In steady stride during the downtown lunch hour, he's thinking about where he can get a quick bite to eat and avoid the pretentious business crowd. Soundgarden jams through his ear buds and he considers stopping for a large black coffee instead of having a real lunch, but he knows he'll never make it through the afternoon without at least a sandwich or a slice of pizza. He reaches into his pocket to see what remained from last night's tips after putting money aside for his cell phone bill. Eight bucks and change until tonight's shift, and it would have to do. He refused to use credit cards. It was his life's mission to live debt free, so he lived simply and made due hoping for better times in the future.
He stopped into Mario's for a slice of mushroom pizza and a Cherry Coke with extra ice. There were two small tables available, one by the window and one in the back corner. Usually he would elect to sit tucked away in the quiet corner where he could read, but today he sat by the window. The sun was shining and he liked to watch the passers by every now and then. It was fun to size them up in fifteen or twenty seconds, conjuring up the details of their lives. It was like turning strangers into book characters. He liked to read. Not Sports Illustrated and Playboy like a lot of his friends. He liked to read books. He was smart and well-read, but you wouldn't know it. People judge him by his appearance, and his appearance hardly screams bookworm. In most circles he talks about comic books, sports, or the latest on Cracked. But with a woman, now that's when his softer more intellectual side comes out.
He finished his pizza and looked down at his watch. It was too late to go home or get anything done, but too early to go into work. He took a few minutes to people watch and then went next door to the used bookstore to kill a half hour before work.
***
Across the street the light changes to red, and little miss perfect crosses to the other side. Her strategically streaked highlights were pulled back into a long, neat pony tail that swayed from side to side as she walked. She hustles briskly, pumping her tightly defined arm on one side and gripping her shoulder bag on the other. Fitted in her lemon yellow tank top, her perfect C's sit atop fat-free abs, and are supported by trim thighs and a firm ass. Her hands are manicured, nails in neutral color and she has the perfect tan. The kind you only get from a bottle. The shoulder bag is the latest from the J.Crew spring catalog, and in it she totes a face towel for the gym, a tall bottle of Evian, and an umbrella snug in the curved edge of the bag. Completing the ensemble are "flirty pink" toe nails and yellow patent leather flip flops to match her tank top.
She's just finished Pilates and is stopping as usual, for a green tea. Always tea, never coffee, sweetened with a single Splenda no matter how large the cup. She's trying to decide whether to head back to the gym after lunch to pick up a spin class, or to head home. She doesn't work. She's smart and educated, but she lives for her kids. Shopping, spin class, Pilates. They are all distractions from her life when her kids are at school. She has a perfect-on-paper attorney husband, but he's too busy screwing his secretary in the mail room, or the bathroom at Starbucks to care about what she does during the day. He thinks she doesn't know.
She decides to take her tea and walk around the block before returning to her car. The sun is shining and there's a comforting breeze in the air. It reminds her of the early days in her marriage when she could show up at the firm with lunch and lure her husband out for a picnic lunch in the park. He couldn't resist the chance to lay on a blanket under a tree with her. He would kiss her behind the ear and she would pull to the side so they felt each other cheek to cheek. It was that intoxicating feel of a new relationship. A feeling she longed to have back. But things were different now. She wasn't sure how or why, but they were. She enjoys a brief stroll back around to Main Street where she arrived in front of her kids' favorite pizza place. She makes a mental note to order a pie for dinner tonight, and instead of spin class she decides she'll pick up some goodies at the bakery and surprise them when she picks them up from school.
***
She put on her best in an attempt to keep her husband interested for their weekly Friday night date. While the nanny bathed her kids she pulled her hair up with her favorite clip, smiling because she knew how her husband loved to pull it out as he kissed her before they made love. She zipped up her Ralph Lauren dress, slipped on her peep toe sling back sandals, and clasped her pearls around her neck. The ones he gave her when they got married. She put on some lip gloss, and dabbed on some color to go with her flirty pink toes. She checked her phone and then checked out the window. No car. The time was 7:30 and there was no sign of her husband or his car. She sighed. Though she knew her marriage was a sham, Friday nights were sacred. It was the one night a week they left the house together, lived the happy couple facade, and came home together, alone. Most weeks it ended with an obligatory love-making session that sated them both well into Saturday morning. At least until he got up to play golf. Now it was almost 8:00, and he still wasn't home. Bastard. She checked her phone again. This time she noticed a text, several actually:
Mark: I know it's Friday...
Mark: I know it's our night, but I have a big case...
Mark: I gotta work. I'm sorry xoxo...
Mark: I'll make it up to you.
Working? She thought. Bullshit! He's working over his secretary on the table in the executive conference room. She threw her phone at the mirror and watched her reflection shatter into spiderweb cracks. She knew exactly where he was and what he was doing, but he never did it on Fridays. She had no intention of running down to the office to catch him in the act. Instead, she would file it away with all the other reasons she resented him. This one under H for heart breaker.
After she wiped away her tears and allowed herself a few minutes of self-pity, she shed her country club dress, and neatly hung it back in the closet. She scanned the closet until just the right garment caught her eye. There, that's it. It was the sexiest little black dress she owned. She hadn't worn it since the days her husband was banging her on the conference table because he couldn't keep his hands off her when she'd bring over dinner during late night case prep. Barely there black silk that hung just slightly into her cleavage, and rested ever so gently on her nipples, it was no secret when she caught a chilly breeze or a hot glance. It dripped over her shoulders and down into a perfect U, puddling at the sway of her back. No need for extravagant jewelry, the dress said it all. Just a pair of simple diamond studs, black strappy sandals on a three inch heel, and absolutely no pearls. She looked hot and she knew it. She was ready for a night out. If her husband wouldn't take her, she would take herself.
She stopped to admire herself in the shattered mirror and tried to smile. Instead, she took a deep breath, pushed down the lump in her throat, and choked back the tears. She turned and walked toward the door and stopped in her tracks. What am I doing? she thought. Where do I go? It had been almost twenty years since she went anywhere on a Friday night without Mark. She thought about the things and places she loved that he never agreed to. Dinner on the beach, open mic night at the coffee house, the jazz club downtown. He said no to all of it. Tonight the decision was hers and hers alone. She decided a glass of her favorite Merlot and a little jazz might be just what she needed.
She left the bedroom and walked downstairs tripping over a Barbie and a couple of Legos on her way, bracing herself on the rail at the last step. She kissed her children goodnight and reminded the nanny to make sure they brushed their teeth and were in bed by nine, no exceptions. The kids told their mommy she looked beautiful, probably assumed she was meeting Daddy, and hugged her tight. Then they exchanged I love you's. The nanny gave her assurances and smiled with a look that could only be exchanged from one woman to another as if to say, "You look smokin'."A nanny knows all a family's dirty laundry.
She got into her Beemer and turned on the blue tooth. She made a last ditch effort to coax one of her friends out to join her. She pleaded saying only that they needed a girls' night out. Rachel and her husband had theater tickets, and Sam was packing for an early flight to Aruba the next morning. She stopped at a red light and checked herself in the rear view mirror. It looks like we're really flying solo tonight. She was a bit nervous, but fueled by her anger toward Mark she suddenly felt invigorated. The light turned green, she stepped on the gas, and she drove downtown.
The city was bustling. Lots of people, lights from the signs and traffic signals, and music of all types emanating from the entrances of various venues, from restaurants and cigar bars to nightclubs and coffee houses. She valeted in front of the Blue Velvet Jazz Club, slipped her ticket in her purse, and approached the door looking to both sides as though she was worried about being spotted. It was as though her body was betraying her thoughts before she even had them.
She scanned the room surveying it for something, anything familiar. Who was she kidding? She hadn't hit a jazz club since she got married. Mark hated jazz. The best way to ease into this she thought, was to get over to the bar and start drinking. Normally the smoke would annoy her, but tonight it brought her back to the days before Mark. She sort of welcomed it. It was a time when she got to make choices about where and how she would spend her weekends. Sometimes the club with her girlfriends. Once in awhile a weekend at the beach. Anyway, those days were long gone. She wiggled her way in and stepped up to the bar. Two men in business suits paid their tab and got up, but not before undressing her with their eyes. They left, so she sat down and the bar tender approached her right away. "What'll it be?"
"Merlot?" she asked as if seeking approval.
"Sure." He poured her a glass of wine and centered it on a fresh cocktail napkin. "Just let me know if I can get you anything else." He moved across the bar tending to other customers, topping off glasses, collecting tips from those who had come and gone. But he couldn't help but keep one eye on her. The attractive woman at the end of the bar. Alone. He wondered if she was meeting someone. Girls night out with her friends? Not a chance he thought. A woman like that had to be meeting a man. She never lit a cigarette, never checked her watch or her phone. She just sat there sipping her Merlot and gazing around at the crowd. Not like someone searching for someone, more like someone searching for some thing. He was intrigued.
"Another Merlot?" She looked down at her glass and twirled it by the stem. There was one swig left. She gulped it down and looked at him.
"Sure." She finished the second glass a little quicker than the first and appeared to be a little more relaxed. She had a bit of a glow, and her eyes had that glazed over sparkle of a wine buzz. Still alone, she hadn't exchanged more than a few words with anyone who tried. She lifted her hand, and signaled him over for another drink. He nodded to acknowledge her request, but finished the final garnish on a couple of cocktails at the end of the bar.
She looked like an old cliche. Every guy in the place was hitting on her and she was turning them all down. She appeared to be drowning her sorrows in a wine glass. He watched her from the far corner of the bar trying not to stare but he couldn't help himself. She was beautiful. She swayed gently to the music and closed her eyes. He could tell she was hurting and wondered why. No doubt she's into assholes. He was probably a doctor or a stockbroker with plenty of money to give her everyhing she wants. He made his way back over to her.
"What can I get ya, another Merlot?"
"Please." She paused and continued before he could turn. "Actually, forget the wine. Make it a vodka tonic."
"Sure thing. With a lime?"
"Yes. Two."
"You got it." As he turned around she noticed what might be considered his best side. She had already noted his strong looking but immaculately clean hands, and his charming smile. Good teeth. Bald wasn't exactly her thing. But nothing was really her thing. She'd been with Mark since she was twenty four. She looked away and wondered what happened to her. Her life.
"One vodka tonic, two limes." He stayed for a minute hoping she would say something. Anything. He had made up his mind she wasn't waiting for anyone. If she was, it should be clear to her by now he wasn't going to show. He went out on a limb. "Waiting for someone?" She sighed and took a sip of her drink carefully holding the swizzle straw to the side of her glass.
"Actually, tonight I'm on my own." He couldn't help his response. Quite possibly listed in the first chapter of every bartender's handbook, he knew how it sounded the minute it came out.
"Come on, a pretty lady like you couldn't possibly be-" She interrupted him.
"Are you serious?"
"Wow, I guess that did sound pretty bad. But it's really not often that a woman like you sits at my bar without, well, a date. Or at least waiting on a date to arrive."
"A woman like me?" She was perplexed. She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. "Let's just say I was stood up."
"Guy's a fool if you ask me."
"Well, I didn't. But thanks." She closed her eyes and sipped her drink again. The vodka streamed through her and so did the sultry jazz tune by the live band on stage. Once again the bartender stepped away to serve other customers. They began a bit of cat and mouse, chasing each other with glances but each trying not to let the other know. After she finished her third drink, she twirled her swizzle stick around in her glass. She lifted the glass to her mouth and eased one of the ice cubes in, sucking the last drop of liquor off it and allowing it to melt in her mouth. She gently shook out her hair, took a deep breath and moved toward the stage where the band was playing. He was watching her every move. She was mesmerizing. Elegant and sexy, and her vulnerability stroked by the alcohol turned to a tentative confidence. She closed her eyes and moved with the music. It wasn't really dancing, just feeling. The cocktails had loosened her inhibitions and her muscles, and she was feeling the soothing rhythms of jazz. Others were dancing around her, but all eyes were on her. The blue stage lights reflected off the instruments and cast an icy blue hue over her. The silk moved with her and her senses were heightened. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Any move, any attempt he made, would only be reciprocated out of need and hurt. But he decided he didn't care. As the night went on he hoped she would stick around until closing.
She continued to move, one song to the next, and light beads of perspiration dotted her forehead and neck. The band took a break and she stopped in the ladies room before returning to the bar to refill her drink. Two women stepped out and she was the only one there. A solitary stop infront of the mirror gave her a minute to reflect. She looked at herself, the way she looked in this dress. Why did she come here? She wondered why her life had become such a sham, such a living lie. What's wrong with me? What do I want? Her mind was flooded with questions for which she had no answers. The only thing she knew in that moment, warmed by the alcohol, aroused by the jazz, was that she longed for intimacy. She was sick of being a trophy wife, and cold scheduled sex once a week with a man who no longer loved her was not her idea of intimacy. She dabbed away the sweat, wiped her tears and resigned to think about it when she was sober. She decided one more drink and another set by the band, and she would call it a night.
Another drink and several songs later, she forgot about her resignation. As the night wore on, many tried to dance with her. A few were successful, most were not. But she allowed only one dance before she walked back to the bar for a refill. He continued to fill her up, each time increasing the tonic and cutting back on the vodka. He hated to see a wounded woman drink herself to oblivion. By now he had lost count anyway and wasn't sure about her tab. It was getting late and he was starting to feel protective, though he wasn't sure why. Why was this woman any different from any of the other heartbroken drunks that came in and out of here each night? He wasn't sure. The only thing he was sure of was that he didn't want her to leave.
"One more," she said for the third or fourth time. Each time she returned she got a little flirtier, giving rise to his confidence. He couldn't hold back any longer.
"You want to tell me why a knock out like you, in a dress like that is dancing out there, alone? You mourning the date that never showed?" She didn't respond, just looked at him. She was annoyed by his comment but flattered he called her a knockout. "This place is crawling with guys and you're turning them all away. Any guy would give his right arm to dance with you."
"Yeah, all except the one I'm married to." She realized as soon as it came out, how pathetic she sounded. Suddenly she felt embarrassed.
"So, it was your husband who stood you up?" Now he felt stupid. A blind date who didn't know what he was missing was one thing. But her husband?
"Twenty years we've been together, married almost that long. He thinks I don't know."
"Know what?"
"He's nailing his secretary. Regularly." He was shocked. What is it with these assholes? She had to be one of the most exquisite women he had ever seen. Maybe she's a head case.
"I don't know why I just told you that. You must think I'm some kind of head case."
"Nah." He chuckled to himself. "You can't imagine everything I see and hear in this place. You know what they say about bartenders..."
"What's that?" She bated him. He told her all about the crazies that come in and out of a joint, talking to a bartender about all their problems.
"Like free therapy." He left her to attend to other customers but she couldn't help but follow him with her eyes. There was something about him, a kindness she hadn't felt from a man in a long time. He seemed smart, well spoken.
***
The band played final requests and last round was called at the bar. People started clearing out and he could count the number of patrons remaining. He scanned the room, realizing he lost track of her in the rush to fill final drink orders. He feared she'd left without a word and he'd never see her again. He sighed, there she was at the end of the bar sitting relaxed but despondent. He brought her a tall glass of ice water and served it with a wink. "Should I call you a cab?"
"I can't leave my car here. Besides I can't... I don't want to go home."
"I can clean up here and we can go get a cup of coffee, sober up some."
"Um. Okay. That sounds kinda nice actually." She sat and nursed her ice water while he cleaned up the bar and wiped down the tables. She wondered if she should call home and have the nanny come get her. She felt drawn to stay so she checked her cell phone. No messages, the kids are ok. He did a quick sweep and told the owner he'd be in early tomorrow to give the place a once over before opening. He offered her a hand and she took it. He pushed open the bar door and they were met with a cool evening gust.
"Are you cold? There's a diner just down the block here."
"No, I'm ok." He could see through the thin black silk that she had caught the breeze and he swallowed deep trying to hold back the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her.
"So you wanna talk about it?" He wasn't sure what to say.
"I'd rather not."
"Okay then. Let's get some coffee." They walked into the busy diner. The latenight favorite was full from one end to the other with after hours employees and late night movie goers looking for a post cinema snack. They were seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant, no booth, no privacy. She ordered french toast with cinammon sugar and he a belgian waffle with vanilla ice cream. They both had coffee. The rest just felt like a first date.They talked about her kids, but not her husband. They shared a little about their goals. He was paying his way through school, studying to be an English teacher. After years of working in the restaurant business he decided he wanted something more stable, a career that would allow him to nurture and share his love of reading. He didn't want to take out loans, so he works nights at the bar so he can attend classes during the day. She was a top student in college, journalism major. But she gave up her career to raise her children. She seemed sad, but ok with her choice.
Three cups of coffee later, they found themselves talking about their favorite books and traveling, and movies. It was like they were old friends. With no apologies, he leaned across the table and said softly in her ear, "You are so beautiful." He sat back, "And the light dances in your eyes and the weight of the world lifts when you talk about your kids... He's a fool." She looked at him, and dropped her chin. It's been a long time since someone looked at her that way, saw deep behind her eyes. She felt conflicted. When she said "I do," she meant it, for better or for worse. But should she be forced to live in a loveless marriage? She longed for the gentle touch of a loving man.
"If I had a woman like you in my life-" She closed her eyes and shook her head, tears streamed from her eyes.
"Don't." A million thoughts ran through her brain. Run away with this guy? You don't even know him. A one night stand, really? I'm not like that, and he seems like he deserves better. Live in the moment she thought. Stop thinking about everything like it's a monumental decision. Instead of thinking, feel for a change. She smiled shyly at him.
"I better take you home," he insisted.
"Your home or my home?"
