Stealing Dreams

             The Harbor Hotel’s rear entry was as grand as its front, but it seemed more welcoming.  An elevated, octagon-shaped foundation stretched majestically outward from the hotel’s strategic line of windows and doorways to render substantial wandering space for its occupants.  Jodi Geoffrey, a country music publicist, stepped out onto the hotel’s rear, circular driveway, one used primarily by high-ranking individuals who sought to remain out of the public’s eye. She took in a long breath as she gazed across the elevated terrace.

            “Good night Ma’am,” the chauffer spoke politely to Jodi as he touched, then tipped the brim of his hat.  Glancing in the direction where he stood, she smiled, nodded, then stepped away from the car.  Pausing, Jodi looked toward the hotel.  She drew in a soft breath as she looked across the vast space before her, through the foundation’s soft lighting.

            Before Jodi was the elegant hotel.  Behind her was one of the harbor’s inlets.  Its waters slapped lightly at the retaining wall.  She took another breath, a deeper one, as she moved toward the sprawling steps to the hotel’s terrace.  It was a week night and there weren’t many guests outside.  There were, however, several employees moving quietly about.  They were busy making preparations for tomorrow evening, preparing for the festivities that would take place in celebrating the coming of a new year.

Tall, black, shiny lamps were posted throughout the terrace’s peaceful space.  The soft lighting from them gently illuminated wells of tropical plants.  Jodi slowed her steps near a group of slender Hibiscus trees. They were adorned with beautiful, vibrant red blooms.  It was the winter season, yet the plant life here seemed completely unaware of it.  She smiled with wonder at them, and at the fact that here in Bradenton, one of Florida’s southwestern coastal cities; the temperature was a mild seventy-four degrees. 

Laughter rose to fill the air.  It was the laughter of jest.  Jodi looked through the distance, in the direction from where the sound of the laughter had come.  Ahead, toward her right, three men sat at a table, near the cocktail lounge’s outdoor location.  They were sharing drinks and time together.  It was a pleasant sight. 

About eight feet from them, just outside one of the lounge’s doorways, beneath the shadow of a burgundy canopy was another man.  He was leaning sideways, against

the hotel’s massive wall, studying some sort of paper while sipping from a glass. Feeling relaxed by the lulling scene, Jodi proceeded in an unhurried manner as she glanced at her wristwatch.

When the light sounds of Jodi’s footsteps came into his range of hearing, one of

the three men who sat at the table, glanced, without much thought, in her direction. 

However, when his eyes caught sight of her, his head jerked involuntarily.  He instantly straightened his stance and tried for discreetness as he studied her form, unusually tall for a female, and the contrast of her bright blonde hair and the excessive darkness of her skin.  And although she carried herself in a starched manner, perhaps with superiority, he was moved with manly appreciation for her physical distinctions.

Jodi was six-feet tall.  Her blonde hair, swept from the right side of her smooth face, was long and billowed thickly around her shoulders.  It fell in thick masses, down to curtain the upper half of her anatomy.  Her skin glowed delicately against the fabric of the long sleeved evening dress she wore, exquisite lace stretched over satin, both rich in

the color purple.  The defined zigzag hemline of the dress’s full skirt fell below her knees to breeze enticingly around her dark, silk stockings as she walked.

Lost in thoughts about her, feeling almost bewitched, the man’s eyes shone with the feelings Jodi’s appearance had stirred in him.  And when she altered her steps to move in the direction to where he sat, his heart beats accelerated with uncertain anticipation.  He looked up into her face.  She was looking in his direction, but not at him.  Her gaze was fixed on something, or someone behind him.  He blinked breathlessly as she passed him by.