Entry F4 part 1
At first he saw red. However, he immediately cast aside the indignation at having lost his seat. He was enraptured. He was mesmerised. He… he was caught like a moth to a flame. Her piercing blue eyes had captured his whole. He still saw the image of those steely orbs burned temporarily onto his retina, despite the fact that she had immediately turned to face the stage. He broke the stare on the back of her neck, wondering who had seen him ogling this beautiful lady. He tried to regain composure by casually looking into the empty patch of light shining on the stage where the chairman would be appearing. He still saw those eyes in his mind. However, inexplicably, they were now yellow! He blinked to try to restore normality to his brain, but by now his imagination was working overtime. He saw an empty chair not far away. This small chair was yellow too. He looked at the chair, deliberately defocusing his eyes to not see the pattern. Once again he saw the steely blue eyes that had so enraptured him a few minutes ago against the now contrasting background.
Impulsively he grabbed the yellow chair. With one suave movement he whirled the chair gently from where it sat deftly to a position on the opposite side of his body, inch-perfect along side the blue-eyed angel. He stooped to lower himself into the yellow chair. As his face drew level with hers, he tuned and whispered in her ear “I like to watch the bar too”. He sat back in the chair. He privately congratulated himself on such perfect chair positioning. It was almost touching side on, but perhaps 6” behind. This allowed him to casually admire her with imperceptible sideways glances. He noticed her subtle choice of perfume. He couldn’t remember the name, but it was one from the Giani Versace range he had bought Annie last Christmas. What was it now.. Ah yes “Yellow Jeans”. Wow – more Yellow!. He wondered, just for a fleeting moment, whether the perfume had magic properties and that that was why the earlier retinal image had changed colour to yellow. He was intoxicated now by two senses.
He remained entranced throughout the usual self-congratulatory training presentation, coming to his senses as the applause kicked in. He hurriedly joined in the clapping. His chosen position in the isle did rather expose him to daydreaming and poor timing of applause. Damn – his mind was so otherwise engaged that he had completely missed what the practical exercise was going to be this time. Each previous evening training session he’d attended in the past here took the format of a speech followed up with a practical exercise. Judging by the chair shuffling now taking place, this event was no exception. Last year it was a gentle work-out, with free speech. Some American idea he had thought. What could it be this year, he wondered, annoyed with himself for missing that part of the speech. His attention was refocused as quickly as it had been caught by the applause when the lady on “his” chair tapped him on the shoulder. “Will you show me how to play and let me be your partner, please? I have never played bridge before but I’d so love to play. I’ve read a couple of books on it”. “Of course, Miss…. Miss….?” “Oh call me Pen please – as in “Just Good Friends”. I started here only a couple of months ago working for Stinker in accounts”. “That’s wonderful, Pen. I’d love to show you the ropes on bridge – although I’m no expert. We call him Pong in the quality department. I suppose he can’t help his surname, although he could control his flatulence with a bit more dietary care. If he does well at bridge tonight, perhaps we should start calling him ‘Trumper’!”
He suddenly wondered if, in his usual way, his Mickey-taking afterthoughts were going to lose him a possible friend here. He soon realised that he had found the right level with this one though when she smiled at him – a real smile. He could tell a real one – a rare treat for him.
The stage mike was tapped to refocus attention once again. “Right. Strong intermediates and experts bridge please stay here in Barton, while beginners and less-strong intermediates please adjourn to the Yellow Suite on floor 2”. Wow – again Yellow. Why was everything tonight connected with Yellow? He was pondering that thought when Pen dropped her handkerchief – yellow of course! They both leaned forward to pick it up. Pen’s pinafore dress slipped a little off her nearest shoulder – to reveal a bright yellow bra strap. Oh well, he knew that, tonight, yellow was going to dominate – though he wasn’t certain just how much or in what way. Realising Pen was going to reach her fallen hankie first, probably as a result of him being temporarily stopped in his tracks by the additional yellow exposure, he stood up, in such a way that any casual onlooker would not have realised his original chivalrous intention.
By the time Pen had put her hankie away there was quite a crowd around the central lifts. He never did understand why there was no main stairway. “Look” said Pen, pointing to the other end of the foyer. “Shall we use that”? He looked and saw a small lift door – painted Yellow. They turned to one another. Each had a glint in the eye. They impulsively held hands, like schoolchildren on a first date, and skipped to the small yellow door. It opened as they approached, apparently anticipating their arrival. He ushered Pen in, glanced over his shoulder and followed her. He was sure nobody had seen them get in the lift. The door closed silently behind them, leaving them ankle deep in yellow shag-pile carpet.