Hope Springs Eternal

Hope's parents had either been cooler than she could ever fathom or as effed up as she'd always suspected. She leaned toward the latter. She had to have gotten it from somewhere. She'd been born Hope April Springs as the month of March bled helplessly into the arms of April.

Her parents, Nina, and Walter Springs, way cool or way not, named her creatively, in their minds at least, for the season in which she was born and the one they loved the most. They had told her as a child that spring is hope and beauty and life and promise. This was one of the many untruths that Nina and Walt had fed her, intentionally or not in her youth. Even then, Hope knew spring was cornered unwillingly between the angry, merciless bullies, winter and summer so she didn't share this love with her parents.

That was twenty-two years ago and spring, that swaggering flirt with all of the same tired come-ons; pleasant, downright enviable temperatures, gentle rain showers, and blossoming flowers had not changed for Hope. It had returned as it always had and always will; briefly, silently to seduce the naive, inexperienced, and ignorant lovers in us all.

Hope lived in Texas for God's sake. Spring was great while it lasted, but it didn't. It only showed its face a few forgettable moments each year. Spring had always been a one-night stand for Hope, as far as the seasons go - A lover that exited clandestinely before dawn without so much as a goodbye or even a final parting kiss, as you slept dreaming of its caress. It never called back the next day. Hope didn't play that game anymore. Not directly.

She was more of a spectator now. She had suffered one too many injuries of the heart and spirit to continue suiting up for this game of pathetic players with empty souls, earnest faces, and insincere words. However, just watching it as with just watching anything was not fulfilling. She still needed to satisfy her urges, for lack of a more polite term.

Hope took a hit off the straw poking out of her glass of ice tea. No alcohol for her. She had to keep her wits about her. Sure she was only a spectator but she was what she had come to think of as an active spectator. She didn't play or get played, but she could still have an effect on the game.

Hope had the fortune, and on rare occasions if she was feeling particularly in need of companionship, the misfortune, to possess a natural, no hassle, no notice beauty that allowed her to discreetly frequent establishments like the Bump and Grind without having to repel a steady assault of embarrassingly ineffective pick up lines delivered in a vapor trail of alcohol fumes.

Hope had exhibited this natural beauty even as a child. It was a beauty she downplayed, because her parents had overplayed it, with good intentions, she supposed. Back then, one could see without having to look too closely into her youthful face, and borderline awkward body the attractive woman she was destined to become.

During her teenage years, more than one father of her friends had to shake away the momentary mental picture that flickered through his mind, while in her presence, of her as a sexual being. Hope had always possessed an innate ability to detect this brief expression of desire quickly replaced by a look of guilt or shame and a sudden averting of the eyes. Even though it initially disturbed her, she delighted secretly in the control it gave her over people 20 and 30 years her senior.

As a woman, Hope had retained her child like long, untamed caramel colored hair and mystic green eyes which sparkled from somewhere deep and mysterious within her and could make men and women of all ages lose their train of thought without warning. She was a couple of inches under 6 feet, but she wore it inconspicuously. Her stature usually went unnoticed, unless standing directly beside her and even then it fostered a sense of security rather than threat.

On this, her twenty-second courtship with spring, or Spring Fling XXII as she liked to call it, she had taken a small square table in the corner by herself where she had an unobstructed view of the bar and its over accessorized, over perfumed and under scrutinized players. They looked like gaudy, spastic Christmas ornaments the way they attached themselves to the bar like bugs on a porch light. It was as if it was some holy orb that rejuvenated and increased their attractiveness and their desire for others.

Hope had been watching the thirty-something eternal Frat Boy in the bright yellow Polo shirt and the pleated khaki slacks. He was like all other post college eternal frat boys who had never grown up emotionally but had still been let loose into the real world with a college degree and a credit card. They all seemed to retain an undying loyalty to their alma mater. A loyalty they couldn't seem to practice with their girlfriends or God forbid their wives. They were notorious for not lifting the toilet seat when they urinated, and adamantly against covering their food in the microwave and wearing condoms. They were a gift to the world.

Hope had dealt with this eternal Frat Boy before, not that he would remember her if he ran into her on the street.

He had been working his way around the holy orb of desire all evening, giving his best sales pitch. As the night progressed, he was running out of potential clients for what he was selling - love for a night, no strings attached - no long-term contracts - no risk - satisfaction guaranteed. You'd be a fool to pass up this deal.

Apparently, the Bump and Grind catered exclusively to fools of the womanly persuasion. One of these fools, a stunning petite brunette in a stylish, short red dress, detached herself from the bar with a bit of effort and marched confidently away before the Frat Boy got to her.

Hope had observed Frat Boy at work for months, here and at many other carbon copy clubs throughout the city. She had watched him leave with many women who had bought the sales pitch, only to return the next night and begin the spiel all over again. It was as if he was on commission in his personal as well as professional life.

He had zeroed in on the next target for the evening - a shapely blond with breasts twenty-five years younger than she was. Frat Boy spilled over into her personal space, with what he thought was tonight's potential sales pitch, but Hope recognized her too. She was a little harder in the face and the defeat in her eyes had turned to full tilt bitterness, but you had to look for it to see it. Frat Boy was oblivious. He had other body parts on his mind.

Hope knew the blond was just in it for the free drinks, and when she had her fill of alcohol or the Frat Boy, whichever came first, she would leave without him. But the eternal frat boys always had money for their recreational conquests. Just the price of doing business they would say.

Hope caught a glimpse of the brunette in the red dress as she snaked through a jumble of tables and drink sloshing, close talking patrons in accelerated stages of coupling somehow, somewhere, in the city tonight, because spring was for lovers, and it had a cab waiting with the meter running. Time was always short, when the rabid dog days of summer were snapping at your heels.

Even in the dimly lit club, and behind the Revlon and Max Factor camouflage, Hope could see a hint of that bitter hardness in the brunette's face. It was visible mainly in the verge of defeat loitering in the woman's dark eyes, and in the rigid angles cast by the corners of her mouth. She still had her youth, so her beauty had not yet been a casualty of the game. Hope could still save her.

It was the same glint of hardness Hope had detected alone one early morning in the cold, uncomfortable sanctity of a stranger's bathroom mirror. She had, however, been able to erase this hardness, not with makeup or plastic surgery, but by benching herself from the game.

The striking woman alone in the corner facing the bar caught the brunette's attention as she wound through the noisy, groping clients of the Bump and Grind. The woman was watching her with great interest from behind a full glass of ice tea. There was something about her green eyes flickering like busy fireflies even in the low lighting of this establishment which aroused the brunette's curiosity and drew her closer toward the woman in the corner.

She never really made a conscious decision to follow through on this impulse, but her feet did and before she could resist, she was standing at her table gazing into those eyes that stared up at her warmly and inviting with maybe just a hint of sympathy and desire.

Hope greeted the brunette in the red dress with a nod. The brunette had prepared an opening comment on the way over to the table, but she had lost it somewhere after she reached the table and made eye contact with the woman keeping company with the glass of ice tea.

"Hi," Hope said in a steady, soft, welcoming voice.

The brunette, started to say something, hesitated, but maintained eye contact, so as not to seem impolite.

Hope, smiled, and waited patiently for the woman to organize her thoughts with a genuine look of interest on her face.

"Can I sit here?" She motioned with a flip of her brunette hair toward the bar. "I'm so done with that. I don't know why I even bother anymore."

"Sure," Hope motioned to the chair directly across from her. "Some intelligent conversation would be nice."

The brunette smiled in relief. Her shoulders relaxed slightly for the first time tonight since entering the Bump and Grind. She extended her hand across the table.

"Amy Dickinson."

"Hope Springs." Hope shook her hand softly but firmly.

There was subtle, but powerful electricity in the handshake which neither woman acknowledged openly at that moment, but each of them felt it just the same. Amy took a seat, resting her hands quietly in front of her on the table.

Hope leaned forward closer to the table. She was the first to break the ice.

"Me too," she said.

Amy looked puzzled.

"Done with that scene," Hope gave a quick nod toward the bar.

"Oh, yeah, that. Good call. It will eat you up."

Hope's eyes glittered. Her soft, moist lips puckered into a near smile.

"Not unless you let it." She shot a brief, unnoticed glance over Amy's shoulder. Frat Boy was still working his sales pitch with Blondie.

Amy gazed at Hope silently for a moment, trying to read what was in those green eyes, so cryptic, yet so inviting.

Hope grinned bashfully at Amy's quiet scrutiny.

"What?" Hope said self-consciously.

"You're one of those women, that honestly has no idea how beautiful they are, aren't you?" Amy said.

Hope's cheeks flushed crimson, noticeable even in the subdued lighting. Her emerald eyes flickered like embers.

"Why are you here?" Amy said with a subtle sweep of her hand toward the bar. Her dark brown, nearly ebony eyes had softened considerably since she had first approached Hope.

"To remind myself of what I'm not missing," Hope giggled softly, faintly escalating the sparkle in her eyes. She shot another quick, undetected glance at the bar. Frat Boy still hadn't closed the deal, but not from lack of effort.

"That makes sense. If you were out of it, you'd feel like you were missing something and get the itch, so to speak, and get sucked in all over again," Amy said, leaning across the table. She sustained eye contact with Hope. There was something so engaging about Hope. The glimmer in her eyes, the potent, reassuring charisma.

"Right," Hope said. She took another hit of her iced tea and relished the cool sweetness of it as it trickled down her throat.

"So, do you have a boyfriend?" Amy asked with a curious gleam in her dark eyes.

"No. Not anymore. The BS outweighs the benefits." Hope dabbed at a droplet of tea at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. "I can take care of anything myself that I would need a man for, and if I can't, there are batteries, and those special banks to fulfill my needs," Hope grinned mischievously with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I hear ya," Amy giggled, but abruptly cut off her laughter.

"Wait, are you gay? Not that it matters, but it just occurred to me," she bit her lip, and a hint of the hardness returned to her eyes.

It was Hope's turn to giggle.

"No I'm not under contract to either team. But, I think I've decided that women are easier to look at and more fun to be with, than any guy I've ever known." A subtle spark ignited in Hope's eyes.

The hint of softness resurfaced in Amy's eyes. She slowly reached across the table and gently grasped Hope's hand in both of her hands.

"I'm glad, I came over here tonight. I almost didn't," Amy said.

"I know. But you did." Hope said with a confident reassuring gleam in her eyes as she gently placed her other hand on top of Amy's hands in the middle of the table and squeezed softly.

Hope woke in the early morning hours to the caress of the soft, cool spring breeze breathing gently on the back of her neck as it crept, uninvited through her bedroom window. Amy was sleeping silently in her arms. She felt each of Amy's gentle breaths against her own bare chest.

Hope sat up quietly and rose from her bed, careful not to disturb her new friend. She gazed at Amy's lovely uncovered body against the backdrop of the soft white sheets. She regarded her nonthreatening, gentle curves and savored the delicate rise and fall of her breasts with each peaceful sleeping breath. No guy she had ever been with looked this beautiful or peaceful as he slept - not by a long shot. Guys made noises when they slept that no human was meant to make or hear.

It appeared that the trace of hardness that had been visible in Amy's face earlier in the evening had dissipated. Maybe it was the serenity of sleep, maybe it was more than that... Hope maybe? She didn't want to prematurely give credit, where credit wasn't due.

She could contemplate the magnificence and importance of her friend and the beauty of the moment all night, but right now, Hope had business and she couldn't do it without first getting dressed. She didn't bother with the panties or bra, but quickly snatched a pair of jogging shorts and an old print tee off the bedroom floor. She stepped into her running shoes and quietly left Amy dreaming.

The Frat Boy emerged from the Bump and Grind empty handed in the early morning hours.

"No sale!" Hope silently, but gleefully celebrated in the shadows of the club. His cocky swagger had deteriorated into a sloppy stagger. He fumbled clumsily for his car keys in every pocket on his person until a faint jingle registered success on his face. Hope stepped slowly out of the shadows.

"You can't drive home in your condition," Hope said.

Frat Boy stopped suddenly and flinched, raising his hand as if to ward of a surprise attack.

"Wahdafuhh?" He said in a slurred voice.

He squinted through his alcohol gaze. He had been in this scene long enough to know that if you had enough drinks, any chick was doable. But even in his current state and in the darkness of the parking lot, he was pretty sure this one was hot. She was taller than most of the ones he usually hooked up with but not too tall and she hadn't jumped on the feminist bandwagon yet, it seemed and chopped her hair to hell. It was long and flowing, untamed but not messy. Her eyes were a deep green, even in the darkness and they seemed to flicker, warmly and inviting like the embers of a fire.

She took a small subtle step closer to him.

"Come on, all the drinks you bought tonight. Do you really want go give up and go home alone? I know I don't." She wet her lips in a seemingly innocent gesture to close the deal and shook her hair out of her eyes with a toss of her head in a caramel flash.

"Do I know you?" He asked, squinting hard through his inebriated curtain.

"Has that ever stopped you before?" Her eyes flickered.

His face froze, puzzled for a brief moment - the closest thing to a coherent thought he could have hoped for in his current condition.

"Guess not, he grinned."

"So, are you in?" She asked holding out a hand wearing a leather driving glove."

"That depends, on whether you let me in or not." Frat Boy let loose with a wet cackle at his own innuendo and made an awkward pawing swipe at Hope which she easily dodged.

"You have to wait for that until I get you home," Hope said.

Frat Boy reluctantly dropped his car keys into Hope's gloved hand with a clink.

"What's up with the gloves? Are you one of those S& M girls?" His eyebrows rose, as if to suggest, he wasn't opposed to experimentation.

"They're driving gloves. They give me a feeling of control. But you never know. If you play your cards right, maybe we can use them, to make it more fun." She moistened her lips and held out her arm. He grinned and hooked his arm through hers and led the way clumsily to his car.

The drive to Frat Boy's penthouse condo was a flurry of awkward groping but unsurprisingly, his aim and his finesse were less than poor so Hope was able to survive the short trip unscathed.

Once they were inside his penthouse, she easily talked him out of his clothes. He was a man, after all in the presence of an attractive woman. She coaxed him out on the balcony with the tease of the ride of his life. The balcony had a solid chest high concrete rail, to hide their escapade, so that had been an easy sell also.

Hope's caramel colored mane whipped violently in the cool early morning spring breeze as she pressed her body against his pasty flesh and whispered in his ear, letting the whispers trickle down his neck. Hope felt the power of her whispers register stiffly against her bare leg. She had to hold back the urge to cringe.

"You're a scumbag," Hope said softly in his ear, barely audible in the churning breeze.

He was caught up in the excitement of the moment and didn't immediately register the words. Then it slowly seeped through to him.

"Yeah, Baby, I knew you were into the rough stuff. Driving gloves my butt," he murmured, almost incoherently.

"You're a user, nothing more." She whispered in his other ear, as she ran her gloved fingers across his pale hairy chest.

"Yes," he said, as he tried unsuccessfully to wrestle her out of her shirt.

She brought her beautiful face within inches of his. Her lips glistened in the moonlight; her caramel hair flickered like flames in the breeze.

She whispered to him once more to close the deal.

"How do you feel about going down?" The spark in her emerald eyes flared with intensity and reflected in his eyes.

"Yes! Do it."

Hope half expected him to high five her at that moment in a male victory celebration.

He braced himself on his unstable, drunken legs against the concrete barrier, anticipating his reward. He had earned it damn it, after dropping that wad of bills on all of those ungrateful women that turned him down tonight.

Hope descended gradually with slight vacant kisses, guiding her way down the sides of his body with her gloved hands. When she got to her knees, she grasped each of Frat Boy's pale hairy ankles and lifted with a minimum of effort and thought, and flipped him over the concrete rail. She rose quickly and silently as the springtime early morning darkness quietly consumed him.

She had anticipated a final panicked yelp at least, a distant barely audible thud, a screech of brakes, a single piercing female scream punctuated by the obligatory car horn. Wasn't that the way it always sounded in the movies? But there was nothing, just the silence of his penthouse and the cool, whispering spring breeze. Spring, that hopeless tease had certainly swaggered back for another one of its brief, unfulfilling encounters. It was here with a short-lived vengeance; the Grenada invasion of seasons, in and out, wam bam, thank you Ma'am.

Hope felt nothing about what she had done. He had been nothing to her; just as she would have been to him had she played the game. If he had closed the deal tonight, he would have discarded her just as thoughtlessly, never to acknowledge her again once he had gotten what he wanted. He would have easily moved on to the next one without a second thought.

So, Hope had tossed him as easily and indifferently as tossing an empty bottle on the side of the road. And that's what he had been; empty - empty of original thought, empty of character, empty of substance. He had existed solely to consume and in the end, he had been consumed without mercy, like each new season consumes the one before.

Hope wanted to get back to Amy now before she woke and realized she was gone. She had loved being with her. She was sweet, soft, and welcoming. She was beautiful when she slept and when she was awake. She was sure Amy could love and be loved eternally. She had a hint of a rough spot, but didn't we all? With hope, she could be saved.

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