I meet Julian for dinner, wearing the nicest outfit I can muster – a long black skirt and a sleeveless black lace top over it. The restaurant is beside his hotel. We sit outside and are bathed in orange light while the sun sets.
‘Do I need to apologize again for last night?’ I ask. ‘You’d think I’d know better. I thought taking a tiny handful wouldn’t have much effect. Must have ruined your canal cruise.’
‘You didn’t. It was fun. I’m sorry I couldn’t have joined in, but then again, I’m glad to have not.’
‘You’re a great person, Julian. Really wonderful.’
He moves his chair over. ‘I’m going to try and kiss you, is that okay?’
I nod and he goes in for the kiss. The evening is warm. Amsterdam bustles behind us, people talk in a different language, tall blondes and tourists cycle to cafés or clubs or work or home. He kisses me and I get that faint carbolic smell again; it’s sour to my nose. Chemical, sanitizing. It’s a smell of sickness, it dawns on me. I stop kissing him.
‘Julian, are you married?’
He pulls back. ‘No. Why?’
Because there’s something, something not quite right, I can’t say it. ‘I dunno.’
‘I’m single for a few years. I’m not sure I could even say I’ve had a girlfriend. A proper roses and chocolates meet-the-family girlfriend. Do you have a partner or something? Is that why you’re asking?’
‘No, god no. The last relationship I was in was years ago. A dangerous thing with rescuing and destruction and so much lies. Years back. I spent a long time finding myself. I’m not toxic anymore though, promise. No need for a hazmat suit around me.’
I kiss him this time, putting more pressure onto his lips. There’s a clout of hormones coursing through me.
And it’s an evening of kissing and I like how it’s not horny kissing where all we want to do is rip the clothes off each other. It’s distinguished movie-style kissing. Not sloppy. Not deep. It’s regal and magical. We kiss and kiss. By the canals. By the bridges. In the main square. In front of hotels and churches and narrow houses. Beside the bicycle lane. Even in the red light district.
We kiss and go for a beer and I think it might be the most romantic night of my life. Actually, I know it is.
The kissing has to end, of course, and we walk back to Museumplein when I’m too cold to stay out any longer. The kissing would need to be warmed up by something sexual but Julian isn’t giving me the signs. In fact, he hasn’t really tried to touch me intimately, skin to skin. He only momentarily brushed my ass with his hand. I’m a bit frustrated that he hasn’t tried to take things further.
I lead him back to his hotel.
‘Can I come up? I’d invite you to mine but I don’t think you’d like to share a bottom bunk with me.’
‘Nat.’ He’s hesitant. He mustn’t want me.
‘Since we’ve already technically slept together, last night and all,’ I joke but he’s unresponsive. Unmoving.
He says nothing.
‘Oh shit. Have I upset you? This is being too forward, isn’t it? I don’t know how to do these things, I’m sorry,’ I say. Panic throbs in my temple.
‘No. No.’ He shakes his head.
‘You are married, aren’t you? I knew you were too good to be true.’
‘I’m not married, I told you. Not even close.’
‘Then what’s your secret?’
He crosses his arms and looks away. In a quiet voice, he says, ‘Come upstairs.’
Julian is frosty in the lobby as the pianoman plays a jazzy instrumental version of ‘Let it Be’, as the marble floors shine and the rich people saunter. He is silent in the lift. I seek his eyes, but he’s still, deep in thought. The lift ascends at a snail’s pace. Thankfully, no one else gets in from the other floors. I avoid my reflection.
I’m sorry by the time we get to the room.
He slides the keycard in and opens the door. Turns on the light. The air feels tense as I slink in behind him. The room is more spacious than I remember. We’re a world away from each other. He goes to his bed. I slowly rake my bottom lip with my top teeth.
At last, he says, ‘You’re perceptive, you know.’
‘I can go, Julian, I’ve messed this up. I’ve ruined the flow of it. I didn’t mean to offend you but I’ve had such a good time with you. It felt like we totally connected.’
‘Do you want something to drink?’ he says. ‘You’re a sweetheart, Nat. I don’t come across people like you often.’
‘Could I have a small glass of water and then I’ll go. I think the boys from my dorm are going to a club. I can chaperone them.’
He fills a glass. Then he sits beside me.
‘I’m trying to be a gentleman,’ Julian says.
‘From the man who’s used hookers,’ I say kidding, but cringe immediately, knowing once the words are out, it’s not funny.
He turns his shoulders away from me. ‘Don’t sling a past at me that you know nothing about.’
‘God, I’m sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. I don’t know where that came from. Insecurity. Shit. I agree about the past. We start from now only. From here. I didn’t mean to be a dick there.’
We’re very awkward as we sit beside each other on the twin bed.
I want him to kiss me. I turn to him but he’s expressionless. I note his smell again, the slight sweat, vanilla, meat, cinnamon, the carbolic. I trace where his hairline meets the flesh of his neck. He responds and kisses me. I apply a little more pressure. We move our bodies closer, I wrap my legs around him then we push against each other. He stops cold. Jumps up, steps away.
‘What is it, Julian? I don’t understand. Please be honest with me?’
‘What?’
‘I had a deceptive boyfriend before. I know the signs when a man is withholding, when he’s being secretive. I went along with it in the past. Even though my gut warned me. I ignored my intuition and it devastated me in the long run. I didn’t know how to trust myself for years after that. I won’t do it again. It’s blaring at me now. You’re lying to me about something.’
Julian looks stunned.
I stand. ‘I’m leaving. I didn’t mean for this to turn so intense. I wanted to have fun. I fancied you since I saw you on the flight. You’re smart and funny. And kind. It’s been such a nice few days. Anyway, I’m sorry and thank you. Bye.’
I gather my stuff.
‘Natalie, no wait, I like you, too.’ He stares into the middle distance. ‘But I don’t want to scare you,’ he says and gulps.
‘What?’
‘It’s not something you’re going to know how to deal with.’
So many things that could be wrong cascade through my mind that I can’t even pin one image down.
‘Try me,’ I say.
‘In the past,’ he says and his head bows.
I brace myself.
‘I was morbidly obese.’
‘What?’ I say and close an eye.
‘I was once morbidly obese. You know, fat?’
I nod.
‘I was once so fat, I was deeply ill.’
‘Really?’ I try to picture it.
‘Yep.’
‘You? You were fat?’
‘I was at death’s door fat.’
I scan his body up and down for this fat. But it’s just Julian there.
‘I lost the weight,’ he says, knowing I’m looking for it. ‘It took five years. It took determination and an overhaul of my lifestyle but I lost it.’
We are silent.
He stretches his fingers out and clasps them back in, and seems like he’s going to speak but doesn’t.
‘The thing is,’ he says eventually and pauses again. ‘There’s things about my condition they don’t tell you. They don’t advertise. There’s skin. I still have the skin. I lost the fat. Not the skin.’
‘What do you mean?’ I eye him, looking all over his body. He’s so tall I never noticed more than his height.