Chapter 11: What Else You Want To Know?

It was the first time he had been to Jessie's apartment. It was a high-end, one thousand square foot apartment for singles. From the vase placed in the hallway to the floor lamp in the sitting room, every detail of the decoration showed that the owner had an extraordinary and refined taste. Jessie took off her coat and turned the music on. She hummed the song that was playing and walked to the kitchen. She soon came back with a bottle of red wine, a dessert, and a salad. A magazine was spread out on the coffee table. Jessie put it away and said, "I bought it because of you. The interview wasn't good. It was too general and vague, at least for my taste. For a low-profile and canny person like you, it isn't easy to have a good interview." She shook the goblet in her hand and added, "If I did it, I could probably do it a little better." Tristan gave her a glance and said, "Lucky, you didn't interview me." Jessie looked directly at his eyes and said with seriousness, "But I think I don't know you well enough either." "What else do you want to know?" The music was turning from merry and soothing to slow and lingering. Jessie had let her hair down, and she looked gentler. Her rosy complexion, blurred eyes, and full lips appeared more scarlet and fresh than the cherry in the salad. Her beautiful features made her difficult for him to refuse. Tristan didn't refuse, and then their lips were together, rubbing each other. Their tongues plunged deeper, rolling, exploring, and sucking. They were grown-ups. It was easy to get into this state. Tristan's hands were holding her slim waist and stroking, moving up to her soft full breasts. It was so natural that she started to loosen his tie. He gently pressed her hands and said quietly, "I have something else to attend to tonight." Jessie smiled and said with a scented breath, "Lousy excuse." Tristan calmed down immediately, and he got to his senses immediately. He heard her saying in his ear, "What if I won't let you go?" He asked, "Would you?" Jessie was a proud woman, and at the sight of the ring on his hand accidentally, her desire faded away in a half-second. She went back to sit on the couch and rubbed her temples, as if something occurred to her suddenly, and chuckled, "I almost forgot. I have a guest tonight." Tristan took it as the signal to leave. "Sorry. I have to go now." A few minutes later, when Tristan got back to his car, he didn't start the engine immediately. He lit a cigarette and pressed his forehead with his hands. He was surprised at his refusal. He had known Jessie for five years. Their relations were between friends and lovers. From the outsiders, they were a perfect pair, and with that notion, both of them could avoid a lot of suitors. Jessie was different from most of the females because of her education and profession. She was pretty but not hollow. Of course, she had the same characteristics as most women-vain, affected, proud, and domineering, but only up to reasonable degrees. Besides, he was no perfect man either. They hit it off. He appreciated her and rather liked her. And to top all these, it was to his advantage to be with her. However, he could see that their relations were like a kettle of water that was heating up but never quite boiling. It was his own problem, he knew. When the cigarette was almost out, he extinguished it. He caught sight of the lip print on the corner of his mouth from the rearview mirror. He wiped it with a piece of tissue, but then he found his shirt collar also had a lip print. He frowned and started the engine. Tristan drove back to his villa by the seaside. He had two houses. He lived in a high-end service apartment downtown most of his time and only came here on weekends or when he was in the mood occasionally. When he got in the house, a snowball-like fat cat jumped off the couch and rushed to him. He changed into slippers and wanted to hold them. The big cat detected his alcoholic breath and retreated in disdain. Tristan smiled and patted its head. "Be good. Papa will go to take a shower." In the bathroom, he took off his ring and put it in a box on the counter carefully before he got undressed. The warm water sprayed down and hit his shapely body, streaming down along his firm and clearly defined muscles. He looked at himself, robust, streamlined, and youthful. A man of 35 years, he was still young and vigorous, with desires, ambitions, and overwhelming hormones. When he thought of that moment in Jessie's house, he shook his head. Was it a waste? After the shower, he applied some body lotion and put on his ring, and came out of the bathroom. The fat cat was squatting outside the bathroom loyally. He held it up and was startled. "So heavy! You need to be on a diet." The fat cat gave a snort at his comment and curled up in his arms comfortably. He planned to watch TV for a while, but after pressing the remote for a long time, he found almost all channels were noisy parties, love stories, or family reunions. Reunion, for a person who could not have a reunion, wasn't what he wanted. In the few hundred square feet living room, a man and a cat, the scene was lonely. The cat looked decadent too. Otherwise, it wouldn't have indulged itself in overeating. See, it developed a double chin. He touched its warm and soft neck with his chin and murmured, "Did you miss her too, Lulu? Uh?" He carried the fat cat Lulu to a remote room at the end of the corridor. The room wasn't big, with black and white geometric patterned carpets, a low bookshelf, and a grand piano. The piano was dark and shining like a mirror and free of dust. He went over, sat on the bench, and opened the cover. His fingers touched the keys, and without instructions of the brain, he played naturally. Like the twinkling of a brook, the song flew smoothly in the air. It was the most commonly played background music, Souvenirs d'enfance. The white cat lay over his knees and listened quietly. Tristan was immersed in his playing and enchanted in his imagination. A person was sitting below the stage and was moved to tears…He smiled in his imagination. Few people knew he could play the piano. He had no interest in music, but his mother forced him to learn. Later, every time he learned a new song, he only had one purpose, to play for a person. And the time he spent on the piano was the happiest time in half of his life, or maybe all of it. After he finished the song, he stopped and could feel the loss inside. The cat had fallen asleep on his lap. He could even hear it snore regularly in the silent room. Outside of the window was the dark dome of the sky. Suddenly, somebody lit a firework, and it brightened the sky for a few seconds.