One Night In Amsterdam (7 page)

My problem was… what I felt for Emma wasn’t just sensual. It wasn’t a simple salacious desire for a hot, sexy woman. I was completely dazzled by her. Not just her beauty but her charm, her wit, her sharp sense of humor and her sweet smile made her completely dazzling. Actually, I found everything about Emma fascinating. I could listen to her for hours if only she talked a bit more. Especially about herself. Her brevity was killing me. Emma was everything I wanted and more. Sexy, funny, beautiful, intelligent and smart.  I was madly attracted to a woman who was about to become a doctor for God’s sake. If she knew about my infamous reputation, she would run away from me, but still, I couldn’t stop falling for her. I was certainly in trouble.

“I am sorry Dylan. I don’t know what came over me.” She uttered softly when I broke away from her. Her lips were still swollen. The thought that I was the reason they were swollen and puffy like that filled me with more desire.

“Are you kidding me Emma? You are apologizing for the best kiss of my life.”

“It was?” Her pink little tongue grazed over her lower lip for a fleeting second. The sight of Emma biting her lips, twisting her silky hair with her finger was so sensual that I couldn’t stop imagining things. Things that I wanted to do to her.

“Yes, it really was.” I managed to answer after adjusting myself subtly.

“I can’t understand myself around you. I am…” she paused. Her gaze was pensive. She was withdrawing from me which I didn’t like. “I become this different person.”

“You don’t need to tell me … look at me Emma.” I placed her hand over my chest. “Do you feel that? You did that to me. I am out of breath just kissing you.”

She looked at me softly, and then wrapped her slender arms around my neck resting her head on my chest. “I could stay like this forever…”

“Me too!” I agreed. After a long, comfortable silence while I held Emma in my arms, “we should have dinner,” I said.

“I completely forgot about the time. You must be starving.”

“I really am,” I confirmed. “How about you?”

“Famished… I was scared you would hear my stomach grumble.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“It felt so good to be in your arms. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Oh, Emma. What am I going to do with you?”

“You can start with taking me to dinner.” She replied earnestly. She was straight forward, didn’t play the little games others girls played. She didn’t feign. She didn’t pretend. I loved that she was honest, especially when it made her blush. Seriously, what was I going to do with this girl?

“I am taking you to De Basiel. It is THE place to dine in Amsterdam. Great food, great location.”

“Sounds great!” She giggled. Happy and smiling Emma was a beautiful sight. I wondered why she wasn’t relaxed like that more often.  “I assume we need to ride there and park our bike nearby. Wouldn’t that be awkward?” She asked.

“We are in Amsterdam. People ride their bikes even wearing suits. We’ll fit in just fine with Dutch people.”

“You definitely fit in … being well built and tall. I, on the other hand, feel like I am in Gulliver’s travels and I’ve just arrived in the land of giants.”

“Oh, come on Emma. You are fine. No, not fine, you are perfect. I enjoy how you fit in my arms.” I said frankly. In her petite but curvy body, she definitely looked much more attractive and beautiful than the six foot tall, esthetically altered models I hooked up with back home.

While she busied herself with finding a bottle of water for our ride to the restaurant, “Excuse me, Emma. I need to make a call,” I said, and left her alone with the breathtaking view of the cloudless blue sky over lush, green pastures and red-brick houses strewn in between farmlands.

I wanted to arrange our dinner reservations. Our dinner had to be great and memorable, and I had to find a way to know more about her. I certainly didn’t want this to be a one-time casual affair in Europe. A great romantic dinner in an immaculate setting might just be the key to open up Emma.

I called Lodewijk, the chef and owner of De Basiel. He was an old friend and I knew he would prepare an impressive table for us. I caught myself smiling, imagining Emma’s reaction. She was turning me into a hopeless romantic without even knowing it.

When we arrived at De Basiel, Lodewijk greeted us personally and took us to the table overlooking the canal, set on the cobblestone street. Tiny gardenias and tea candles decorated our black and silver dressed table. Tall wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Corton Charlemagne Chardonnay Vintage 1996 were placed on the table. Amsterdam’s famous bridges and trees along the canals provided the perfect background.

I pulled out Emma’s seat and helped her scoot back in. “What do you think?” I uttered softly in her ear. Her silky white neck looked even more gorgeous after she tied her hair up with her foulard.

“Wow… This place looks awesome!” She uttered enthusiastically.

“Live music will start shortly. A British artist, Chris Hill, plays acoustic guitar here every night. He has a great voice too. I’ve been to his guitar concerto in Dublin. He is here for the summer. He is really good.  I think you’ll like his music.”

“I’ve liked everything you recommended so far,” she confessed. She had that ambivalent, shy look on her face and her cheeks blushed each time our gazes met.

“Maybe you and I have similar taste. We would make a good couple.” I added in a sly tone.

“Well, it seems that we like similar things...” She squirmed in her seat, completely ignoring my other remark. “At least in regards to art, which by the way I’d like to ask you,” she said, and with her incisive mind and quick wit, managed to subtly turn the subject away from my comment.

“Alright, Emma! Ask away…”

“How is it that you know so much about art? I thought you were an investor. You probably have a business degree and all.”

“Yes, I have a degree in economics and also an MBA. I have my own company in…”

“No, no, stop! We agreed, Dylan,” she interrupted. “Still no work-talk!”

“Alright, fine! I can’t believe you are still forcing this,” I frowned, feeling a bit disappointed. I was hoping if I shared a bit about myself, she would feel obliged to share some too. I wanted to know everything about Emma, where she worked, where she studied, where she lived. However, so far she parted with no information other than her name and being a last year med student. That wasn’t much.

“Without going into too much boring detail, I minored in art history in college.” I said.

“You didn’t strike me as an art lover when we first met.”

“Well, now you know that you are wrong!” I replied with a slight grin. I knew my first impression on her wasn’t much more favorable, and I was determined to change that, even if it meant talking about myself and sharing personal, unpleasant details that I usually avoided.

“I was always interested in art. I’ve done oil paintings as a hobby since high school. My mother supported my passion for art, however, despite her support I wasn’t even allowed to paint at home. My father, of course, didn’t send me to a prestigious prep school to become a penniless artist. He had engraved it into my brain since I was a kid that I had to go to an Ivy League College, get a business degree and follow his and my grandfather’s footsteps. So, since I couldn’t paint, I did the next best thing I could do. I studied art.” I explained quickly. I was surprised how easily I shared things that I never talked to anyone else before.

She listened attentively without feigning interest; her green eyes were soft and caring. “You weren’t allowed to paint. That’s just crazy,” she said finally. Her eyebrows arched. She looked even cuter when she was furious and also confused trying to comprehend my twisted family. “Who didn’t allow you? And why?” She asked.

“The explanation to your question involves an unpleasant topic regarding my obstinate, intolerant, narrow-minded father.”

“I get that you don’t have a good relationship with your father.”

“Yes, that’s the polite way to put it.” I said. Talking about my father was the last thing I wanted to do. He was out of my life for nearly six years now and I wanted to keep it that way.

“So, what did you do? Did you just give up painting for good?”

“Not exactly. While studying at Yale… Oh, sorry, that just slipped.” I grinned after revealing another thing about my life. “I stealthily took art classes and art history.  I had to do it behind my father’s back, of course.  He would have caused a big scene and stopped paying my tuition if he knew.”

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah, pretty much. When I got my degree, he coerced me to work for him and threatened to cut all my financial support if I didn’t. That was where I drew the line. I was fed up with his unceasing repression on my life while he was fucking twenty year old bimbos. I told him to stick his money up his ass and get the hell out of my life. After my ‘not-so-smart’ remark, we stopped talking to each other.  Of course, he didn’t just acknowledge my decision. He decided to teach me a lesson by blocking access to all my funds and making it impossible for me to find a job. Since none of the big financial companies dared to conflict with my father, they didn’t hire me. I became an unemployed, broke, college graduate. That’s when Max saved my miserable ass. He took a chance and invested in me and we started our company together. We have been working together ever since.”

She listened patiently as I talked about my problematic relationship with my father. She didn’t pry with nosy questions, or judge me. With an indulgent smile on her face, she looked at me understandingly.  The deep, vibrant hues of her green eyes were glowing brightly under the evening sun. “Do you still paint?” She asked after a long, quiet minute.

“No, not anymore. I hardly have enough time,” I answered.

“It seems to me, if painting was your passion, you would have spared the time. I think not having enough time is just an excuse.”

She was totally right. It was strange how she saw through my perfunctory answer.   We had known each other for just a few hours, but I felt like she understood me more than most people in my life ever had. Yes, I was busy all the time. In the last five years, our business expanded much more than I had imagined and I always struggled to catch up with work, however, now that we were bigger, we employed fifteen brilliant consultants and five account managers.  I could have given my customers and portfolios to them to handle and had more time to myself. So why didn’t I? Why wasn’t I the idealistic romantic artist I used to be? I didn’t even feel the need to ask all those questions to myself until now. Emma brought back the memories that I buried deep inside. While I was occupied with asset allocations, enhanced index-fund investments or hedge funds in volatile markets, the Dylan I fought so much to be, the wayward son who stood up to his father in scathing terms disappeared and was replaced with this rich, famous, harsh Wall Street mogul. Infamous party boy on the weekends, cruel, merciless businessman during the week. I hated the person I had become.  Why didn’t I try to change?  Was I waiting for Emma to be myself again?

After a long apprehensive moment, “I think, I haven’t found anything worth painting in a long time. Not much inspires me anymore,” I admitted solemnly, and then added with a huge smile. “Somehow I feel like, that is about to change...”

“Dylan. You and your boundless flirtation!” She said jokingly.

“But it’s true. You fascinate me. I would love to make a drawing of you. Your impeccable beauty, long auburn hair, limpid green eyes. Look at your hands, they are beautiful…” Then, I whispered slowly. “I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands,  the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses, nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands...”

“Oh, my God, Dylan. Now you are quoting E.E Cummings… Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?”

“I don’t know. You inspire me and words come out naturally,” I confessed. “I am not trying to impress you by using some trite phrases. I hate clichés actually.” My gazes slowly drifted to her lips. I wanted to kiss her again so badly.

“No, Dylan, you are far from a cliché. Everything about you is so intriguing.”

I smiled happily. “Well then, let’s have a toast. To us and to this magical night,” I raised my glass and gazed deeply into her eyes.  “Emma, please eat something. Maybe some beef Carpaccio first. You said you were hungry. I don’t want to draw an unconscious girl.”

“I will. I just want to know if you are serious about making a drawing of me tonight.”

“The night is young. There is still time for more surprises. ” I winked, smiling playfully.

“I think I would really like that,” she replied with a radiant smile.

The next three hours went too fast as we sat outside in the comforting summer breeze enjoying the alluring view of the canal.  I had dinner dates where girls hardly touched their food but with Emma, we ate everything and even shared a chocolate soufflé. “Oh, how can anyone say no to chocolate?” she exclaimed happily when Lodewijk personally brought the dessert topped with his secret cream sauce.

Before we left De Basiel, I asked Chris to play one last song for us. Under the clear night sky dappled with bright stars and a full moon, I asked Emma to dance with me.  We moved softly with the music while she rested her head on my shoulder, her hand clasped around my neck. I buried my face in her soft curls, and inhaled her jasmine-vanilla scent. I could have stayed like that forever but the music stopped, announcing the end of a magical evening. I had to let her leave my arms.

Why did the time seem to fly when I was with her? Neither the afternoon nor the evening was enough. I wanted to spend the entire night with her now. “Would you like a walk by the canal towards the Wertheimpark?” I asked, hoping she would say ‘yes’.

“Sure,” she agreed with a cute grin and held to the crook of my arm. We walked the cobblestone streets slowly. I could tell she was getting tired but neither she nor I wanted to say anything. We both didn’t want the night to end.

“What a gorgeous view. I’d like to take a picture of you under the moonlight.” I said and turned her to face me.