by Paul Preston
I was about to make a move to discreetly leave the service when I suddenly saw her standing near the front pew, chatting with another parishioner. I had a strong visceral reaction to seeing Grace again. Almost immediately my brow became wet with perspiration and my heart started pounding painfully in my chest. Grace was dressed very conservatively in a blue skirt that covered her knees and a white sweater, yet she still evoked a sensuality that gripped and held me captive to the core of my being. Seeing her again removed any lingering doubt about how I felt about Grace Madsen. I knew now more than ever that I loved this woman and, despite the fact that she was married, I would love her for the rest of my life. I found myself physically trembling as I looked down upon her and water filled my eyes, threatening to spill out and slide into the crevasse of my cheek. I breathed in and tried to gain control of my emotions. What power did this woman have over me? She was tender to me, once.
Grace stood next to a man in a full military uniform near the front of the church, which I assumed to be her new husband. I played through my mind a fantasy of walking down the steps of the balcony and down the center aisle of the church. I approached Grace and she turned to me, hiding a shocked expression in her eyes. She introduced me to her husband and I respectfully shook the man’s outstretched hand and let go of it. Then in one swift move I clutched my hands fiercely around the military man’s throat and squeezed his neck with all of my might, strangling the life out of him. Grace Madsen had awakened me, but at a price. My obsession and passion for her came along with this dark rage. I never imagined killing anyone before, even the two boys who permanently disfigured my face.
I knew now I had not come to the church just to catch a glimpse of Grace. I had to admit to myself I had come to kill her husband with my bare hands right in front of her. I looked down at my white knuckles clutching the edge of the balcony, ashamed and disgusted with my vile thoughts. On weak knees, I steadied myself and sat back down with the crowd when the minister came out and the service began.
Then the most extraordinary thing happened. I don’t know how, but she seemed to intuitively know I was in the church, staring at her. She turned around slowly, looked up, searching the balcony and found me almost immediately. The expression on her face was neither surprise nor shock, but one of sadness. I held up my hand to say hi from a distance. She continued to stare at me through weary eyes, until her husband quickly turned around and looked upwards, to see what his wife had been looking at. He put his arm possessively around her waist and Grace turned around and never looked behind her again.
The minister led the congregation in a song. Grace stood obediently by her husband, sharing a hymnal. After the song of praise, the minister told us to Praise Jesus by hugging the person standing closest to us. I really couldn’t get out of the physical contact. Luckily I had an aisle seat and only had to hug the lady next to me. The minister shut his eyes, raised his hands in the air and started proselytizing to the crowd, asking us to pray for the star of a popular show everyone was watching lately, Duck Dynasty. The old bearded reality TV star had just been suspended from his show for making offensive anti-gay remarks in an interview, comparing homosexual behavior to bestiality, grouping homosexuals with drunks and terrorists. He had become a martyr for conservative potential 2016 Presidential candidates, with Sarah Palin, Governor Jindal and Senator Cruz all claiming progressives were trying to take away his rights to free speech. Of all things in the world to pray about, the Aids epidemic, the tragic Civil War and massive humanitarian crisis in Syria, worldwide poverty, the 2000 plus people in the church were asked to pray for the reinstatement of this bigoted man’s job on the Arts and Entertainment Network. I had enough and quietly slipped out of my pew, down the steps and out of the church.
As I drove away from the church, I kept thinking of ways I could kill Grace’s husband. Each scenario was without a weapon, face to face, in cold blood. It was shameful. It was clear to me that Grace had moved on with her life and it was about time for me to do so as well. I was smoking too much and drinking too much and I had to put a stop to it.
When I had attended church several years ago I may not have had much faith, but I did believe in doing social service. I did an internet search and found a soup kitchen in my neighborhood, attached to a church. Helping those less fortunate than I, I hoped, could perhaps bring me peace. I drove over one day before work to sign up as a volunteer.
When I arrived I saw a line of homeless men lined up at the doors of the soup kitchen. I felt sorry for them. It was autumn and the weather was getting increasingly chilly. After helping to serve the meal, I would drive in my heated car to my warm office and then back to my comfortable home. These poor people had no safe warm place to go, nowhere to sleep at night. I looked over the faces in the crowd, once again looking for my homeless man. I still harbored a fantasy of finding him, giving him a share of the settlement money from my lawsuit against the CPD and helping to turn his life around. I wished I got a better look at his face when it happened almost four years ago now. The details of his face had faded from my memory. The pain and weariness in the eyes of the ragged crowd blended into one another. Looking closely at the hopeless poverty spread out before just depressed me further. At least I could help serve them a hot meal. I asked one of the volunteers I saw where I could sign up and he directed me to a side building of the church. I went in and an elderly man behind an old desk gave me a form attached to a clipboard to fill out. I sat in the dingy office and registered.
I gave the form back to the man who said his name was Bill.
“So, it says here you work at a bar Mr. Jefferson?”
“Yes.”
He looked over my application and glanced up at my facial scar.
“Mr. Jefferson, lots of folks come by here to donate their time, but very few come back a second time. I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else. It isn’t glamorous and it’s hard work. Are you sure you want to make this commitment?”
I wasn’t sure I would be accepted as a volunteer because of the way I looked, so I brought along a check for $25,000 made out to the church just in case. Bill took it in his thin grey wrist.
“What’s this? A check” he said, squinting.
When he read the amount his eyes grew wide and he looked at me in disbelief.
“Look Bill, I know I’m… disfigured. You’re probably afraid I’ll frighten these people away because of the way I look…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it hardly matters what you look like.”
“I want to do something to help. I’ve worked in soup kitchens before, cooking, serving and cleaning up. I helped out at the food pantry at the last church I attended. I know it is difficult work and you can count on me. I’m a very successful businessman and I can also help to provide financial support to you here.”
“This donation is… tremendously generous of you Mr. Jefferson. It’s not every day someone drops a check like this in my hands. We’ll put it to very good use. I must say our donors don’t usually… serve the meals, except on our annual Thanksgiving dinner, of course.”
“Well, I’ll be here every Sunday if you need an extra hand Bill.”
“This is one of the busiest soup kitchens in the Chicago Metropolitan area. Of course we need help. In fact we can start right now, if you’d like.”
“Fine. Let’s get to work. What would you like me to do?”
After the tables and warming trays were set up and a group of unfortunate persons made their way through the food line, I spotted the yoga teacher. She looked like a hippy starlet, fashionably late in thigh high leather boots, skirt and leotard under a big fluffy faux-fur coat. Her entrance certainly brightened the gloomy mood of the place. All heads turned to her as she squeezed her slender waist behind the long tables and picked up a serving ladle. The staff said hi to her and she apologized for being late. I stared at her along with everyone else. Of course she took no particular notice of me.
I immediately started having inappropriate sexual th
oughts about her. I imagined ripping off her clothes, knocking the pots and pans from the metal table in the back kitchen, tying her wrists with rope to the table legs and taking advantage of her from behind. I put one hand over my face and covered my eyes, as if I could rub the dirty thoughts about this innocent woman from my mind. Were all men perverted or was it just me?
The cold silence between the homeless men and women thawed after the angel entered. Conversations started and the warm food filled everyone’s empty stomachs. Even I felt slightly cheered by being in such close proximity to a beautiful female. I was actually able to briefly put Grace Madsen and her husband out of my mind, at least for the afternoon. The Yoga Teacher smiled and chatted with all the ragged people as she served the steaming soup and seemed to radiate kindness though her blue eyes. I wasn’t quite sure whether I had imagined it, but I think our eyes may have met for an instant when our serving platters were changed. It’s funny how the tedious act of serving plate after plate of mashed potatoes becomes quite tolerable when a sexy woman is standing nearby.
The Yoga Teacher flitted away after the last person came through the line, waving at Bill on her way out. I stayed to help clean up the tremendous mess. Afterwards Bill thanked me for the donation and shook my hand.
“Your generosity will put food this winter in the mouths of a lot of hungry people all over Chicago, Mr. Jefferson,” Bill said.
“It’s my pleasure Bill. And my name is Jim,” I said.
I was in the mood to get back in shape again so I went directly to Equinox and did my work out routine. I felt like a dead weight on the treadmill but after I broke a sweat I was running rather well on it for having fallen off the wagon. I did a few reps with the free weights and then went to the dry sauna to relax. I positioned myself away from everyone, standing in the darkest corner of the sauna near the door, isolating myself like a leper. After a few minutes, in walked the Yoga Teacher. I got to be in the same room with her for the second time that day. She was wearing her skin tight flesh colored leotard and nothing else, not even shoes. She struck what appeared to be a difficult pose, balancing on one foot, stretching out her left arm in front of her while holding her right ankle up and out behind her with her right hand. She was able to hold the position for an impressive amount of time, standing as still as a statue as beads of perspiration trickled down her brow. Several men stared at her in the sauna, checking out her arched breasts and tight rounded ass. I must say I was no better than the others and stared as well, but I tried to be discreet about it. She didn’t seem to mind to be ogled by the half-naked men.
One particular hairy-chested man tried to hit on her. I had seen the guy on local TV before, hawking his get rich books and seminars. Most of the guys at Equinox were pretty loaded and he was no exception. I had seen him try to pick up single ladies in the sauna before who had wandered too close to his meaty paws. He was most certainly an ass and wasn’t particularly attractive, but I have to say I admired his easy way with woman. He didn’t seem to care whether they responded to his obvious advances or not. Sometimes he struck up a conversation with one of the ladies and they ended up actually leaving together. He wanted what every other man at the gym wanted, sex. The difference was that he went out and got what he wanted. I envied him. As the Yoga Teacher intertwined her fingers behind her and bent her torso down low to her knees, the man stood up, leaving a puddle of his sweat behind him.
“Great class today Amy,” the guy said.
Amy. Her name was Amy.
“Thank you,” she said politely, unaware that her breasts were about to slip out from her top once again. “Be sure to keep hydrated.”
Amy continued her stretching while the man leered at her.
“Thanks Amy. I will, especially in this dry heat. By the way, I hope Equinox is paying you well. You’re the best yoga instructor here, in my opinion.”
“That’s very kind of you to say,” Amy said.
It felt weird that everyone in the sauna was listening to the man’s attempt to get into her pants, though Amy didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it.
“Listen. Amy, I was wondering if you’d like an opportunity to make a little extra money this weekend. I think I may have told you before I’m a financial adviser specializing in wealth consolidation management. I’m teaching a series of workshops this weekend at the Hilton downtown. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? The Road to Riches? Maybe you’ve seen the commercials on TV advertising my free seminars.”
“No, I’m sorry. I really don’t watch TV.”
“I also advertise on the radio, print media and the internet as well. You can visit my website, roadtoriches.com to find out more about it. Though I live in Chicago, I hold seminars all across the country, based on my popular series of books and videos.
I could tell right off this guy was full of shit, but Amy was polite to him.
“Right on,” she said.
“Listen, one of my assistants is down with the flu, so I need to hire someone ASAP to help check in the attendees on Friday and give out the information packets. Of course you will be given complementary passes to all of my workshops as well. If you like the job you can travel with me across the country to my next seminar. Why don’t we meet later to discuss my proposal?”
By the time Amy finished her stretching routine her leotard was soaked through. She politely declined.
“That’s a great offer and I could use the money, but I’m planning on doing a liver cleanse this weekend along with some heavy meditation, so I’ll be totally out of commission. But thanks anyway,” she said with a smile and stepped away.
The man reached out and touched her arm. She stopped and turned to him.
“Amy, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Whenever a door like this opens in your life, you should try to go through it. Why don’t we meet to discuss it over coffee at least?”
Amy pleasantly smiled and stepped away from his grasp.
“I hate to be preachy, but you know the one thing Jesus said that always blows my mind? It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. It would be cool of you to think that over this weekend, during your workshop,” Amy said, turning away from the gold chains and reaching toward the sauna door.
Instinctively I opened it for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She took a cursory glance at me and stopped before leaving the sauna. When she looked back at me, she didn’t seem at all put off by my scar, or was too kind to let me see her disgust on her face.
“Hey! I know you, I think. Weren’t you one of the volunteers at the Soup Kitchen today?”
“Yes, that was me,” I said, amazed that she recognized me.
“That was righteous of you to help feed the homeless. A lot of people talk about helping the poor, but hardly anyone ever does it. What’s your name?”
“Jim,” I said.
“I’m Amy. I teach Ashtanga Yoga here at the club three times a week.”
“Yeah, I’ve peeked in at your class from time to time.”
“You should stop by and check it out. Come by early. My class tends to fill up fast. If you like a good work out, I promise you, it’ll kick your ass.”
The hairy man squeezed his sweaty body between us and walked out of the sauna, ticked off that Amy was talking to some big creepy guy rather than him.
“Thanks. It looks pretty challenging. I’ve never…”
“Don’t worry. My class is appropriate for all levels.”
“OK. I’ll check it out Amy. Thanks.”
“Well, I’ve got to run. Will I see you at the Soup Kitchen next week?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She smiled and walked away. Finally I was the one who got to chat with the sexy woman in the sauna.
I bought a book on Ashtanga Yoga and a thin blue yoga mat and tried out a few of the positions in the privacy of my home for a few hours after I returned home from Obsessions each night. I w
as out of shape and had not been stretching or exercising regularly. The poses were difficult to strike and I felt my body being twisted into a pretzel before I lost balance and tumbled to the floor. But I kept at it all week so I wouldn’t look like a fool in her class. By the end of the week all the work had paid off. I was able to hold the positions longer and I began to feel more limber and in control of my body. I stopped by Amy’s class on Friday afternoon and gave it a go.
Even though I arrived a few minutes early the room was packed and I could hardly find a space for my mat. I did OK as Amy led the class through each position. At least I didn’t fall down on my face. Amy was assisted by a student, obviously enamored with her, a man around my age who seemed to have rubber bands inside his legs instead of cartilage. They cranked up the heat in the room during the class until I was sweating through my work out clothes. At the end of class Amy chatted with the rubber band guy while I rolled up my mat. I was a little disappointed that she hadn’t noticed me, but then I heard her call out my name as I exited the class.
“Jim!”
She approached me, dabbing the sides of her cheeks with one of those eucalyptus-scented towels my gym is famous for.
“Hey Amy,” I said.
“I’m so glad you could make it. You did great! Was that your first time taking a class?”
“Yes, but I practice a little at home sometimes.”
“Well, I was really impressed. Did you like it?”
“Like you said, it kicked my ass. It was an excellent work out. Thank you.”
“Are you going to the sauna?”
“No, I have to run off to my job,” I said.
“Where do you work?” she asked.
For some reason I felt embarrassed about telling her about my club.
