Invitation

When her attention returned to the gentleman at her table, Arthur felt alone again. He searched his memory for a line. As a veteran actor, he should be able to conjure up one line that described how he felt. Their unspoken exchange had been about Florence. She and the man were trying to remember the name of the restaurant across the square from the Basilica. Arthur did not reply audibly, but his lips shaped the word, “Oliviero.”

The young woman glanced up at Arthur a couple of times over her companion’s shoulder and looked directly at Arthur's lips. Those seconds, watching her eyes on his lips seemed to grow, to extend themselves. Interest was acknowledged… information was about to flow… judgments about the other were developing. It was a moment of polite eroticism.

Then she broke her gaze.

"Yes, Oliviero." She pronounced the word that she had seen Arthur's lips form. Without expression, her eyes left his and returned, with a smile, to the face of the man at her table.

Alamogordo was that sort of town. Tim's Courtyard was that sort of place. A stranger could walk in alone, find himself in a conversation, leave, and never acknowledge the person again. Discretion was part of the culture of the town. There are no secrets to keep because none are acknowledged because none are heard, seen, or mentioned.

Arthur looked across at the next table, drawn to the intimate laughter and whispers. He was nowhere in the scene.

Arthur was born in England. After college at Sandhurst and a year in Avon, he became a film actor and also toured with stage companies. He knew the names of more streets and cafés in Europe than the couple at the other table would ever visit, having chosen Alamogordo as their favorite vacation spot. He was not a name, but he was a talent, often playing a second or third to the lead. He was never a star, but he had steady work

The 1980s and 90s brought character parts. Now, he was cast in older, less active roles, befitting his eighty years. Because his modest career involved no need to spend ostentatiously or live lavishly, his retirement accounts were fully funded. After a year on tour in the States, his last play closed here in New Mexico, in the town known for its connection with the 1945 Trinity test, which was the first ever explosion of an atomic bomb.

For the first time in years, there was no new part in sight. Even his agent had retired. For decades, Arthur felt that he had always been one bad part away from complete obscurity and one good part from stardom. Fate had delivered him here. Arthur believed he could actually live a real life in the arid desert town.

A few years ago, people might have looked up in vague recognition, especially in Europe. But few here would notice him. And even if the classic movie channels ran his films, without his signature hairpiece, accompanied by the need for glasses and a slower gait than most of the characters he played earlier in his career, he was just another tall, handsome, senior, sitting alone at a wooden table in a little-known town in the Southwestern United States.

Arthur surveyed Tim's Courtyard with its uneven wooden tables and traditional décor. It was a favorite among both locals and tourists. He wondered if he could make it here as a real person. He turned his attention back to the couple at the next table. The conversation between them was intimate and intense. When she leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear, it was punctuated with laughter. Arthur liked her laugh. He envisioned himself with her and thought of the things he might say that would bring that laugh. She laughed again and then glanced at Arthur. Because she looked at him while she whispered, he assumed she was talking about him. Still, he avoided direct eye contact.

The woman turned her face toward Arthur. He saw her small, pleasant face as if he were looking at her through a filtered lens. As he continued to look, her eyes twinkled in recognition, knowing that she held the attention of both tables.

The waiter brought them the check, they left some bills on the table and then got up and approached Arthur. The man followed. She simply looked down at the gravel floor.

“We were wondering”, the man said, in the sort of explicit pronunciation and tone you would use with a non-English speaker,” if you would like to come along . . . and… watch.”

"Her demeanor gave no hint whether this was something she wanted or had acquiesced to. Quick, situational reactions and timing are a professional actor's tools of the trade. This time, there was no writer to furnish the line, no director to discuss motivation, no make-up to hide the flush in his cheeks. An invitation to see a beautiful woman making love had been presented. A simple and immediate yes or no was the only possible answer. Hesitation would have been awkward and, he thought, in bad taste.

“Yes,” he said, and stood and looked “I will watch.” He rolled his shoulders back to his full height. Arthur's seasoned voice and presence as he stood had not been expected. The quality of his voice and his English accent surprised the man. Arthur’s answer and the immediacy of it surprised Arthur as well. There was no doubt that he had become aware of her appeal and, it was would be a thrill to think of her nude. Perhaps, after all those years of being watched and judged, he would enjoy this as the ultimate in performance art.

By the time he had paid his bill and walked out of the archway onto the sidewalk, they were not in sight. “A pleasant joke, they had played on me he mumbled to himself.” In truth, he was relieved at the idea of being spared that much reality.