It was two days after my fortieth birthday and Saddine squealed with delight as she spotted me across the opulent lobby of the Ritz hotel in London. She waved as she dashed across to embrace me and guests stared critically, several with poorly hidden envy, while the somewhat scantily clad beauty wrapped herself around me, kissing me hungrily and all but making love to me there in full view of all.

Everyone knew her, or knew of her, of course. Even those few males who were not fans of her sultry, rhythmic brand of pop music, recognised her stunning good looks and the sensual movements of the lithe, twenty three year old body that frequently enticed and enchanted them with its sexually explicit gyrations on their television screens. Fewer still of those fortunate enough to have seen her live performance could have honestly denied that they found it to be just about the most erotic routine they had ever witnessed. I may not be bad looking and I'm in pretty good physical shape - for a forty year old - but she could have her pick. Male onlookers glared and wondered what it was that I had that they did not.

Yeah, right! I WISH!

"Got some change, man? I ain't eaten for two days." The whining and yet somehow slightly threatening request rudely tore me from my fantasy and I turned to look at the dishevelled young man.

Strangely embarrassed, as if he might somehow know my thoughts, I muttered something incomprehensible and gave him several pounds in loose change that was in my pocket. He stared at it with what I saw as ungrateful disdain and said, "Thanks." I'm not sure if I imagined the disdain, or the sarcasm in his voice, but I turned back at once to staring at the Saddine poster in the window of the music shop in Oxford Street. It proclaimed the roaring success of the singer's UK tour and extolled her sexiness and the erotic delights that would be displayed on stage just for me, or whoever else viewed the poster. However, my mood was altered by the interruption and, try as I might, I just could not return to my daydream, so, sadly, Saddine was no longer mine. I ambled dispiritedly off towards Selfridges, where I had agreed to collect a package for a friend.

I completed my task in a sort of melancholic daze and, sometime later, found myself (I'm still not quite sure how I got there) staring into the window of a very well known and incredibly expensive handbag and accessory store in Bond Street, a considerable walk from Selfridges and not at all in the direction I needed to go to get home. Although I only live in Hampstead, I rarely spend much time in central London and I was not entirely sure where I was, for a moment or two at least.

Exasperated by my foolishness, I turned abruptly and made to stride off back towards Oxford Street. It was then that, blinded by my annoyance at myself, I collided with a woman in a headscarf, Denim jacket, jeans and dark glasses. She had been coming out of the expensive store and her purchases from there and, I guessed, elsewhere too, were immediately scattered across the pavement. "Shit!" I heard her breathe and I at once put out a steadying hand stop her falling. Roughly, she shook herself free and stooped to pick up her shopping at the same moment that I tried to do likewise. The dark glasses had become dislodged by our collision and, as we knelt facing each other among her scattered parcels, I stared into the angry, bright blue and stunningly beguiling eyes of Saddine.

"Christ," I exclaimed. "It's S…"

She silenced me with a finger to her deliciously pouting lips and the wonderful blue eyes lost their anger for a moment to plead with me for understanding.

"Er … Oh, sorry. I, er … Christ!" I repeated.

She smiled then and told me, conspiratorially, "I'm playing truant,".

I grinned as we stood up and I handed her the last of her packages. "Good for you," I told her. "Can I … Er, I don't know … Do anything. I mean - carry your bags, or anything?"

"No. No thanks. It's very sweet of you, though."

"Sweet?" I thought. Sweet wasn't an expression I would have expected this sex goddess to use. I spread my hands and then shrugged my shoulders. "It seems like the least I could do after I knocked you flying."

She looked at me, although I could barely see her eyes now the dark glasses had been replaced. "You could buy me a cup of coffee - if you know where to get a decent one somewhere around here that’s not too big and open."

"Well, I … In Hampstead, where I live, it would be different. Here, there's a…" A sudden and unexpected flash of brilliance came to my rescue, "Hey," I said quickly, "I tell you what, there's a nice little place near Covent Garden. It's not far from the theatre district. It's a real French Bistro. The owner has a place in Hampstead too and, since he's opened up here as well, I've come up a couple of times to see him. He's a real nice bloke. It's a little way from here though." I have no idea why I needed to explain all this to her, but it seemed that I did.

She thought for a second and then nodded. "Okay. Get a cab, eh?"

"Oh, yes, definitely." I must have used up several years of my allowance of good luck, which is a pretty meagre ration at the best of times, or some deity was having a bad day and accidentally smiled on me, because, for once, a taxi came along, I hailed it, and it pulled straight over, empty and willing to work.

"Some trick," Saddine smiled, admiringly.

"Sheer luck," I replied and then mentally kicked myself for being so stupidly honest.

In the cab I wondered if I was fantasizing again and pinched myself. It hurt! I sneaked a glance at the seat next to me and she was definitely there. Could I really be dreaming this. I thought not since my imagination where women is concerned has always been pretty much limited to the obvious and, anyway, I would not have dreamt up the faint, but unmistakable, scent of her expensive and far more sophisticated perfume than I would have attributed to the raunchy image I had of her.

We got out at Francois' place and I paid the cabbie. "This is great," she said in the soft drawl that identified her place of origin as the American deep south, as we entered the bistro and she took in its authentic French intimacy.

"It's better than the Ritz," I agreed, as we made for a table in the corner and sat down.

"Huh?"

I blushed and stammered, "Er, nothing. Er … It's … Er, just something I was thinking about earlier."

She frowned. "Oh."

I changed the subject quickly. "I wonder if Francois is in today."

As if on cue, the French owner appeared through a doorway. "Michael! I am 'appy to see you. And you bring a beautiful lady to visit my little place too."

I grinned and nodded. "Very beautiful indeed."

The table my companion had selected was rather tucked away and there was some greenery that shielded us from view from the entrance. Additionally, she picked the chair that presented her back to the rest of the place. She removed the dark glasses and her stunning blue eyes smiled at me. "You ain't so bad yourself," she grinned.

"Me?"

"Yes you … Michael, is it?"

"Sorry. Yes. Michael Farmer. Mike to my friends."

"And does that include me?"

"Eh?"

"Should I call you Mike?"

"Oh, yes, of course. In fact, you can call me anything you damned well please. This is incredible." I heard my words and despised myself for being so pathetic. "Sorry," I repeated.

"What for?"

I grinned. "Being such a drip."

"Oh." She turned to the patient Francois, who was still standing there, unruffled and smiling. "Coffee, please. French coffee."

"Small and black?" Francois queried.

"Large and black - American style, but French, if you get my drift."

Francois grinned. "I get your drift. Just the way Mike likes it, I think."

"How about that. Okay - whatever."

"You want something to eat - some nibbles per'aps?"

"No thanks." Saddine pointed to her stomach. "Dieting," she explained.

"That is very unnecessary, I think, if you are not offended."

"You're a doll, Francois, but no."

The Frenchman looked a query at me and I waved a hand to decline. I was actually famished, but there was no way I was going to sit and stuff my face while a stunner like Saddine sat opposite me with nothing. She understood at once and came to my rescue. "Oh, okay then. Some nibbles, eh? For both of us, I think." She grinned at me and I nodded.

I stared at the beauty opposite me and presently she stared back. "Saddine," I began, whispering her name.

"Call me Jo. It's my real name."

"Bu… Yes, of course. Jo." I decided that candour was not such a bad idea after all. Apart from anything else, I had come to the conclusion that I could not possibly carry on any kind of sophisticated conversation with anyone as famous and out of my league as she was. I spread my hands a little helplessly. "I don't know what to say to you," I confessed. "I mean I don't want to babble and tell you how wonderful you are and what a fan I am and how I fantasize about you and all that stuff. I'm sure you know all that anyway and hear it all the time."

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2007