The West Side Highway is alive with cars, moving fast around turns originally designed for model T’s. The tires tap to the rhythm of cracks and bang in the pot holes from many winters past., “A Taste of Honey” fills the radio speakers and melded with the rhythm of the wheels. The smells and sounds of hot city streets rise from below and mingle with the sound of her dress when she moves and her intoxicating perfume.

Anticipation has joined the ride and stares ahead.

We exit on streets that are still dimly lit with a setting sun. Waves of people still fill the streets and move in all directions driven by the constant storm of the city. The office lights are dull and spotty now with late night workers still striving for their prize. But the business of the buildings, even now, is being consumed by the neon lights of the other city, New York after dark. The diner clubs are opening their doors as white-gloved waiters move to their stations. A bill palmed casually while shaking the Matradee’s hand assures us a preferred table and proper service.

Anticipation will dine with us tonight.

On to the theater and the carpeted floors. The tickets are Orchestra Center for tux and gowns. As the lights grow dim her jewelry sparkles even brighter with the smile on her face. She is pleased and content and holds my arm. There is champagne at intermission and many eyes are on us. Finally the curtain falls and she is watching me and we smile and leave quietly through the crowd.

Anticipation has applauded and enjoyed it too.

A brisk elevator brings us to a rainbow high above the lights. Glass surrounds the lounge and provides a panoramic of the city in its evening splendor. The only sounds are of tinkling ice and muffled conversations, not to be overheard. She touches my hands as I look into her face. Her lips are full and warm on my own and her sent fills my soul. The check comes slowly, bills fall to the table and we are down to the car that waits below.  The final stop is but a short distance and is reached not too soon. Through the glass doors our eyes never parted. Morning was tomorrow and tonight was still ours.

Anticipation departed in taste with good manner.