Rosa: A Wangxian Reincarnation Story

Old Love New Love

Friday arrives. I am anxious and quite excited. It has been a long time since I have ventured out with someone new. Despite that I have known Lan Zhan for several millennia I barely know him now. Alain is a mystery, a puzzle to me. What has formed him has nothing of me within, other than a chance encounter in a Virginia movie theater. He knows people I have never met. Has had parents I know nothing of, possibly siblings. Does he have lovers that have preceded me, perhaps? (If so, then I already hate them. Yes, I find I am that petty and jealous!). Has he? He must have,...he is so beautiful, intense, imposing. Broader at the shoulders, even taller than when I first met him in Cloud Recesses. 21karat gold poured into a perfect mold of physical beauty. Oh, why does he do this to me every lifetime? Never an average guy. Not once. The times he came back as a woman, they were always exquisite and heartstopping. He can be very irritating in that way. And so damned delicious too! Before, he had always come back to find me, and only me. This time, I am not that lucky. I have become one of the scores who will seek him out. With him holding no recollection of loving me above all others, I will have plenty of competition. And I may not measure up to Alain Blanc's tastes or expectations. The thought is daunting! Today, I bought a new suit, the finest lightweight wool in a charcoal blue. A dark-gray overcoat and new black shoes. The shirt is pale gray. the tie, once again a deep red. The colors bring out my eyes. (They have not shifted into silver in one and a half lifetimes. Nothing has brought that passion and excitement into my life for that long.) I had a trim done, the auburn curls had lost their shape from too long between cuts and were now springing back to life. I have my own way of coming back as a beauty each time. I think I can measure up to most any who comes between me and him. Except for him. If I am no longer what he wants and needs, then all of this is moot, to begin with. I feel a twinge of nervousness hit. I hear a knock at my door and I shout, "Coming. One minute!" I pause at the entryway and look in the mirror hanging there, turning my head to view every angle. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, cleft chin, defined jawline. There is a very light smattering of freckles on the straight nose, just a flirty hint that makes me look younger than I am. I tweak a curl so it lays just so across my forehead, slip on my overcoat and open the door. He stands there and it is all I can do, not to pull him inside and smother him in kisses. But I must not do so. He is not my Lan Zhan. May not be in this lifetime. The afternoon sun has set and he does not shine brightly. He looks burnished now, rich and comforting with a polished and subtle glow. He looks me over and softly says, "Enchante!" My knees feel slightly weak at the accent. If he were a bowl of ice cream, I would be licking the spoon clean by now. I feel a twinge below and I was thankful for the overcoat. It is doing a marvelous job at covering up what my raging libido is failing to control. I feel like a sixth-grader about to explode as his pretty teacher bends down to pick up a dropped eraser in front of the chalkboard. I conjure up a baseball game stuck in the twelfth inning. I force the image of oatmeal and liver down my throat. I shudder at the thought of Fox News. Anything to distract my errant member from how sexy the man in the deep blue suit, palest blue shirt, and seductive fedora is tonight. He has a lazy, knowing smile on the perfect face. And his sandalwood aftershave fills my senses; some things never change, Thank you! Oh, Brother Xavier, send me strength! What did he tell me? Let Alain reveal himself. Let him set his pace. This lifetime is for him. This calms me. Leaving it to the imposing figure that guides me to the limousine beyond my apartment stoop, is my only option. I will follow his lead where it takes me. He settles me in and the wine glass is already filled with light and tantalizing Pinot Noir, from the Barboursville winery down the road. "I am not sure if I should. I haven't had wine in...a long time." "I had the hotel chef prepare our appetizers for the evening. A little on the stomach and you will not get drunk. Just a pleasant glow. I thought an evening ride to a nice location would be a good place to start." He opens a Louis Vitton hamper and delicious scents fill the car. He hands me a small wedge of bleu cheese and a little cucumber sandwich. "Eat first. Then sip gently. We have all night." We take the Thomas Jefferson Parkway and wend our way through gentle foothills, The stars grow brighter as we leave the lights of Charlottesville behind and soon I see signs for Monticello ahead. I take a sip of wine."Monticello? Isn't it closed?" "A friend is a curator here. He will be in his office and will open the gates, We may wander the grounds, but not enter the residence. I am considering a documentary, about the accomplishments of this man. He had a deep affinity for France and our struggles, as you know. It may also be about the current people of the surrounding towns. Emotional schizophrenia permeates these islands of vision and liberalism in the traditional American South. And I thought...Monticello in the moonlight...A perfect first date and a little glimpse into an imperfect, yet a very great man."I am dazzled. This man is very complex. Lan Zhan had been too, but unable to express it as openly. I suppose I just have a thing for imperfectly perfect men. I eat a slice of fresh pear. A small drop of juice escapes and he leans in casually and wipes it away with a light kiss and then leans back just as casually, leaving me a little stunned. We continue our way in silence until we pull up. Alain removes his phone and presses speed dial. "We are here." He says and holds out his hand. It feels warm and natural when I take it.