Chapter 4A: Jasmine

2:20 PM: Humming along with Previn and the Pittsburgh Symphony, Jasmine poured soothing bath oils into the tub then turned and admired herself in the full-length mirror as she slowly stripped off the shirt, let it fall away from her shoulders and turned sideways, and examined her breasts. She acknowledged their firmness and with a tight smile reached under them to trace their curve with her fingertips. Inevitably, her fingers slid out to the nipples and gently squeezed them. Jasmine's mouth opened as if surprised with a quizzical 'O' and watched them grow hard at the touch. Unbuttoning her jeans, Jasmine tugged them down over her hips, letting gravity take them to the floor. Her panties had also pulled down to her thighs and she gazed at the pubic hair curling up over the top of them. Her mouth still shaped the 'O' as she ran her hand across her flat stomach, permitting her little finger to slip down under the elastic and enjoy the soft, silken tufts just above her mons. With a deep sigh, Jasmine finally edged her silken underwear all the way down and stepped out of them.

Pausing a second to run her hands along the inside of her thighs, while her thumbs rippled along the dark brown down of pubic hair. The music approached a crescendo as she tested the water with her big toe, and then lowered herself into its oily warmth, letting it envelop her. She chose to lie back with her eyes closed while languidly caressing her soapy legs, thighs and breasts. Her thumb meandered around until it found her belly button lingering at its edge while her remaining fingers drifted down between her legs. Slowly Jasmine pinched thumb and forefinger together. Tweaking lightly, deliberately dawdling, while she thought about Warren. About his trim, hard body, handsome face and his adorable broken nose. Jasmine almost dozed off in the warm scented water, but Warren kept intruding. Intruding. Intruding. Enveloped up in a hazy lust, Jasmine's fingers moved deviously, curling here, poking there; moved faster, moved deeper, faster and faster...

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Jasmine's climax reverberated off the foggy, steam-clad mirrors and tiles while her cat scurried to its safe place in the bedroom. 3:15 PM. Jasmine opened the door on the first ring and stood there chin slightly raised, an arrogant, but impish expression on her face staring at Warren. Her thick, chestnut brown hair, not quite dry, hung damply about her ears. She wore no makeup. She didn't need it and knew it. He studied her with a casual eloquence. She wore a black floor-length kimono of purist silk, trimmed in brilliant yellow (actually tiny canaries) that split along both sides almost to the hip. There was nothing under it, nothing but Jasmine. Warren knew from the way it stayed with her, molded to her breasts, her hips, clinging to her flat stomach. Jasmine's eyes sparkled mischievously and the sweet odor of marijuana swirled past Warren. Jasmine smiled and said, "Well, I just lost a bet with myself. " "How come," Warren asked, returning the smile and presenting the dimple women found so enticing. "I bet you wouldn't come. "

"Hey," he said with another smile, "I can always go away. "She stepped back and swung the door wide and leaned against it. Cocking her head to one side, she said, "No. No, I don't think so. "Warren went past her into a well-furnished living room and looked around. "Sumptuous," was all he said. Jasmine closed the door and came very close to him, staring up at his face before saying, "Thank you. "She had set the table for two. Wedgwood china, delicate silverware and tall, fragile wineglasses waited patiently to serve them. "If you'd like to wash, the bathroom's over there," she pointed to the far left. "Thanks, I will," he said, and followed her finger's direction into the bathroom where he carefully washed his hands. The room was still warm with the memory of her bath and smelled vaguely of bath oil. He absorbed these factors into his memory bank. When he returned, Jasmine was pouring white wine into two glasses. Motioning him to sit, she handed him a glass and held hers up in a toasting fashion. "To us," she said. Warren smiled and said, "To Jasmine, to Warren and to pleasure. "

"Pleasure?"

"Well, you know what I mean," he added lamely. He'd thought he was further along towards bedding her. The mischievous look crossed her face again and Warren didn't miss it. Their glasses pinged as they touched. Jasmine leaned forward on her elbows, holding her wineglass between her fingertips and stared at him again. "I have to ask you something personal," she said, very quietly, almost confidentially. Warren wondered what she'd heard about him. Was it damaging? But kept his face expressionless and said, "Ask away. I'm not a politician and have nothing to hide. "She smiled, pleased at his response and asked, "How did you get that?" pointing toward his nose. "What?"Jasmine reached out and ran her middle finger very delicately down between his eyes, lingering for a moment where his nose flattened out between them. "That. "

"Oh, that. "

"Um hum," Jasmine grinned, adding, "If it's not romantic, please lie to me. "

"Ahhh, when I was in the Navy, I was conned into entering a boxing tournament. The worst thing possible happened. I won my first two matches. Boy, was I full of myself. Then I stepped into ring against the Navy's middleweight champion. I must've lasted... oh, forty seconds or so. He did 'that' and a couple other things the surgeon managed to repair. Jasmine found herself laughing hard at this revelation into his past and shook her head. "Did you really? Did you really do that?"

"I really did that. " He jumped to his feet and danced around the room, flicking left jabs at an imaginary opponent, then falling on his behind and looking dazed, while an imaginary referee counted him out. Tears of mirth rolled down Jasmine's cheeks as she dabbed at them with her napkin. "Even... even if it is a lie, don't ever change that story. It's absolutely delicious. " She sighed and her eyes glittered as she finished dabbing at them. "I'm so glad we got that settled," she said. "What?"

"The business about your nose. "

"Does my nose bother you?" he asked seriously. His eyes darted from her face to her nipples, now prominent as they swelled against the fabric of the black silk kimono. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly, continuing to stare at it with

an intensity that made him a bit uncomfortable. "No," she continued, "it gives you character. "

"Thanks. "A bell or a chime sounded faintly from the kitchen. "Oh!" Jasmine cried out as she rose from the table. "What is it?"

"Our dinner is ready. " Jasmine said softly. " Please excuse me. I'll only be a moment. "He watched her walk into the kitchen and thought if he had seen a finer body on a woman he couldn't recall her. And he was impressed with Jasmine's intellect. No movie magazine princess here, no sir, he thought. Sitting back in his chair, Warren conjured up erotic thoughts about the remainder of the evening even as he admired the expensive furnishings. Then as promised, Jasmine was back with their dinner. Filet mignon, oven-baked potatoes and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. "Jasmine, this is... " he paused. "This is not a little thing here. This is... like your place, sumptuous. The presentation is... well, I feel I'm looking at a page from 'Gourmet' Magazine. Jasmine felt a flush of guilty embarrassment creeping from her neck to her cheeks as she thanked him for his simple praise. Many other guests at her table had formulated more expressive, more flowery compliments, but she felt Warren's to be much more sincere. The guilt was a direct result of Jasmine's having ordered everything from a nearby restaurant and merely zapping it in the microwave. They ate in earnest, after a while Warren put his knife and fork down and smiled at her. "What is it?" she smiled back. "Do I have something on my teeth?"

"No he laughed. You're just so... beautiful. I can't help staring. If it bothers you I... I'll keep my eyes averted. " As if to demonstrate his sincerity, he looked at his hands. "Warren?" Jasmine said quietly. "I've been a model. I'm used to people staring at me. I accept it and don't take offense. After all, you weren't raping me with those brown eyes of yours, were you?" He smiled at her, appreciating her candor. "No," he said flatly. "Undressing you, maybe, but rape? Never, well not at the moment anyway. "She laughed it was a tinkling sound that he savored as much as the meal. "Good," he said, "I'm glad that's over with. Now, I've got a joke for you. "

"Oh, good! I love a good joke. "

"Well I should preface this by telling you that I love humor and have made it a kind of hobby of mine. "

"Really?" she exclaimed, her surprise reflected in a gay voice. "Oh yeah. " He folded his napkin and placed it on the table next to his plate. "For example I've collected all of W. C. Fields' movies. Even have some tapes from radio shows he appeared on. Anyway, one of my all time favorites was a guy named Myron Cohan. " Warren's eyes dropped to the plate in front of him as he searched for the precise words, he didn't want to mess this up. She took a small sip of wine, her eyes never leaving his. "Cohan was a master story teller, like Bill Cosby is today," he said tentatively. "In fact I think Cosby polished the timing of his early acts watching or copying Cohan. "He became more buoyant as his confidence in the story to come surged through his body. "I came across several tapes of his and I treasure them. He was a salesman in the garment district here in New York, and he was so entertaining to his clients that they forced him into show business. He was around fifty when he started professionally. "She was thoroughly enjoying his honest enthusiasm. He was looking straight into her eyes now, "Anyway," he stopped to laugh at himself. "I'm not sure if this is one of his stories, maybe not. But it should be. It's kinda got his stamp on it, ya know?"

"Yes I know what you mean. " She gave no indication of impatience with his long prologue. Instead, her hand slowly massaged the stem of her wineglass as she took him in with her smoky eyes. Her tongue flicked out trying to capture an imaginary speck of food on her lip. Warren saw this and was momentarily distracted. He took a deep breath and continued. "All right, here goes: Jesus is wandering around one of Jerusalem's markets when he decides he really needs a new robe. After looking around, he sees a stall with a pile of robes for sale. He enters and meets a gnarly little man named Finkelstein and asks politely if Finkelstein can make him a robe. "Can I make for you a robe? Of course, of course, of course. I'll make for you the perfect robe. "Finkelstein prepares a new robe for him, which is a perfect fit. When Jesus asks how much he owes, Finkelstein brushes him off. "No, no, there's no charge. But, may I ask a small favor, a little tiny favor? Maybe whenever you give a sermon you could just mention a little something about how your nice robe was made by Finkelstein the Tailor?" "Sure, sure," Jesus readily agrees and, as promised, plugs Finkelstein's robes every time he preaches. Some months later, Jesus is walking through Jerusalem again and happens by Finkelstein's shop. There is a huge line of people waiting for Finkelstein's robes. He gently makes his way through the crowd to speak to Finkelstein. "Jesus, Jesus, look what a marvel you've been for business!" Gushes Finkelstein. "Would you consider a partnership?" "Sure, sure," replies Jesus. "Jesus and Finkelstein it is. " "Uh... no... no," says Finkelstein. "It should be Finkelstein and Jesus. After all I am the craftsman. " The two of them debate this and other topics for some time. They have quite a good theological discussion as well. Finally, they arrive at a compromise decision. A week later, the new sign went up -- "Lord & Taylor. "Jasmine burst into an unpretentious peal of laughter that gave Warren a warm, contented feeling that lasted well beyond the meal. After dinner they sat on the couch enjoying brandies. There was occasional contact. No -- they brushed against one another, as if by accident. Could it have been premeditated?"Ever play football?" Jasmine asked to get a conversation going after a long silence. "In High School. Wasn't big enough for college. "

"Where did you go?"

"Rutgers. "

"What was your Major?"

"Psychology. ""Why?"

"I like analyzing people. "

"So why aren't you a Psychologist?"

"Well, the Navy happened along... "

"And after the Navy?"