by Bill H Myers
Just about every storefront had vendors outside hawking their wares, handing out discount booklets or playing music. It created a festive, carnival-like atmosphere, and I could see why the place attracted so many tourists.
It was kind of like Bourbon Street in New Orleans but without all the drunks.
About halfway back to Fort Alley, Erin stopped in front of the Taberna Del Caballo restaurant. She pointed at the menu taped on the front glass and asked, “See anything you like?”
Before I could answer, she said, “The Avocado Goddess Salad with grilled chicken. That's what I'm having.”
She'd already made her decision. We were going to eat at the Taberna Del Caballo, whether I liked it or not.
I was wearing cargo shorts and a fishing shirt and I was worried I might not be dressed well enough for a fancy restaurant. Stepping inside, I quickly realized that how we were dressed wouldn't be a problem. Especially after I saw a sign that told what Taberina Del Caballo meant; the Tavern of the Horse. The sign explained the place had once been a stable.
Inside it did look like a stable that had been converted into a tavern. One from the seventeenth century. With dark wooden beams spanning the low ceiling. White plastered walls that looked older than they probably were. Wooden picnic tables, both inside and out on the patio, provided plenty of seating.
Erin told the greeter we were there for dinner and she led us to a table on the patio. She asked if we wanted to place our drink orders, and Erin ordered wine. That meant I'd probably be the one driving us home, so I took the high road. I ordered water.
The waitress soon returned with Erin's wine and asked if we knew what we wanted. Erin had already decided on the Goddess Salad and that's what she ordered. After looking at the menu, I went with something called Carne Asada. I didn't know what it was, but it looked good in the photo next to its name.
When the server left, Erin sipped her wine and said, “It's been a pretty good day for me. We've eaten all our meals out, and I haven't had to make a single taco.
“We may not have found Waldo yet, but it's been fun looking for him.”
I nodded, thinking that, yes, it had been fun. But I wondered what would happen when we got back to the RV. She had told Fay she was spending the night with me.
I wondered how that was going to work.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The food arrived quickly and both choices looked better than the menu photos. The server refilled Erin's wine and again asked me if I wanted to place a drink order.
Had I not been the one who would be driving us back to the RV, I would have ordered sangria. It would have gone well with the Carne Asada.
We didn't talk much during dinner as we were both too busy eating, and the live music next door would have drowned out any conversation we might have had.
Erin finished her meal and had another glass of wine after the server cleared our table. When the check came, I paid with a credit card and left a twenty-dollar tip.
Going back outside, the sun had set, and the party on the street was starting to gear up. Unlike the family friendly tourists we had seen earlier, the night time crowd was mostly twenty-somethings. A little better dressed than the people we had seen during the day.
I asked Erin if she wanted to join the party-goers or head home.
She shook her head and said, “I think I should have stopped on the third glass. The fourth one might have put me over the limit.”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out the car keys, handed them to me and said, “You're driving.”
It took us about ten minutes to get back to the car in the Castille de San Marcos parking lot. I helped Erin in on the passenger side, and took my seat behind the wheel.
I pulled out of the lot, and ten minutes later we passed through the gates at Anastasia State Park and soon were parked in front of our motorhome.
After helping Erin out of the car, I escorted her to the front door and helped her up the front steps. As expected, Bob was waiting for us at the door and he wasn't happy. He meowed over and over while walking in circles around us. I bent down to pet him, but he ran off toward the back of the motorhome.
Erin plopped down on the couch and I went back to see what Bob's problem was. He was standing in front of the bathroom door, which for some reason was closed, meaning he couldn't get to his food. Apparently, either Erin or I had shut it before we left for the evening.
I opened the door and Bob rushed in. He ducked his head into his food bowl and started chowing down. While he was doing this, I went back up front to talk to Erin.
She was still on the couch but no longer sitting. She was lying on her side, her hands under her head, acting as a pillow.
I didn't know if she was sleeping or not and I didn't want to wake her if she was. As quietly as I could, I opened the storage compartment above her head, pulled out a blanket and pillow, and set them on the end of the couch. I started to walk back to my bedroom, but Erin stopped me by reaching out and grabbing the back of my shorts.
In a sleepy voice, she said, “You're not going to leave me here, are you? I need to get out of these clothes and into bed. Will you help me?”
Anytime a woman asks me to help her get out of her clothes, I'm happy to oblige. But if she's too drunk to do it herself, that's as far as it will go. I won't be sleeping with her.
I decided I’d be sleeping on the couch, away from temptation.
I helped her up and guided her to the bathroom. I opened the door and gently pushed her in. She mumbled, “Close the door,” and I did.
A few minutes later, I heard the toilet flush and I stepped back away. She stumbled out, wearing just bra and panties. Grinning at me, she pointed to the bedroom and mumbled something that sounded like, “Bed. Sleep.”
It was easy to figure out what she wanted, so I guided her into the bedroom, got her up on the bed, and covered her with a sheet. Her eyes were closed, but I was pretty sure she was still awake, so I asked, “Anything else?”
She opened her eyes and asked, “Don't I get a goodnight kiss?”
She didn't have to ask twice. I bent over, kissed her on her forehead, and said, “Sleep well. If you need anything during the night, let me know.”
I was leaving the room when I heard her say, “Wait.” When I turned back to see what she wanted, her eyes were closed. But in what looked like slow motion, she patted the empty space beside her on the bed.
I knew that if I lay down next to her, there was a good chance we'd both regret it in the morning. Still, I have to admit I was considering it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I should crawl into bed and watch over her, at least until she falls off to sleep.
It could have been that Bob was picking up on my thoughts because he came into the room and effortlessly glided onto the bed and curled up against her. He looked up at me and blinked his eyes twice, almost as if to say, “You missed your chance, buddy. You should have moved in instead of thinking about it.”
He might have been right, but, then again, he's a male cat and might not be the best one to listen to when it comes to advice about women.
With him snuggled up against Erin who was snoring softly, I turned off the light and headed up front to the couch. It's not my favorite place to sleep, but it's better than sleeping outside. I stripped down to my underwear, covered myself with the sheet and lay down.
As I was dozing off I started thinking about how strange it was that Erin, the woman whom I had just met the day earlier, was sleeping in my bed.
It was about to get a lot stranger.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I was still sleeping when Erin came up front, wearing one of my tee-shirts and nothing else. She gave the couch a pretty good kick with her bare foot and said, “I'm heading to McDonald's in ten minutes. If you want to go with me, you need to get ready.”
She turned and shuffled back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. If she was getting dressed to go out to get breakfast, I figured I needed to do the same.
>
Since my clothes were in the closet in the bedroom and Erin had closed the door, I had to make a choice. Either barge in on her with the excuse of getting to my clothes or wear the same ones I had worn the day before.
They were in a pile at the end of the couch and within easy reach. I could get them on and be ready to go when she came out.
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in the same booth at the same McDonald's we'd eaten breakfast at the day before. Erin ordered pancakes with extra butter and syrup along with a medium Coke to wash it down. I ordered the same.
While we were eating, she stayed quiet. She didn't ask any questions about how she ended up undressed in my bed the previous night. She just ate her pancakes and smiled.
As we were getting ready to leave, she asked, “Do you have scissors in your RV?”
“Yeah, in the bottom drawer next to the sink. Why do you ask?”
She smiled and said, “When we get back, I'll show you.”
I turned right out of the McDonald's parking lot and headed back to our site in Anastasia State Park. As we approached the turn-off, Erin said, “Keep going straight. We've got to make another stop first.”
I did as she asked. Two minutes later, she had me make a left onto the bridge to the mainland and then, a left at the light at US 1. Less than a quarter-mile later, she had me pull into the parking lot of a Goodwill store. She smiled and said, “We're here.”
“What do you mean we're here? What are we doing at a Goodwill store?”
Instead of answering my question, she opened her door and said, “Follow me.”
She went inside the store, and I stayed close behind. We were met by a greeter, who, with a lot of enthusiasm, said, “Welcome to Goodwill.” I heard him repeat the same welcome to every other customer that came in. It was a nice touch, a good way to prepare us for what we were about to see.
The store was packed wall-to-wall with inventory. To our right used furniture. Couches, chairs, tables, beds, and lamps. Further back, electronics. TVs, stereos, computer monitors, printers and modems. Mostly obsolete things that had been donated.
Erin led me past all of these and headed over to the men's clothing department. She looked at me for a moment and said, “I'm guessing you're a thirty-six long, right?”
I was hesitant to answer. I was afraid of what that might lead to. But I had to say something, so I said, “I don't need any new clothes. I've got all I need back in the RV, and I like my style.”
Totally ignoring me, she thumbed through the racks until she found a pair of long black pants with a thirty-six tag. She pulled them off the hanger, handed them to me and said, “Try these on.”
I started to object, but she pointed to a dressing room just steps away and said, “Humor me. Try them on.”
I took a deep breath. I didn't want to try on pants, especially used ones from Goodwill. But if it would make her happy, I would.
In the dressing room, I took off my shoes and stepped out of my cargo shorts and into the slightly used pants. They fit, but it felt weird to be wearing them. It'd been a long time since I had worn long pants. In Florida, I didn't need them.
As I was standing in the dressing room, looking at my reflection in the mirror, there was a tap on the door, followed by Erin asking, “Do they fit?”
“Come in and see for yourself.”
I was surprised when she opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind her. She had a white button-up shirt on a hanger in her right hand, a black blazer in her left, with a black tie draped over it.
She held the shirt out to me. “Try this. Let's see how they look together.”
I didn't try to talk her out of it. I could tell she was planning something, and she wanted me to dress a certain way.
I put the shirt on and it fit. Seeing me in it, she smiled and said, “That'll work. Now the blazer.”
I put it on over the shirt, and even though it felt weird to be wearing a blazer, it looked good on me.
She smiled and said, “That's the look I'm going for. Now put on your old clothes and bring the new ones out with you.”
When I came out of the dressing room, she was holding another pair of pants, a white shirt, and a sports jacket. All three looked too small for me. I shook my head. “Nope, I'm not going to wear those.”
She smiled. “Don't worry, these are for me.”
On the way to the checkout, she grabbed a thin black belt in my size. Behind her, but not out of earshot, I said, “I hope you're getting these for a costume party because I'm not wearing them in public.”
If she heard me, she didn't say anything. When we reached the checkout, she gave the clerk our clothes and had me pay. Total for two shirts, two pairs of pants, a tie, two blazers, and two belts was twenty-eight dollars. A real bargain if you didn't mind wearing used clothes.
As we were leaving, the same man who had welcomed us when we came in said, “Have a nice day.”
Again, it sounded like he meant it, so I said, “You too.”
Out in the parking lot, on the way to the car, I asked Erin, “Okay, tell me. Why did we get the clothes?”
She looked me over then down at my shoes. “Do you have something a bit more formal than the sneakers you're wearing?”
I didn't, and I didn't want her to know. I feared she'd drag me back into the Goodwill store to go shoe shopping. But she'd already made up her mind. “We need to get you some dress shoes. Follow me.”
She went back into the store, and again I followed. She led me to the men's shoe section and picked out a pair of well-worn, black dress shoes. “Try these on.”
I did, and they fit. We paid and went back to the car. With me behind the wheel, I asked, “Where to next?”
She said, “Walgreens. It's about a mile on your right. Pull in when you get there.”
I wasn't going to ask why she wanted me to take her to a drug store. My plan was to get her there, sit in the car while she went in and still be there when she came back out.
Surprisingly, she was okay with that. In fact, she suggested I stay in the car. She said she wouldn't be gone long. I didn't argue. I stayed in the car and waited for her return.
Five minutes later, she came back carrying a plastic shopping bag that looked to be nearly empty.
As soon as she got in the car, she said, “Home, James.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When we got back to the RV, Erin had me grab the clothes and shoes from Goodwill and take them inside. She gave Bob a few pets and then emptied the bag of goodies from Walgreens onto the kitchen table. There were two pocket-sized notebooks, two ball-point pins, and a comb.
Looking into the bottom drawer by the sink, she found the scissors, came over to me and said, “Have a seat. I'm going to cut your hair.”
“No, you're not. I like my hair the way it is. I'm not letting you cut it.”
She snapped the scissors and said, “I like the way it is, too, but it's too long for what I have planned for us today. I promise I won't cut too much. It'll look good.”
She had me take a seat at the table and draped a dry towel from the bathroom over my shoulder. She picked up the comb and said, “Stay still, this won't take long.”
As I sat there listening to the snap of the scissors and watching locks of hair fall into my lap, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I'd only know her for two days, and she was already changing my wardrobe and cutting my hair. I didn't want to think about what she might want to change next.
A few minutes later, she was done. She put the scissors down and said, “Go look in the mirror, tell me what you think.”
When I stood to go check myself, I could feel cool breezes around my ears, places where hair had been before. Same with the back of my neck. There was coolness there that I hadn't felt since my days in the military.
Fearing the worst, I went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. I was shocked at what I saw. Instead of hair that had been touching my ears, I now had whitewalls, about a half-inch of
bare skin above each ear.
The hair on top of my head had been cut back to about an inch in length and resembled a crew cut that had gone wild. The somewhat shaggy hair that previously touched the back of my collar was no more. Now there were two inches of bare skin topped by ruler-straight line.
I no longer had the look of a laid-back surfer dude. Instead, I looked like a boot-camp reject.
When I went back up front, Erin had changed into the black pants and white shirt she'd bought for herself at Goodwill. She was holding a palm-size notepad in her hand.
She said, “Tell me what I look like.”
My first thought, which I probably should have kept to myself, was, “Meter maid.”
Instead of being offended, she smiled. “Good guess. Now it's your turn. Put on the pants and shirt.”
Rather than argue, I dropped my shorts, pulled the newly used pants out of the Goodwill bag and put them on. I followed up with the new, used, white button-up shirt and belt.
When I picked up the tie, Erin came over and said, “Let me do it.”
She leaned in, close enough that I could feel her breath on my neck. It felt good, and I hoped she would take her time getting the tie around me. But she didn't. She did it quickly, and when she was done, she stepped back and admired her work. Then she said, “Put on the jacket and pick up the notepad and flip it open.”
I didn't know what kind of game she was playing, but I decided to play along. I put on the jacket, flipped open the notepad and asked, “Now what?”
She pointed to the bathroom. “Go look at yourself in the mirror. Tell me what you see.”
I was pretty sure I already knew what I looked like. A fool that had let a red-headed Irish woman take charge.
Still, I had to go see. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I thought I looked like a cop. In fact, I looked a lot like the detective that had interviewed me about the incident at the Pump & Munch.
I went back to Erin and she asked, “So, do you get it? You know what I'm going for?”
I nodded. “Yeah, you want us to look like cops. But why?”
