shoulder to shoulder

He is at a conference now, which was overbooked and is far too crowded, and it is getting late in the evening but he has to stay. He made a speech--no, gave a presentation--earlier and it would look bad if he left now. He is handing out business cards and pretending to be happy to meet everyone, and it is difficult. He keeps checking his watch--furtively at first, but now he no longer cares. Surely it must be coming to an end soon.

And there is a woman here who looks familiar, but he can't put a finger on it. She has her arms folded and uses her glass of wine as a shield. He has been trying to keep track of how many she has had, but in the crowd it is impossible. All he can tell is it has either been a great deal or not very many at all. Perhaps it is both.

As she approaches his cell phone vibrates, once, and he glances at it briefly. It is from work and, so, can wait. She pauses a few paces away, and there is a moment of awkward silence. "Hi?" he says, and curses himself for sounding so confused, so curious.

She says hello, and asks him how he is doing, and for some reason this makes him think he knows her--the tone, the inflection, something about it. "I'm fine," he says. "How are you?" She is also doing fine, she tells him. She tells him that she enjoyed his presentation. She empties her wine and says she should be going. She bids him good night and hands him a business card. He does not recognize the name. He turns it over. She has written something on the back, and he does recognize the handwriting. It says she is staying in his hotel. It contains a room number.

He glances at his watch once more and decides that it is time to call it an evening, at the conference in any case. He hails a cab and bills it to the company. He is not certain if he will accept this penciled invitation. There is a lot to leave unsaid.