by J. M. Mason
In less than five minutes, his friend had an answer from Pete. Pete must have been sitting on his phone to reply so soon, or this was hashed out before I got to Walter’s house.
“Pete said he would pick you up Friday night at seven. It’s great that you want to be picked up here, according to Pete. You’re to dress up, not formal, just nice.”
I had the information I needed for the outing. Pete was experienced in what a woman needed for a night out on the town. I thanked Walter and Jack for the lovely evening, hugged them, and went home.
I made the mistake of telling Jenny about the date my son had arranged with Pete. She kept telling me to make sure all the glasses were far away from any body parts, suggesting it may be better if I sat at a separate table when I wanted a drink or a slice of bread.
Very funny!
Chapter Twenty
It was the day of my blind date arranged by my son. I was anxious to have a second chance to get it right this time. Walter is a cosmetologist, owning his shop. I asked if he would style my hair for my date, but I couldn’t make it to his shop in the basement of his home, drive back to my apartment to get ready for my date, and go back to his house so Pete could pick me up. So, Walter suggested I get ready and then come to his shop so he could style my hair.
I quickly dressed in my little black dress and put on the same string of pearls I’d worn on my very first date so many years ago. I’d inherited them when Mom died, and they held a very special place in my memory of Mom.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I wished Mom could be here to help me dress for yet another blind date. I chuckled as my mind pictured the bra and garter belt, she insisted I needed to wear to be well dressed way back when things were so much easier on a girl.
Looking at the clock on my bedside table, I knew I had to hurry to get my hair done. Pete was going to pick me up at seven to take me to dinner. I felt myself beginning to panic.
My anxiety was getting out of control by the time I arrived at Walter’s house. He talked about his day at work to divert me. I appreciated his attempt, but most of the time, I wasn’t listening, just like he didn’t always listen to me when he was young.
Walter just finished the last touches to my hair, and we were waiting for Pete to arrive when the doorbell rang. My heart felt like it skipped a beat as I sucked in a deep breath to calm myself enough to keep myself from running to the door and throwing myself into Pete’s arms.
Walter went to his door and opened it to allow my date to enter. When the door opened, I saw the handsome, white-haired man standing there with a broad smile on his face. I was mesmerized.
Pete reminded me of a southern gentleman from the romance novels that I was fond of reading. Thank God I wasn’t in the habit of swooning, although he was worth swooning over, right on his feet.
While I was down on the floor at his feet, I could wrap my arms around his ankles and hold on for dear life, to not let another man get away from me. If he tried to walk away, he’d have to pull me along with him. I couldn’t safely swoon, because Walter didn’t have the proper couch and I didn’t want to ruin my do.
The white-haired hunk’s posture was fastidious, ramrod, military straight, looking like he carried himself with the pride of royalty. The sparkling blue eyes complimented the white hair, and the smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle in the most charming way.
“Mom, Stella, I would like you to meet Bob’s father, Pete. Pete, this is my mother, Stella.”
Bowing slightly from the waist, he took my right hand in his two hands, causing me to take in a sharp breath. He turned my hand palm up, and his lips gently brushed the inside of my wrist at the pulse point. I knew I was going to make a complete fool of myself by fainting dead away, missing his feet by a mile, or blathering like an imbecile on speed.
“The kiss was so good it made my toes curl,” said the heroine in the love novels that were my passion.
I now know what a lovesick girl meant to have her toes curl. Wow. What a great sensation that I hoped to experience many times before my life ends.
The feeling was like butterflies in my belly that radiated down my body, like a molten river, to my toes. I was smitten by the gallantry of the gesture, making him more and more like the hero of my love life. Maybe, he was my one and only. Time could only tell.
I found my mind wandering, thinking about seeing him undressed, his white hair blowing in the wind, and his muscular arms wrapped around my shoulders as he leaned down to kiss my cherry ripe, pouty lips.
His lips were gently insistent as they opened my lips like a rosebud bursting open on a warm spring day. His tongue probed the inside of my mouth pushing to the back of my throat as I suddenly gagged. I suffer from a sensitive gag reflex.
That thought brought my mind back to the present, and what was happening in my body and around me. I was in my son’s living room for Pete’s sake, no pun intended, not the forest where love blooms bright in the sex books as the man bulging with muscles and hair flowing behind him rides in on his trusty steed and throws the heroine to the ground to make mad, passionate love to her on the sun dappled meadow. And when they are finished with the climatic moment, he leaves her to put on her clothes as he rides off into the sunset. Remember the corset, and she now must either carry it home in shame or find someone willing to pull it tight for her.
After the kiss went to my toes, it traveled up my arm to my heart, then sank to my lower region in a flash. If I would’ve had a fainting couch, I would’ve used it for the occasion to pull Pete down on top of me with one hand placed above my eyes and my head thrown back, hair cascading down my back and feathering out on the cushions as I laid in a sexy pose with my bosoms heaving with pleasure, nipples taut enough to play a tune if flicked.
Again, my mind snapped back as I felt my face warm, knowing the redness was wandering up from my breasts, with their taunt nipples, to my cheeks. My mind was wandering in a dangerous place again. My only hope was, he didn’t read my thoughts and body language.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Stella. You look lovely. Are you ready to go, our reservations are for seven-thirty?”
“It’s great to make your acquaintance, Pete. I forgot something, please excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back, and then we can go.”
When I was a child, Mom told us to go to the bathroom before we got into the car for a road trip. As was my habit, just say the word ‘go,’ and I get the urge to go, so I went to the bathroom and left Pete in the company of Walter.
As I quickly walked down the hall, my heart fluttered like a butterfly trying to escape the cage. I pressed a cool cloth to my face to decrease the warmth that lingered there because my mind took an erotic adventure on its own.
Walter handed me my sequined handbag when I returned. I was secure in the knowledge that my bag held my keys, identification, comb, lipstick and money in case I needed to call for a cab to bring me back to Walter’s house.
I winked at Walter as Pete held the door for me to exit. So far, I felt excited and hopeful for a successful evening.
Chapter Twenty-One
My mind was working overtime with self-doubt, thinking about going out with a perfect stranger, causing me to have cold feet. The man could be Jack the Ripper for all I know about him. Tonight, we would learn about each other, and, maybe, if I were lucky, he would tell me if he were a serial killer before it was too late for me to save myself.
“I hope you like the Cattle Rustler’s Club and Grill,” Pete said. “They have the best steaks, prime rib, and fish in the whole state of Colorado.”
I wondered if he was as nervous as I. He looked relaxed as he drove us to the restaurant.
“I’ve never been there,” I replied. “I didn’t know it existed. Though I do enjoy a Ribeye steak.”
“You can have whatever you wish. I doubt you’ll be disappointed no matter what you order. It’s all good.”
Great, he’s a cowboy. Now, I don’t have anything against cowboys, yet I was unco
mfortable knowing he would have preconceived ideas on how a lady was to conduct herself on a date or in public. I wasn’t that kind of woman; in fact, as I’ve said before, I never considered myself a lady, nor have I been accused of being one.
Grandma had taught me how to go to a fancy eating place, learning about the forks, spoons, and where to place my napkin before and after the meal. I wondered if she would be amused by what I’d done with my napkin the week before. However, that technique wasn’t part of her lessons.
She taught me to hold my pinky finger out when drinking my tea from the tiny cups. Yet, I was never able to master the nuances of being a lady when I stood, sat, or walked. Nothing in the definition would describe me as any type of feminine person
A German tank, Calamity Jane, etc., would better describe my personality. If something weird is going to happen, you can bet and win, that I’ll be in the thick of it with a look of confusion on my face.
We didn’t speak the rest of the six blocks to the restaurant. His eyes kept being directed my way, and I began to fidget in my seat.
What’s the matter with this man? Is there something sticking out of my nose?
Lowering my head, turning toward my side window, I rubbed my index finger under my nose. I felt something dislodge that was hard and wet, which may have been hanging out of my nostril, yet I was afraid to check my finger for fear I’d see something was swinging there. I covertly flicked the end of my finger to dislodge what I pulled from my nose.
Pete continued to look my way from the corner of his eyes. My anxiety increased the paranoia burning in me about my need to clear my nose again. I didn’t think to put a tissue or two in my handbag, and I couldn’t lift the hem of my dress to blow my nose, nor could I blow my nose the cowboy way, by holding one nostril closed and blowing firmly to shoot the mucous out and away from my body, which I am well practiced—long story that I might tell you someday.
I was so relieved when we arrived at the restaurant, and Pete got out of the car, walked around behind the vehicle, opened my door to allow me to step out, and then held the door for me to enter the building.
As I walked in front of him to enter the building, he leaned down and whispered in my right ear, “You are so beautiful. Walter didn’t tell me that. He just said you were a nice lady.”
He straightened up and placed his hand to the small of my back to guide me where he wished me to go. No one had done that for me in the past. I was left to wander like a lost lamb when I entered a building before.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know you tonight over dinner. I hope you’re not one of those ladies that eat like a bird kicked her on the head.”
My eyes opened wide. What in the world does he mean? Eat like a bird kicked me in the head?
He continued to gaze at me with a smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners as the amusement on his face grew, which I assumed was because he’d figured out that I wasn’t as savvy as I acted.
“You don’t know what I mean, do you?”
Shaking my head in the negative, I shrugged my shoulders.
“I don’t like these skinny minis that look like walking skeletons. I want a woman with a little meat on her bones, so when I hold them in my arms, I can feel flesh, not bones.”
Wow! He is going to really enjoy my body; it’s soft, warm and roomy.
“I enjoy a good meal,” I said. “And I don’t waste a lot of food.”
There was a box of facial tissues on the podium where the host person stood to greet the customers. I grabbed a couple and gently wiped one under my nose. I hoped it was in a ladylike way. I did hold out my pinky finger just in case.
A young woman dressed in a black pantsuit, red blouse, and white bow tie came toward the podium with her nose in the air like she smelled a skunk. I wondered if hosts at restaurants went to the same school to walk and act the way they do.
It was apparent that she knew Pete. Every time she looked at him, she smiled and batted her eyes in his direction. Yet, when she contacted my eyes, her nose instantly shot into the air, and the coy smile evaporated from her face like she’d found the source of the stench.
“Good evening Mr. Madox. Would you like your usual table?”
“Thank you, Amanda, if you please.”
She picked up two menus in black faux leather covers with a gold-toned, silky cord with a tassel that dripped from the spine. “Please walk this way.”
It was all I could do to walk normally and not giggle. I kept thinking she acted like we were playing ‘Follow the Leader’ with a corncob up her hinny.
When we reached a table near the fireplace, she smiled at Pete and gestured for him to sit. It looked like there was a fire crackling on the logs, yet at a closer look, it was just a TV playing a loop with a cheery fire, like the Yule Log feed that plays at Christmas time, so you have something to watch.
The glow from the golden flames danced merrily across the table, like dancing fairies in the forest at twilight. The twinkling of the reflected light on the tips of the flatware arranged on each table, looked like fireflies twirling on the wind, chasing the fairies in and out of the leaves fluttering with the flapping of their wings.
“The radiance from the fire makes your skin and hair have a golden glow that is very becoming,” Pete said.
“Thank you.”
I won’t discuss the meal. It was no better nor worse than eating at a cheaper place. So far all was well and I didn’t cause harm. Little was said that could embarrass me or my sons, I didn’t spill anything, and in general, I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself, yet.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pete and I often laughed during the meal, many times for no apparent reason, and we discovered we had many things in common. The best commonality was our love of chocolate. Because of this, we shared a ‘Death by Chocolate’ for dessert and made soft moaning noises showing our delight, only to giggle at each other like a couple of teenagers. People around us looked our way and smiled.
When chocolate clung to the corner of my mouth, Pete gently removed it with the edge of his napkin as he gazed into my eyes. I found myself wishing he would remove the chocolate with his lips. Each time he did this for me, the butterflies fluttered deep in the depths of my being. My respirations increased, and I found it difficult to swallow.
“They make such a cute couple,” I overheard one of the women sitting at the table behind us tell another.
We had a great time. I found I didn’t want the evening to end, the food was delicious, and I expected that it consisted of more calories than either one of us needed, yet, who was counting? It was delicious, and it made the night better because of the joy we experienced from each other’s company.
After we finished the delicious dessert, we ordered a cup of Espresso. We sat sipping the robust beverage, sitting side by side with our heads touching as we leaned closer and closer to each other. It was fantastic to feel alive again, and I’d thought all those feelings died the day my ex sauntered in with his bimbo.
I moaned when the last drop of the rich coffee was gone, and the check came. Our date was nearly over, and I was reluctant to have it end. Would my thinking be different if I could know the future, it would’ve been of great help to know that things were about to change drastically in just a few short minutes?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Have you ever had a time in your life when you wished that you had gone with Plan A before experiencing Plan B? Me neither. I’ve always gone with Plan A before B because I learned the alphabet song, and A still comes before B every time I sing it, during the times I’m filing charts at work.
It’s unclear to me why I thought changing the tried and true process was a great idea. If I’d followed the proper rules, things would’ve gone better, yet I’m often stubborn when it comes to my ideas and thoughts.
I forgot it’s better to use the KISS, Keep It Simple Silly, process with anything we encounter in life. If anyone is to complica
te the simple, you can bet and win, I’m smack dab in the middle of the problems that results.
My lot in life since I was born was to make life different for all those who cross my path. Different isn’t necessarily good or bad; it just is. However, when different is equated to me, it’s negative, despite my positive intentions. Maybe, a warning label should be attached to my forehead to alert people to beware if I do something differently, it could cause harm to the beholder of the event.
My favorite past time is playing the ’If Only’ game because of my wrong choices. The game helps me pass many weekends and workday empty spaces. All I need is a long, red, wet noodle in order to beat myself. A red noodle will leave the marks needed to show others I was suffering, it helps when having a self-pity party.
If I’d chosen the right plan, things might have gone better for the rest of the evening. In the mirror of hindsight, it would’ve been vital for me to go with what Grandma tried to teach me about the proper etiquette with makeup at the table.
Getting up after excusing myself, taking my handbag, and going to the bathroom to apply my lipstick would have been the wisest choice in the whole danged world. Yet, no, I couldn’t be bothered with doing the simple thing as putting on a coat of lip paint. I had to choose to remain at the table because it’s acceptable now to apply lipstick at the table in front of God and everyone. If only I would’ve remembered the old rules.
Who was the silly person to change that rule, and for what reason was it changed? Did he or she know how much heartache that rule change would make in the lives of the innocent women and men everywhere in the whole world?
“Never, ever apply your face powder, lip rouge, or comb your hair at the table after a meal. A lady excuses herself to go to the Powder Room to make herself acceptable for public viewing,” Grandma said when she was teaching my sisters and I how to be proper women of breeding.
This is one rule I wish I’d followed to the letter. Yet, I wander through life with my head in the stars and stumble over the obstacles I place in my path. I was informed by someone who claims to be a friend that I need to make a fool of myself in public to validate myself. Maybe, next time, I’ll remember that piece of wisdom and not make a complete fool of myself at the table by choosing more wisely.
