He hesitated before plunging through the door into the crowded lobby, brief consideration given to joining the lonely looking smokers and vapers still lingering out on the street, not friends, not quite acquaintances, only sharing a common need, all the while snatching glimpses of the gathering inside each time the doors opened, yearning to join those inside, but still victim to their addiction.  He, too, had his own need… he stepped into building.

Assailed by the sounds, the scents, the visuals, the impact of it all leaving him momentarily disoriented, he paused before he descended the three broad steps into the swirling crowd.to sort the different stimuli into compartments, tucking information into little mental boxes to be examined and analyzed later.

The room, its footprint too small for the number of people gathered there, was decorated with large, vibrant, multihued banners suspended from the high ceiling.  The usual muted lobby lighting was supplemented by pools of intense colour, shifting, moving, floating on the heads and shoulders of the crowd as they made their way to the coat check, to the bar, to greet friends, the movement, the complicated dance contributing to the somewhat contrived carnival atmosphere.

A cacophony…the jazz combo trying to compete with voices, sharp, shrill, or deep and rich… the shuffle of feet and the clack of the oh so elegant high heels on marble floor… the sharp clink of glass on glass, glass on metal serving tray, the gentle gurgle of champagne poured, the celebration…an atonal mashup from which he could pick no discernable melody line… but he heard her distinctive, melodic laughter, somewhere.

The air changed, a surge in the crowd creating a small breeze, bearing the rich smells of the throng to him.  He breathed in the aromas, with their not surprising top notes of heavy florals and acidic citrus, making way for a subtly more pleasant heart note evoking thoughts of honey and vanilla, and what he often found to be the usual base note of crowds; sweat, earth, moist leathers.  And surprisingly, in this crowd he smelled arousal.  Was it the anticipation of the event itself?

And for this audience, the way they moved before the still closed doors to the theatre, an impromptu minuet, the waiting becoming an activity in itself.  There was an ever shifting pattern there, an ebb and flow of movement, the crowd becoming a fluid construct…he stepped into the current to find her.

Swept along, he listened for her laugh, her voice…He caught the flash of her eyes, bright, alive with enjoyment, pleasure in being with the crowd, the swarming…and then sudden surprise as she recognized him, the panic, the warning glance that showed him her companion, hovering…

He allowed the flow of the crowd to take him away from her, then agonizingly slowly back, to be able to brush her hand, her thigh, whisper “love” and be gone, deliberately cutting through the crowd, moving against the current, hoping that she would follow…

He waited just inside the portico, avoiding the eyes of the men and women who passed him seeking the rest rooms but scanning the crowd, ready… and he stepped forward, sliding his arm around her waist as she passed, twirling her, dancing her into the dark recesses at the end of the hall.  He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her into him, her body tensing.  He kissed her hard, then as he felt her body begin to relax into him, he eased the pressure of the kiss, flicking his tongue against her still closed lips, a delicate tracing that invited them to part, her mouth beginning to open…he plunged in, tasting… and she responded.

And just as quickly, with a whispered “‘Go!”, he released her back into the crowd…

He paused, and then followed her, scanning for his current companion.

“You’re limping…” his primped and carefully styled partner said as he approached.

“New shoes,” he explained.

“New shoes?  Not your boots?  Who are you trying to impress?  Oh my gawd!  She’s here, isn’t she?  Which one is she?  I want to meet her!”

“Maggie, the overture is about to begin,” he deflected, taking her arm and steering her towards the theatre.

“Overture?  Honey, judging by the blush, I’d say you’re already half way through Act 1…”