Hands

by Lezah Rutherford

“I’d like to be your hands,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“My hands?” She said, looking at them as if they didn’t belong to her.

“Your hands.” He nodded, smiling.

She busied herself re-arranging the selection of glass cats on the shelf beside her.

“Why?” She asked eventually. Not looking at him.

“Why what?”

Absently he watched her moving small objects in and out of position.

“Why would you like to be my hands?” she asked. Less unsure now.  More impatient.

He shifted his attention from the cats to her eyes, back to her hands. His were hidden in the pockets of his coat.

“Because your hands know you,” he said. “They know you better than anyone could, and I’d like to know you. Like that.” He spoke slowly, breathily, watching her now, his gaze running over her face, her eyes, her hair.

She felt confused, agitated, tingly.

“Get out of here”, she whispered, glancing rapidly around to see who might be looking.

The only other customer was a petite, dark-haired girl, studying the gent’s watches in the display counter.

“No” he said, not moving.

“Well, be quiet then, and stop that talk. You shouldn’t be saying things like that. Not in here.”

“Why not?” He grinned at her discomfiture, a wide smile, revealing almost perfect teeth.

“You’re getting me all confused and my hands don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Poor hands,” he drawled, moving closer to her. His were still in his coat pockets. She could see the fists of them pushing the fabric forward behind the unbuttoned, brown-flecked overcoat.

More confused, she hurriedly raised her gaze from the area to which it had wandered and took a deep breath.

“Leave off” she ordered. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

“The man who wants to be your hands,” he answered, shifting again, the soles of his shoes scratching on the vinyl flooring. Once again, his hands moved in his pockets, coming together now in front of him, the coat closing as he did so, drawing her eyes downwards.

She was sure her face was red. She felt hot, sweaty.

She had never, ever, heard such a chat-up line before, and she thought she’d heard them all!

She looked desperately over towards the dark-haired girl, who had transferred her attention to a case of gent’s rings.

The girl caught her eye and grinned, raising her eyebrows towards the young man.

He still stood there, the hands in his coat restless now.

Irresistibly, her eyes followed the movements.

“Wouldn’t you like to be MY hands?” he asked, his eyes insisting on locking on to hers.

His were green, flecked with gold. Unusual, compelling…..

She felt herself being drawn into their depths, sinking…..

Embarrassed, laughing nervously, she broke the contact, brushing imaginary specks from her immaculate, white blouse.

“You are a terrible man,” she mumbled.

“I know, but I’m lovely with it.” He grinned.

“Do you want to buy something?” she said.

“I’ll take one of these little glass cats, I think. One with green eyes.” His twinkled merrily at her, as she fumbled with tissue paper and gift bag.

“That will be three ninety-five please,” she said.

He counted the exact sum into her outstretched hand, running a rough index finger over her soft palm.

She shivered as she rang the amount into the cash register and handed him his receipt.

“Thank you,” he said, still smiling as he turned to go.

“You’re welcome. Please call again.” The words came by rote, the thoughts going…. Please…please…

She watched as he walked away, past the display counter, towards the street door.

The dark girl who had been browsing in the corner, turned as the young man passed her, giving him a dazzling, lipstick smile, but he ignored it, turning to wave at Mavis, still entranced behind her counter.

“Don’t forget your hands,” he called, leaving.

The girl tossed her head. “Men!” she snorted, as she, too, turned to leave.

Mavis patted fussily at her blonde, permed hair, pushing a few wayward strands back into place. She still quivered with the electricity of the last few minutes.

She could hardly wait to tell the girls this evening….

Those eyes…that line…… I’d like to be your hands…she hugged herself and dreamed on.

A few steps down the High Street the dark-haired girl caught up with the green-eyed man. Tucking her hand under his arm, she gave it a squeeze.

“Hi babe,” he said. “OK?”

“Yeah, not bad, two watches…”

“And the ring…”

“Yeah…” She opened her fist, to display a gent’s ring.

Gold flecked topaz set between two hands.

He grinned down at her.

“I’d like to be your hands,” they said together.

And made their leisurely way down the street, laughing.