-13-
After leaving Central Park, Harry and Ruth stroll around the area, taking special notice of the decorations, lights, and people of NYC for the last time. Tonight, of course, is the ball, and the day after tomorrow, they go back home. So they take their time walking back, admiring the sights, the sounds and the people, not so very different than Londoners after all. They walk arm in arm, not saying much, their steps matching one another. Soon, perhaps, too soon, they find themselves back at the Plaza. And when they return to their room, Ruth heads directly over to the small table and the binder.
"No." He says firmly, taking her arm, "You've done enough."
She looks up, bemused. "But..."
"No. I mean it. You're to take some time for yourself." And he gently nudges her towards her room.
"But Harry," she says, reaching for the binder.
"No. And that's final." He says using his Grid voice. She looks at him then, and he softens his tone. "Go. Get your hair or nails done, or whatever women do to make themselves beautiful. In your case even more beautiful."
"Harry." She says looking down a bit.
"Go on." He says, softly.
"All right," she says finally and looks up at him, "But if you..."
He continues to nudge her to her door. "I'll see you later. Around 8. Now go."
She opens her mouth, closes it. Then smiling, she does as told and closes the door behind her. But he grabs the door knob from his side and closes it firmly, until latch and jamb meet. It opens almost immediately, though, Harry, still standing there. "Just making sure you understand," he says, "that this stays shut. So you have no excuse to come in and worry about the speech. " Then before she can say anything, he closes it again; the tell-tale click a final punctuation to his words.
Smiling, she shakes her head at the closed door. With nothing else to do but heed his advice, she begins to prepare for the evening just hours away.
A little before 8, Harry is almost completely dressed, except for his jacket and tie now on his bed.
"Harry?" She calls out to him, rapping lightly on the door between them.
"Come in," he says. When she does, he literally stops breathing.
She stands there, Aphrodite resurrected. One half of her hair is swept behind her ear, held in place with a sparkling hair comb; the other side of her hair is loose, falling softly around her face. The hairstyle perfectly mimics her asymmetrical dress, one shoulder bare, the other covered with a rich velvet blue, the deepest shade of blue he's ever seen, making her eyes appear even bluer. The neckline shows only a hint of cleavage, but it is the way the dress clings to her and falls off her body which makes his eyes open and his breathing stop. The first thought he has is that the dress is the classiest one he's ever seen. Fit for a goddess, indeed. That is, until he sees the slit in the front.
The slit that he knows he really should not be staring at so overtly and for so long. But he finds it impossible to do otherwise. Cut just a bit on the diagonal, it travels all the way up. And then up further still stopping only at the last possible moment, the v of her legs. And when she takes another step towards him, he wonders how in God's name will she be able to actually sit. Or dance. Or even walk and not start a riot. Or not get arrested, maybe. So consumed is he with that last thought that he forgets to speak. And when he finally lifts his eyes from that slit, he sees her standing there with tears in her eyes.
"Ruth," he says, coming closer, "What is it?" And then, instantly, he understands, " Oh, God. You're...exquisite. Beautiful. Yes. Really so beautiful that I..."
She bites her lip. " Really? Do you mean that? Or is it too…much?"
He almost touches her, but not quite. "Oh, yes," he says softly, "Very much. Beautiful." He moves in even closer, now just inches from her. "So very right. So very beautiful."
"Are you sure? I mean..."
His eyes go back to the slit, but he remembers to look up at her this time. "You're magnificent. But then again, I'm not surprised."
"But it's alright?"
"More than that. Perfect. Just like you."
"Really?"
"Ruth." He says, "I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick. And it will be," he adds, moving in as close as he dares, "my pleasure."
"Harry." She says. But she's smiling now with no hint of tears.
"I mean it," he says. "No one could do justice to that dress. Except you."
She shakes her head. "I wasn't quite sure that I ..."
"Come, "he says, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. And he leads her to the mirror, standing behind her. "Look. Look."
Their eyes meet in the mirror. And then he says to her image. "Remember this. How you look tonight. How beautiful you are." He runs his hand down her bare shoulder. Then up again, finally resting on the hollow of her neck. "So very beautiful." He feels her trembling under his touch. Turning her to him, he slowly draws nearer. Her eyes close and he kisses her. Gently. Delicately. She kisses him back, her arms going around him; the kiss deepens. He pulls away first. "Ruth," he says, breathing heavily, "I think…"
"Oh," she says softly, "Now you have lipstick on you." She runs her fingers over his lips. His eyes never leave hers as she continues to rub the lipstick off. She takes a tremulous breath. "We ...really should go." She begins to turn, but he stays her with one hand.
"I would rather stay here with you." And there is no mistaking his meaning.
"Yes." She says. "I feel the same."
"Do you, Ruth?" He asks. "Do you?"
She nods, her eyes locked on his. "I do." She says. When he moves in closer to her, she says, "But we really need to go."
He sighs. "Yes, I know, But then," he adds, a gleam in his eyes, "We can return all the sooner." He looks at her then. And waits.
She takes another tremulous breath. "Yes." She says simply. "Yes."
He gazes at her intently for a moment before turning from her, one hand brushing her shoulder. Picking up his tie off of the bed, he says, "Now I need to..."
"Here." She says. "Let me." Instantly, she is at his side next to the bed. As she begins to tie it for him, his eyes lock upon hers, now focused on her task. He breathes in the perfume she is wearing, just a hint perhaps behind her ears, he thinks.
She gives the tie a final tug. "There." She says. "Not bad at all."
He glances down at it. "Perfect. Like you." And begins to lean in towards her again.
"Harry," she says, shaking her head just a bit. "We really do need to go."
He nods, sighing. "Yes. I know. Blast it all. But you can't blame me for trying, can you?"
"No," she says, smiling, showing her dimples. Then she steps back and looks him over. "Did I tell you how handsome you look?"
He flaps his hand at her.
"I mean it. You're quite handsome, you know. Dashing. And you smell good, too."
His smile broadens. "Well. In that case, if you come a little closer, you can..."
She turns from him. "My purse and my wrap."
He watches her backside as she goes to her side of the room. Aphrodite vanishes, quickly replaced by Pomona, the goddess of abundance along with her derriere. Rounded, Full. Yes. Abundant.
When she returns a few moments later, matching wrap around her shoulders and sparkly bag in her hand, he's still smiling.
"Ready?" she says.
He nods wordlessly. And going over to the bed, slips his jacket on.
"Yes. You'll do." She says, her dimples flashing again. "Quite nicely."
He gives a little bow at her words. Then going over to the door, he opens it for her. As she passes through, he gets a lovely view again of the dress clinging to her shapely derriere. Quite nice. Indeed.