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The fall wind is cool on my cheeks, tinting them a rosy pink. I clutch my red pea coat tighter and slow my pace, taking in the breathtaking sight of the multicolored leaves on the trees dotting the sidewalk. The sky is ablaze with rich orange and golden hues like the remaining embers of a campfire, with the setting sun burning red. I am so captivated that I almost forget Naomi is waiting for our little reunion. It will be the first time in almost six years since we've been alone in each other's presence.
I consult the address folded up in my coat pocket, scanning the apartments until I find it and allow the imposing glass doors to be opened for me. My pulse skips excitedly at the prospect of being in Naomi's proximity. Since I last bumped into her at the grocery store on a fateful Sunday some weeks ago, we'd both been too busy to plan any time together. But I'd thought extensively about her warm, glimmering blue eyes, the soft feminine shape of her body, and the heat of her skin against mine. The brief yet sensuous fondling and make out session we'd shared back home before I left for college plays vividly in my stream of consciousness as I wonder how our little rendez-vous today will play out.
I tell the doorman that I'm here to see Naomi, and he nods with a smile, and picks up the phone on his desk to let her know that I'm on my way up. No doubt Naomi has already dazzled him with her irresistible grin and perfect charm. She's always intuitively known how to make people feel comfortable with her, which is why she's now pursuing her doctorate in Psych here in New York.
The private elevator to the Penthouse plays Sinatra, much more soothing than typical muzak, and is clearly a preference of the eccentric proprietors of the building. Naomi's Aunt Vivian is usually among the capricious bunch, but she is honeymooning with her sixth husband on the French Riviera. Viv always had a penchant for drama, tiring easily of her husbands (her longest marriage was only five years) and managing to always know everyone else's business. But she could afford to be extravagant-- according to Naomi, she was filthy rich several times over. She invited Naomi to stay at her Penthouse until she found alternate lodging in the city.
The elevator doors part and I am immediately awed by the sophisticated glamour of the hallway extending to the Penthouse. The lush carpeting richly squishes under my feet as I pad toward the door, but then Naomi swings it open and startles me. With a broad smile on her face, she throws her arms around me, her excitement contagious. Her feminine curves press up against me and I inadvertently breathe in her clean, sweet and fruity scent, reminding me of a warm apple spice cake cooling on the counter during dinnertime, enticing me to spoil my appetite.
"Oh, Morgan, it's so wonderful to see you," Naomi says, clinging on to me a bit longer as she rubs my back comfortingly. I run my fingers through her soft hair to the nape of her neck affectionately, simultaneously bombarded with a series of fleeting emotions and images from our shared past. Helping Naomi cut gum out of her hair that James, the fourth-grade bully, stuck there when she refused to be his girlfriend. At thirteen years old, swinging like monkeys after dark from my parent's old birch tree in the front yard, confiding in each other which boys we thought were cute and wanted to kiss. At eighteen, on Naomi's bed, leaning towards each other, her impossibly soft mouth searching for mine...
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