Here Comes Treble: R & J Revisited (Part Two)
...Jill liked Ross. After a session he always showered and put on a musky deodorant. His hazelnut hair was neatly styled, and when not plastered to his head with sweat it gleamed in the sun. His face had strong planes and interesting shadows. He had the most sensuous lips she had ever seen, not too full and pulled slightly down at the corners in a sort of lop-sided, self-deprecating, upside-down grin. And those eyes beneath their dark brows… more than once she felt herself melting into them, and had to control herself, in case he devoured her whole...
So Romeo and Juliet, reincarnated, meet up again - in a sweaty gym!
Isabel Bradley continues her remarkable love story.
To read the first part of this three-part story, and lots of other articles by Isabel, please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/here_comes_treble/
"That's what I meant about no staying-power! It's time you learned a thing or two, chum – and I'm going to make you stick to it, just see if I don't!"
Juliet's jaw stuck out in a very determined manner.
Looking a trifle less enthusiastic, Romeo grunted. "Alright then, let's get down to the finer points. How on earth will we recognize each other?"
*
Thump, thump, thump. The man on the treadmill next to her was really working out. He'd been at it since before she came into the gym fifteen minutes ago, had already been in a sweat then, peddling the exercise bike as if he was kicking his worst enemy. Just after she'd started her brisk daily walk, the man had moved in next to her. His feet had begun pounding the rubber, moisture flicking onto the control panel, the metal base of the machine, and even, she wrinkled her nose, onto her arm. Turning, she glared at him, almost missed her footing, and hastily looked ahead again.
Her heart, she noticed, was pounding at the exact rhythm set by the runner next to her. Her mouth was dry, and sweat was pouring down her face. What was wrong with her? She wasn't exercising any harder than usual. Without breaking stride, she pulled at her towel which was draped over the bar at the side of her treadmill. It dropped onto the floor. Muttering a curse, she bent to retrieve it, and found herself face-down on the roller, propelled inelegantly backwards and dumped on the floor.
Bruised in dignity as well as body, she lay there for a moment. The persistent pounding stopped. A somewhat breathless, but oh-so-cultured voice asked, "Are you alright?" To her horror, something warm and wet dripped on her back.
Angry with herself and with the boor bending over her, she heaved herself onto her feet without looking at him. She retrieved her towel. "I'm fine. Thank you. Please don't stop your run for me!" Her voice was gruff. She was hot from head to toe, hotter than her gentle exercising warranted. She rubbed her face and hair with the offending towel and tried to steady her breathing.
"You sure?" the odious man said. "Look, you're shaking a bit. Come over here and sit down, these two bikes aren't being used at the moment."
He took her arm in his sweaty hand and led her to the bikes. Strange, she was shaking. How could she be such a silly fool? She was a tad dizzy, too, sort of light-headed... Still angry with herself, she looked up at him, grey eyes dark and smoking. "Good lord - you've got the same hair-style that you had back in 1584!" she exclaimed.
Her rescuer looked at her as if he'd just come across an escapee from the nearest mental hospital. He ran an elegant hand through his shoulder-length curls. "Pardon?"
She gazed at him, astonished. Unresponsive.
"Er – my name is Ross." He tried to think of something else to say. "I, er – maybe I should find someone to help. You – er – did you bump your head?"
His golden eyes were flecked with green, and seemed to be deep, so deep she could see... She breathed in sharply. "Sorry, I just felt faint for a moment... did I say something odd just them? I – I’m alright, really, just winded. That was so stupid of me. Your name's Ross, did you say? Hi, I'm Jill. Do you come here often?"
After that, they frequently met at the gym. When they had finished their individual workouts, they would sit at the plastic-topped tables in the juice-shop, drink liquidized fruit and talk for hours.
Jill liked Ross. After a session he always showered and put on a musky deodorant. His hazelnut hair was neatly styled, and when not plastered to his head with sweat it gleamed in the sun. His face had strong planes and interesting shadows. He had the most sensuous lips she had ever seen, not too full and pulled slightly down at the corners in a sort of lop-sided, self-deprecating, upside-down grin. And those eyes beneath their dark brows… more than once she felt herself melting into them, and had to control herself, in case he devoured her whole.
Ross thought Jill was delightful. She drove him to frenzies of annoyance, never listening to a word of his advice, yet he was obsessed by her. Her skin, which reminded him of café-au-lait, was smooth and silky. Her eyes, a mysterious smoky grey, had an almost oriental slant to them. More than once, he felt the urge to kiss the black mole on her cheekbone, to drown in her kissable lips.
A year after they met, having become firm friends who fought ferociously and loved with passion, Jill and Ross were married in the nearest magistrate's court. No frills and flummery, not too much romance, but lots of fun - that was what they wanted out of life.
… to be concluded next week in ‘Here Comes Treble’.
By Isabel Bradley © Copyright Reserved
