He is back and he wants to see me. No, he didn't say it that eloquently, rather he stressed it more strongly than expected. He arrived unannounced, catching me off guard of this another intrusion in this mundane, laid back life I tried to live. We left what we had somewhere out of nowhere. The trail of the affair just went cold and it just grow on us we did not bother to fix it. The message in my mobile, followed by six calls which I did not bother to answer proves that he is indeed back. From where, I don't know and as much as I say to myself that I don't care, I was carefully applying my mascara and my gloss in the mirror, I want him to see how I changed the past six months he last saw me, no more the doe eyed, smirking, happy-go-lucky expatriate he came to know. I was staring at my contacts ladden eyes, green and brown specks, my shoulder lenght hair washed in his favourite scent. I chose the little black dress, a pair of red wooden slippers with intricate Japanese design I bought from Tokyo. Incanto Shine by Ferragamo. I looked preppy, yet elegant, just like someone who will just take a cappucino in Starbucks and not someone who will meet a former lover who marked her for sometime.
I hailed a cab from Muraqqabat, ignoring the stares of strangers on my legs, gave the address of this obscure Arabic restaurant down Jumeirah. I was fidgeting, uneasy. I scolded myself for not downing the last bottle of the miniature vodka I secretly stocked in the cupboard to ease my nerves. I tried to recall the first time I met him. That was almost two and a half years ago. I was a newbie in the city, trapped in this country where the scent and the sounds sent me in a limbo. I was melting under the heat of the Middle Eastern sun in Bur Dubai waiting for the company car to take me back to the office and I was standing in a little corner grocery behind Dhow Palace when a frozen mocha Dodge alighted in front of me. A man in his mid thirties rolled the passenger window asking me casually if I need a ride. Damn! What did my land lady said about car lifts? Never, ever dare. They will take you to the desert and rape you. But the stranger seems to be safe. He has this smiling, deep set, cola brown eyes, a five o'clock shadow in his face, a dimple on his left cheek. Full set of white dentures. No, he did not look like a terrorist nor a suicide bomber and the sweat rolling in my back caused me so much discomfort. I asked how much he charged to take me to Al Sufoh Road. He told me whatever I can afford. He said this with a smile and I noticed an accent. British? Maybe so. I said, 20 dirhams? He just shrugged his shoulders and he said, "Ok, let's roll away." The cool breath of the AC was heaven and I snapped my SE mobile open to call the company driver to go jump in the lake. A little bit politely, I told him I took a cab. Mr. Dodge Driver was eyeing me in the mirror as I safely buckled myself, placing my body in the farthest side of the passenger door, ready to bolt if he thinks dirty. He asked me if I really believed that he is making a living picking up strangers. I just shrugged. "So", he said, "Your name is Nikki?" I stared at him aghast. How the hell did he know? He smiled broadly, "Your name badge". I stared at my chest and pulled the badge brusquley, muttering stupidly to myself. I nodded affirmatively. (Good thing I did not use my real name). He turned on the CD and the song Tunnel of Love softly blared. "Dire Straits?", I said. He looked surprised. I told him I grew up listening to their songs, my old man's collections. He seem pleased. "You are a classic girl," he said. I beamed, nice compliment, I breathed to myself. I started the conversation, asking the usual things, the traffic in Sheikh Zayed Road allowed me to basked in the sounds of this '80's British band. He said that he is an engineer with projects around the Palm, he asked things about me, I told him with all honesty. I usually warm up to strangers, a bad habit. He laughed at my anecdotes, he quoted my favourite quotes. Basically, I knew the things he is talking about, we were laughing our ass off with the things we had experienced whilst living here. He was amused by my stories and he talked about living for a long time in the UK, though he is of Spanish - Lebanese descent. The reason for the accent. We reached the office and I thanked him. I handed him the bill and he will not accept. He never intended to take anything, he just saw me in Bur Dubai and wanted to play Good Samaritan. He wants to see me again, maybe for coffee, he likes to know me better, I seemed to be an interesting read. Out of being polite, I gave my number, never thinking that by that split decision, I have change the course of my life and his.
