Distribution: Flights.
Disclaimer: I don’t know this fine honey, nor do I own him but Lena is mine, as is this story.
Notes: I read a little article in US magazine and inspiration, finally, struck.
I have no idea why she caught my eye… sitting in this airport terminal, looking incredibly comfortable in baby blue running shoes, navy blue velvet track pants and a white tank top. The top half of her track suit is lying on the seat next to hers, on top of a huge red leather tote from which she is occasionally pulling banana chips she is munching absentmindedly. Her nose is buried in a book about Nietchzian philosophy and she occasionally munches on a strand of her hair that has escaped her very loose ponytail, keeping her full mouth in constant movement.
“What are you looking at man?”
I nod over to the woman, who still has no clue she is being so closely watched, as Joey sits next to me. He looks over at her as well and I watch him stroke his chin pensively and then he looks back at me, shrugs at me, “I don’t get it.”
“What is it that you don’t get? That she’s beautiful?”
“Beautiful? Come on… give me a fucking break!”
“Look at that smile, those eyes…”
“Her front teeth are too long, and is that a zit on the side of her nose? Totally nasty…”
“True… but she doesn’t give a shit, does she?”
“And not giving a shit makes her hot, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a fucked up logic. I think you’ve been without for way too long man…”
“What do you think that cute dancer and I did last night? Get down on our knees and pray?”
“I bet one of you did!”
I laugh, I can’t help it. I’ve recently closed a chapter in the book of my life, a chapter which had included far too much pretense and deceit and I’m making up for it, being the young man I am supposed to be. I sit back and enjoy the view as the girl switches position and tucks a leg under her round tush.
“Ok… I can get cute,” Joey says, “but beautiful? I mean, Janet is beautiful… I mean that girl is ta-dow! But this one, compared to her just ain’t…”
“But this isn’t about comparing this girl to Janet… it’s about appreciating her as is, on her own merits. I mean, look at that hair… it’s not just brown… it’s got gold in it and some red too… it’s just so alive…”
Joey throws his hands up in the air and walks away, shaking his head in total disbelief. I chuckle and when I look back at the girl, I realize that her book is now on the seat next to her and that she’s staring at me, her uncommonly pale grey eyes sizing me up and taking in my looks. Behind me, a plane starts rolling down the runway and the sun it’s been shading the lounge from now fills it, its bright light bouncing right off the clear lenses of her glasses, glasses I hadn’t even noticed, perched as they were on the bridge of her slightly crooked nose.
I hear absolutely nothing as I get completely lost in watching her get up from her chair, slide her arms into the sleeves of her tight fitting track suit jacket and pull her huge tote over her shoulder. She checks the seat she’s just left and turns around, walking toward the lounge door and then, pushed by God knows what guts, I step in her way, “Hi. My name is Justin Timberlake and I was just watching you and I just wanted you to know that I think you have to be one of the most beautiful women in the…”
“Pardon monsieur mais je ne parle pas anglais.”
“French… you speak French?”
“French, oui… je ne parle que français. Qu’est que vous voulez?”
“Shit… uh… you,” I say very slowly, “are beautiful… beauty…”
“Beauty? Ah oui… beauté… oh, vous me trouvez belle? Oh merci beaucoup monsieur.”
“I… my name is Justin. What’s yours?”
“Justine? Votre nom est Justine?” she asks with a smile, extending the e at the end, and I know she’s thinking of the girl’s name.
“No… Justin… J-U-S-T-I-N.”
“Oh… Justin,” she finally says à la French, without the e at the end, “c’est un très joli nom.”
“Uh… merci… what’s your name?”
“Lena… je m’appelle Lena.”
“Lena…”
“Je dois m’en aller. Justin, ce fut un plaisir. Au revoir.”
And with that, she walks away from me. I sigh… sometimes, I do better with women when I just watch them… the talking thing is just not working out. The singing thing rocks though, I smile as I turn back to the guys and take one of the bodyguard’s places at the poker table… if I can’t get the girl, I can at least fleece the guys at poker.