Encounter On A Sunny Afternoon (A Contemporary Romance) (standard:other, 4706 words)
Author: Rick Pyzyna	Added: Nov 09 2007	Views/Reads: 4411/2325	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
You never know when the woman of your dreams is about to come round the corner.

Clarence, a not unattractive male, age twenty-five, is seated on the low
wall in front of the university library.  It is late October, yet the 
weather is hot, summer-like.  The sun, the only object in the cloudless 
sky, shines directly into Clarence's eyes.  He alternately squints and 
shades his eyes with his hands as he peers in the direction of the 
administration building opposite the library.  From around the corner 
of the administration building appears a girl, about twenty, wearing a 
blue knit dress that clings provocatively to her slim figure.  She 
walks toward Clarence who does not see her immediately.  When he does, 
the girl no more than ten feet away, Clarence is awestruck.  The long, 
silky black hair, the dark –seemingly flawless– complexion, the face, 
the shape, all combine to create an aura of perfection.  She is 
Clarence's dream woman. 

Clarence stares at the girl, wishing beyond hope that he might somehow
communicate his longing to her.  The girl's eyes meet his.  The glance 
is only momentary, but a second longer than Clarence expects, causing 
him to jerk his head away abruptly.  Clarence checks his pants (the fly 
isn't open) while his left hand nervously brushes his hair into place, 
reflexive gestures indicative of Clarence's emotional response to this 
minuscule contact. 

The girl passes in front of Clarence.  There is not further sign of her
interest.  Clarence sighs inaudibly (wrong again).  However, near the 
end of the wall, the girl stops.  She looks at her watch, does an about 
face and heads back toward Clarence.  She sits down next to him.  Well, 
not exactly next to him – 2.83 feet of wall separate them.  To 
Clarence, it is the same thing. 

Clarence taps his fingers rhythmically on the concrete. Almost
imperceptibly, he twists his head to the left, trying to get a better 
view of the girl without being too conspicuous.  He would like to 
memorize her features for future fantasies.  Suddenly, out of the 
corner of his eye, Clarence sees something.  Or he thinks he does. Yes, 
there can be no mistake.  The girl is mirroring Clarence's actions, 
surreptitiously looking at him.  Clarence is overjoyed.  It is a sign 
from the Book, a subtle little sign telling Clarence this girl would 
like him to talk to her, perhaps pick her up.  Clarence barely 
restrains an impulse to whoop in ecstacy.  He wonders how he had ever 
managed without the Book.  The truth is he hadn't.  He could not have 
imagined a girl as beautiful as this one finding Clarence Golden –so 
bland, so average– attractive.  He had lacked self-confidence, a 
victim, as he friends repeatedly told him, of a massive inferiority 
complex.  That was a week ago.  Before he read the Book. 

*	*	*	* 

Clarence came upon the Book one afternoon while browsing through a used
paperback bin in the campus bookstore.  He had almost missed it, wedged 
as it was between a variorum edition of the collected works of Colly 
Cibber and a chewed up copy of the late Euell Gibbons' Stalking the 
Wild Asparagus.  In fact, Clarence had been rummaging through that 
particular row a second time when the cover caught his eye, nine 
magnificently beautiful women staring seductively, tantalizingly at 
him.  HOW TO GET A WOMAN!  the title shouted at him.  Clarence 
recognized the book.  He'd seen ads for it in countless magazines, 
drawn by its promise of women:   “Women with luxurious golden hair and 
soft rounded breasts.  Women with long sexy legs and pretty eyes and 
sensuous lips.  Yes, get the kind of gorgeous, delicious creatures 
you've always seen, always wanted, but never knew quite how to meet” 
(Clarence had memorized that part in despair one evening).  He had been 
tempted to buy it many times.  The cost, $7.95 plus $1.00 postage and 
handling, had stopped him.  Not that the book wouldn't have been worth 
the price if he could have been certain of its effectiveness.  Clarence 
would gladly have spent twice –three times– that much for anything that 
would have helped him get a woman.  The ads, unfortunately, made no 
mention of a guarantee; and Clarence would not gamble eight bucks –the 
testimonials of “California swinger” and “prep school student in 
Massachusetts notwithstanding– on mere possibility.  For that price, he 
wanted a sure thing. 

Eight-five cents (the bookstore's price) was something altogether
different.  Clarence had no qualms about risking so little.  Besides 
there was also a matter of fate involved.  Clarence did not believe in 
accidents.  Events happened in accordance with some well-defined order. 


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