A story based on Can Yamans Turkish dizi.
Ozgur Atasoy.
Rich, handsome, Club/bar owner and DJ lives in an exclusive rooftop penthouse in Istanbul.
He's a Player.
A lover of beautiful things and he can't resist one night stands with beautiful women...
My bath water is cold. I'm just so preoccupied, thinking about Ozgur, and the many scenarios spinning around my head about what will happen between us later. I sit up, and wrap my arms around my knees. "Ufff, what am I doing?"
The water falls off me as I get out quickly and grab a towel, placing it round me. My hair has kept it's curl, piled up on top of my head. I can't face straightening it. If it was a date, maybe I would. But it's not a date. Is it Ozgur? "Because Ozgur doesn't do dates!"
In my bedroom, I pull out the new underwear I bought this afternoon. Pretty, delicate peach lace.
"Maybe if this was a date, I'd wear it."
I'll save it.
In the mirror, I carefully apply some make up. This I have to do! Soft, smoky eyes and natural lips. Just the way he likes it. I release my hair so it falls down in waves... Just the way he likes it.
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Ozgur's sweatshirt is lying on the bed. When I pick it up, it looks so huge. I'd like to say that I resisted the urge to bring it up to my nose and close my eyes. But I can't. I do it, breathing his scent in and out, until it fills my lungs. It's not that it's the smell of his actual body, but just...his everything. His washing powder, his car, his apartment, his bed. I need it for just a bit longer, so I put it on and zip it up half way while I open my wardrobe and think about what to wear. Remember... It's not a date!
Five minutes later and I'm no further on when my phone rings. It's Deniz.
"Are you okay?" "No. I can't even decide what to wear!" "Ezgi. Don't be trying so hard at this. He said it wasn't..." "A date. I know. We're just going to talk." "Right. Wear comfortable home clothes. The peach two piece or your baggy grey Jersey with the ripped knees. Then call me, and we'll start a dating profile online for you."
"What?" "A Tasteful one, not Tinder." "No, Deniz, I don't think I can." "Think about it. Call me later. You'll be done by 8."
We disconnect and I fall back on my bed. I'm starting to get warm. Perhaps I'm coming down with something. A cold or a fever? Ozgur fever!
The sun is still shining. Hot beams, coming through the glass. I unzip his top again and let the sun fall on me. I stretch like a cat, my arms above my head, my legs spreading. If I laid here and didn't go, would he come looking for me. For a few minutes, I imagine him outside the window, his intense stare, focused on me. Like this. Naked except for his opened fleece. I feel between my legs and palm a breast, then turn my head to the glass doors. There's nothing there but the potted plants, their leaves moving in the breeze. Right, time to stop day dreaming and procrastinating. I see my row of scented sprays and creams and apply liberally, especially around my neck and down the front of my body.
