Lady At The Dining Table

She laid the table for dinner and sat at her place facing me, looking straight and smiling. I had to pause.

She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her left ear. Her head inclined slightly to the right. I was reminded of an injured baby sparrow that a friend and I rescued. We were kids and while we explored ourselves, we wanted it as our pet. It used to peck at bits of bread on our fingers and then look at us, with its head askew. When we moved on and let it go, it survived for a few hours in the open wild.

With women, the eyes capture my attention. Without being distracted by the brows and the lashes, I try to find the right set of emotions that go along with the pair. I have seen beautiful eyes that look out of place on a laughing face. There have been the most ordinary that turn into precious gems when surprised by shock or awe or sheer fright. There are a few rare ones that look best in a stony-eyed stare. Not hers, hers are best with a tinge of mischievous romantic smile like the one she has now.

I travelled lower to her lips and took in the conservative fullness without an excessive pout nor was it too thin or dry. I moved higher. Each face has its own problems, some blemish that serves to highlight the rest. In her case, it is her nose, just a tad too fleshy at the end. Her dimpled cheeks too are an oddity, like a child’s doll in a ladies’ vanity kit. But I knew that I would love holding her face, caressing and kissing it everywhere.

Her eyes and her smile remained steady. She stayed still like a mannequin as if she was waiting expectantly to be appreciated or chosen, for a hand to reach out and touch her.

My eyes went lower. The top buttons on her light white cotton blouse were open. The parting opened and closed with each breath, the curve of her unfettered breasts flitting on and off. I thought of opening the lower buttons or just slipping my hand in the opening while I kissed her lips, before I kissed her there. Maybe, I would even button up her blouse, covering her protectively. I did that on my first such chance. I was sixteen and that girl was thirteen. Then, it must have seemed sexy to close than to open. Of course, it was more appropriate at that age. I did not have time to decide what I would like to do with this lady.

I had to end the pause.

The man sitting opposite to the lady, with his back towards me, leaned forward and reached for her hand. I could take him out, too. I could explain it as collateral damage. But that would be a sentimental waste and certainly not professional. He could even be the man who gave me the contract to kill the lady. I smiled at the cold justice that I would dish out if it turned out to be so. That is, if I wanted to play God rather than do my job from my dark perch half a block away.

I took another look through the telescopic view and then pressed the trigger. She fell back on her high-backed chair. A red bouquet spread out on her left upper chest. Her open shirt seems rather vulgar with her lifeless breasts open to view.

Her eyes had a stony-eyed stare. It did not look good like that. I would have liked to reach over and close those eyes.