Vivian Fields

The call came in as a total surprise. Its been seven years since Vivian broke up with you when you were both seniors in college. You do vaguely remember a coworker talking about a saxophone jazz album that just went platinum. After the call you see it is indeed Vivian's work. You hadn't thought of her in years. But memories flood back at just her saying hello. Voluptuous. Passionate. Honest. She was kind about the breakup. Vivian could never be cruel. She's asked you to pick her up for coffee. Telling you she doesn't have a car and would rather let you drive than take an Uber or taxi. "The Hilton downtown," she told you, "room 125." You find yourself a bit nervous but you agree to pick her up. Arriving early, but not too early, you take the elevator to her room. You knock but the room slowly swings open. You see her. She's not ready. Her nightgown is almost transparent in the late afternoon sun pouring through the winddow behind her. Its a seductive sight that steals away any breath to utter an apology.