the remote future. We have a whole day all to ourselves tomorrow.
- You've seen the must-see attractions of Venice. Would you like to go to a major art museum or Torcello?
Her eyes light up.
- Both!
- It's a done deal! Torcello is really special and very different to the rest of Venice. It is the oldest island.
- With you as my guide, I think I'll see all the best that Venice has to offer.
- I hope so and my rates are reasonable.
He glances sideways at her with a silly grin.
- Mind you, I should not tell you this, but do you know what is the best thing about Venice?
- So tell me.
- It's that you are here.
- Like the Cole Porter song, "I love Paris"?
He lowers his head, as if to show her power.
- Exactly like that.
In the evening, they dine at an outside table at a small trattoria specialising in seafood, overlooking a canal. Their seats are extra comfortable and the evening is warm. Both have the sweet and slippery taste of yet another tiramisu in their mouths. Church bells ring out.
Sylvia - Sorry to break up the party, but I need my beauty sleep, I'm tired. But I'm excited about tomorrow.
She kisses him on both cheeks and flits away.
The next morning, he is downstairs in the cramped and ornate lobby of her small hotel. He is reclining in the only armchair, a pretended antique. Stevan is pretending to be nonchalant, but his heart is racing and his stomach is tight. The taste of a double espresso lingers reassuringly in his mouth. Sylvia gracefylly descends the carpeted stairs smiling. She is wearing a yellow mini dress, that reaches her mid thigh, with a wide black belt and inelegant brown walking shoes. A woven blue handbag over her arm.
Sylvia - Hi, fancy meeting you here!
- Yes, it's sheer coincidence, but it must be a meaningful one!
She strides purposefully towards the door, watched by the young porter.
- (Sounding businesslike) OK, I'm ready.
They hug once they are out the door. Stevan doesn't want to let her go, but she breaks away.
- We can't do this all day! You're a total wuss. (Teasingly) Don't forget you're just my tour guide.
- Sorry, I'll try to behave.
They walk out together and follow a zigzag path through the maze of narrow alleyways ringed by stone houses. Stevan lightly takes her hand as they walk. It is a fair distance across Venice to the ferry stop. He points out the ancient hospital and other landmarks. They wait for some time at the quay, watching the lapping of the threatening sea as the puffing ferries come and go. Their vaporetto arrives and Stevan helps her embark. He lets go of her hand as they sit down, taking the last two seats. She acknowledges his gesture with a smile. They sit in silence on hard seats in the crowded craft. It does not feel right to converse with so many people around them. A Babel of tongues, including even Italian, assaults their ears. The engine is loud. The transit takes half an hour.
There are only a handful of tourists when they disembark at Torcello. It is almost silent and improbably verdant. They walk along the paved walkway, with a canal on the right and old brick buildings on the left. On the way to the 9th century church, a bearded hawker is selling shawls and glass jewellery on a small stand. Stevan stops to examine a necklace of millefiori pieces rolled together into largish balls. Stevan handles the balls, feeling their irregularity.Stevan - I think this is sweet. It is handmade and irregular. Can I buy it for you?
- Only if it costs a fortune.
Stevan pays 30 euros to the man. She places it around her neck.
- My, are they heavy! I'll have to watch they don't knock out my teeth.
- I think they suit you, being unpretentious but decorative.
- Yes, I hate fussy-looking jewellery.
She flashes her large boulder opal bracelet in front of his face with an exaggerated gesture.
They reach the ancient church, whose brick facade is bare of all decoration. After inspecting the interior with its mosaic saints, they climb the low bell tower to survey the views from arcaded windows on all four sides.
Stevan - I've been here before, alone, but it feels entirely different sharing it with you.
He gently flicks her hair away from her eyes.
- It's great to share such a highlight. Thanks for bringing me here. Let's go for a walk in the greenery. I did not expect this in Venice.
They descend and then stroll away from the church, through greenery towards the shore opposite to the ferry stop.
They pause at the water's edge where there are no people. It is almost silent.
Stevan - Close your eyes. Tell me what is in your mind right now.
- Just a blank... The feeling that you are close by. Happiness, a peaceful feeling. I want to hold on to this moment.
- Sadly, it will pass.
She half smiles then turns away.
- Don't say that.
They walk in silence hand in hand along the water, away from the ferry stop, surveying the fields. She stops and turns towards him.
Sylvia - Just think, people have been coming here for more than a thousand years. I feel like we should honour these long dead human beings in some way.
- I think I know what you mean. This place should be honoured.
- I'm glad, very glad, that I'm here with you.
She places her head on his shoulder, a gesture that warms his heart. He puts his arm around her waist, sliding his hand over the delicate texture of the silk.
They wander over to a small but eclectic museum curated by the son of the artist and his enormous black dog.
It is midnight. They are in her third floor hotel room with a high ceiling featuring large beams. Stevan is about to say goodbye.Sylvia - You can't go home tonight!
- Really?
She pulls him to her. They tongue-kiss for a long time. Then they separate and stare into each other's eyes, trying not to smile by unspoken agreement. He breaks first, then they both laugh.
Stevan - I could just stare into your eyes, make love to you ocularly, if there is such a word.
Sylvia kisses him again. He inserts his hands into the back of her blouse and caresses her back. Sylvia does the same to him. He lifts her blouse over her head, exposing her white wonder bra. She unbuttons his shirt, slowly, without breaking eye contact. She pulls it off and flings it behind her, daring him with her eyes to proceed.
He gathers up the hem of her short yellow skirt till her white panties are in view. He grasps her bottom over the material, then under it, clasping her to him. They tongue-kiss again, exploring each other's tongue and mouth. Sylvia opens his belt, pulls down his trousers and underpants, so that he is naked. Stevan pulls down her panties and places one hand at her pleasure centre, the other on her buttocks. He leads her to an upholstered chair, pulls up her skirt again, and has her sit in his lap facing him. His erection pokes up between them, next to her pubis. He caresses her face and hair. She closes her eyes, surrendering to his caresses. Then he descends to her neck, before moving to her upper chest. He unhooks her bra, releasing her breasts, which are small. He cups them, fondles each nipple with two fingers. She rises up and guides his penis inside her vagina.
Stevan - Ahhh!
She moves up and down, but the position is restricted. So after a while, they separate and transfer to the bed. Sylvia has him lie down on his back and sits astride him, guiding his member into her. He cups her small breasts as she gently bobs up and down on his rod.
Suddenly, she shrieks in pain.
Stevan - Did I hurt you?
- No, it's my back. I have a terrible muscle spasm.
She grimaces in pain as she separates from him.
- I'm so terribly sorry, but I have to lie down till the spasm passes.
He helps her lie down on her back.
- Any better?
- A little, because I am lying flat, but I can barely move. I feel 40 years older.
- I can imagine. The back is so central. When it seizes up you feel like encased in concrete.
He lies down next to her, covers her with the pink duvet and strokes her head.
Stevan - Would a massage help?
- Maybe, but right now all I want is to lie still. I can't even turn over. What an anti-climax!
- We'll not forget tonight. I want to stay next to you till the morning.
- That's what I need. I should be OK by then. I've had this before. I must have made an unusual movement.
They lie close to each other, sharing warmth. It takes them a long time to fall asleep.
They wake up at 6 am when her alarm plays Strauss Junior.
Sylvia - I have to leave at 6.30. Luckily, I'm all packed. All I have to do is put some clothes on.
- I can help you if your back...
- No, it is halfway OK now.
- Where do you fly to?
- Frankfurt, then Singapore and Sydney.
- I'll go with you to the airport. At least I can carry your bags.
- Thanks.
- Much though I love seeing your body, we had better get dressed.
- Look, my gentle lord, I'm not up to making love, but there is no way I'm going to leave you frustrated.
She takes hold of his penis, which swells up. Sylvia carefully gets out of bed and kneels on a cushion.
- This is a fantasy come true, or am I dreaming?
- You better believe it. I'm not stopping till you come in my mouth.
- Wow!
She takes his penis into her mouth, then licks it up and down. Then she starts to move up and down on it, gradually increasing the pace. All the while, she looks him in the eyes, while Stevan cups her breasts. After five minutes, he cannot contain himself any longer. He can't help groaning as his semen gushes into her mouth. She keeps going up and down till, the last drop comes out.
Stevan - That was fantastic! I'll never forget it.
She gets up gingerly to go to the bathroom to spit out and then returns.
Sylvia - (Smiling broadly) I am glad I could give you a pleasant memory!
She puts on a long bright red dress. He dons his casual pale yellow suit, panama hat and patent leather tan shoes. They hail a water taxi from the stand next to the hotel, which takes them to the terminal. The ride is a little rough.
Stevan - I have an idea. I'll try to fly standby with you to Frankfurt.
- That is sweet, but am I worth it?
- Don't talk rubbish. How long is your layover?
- Only two hours. But it means we have four more hours together, if you get to fly.
Stevan enquires at the counter and is over-joyed to score a seat.
- Great news!
She embraces him, kisses him on both cheeks then on the mouth.
Stevan - Every hour with you is precious.
On the flight, they are allocated seats far apart, but it is not full and Stevan manages to persuade the stewardess to give them adjoining seats. They hold hands as they describe ther lives in Australia.
In Frankfurt, they pass through the modern terminal of glass and steel. They walk slowly hand in hand, she trailing her cabin bag. They dodge the surging crowd and ignore the hum of many hurried conversations.
Stevan - You must be starved. Can I buy you a wurst breakfast?
- That's the worst idea. Croissants with apricot jam and a turbocharged coffee could win my heart.
Her stomach rumbles, as if to emphasise her point.
- Let me try.
They walk past the souvenir stands and bookshop to a semi-circular bar. They sit down side by side on high stools at the sumptuous yellow granite counter, a surface with lots of detail for the eyes to focus on. Jazz is playing softly in the background, attempting to allay the tensions of modern travel. Sylvia gives their order of rye bread and double-shot espresso coffees to the barman, who sports a silvery beard. His English is perfect, with just a trace of a soft accent.
Stevan - I wish I spoke German as well as he speaks English.
The coffee aroma envelops them and the bitter taste causes each of them to perk up. Pellegrino water washes down the remains of breakfast.
She turns her head provocatively.
- What do you think about Bosch?
- I'm glad you asked. Well, it is a brand with a solid reputation, perhaps a little stodgy...
- (Interrupting) You can do better than that!
- You may have a point. When I was at the Prado, I stood looking at the Earthly Delights for 45 minutes. I guess it was an eccentric way to allocate my time in that incredible museum.
She leans back in her seat and gathers her long hair together behind her neck. Stevan is captivated by the gesture. Then she leans towards him and stares into his eyes.
- And what did you see during your private audience?
- So many permutations of human bodies and fantastic elements. Bosch's fantasy is extraordinary.
- Good answer.
- (Raising his eyebrows) You mean I pass?
- Not so fast.
She leans forward again, fixes him with her eyes.
Stvan - Ask away.
- What did Debussy say about Wagner?
- (In a flippant voice) That he was too Teutonic by far, or on the contrary, that his music strayed too far from the tonic?
She makes a fist and points down with her thumb.
- Not quite. He quipped that Wagner's music is not as bad as it sounds.
- (Laughing) So Debussy had a sense of humour, though not as wacky as his friend Satie, who wrote flabby preludes for a dog.
She grins widely.
She holds one hand horizontally above the other, held vertically. Pretends to look stern.
- I'll give you half a point for creativity.
- Here is one for you. Who wrote Stravinsky's Rite of Spring?
She waves her hands in the air.
- (Gushingly) Oh, probably some poor woman who couldn't publish under her own name.
- Stravinsky himself said, "I did not write the Rite of Spring". It sort of came out of nowhere, as though he had channelled it.
- It is music far out to the left field. Say, who is your favourite?
- (Shrugging) Bach, who else?
- I can't argue with that.
She smiles again.
They walk across the granite paving to her departure gate and sit on uncomfortable navy seats next to each other in a corner, facing the glass wall giving onto the tarmac. Next to them are two boisterous Asian couples, taking selfies. The manoeuvring planes below unsettle them, reminding time is short.
Sylvia - What's in your mind right now?
- That I want to fix this moment forever in my memory, your smile...
- (Dismissively) You're a hopeless romantic!
- Of course, but it's why you fell for me.
- Touche.
He leans towards her.
- And what were you thinking of?
- Oh, just about my yellow orchids, whether the neighbour watered them. Bert is away.
He takes each of her hands in his.
- I want to grab you and not let go.
She returns his stare.
- (Softly) We will see each other again.
- I know. Still, I needed to hear you say that. Words make things more real.
She draws closer to him and whispers in his ear.
- (Very softly) You do know that I love you?
The announcement that zone 3 has finished boarding almost drowns her words.
His expression brightens as though all his lights had been turned on.
- You mean madly, truly, deeply?
She tousles his hair and pulls away.
- I need to visit the ladies'. Please don't filch my jewellery (pointing to a small case).
- I'll try to hold myself back.
He watches her red shape recede through the throng, trying to imprint the memory. He suddenly feels alone.
She returns and sits down next to him again, crosses her legs.
Sylvia - (In a serious voice) Have you agreed with your wife to be monogamous?
- Not as such. I guess we both assumed it. What about you? Did you discuss having an affair?
- We did, but mostly in jest. However, we were both clear we would take the other back if one of us strayed.
He sighs, looking deflated.
- That does not help us at all, does it?
- No, it certainly doesn't.
He sits up straight.
- I guess we will have to tell our spouses the truth.
- It seems to be the only option.
- (Dejectedly) It is an awful one.
- Absolutely. I dread going back. Bert will be over-joyed to see me after the separation and I'll have this horrible news for him. What can I say to him?
He spreads his arms in a helpless gesture.
- I have no idea. I feel as lost as you.
A shrill female voice announces the final call for her flight.
She brightens a little.
- I have an idea. We could each role-play as the spouse. You could pretend to be Bert.
- I don't know Bert, so how could I play him? I have a better idea. You play my wife, who has found a new love, and I play myself.
- But I don't know your wife either.
- Just react as if you were talking to your husband and you had strayed. I'll play myself.
- God! I feel awful already, and it's just a role-play.
Her body stiffens visibly and her breathing becomes shallow. She goes pale.
Stevan takes her hands in his and smiles at her encouragingly.
Sylvia - (In a stilted voice) I don't know how to say this. I've got bad news.
- (Grimacing) Not your health, I hope. What is it?
- No, it's something else.
- So tell me.
- I met someone.
Stevan blinks and looks shaken. He scratches his head indecorously.
- That sounds serious.
- I'm afraid it is.
- (His voice rising) Is it a fling?
- No.
- Oh God!
He puts his head in his hands.
Sylvia - I don't know what to do. I love you both.
He looks up.
- We've been together eight years. How long do you know this guy?
- Three days.
The megaphone announces zone 4 is boarding.
- How do you know it's not just infatuation?
- I know it.
- What's he got that I haven't? - He's more gentle, more fragile, I guess.
- Where does he live?
- Sydney.
- (Plaintively) How did you think I'd react?
- (Defensively) It's a huge shock, I know. I feel terrible.
- Can't you say goodbye to him?
- No, I can't.
- What do you want? She folds her arms defensively, pauses.
- I really don't know.
- (Angrily) I've been pining for you for three weeks and now you tell me this by way of greeting.
Sylvia slumps down.
- It's awful. I'm sorry. Really really sorry.
Stevan looks sharply at her.
- Have you had sex?
- Yes, but you know that's not the point.
Stevan puts his head in his hands again.
- (Raising his voice) I can't process this. I don't know whether to be angry or sad.
- I'm as confused as you. I feel hugely guilty, yet...
- (Sharply) Yet what?
- (Agitated and trembling visibly) I have to stop! I'm getting the jitters, just hold me, Stevan.
He exhales deeply and embraces her lightly.
Stevan - That was intense. I could feel my blood pressure surging up.
- You sure got into the role. It felt so real.
- Yes, it did for me too, and I feel for Bert, I felt his hurt.
- That was horrible. But the reality will be even worse.
- It was awful for me too because I felt Bert's hurt, as well as your distress. On top of that, I'm the cause.
- (Spreading her arms) What are we to do?
- The essential thing is to avoid hurting anyone, or at least to minimise the hurt.
- Sure, I agree.
- The problem is not a lack of caring or lack of love. It's the exclusive nature of our relationships.
- True. It reminds me of what I read somewhere, that jealousy signals a lack of love.
He releases her and sits back.
- I think it's not so much sexual jealousy as emotional connection, which is exclusive.
She looks at him quizzically.
- But if it's not sexual then why isn't it like friendship? We have no problem sharing our friends.
- A close erotic relationship is not just friendship with sex. It's a heap more.
- It certainly is, but maybe it's about sex after all. We pretend to be above sexual jealousy, but maybe that's the actual crux.
- You may be right.
He suddenly jerks up.
- God! It's time for your flight! - (Looking at her small gold watch) I still have three minutes till they close the gate.
- Now it's truly a Faustian moment, to hold onto.
She embraces him more firmly.
- Never mind the moment, just hold me as tight as you can!
He does so, buries his head in her hair, smelling her apricot scented shampoo. He savours the warmth of her body as the seconds trickle away.