Returning from a business trip to Canberra just recently, I had been looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up. The eight kilometer traffic jam on the Federal Highway just north of Fyshwick in the Australian Capital Territory, had not helped my cause – or I suppose, that of the unfortunate truckie who had overturned his rig on a sharp curve. They were still spraying foam on the wreckage as I inched past the police cordon. It was another two and three-quarter hours before I made the outskirts of Sydney, exiting the F4 freeway at Parramatta, a city that was formerly the administrative hub and seat of colonial government for the early settlers in the 1800’s.

Parched and nudging starvation, I decided I would avail myself of the services of one of the many licensed restaurants along the main drag. Incredibly at one point in Church Street there, one might stare in disbelief at more than sixteen four and five-star restaurants, literally adjacent to one another, lining both sides of the street ... and all packed to the rafters. Italian, Korean, English, Indian, Thai, Aussie seafood, French, Asian ... take your pick! One thing about Australia – not a country in the world has the range of culinary delights that are on offer there.

Craving of all things a mountainous burger, I figured City Extra was the way to go. Open 24/7, and themed along the lines of “The Daily Planet,” the menus are printed on paper much like an evening tabloid. Familiar with their offerings or more relevantly, their fully loaded “city-extra burger,” the decision-making was inarguably simple. I didn’t need much convincing either by the petite waitress, to order ‘something from the bar.’ A glass of Hunter Valley chardonnay saw to that quite nicely.

It’s not common knowledge, but City Extra has a small private bar at the rear of the place that they open mainly on Friday and Saturday nights. It is an intimate little affair that caters for those who like their drinks mixed to perfection, the décor subtle and the mood ambient. The feng-shui was never better let’s say!

Appeased gastronomically and mellowed-out by the chardonnay, all memories of the Federal Highway were long suppressed. Paying my check I wandered into the bar area and sitting down on one of the four available stools, I figured I’d close out the night with a brandy crusta ... or two.

I must have been nursing my drink for several minutes before I noticed the girl further along the bar. Seemed to me she was absorbed in some unhappy contemplation as she kept staring down at her almost empty glass quite obviously seeing something other than her drink coaster. Something in her demeanor held my attention.

Of indeterminate age, most likely in her early to mid twenties, she was tastefully dressed. Long dark brown hair flowed across her shoulders, contrasting vividly with the cream-colored cardigan she was wearing. My first impression was that she may have been of Chinese descent but at the point she turned around to glance at a news bulletin on the wall-mounted plasma tv screen behind her, I could see she was probably Eurasian and like many such girls – extremely pretty.

Catching my appreciative glance, she smiled warmly before lowering her eyes, as Asian girls are accustomed to doing.

I freely admit, that had not I the benefit already of considerable alcoholic indulgence, I would have simply smiled back at her, finished my drink and left the premises. Given additionally that she was way less than half my age, enjoying her own company and in no way seeking to upgrade that state of affairs, I really cannot explain why I asked if she would allow me to buy her another cocktail – or why she shyly accepted come to that!

Talk came easily. Her name I learned was Natasha, and she was a college student, least she had been. Various social and domestic issues had conspired of late to terminate that state of affairs so that now she was taking a position downtown to support herself. Altogether charming and well-educated, I discovered she was of part Italian parentage which accounted for her clear western accent, “aussiefied” that it occasionally sounded.

Sitting at the small booth that we now were, I was able to study her at close range – probably not as close as I would have liked if the truth be known. Her expressive brown eyes lit-up whenever she would emphasize a point and she had this rather cute habit of brushing that long hair away from her face as she spoke. I found her presence totally captivating.

We must have sat in that booth for more than an hour. I fielded as many questions from her as I asked. I guess by almost eleven pm. we were as familiar with each other’s lives as the average credit card company.

Eventually the conversation reached the inevitable plateau “Well this has been fun, what are we doing for the main course?” Seeing as I had never picked up a woman in my life and she quite obviously was not wearing any “make me an offer” signs, progress of any sort was akin to driving on a highway covered in black ice.

I have always been of the opinion that honesty up front cuts through the preamble.

“Natasha,” I said, holding her hands across the table – hands that she willingly donated to my cause I should add.

“At the risk of incurring damage to my left cheek, I just want to tell you that meeting you has been, well way more than a pleasure. I think you are the sweetest girl and although I can hardly expect the sentiments to be reciprocated – let’s face it, I’m old enough to be your father ... probably your grandfather, I have an unquenchable desire to spend the night with you Natasha.”

For a moment those lustrous brown eyes considered their options. I wasn’t sure whether she was about to scream, call 000 on her cell or worse, break down in hysterical laughter.

I certainly did not expect her next move. Exiting the booth, she stood up, smoothing her dress down demurely before picking up her purse and holding her hand out to me. No words of any sort were uttered and yet she answered me with simply an expression.

It all seems so ethereally weird now thinking back on it, but at the time it felt almost pre-ordained. Just around the corner from City Extra sits the huge Crowne Plaza Hotel. You just know the rates are gonna be in the upper stratosphere from the Rolls Royces, Jags and Porches that are typically clustered about the entrance.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” the reception clerk enquired nonchalantly, glancing at both my thinning hair and Natasha’s rear end.

“Henderson actually,” I corrected him, “and this is my daughter Estelle,” Natasha turned around giggling like a young teenager.

“Of course,” he replied, his expression creditably unaltered. “Will you be staying just the night Mr. Henderson?’

“For now – yes,” I replied, “We’ll see what transpires in the morning,” I added, handing across my credit card. Having satisfied himself as to the card’s validity, he returned my ID together with the electronic key.

“Room 383 - that’s on the third floor sir,” he enunciated clearly.

“It figures” I muttered. “Any chance of a bottle of champagne at this late hour?”

“This is the Crowne Plaza Sir,” he replied, visibly insulted. “We will have it up to your room immediately.”

He was right – we had barely closed the door when room service came a knocking with the prescribed nightcap!

Now I would not call myself a shy man even under the most threatening of female encounters ... and let’s face it, my life has been littered with such tests of endurance. Natasha though presented me with an all-new playing field. Looking at her as she sat on the edge of that generously sized double bed, or to be more honest, looking at the hemline of her dress that had risen to a code-red danger-level by virtue of its brevity, I found myself wishing fervently to engage in some amorous exploration of that slim and youthful body. Still, first things first, we did have the small matter of a half-full bottle of ‘94 Moet to address and the girl was clearly no shirker when it came to helping out with such chores.

“It’s making me giggly,” she confided, holding her glass out for a refill.

In close proximity to her face as I leaned forward with the bottle, I figured I would take the opportunity to lay some basic groundwork. It was only a light kiss I guess, but it met with little or no resistance that I could detect. If she was surprised by my forward behavior she certainly didn’t show it, returning my kiss with the softest and sweetest tasting lips it has ever been my pleasure to recall.