I would like to say it was his eyes that caught my attention the first time I saw him. He had eyes like two blue guillotines, which could slice through my soul and leave me fallen and quivering. But no, it wasn’t that, because his back was turned.
He wasn’t wearing tight jeans. He was wearing loose cargo pants. So it wasn’t his cute backside, either.
It was his shoulder-length hair, flowing in the breeze like a field of thick blonde wheat, that caused me to stop, panting, with my heaving bosom almost bursting through my fuchsia-colored, cotton-polyester blouse. Every strand seemed to shout, “Look at me! I’m a man with great hair!” I envisioned myself lying on top of him, running my fingers through that hair, avoiding the tangles. I’ve always been a hair woman.
By a stroke of great good fortune, we were staying at the same five-star beach hotel on Capri that summer. I was in Room 205; he was in the penthouse suite, because he was a rich man who could afford it. He was a card carrying member of the Jet Set. I was a secretary who had won a free month in Italy by writing the winning slogan for Mamma Maria’s Frozen Pesto Sauce. In other words, there was no way in hell that he was going to swoop me up in his arms and carry me to paradise.
One morning, during the second week of my stay in Room 205, I was lounging by the hotel pool, wearing a flowing, cobalt blue gauze dress and a pair of gold flip-flops, when I saw him. He was wearing an open white linen shirt over a pair of Jogger Rio swim briefs, and a pair of Prada men’s silver aviator frame sunglasses. I couldn’t help staring at him. Neither could any other woman who was there, and half the men.
He ambled over to the pool, oblivious to the adulation around him. Suddenly, his eyes met mine and we were both struck with the lightning of love. He extended his hand to me. I rose, took his hand and allowed him to lead me to a secluded spot behind the arch leading back to the hotel. With one swift movement, he tore open the top of my flowing, cobalt blue gauze dress, sending buttons flying in all directions, revealing my blue Magic Fairy tummy control combination brassiere/camisole, which I had bought from a television advertisement for $19.99, with the option to get a second one free if I paid the extra shipping charge.