“Never let a dream get away. What have you always wanted to do but never gotten around to?”
She watched him watching her react. Everything about the man annoyed her, from his long gray pony tail to his bare feet in Gucci loafers. The aging artist’s hippy veneer was inappropriate for someone his age and obvious station in life. His attempt at studied squalor didn’t fool her a bit. He was the type who pontificates from a penthouse in Barcelona; an aging guru in love with his own voice. What gave him the right to preach at her when she could hardly remember his name? Obviously his manners suffered from the same bad taste as his facade.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said; his voice suggesting that was exactly what he intended. “But is there nothing you’ve left undone? Nothing you want to do before your time is up?”
“No” she said, trying to fill the silence so she could keep him away. “No, I don’t think so. I’m a happy, fulfilled person.” She took a breath and let it out again to punctuate her statement and convince him she was relaxed. She hoped that would be the end of it. He sat still, one hand in his lap and the other resting on the table faintly stroking the stem of his wine glass. He looked at her as if he could hear an unspoken conversation.
“I didn’t mean to upset you either,” she said, too loud; “although I suspect you don’t believe in satisfaction and have some kind of vested interest in disturbing the peace.”
“Not at all,” he sidestepped with a small smile. “I’m always looking for balance and equilibrium, in art as in life. So there’s no other way you’ve ever wanted to live, say…when you were eighteen…that never happened because things got in the way?”