by Nella Tyler
Still, a break once in a while would be greatly appreciated, and I hadn't really had one since that horrid morning, not so terribly long ago, when I found the note my then husband had left on the kitchen table. One of the comments the he’d made in the letter had stuck with me, gnawing at me like a wound that refuses to heal. He had claimed I was holding him back. Holding him back! From what?
My ex-husband was an auto mechanic, a good one, but one without much ambition. He wanted to own his own shop, even a chain of them, but did little to help himself reach that goal. Me? I had pretty much given up a college education to get married, thinking naïvely that together, we could make all our dreams come true. It didn't take long for my dreams to get dashed and squashed underfoot. I didn't realize until we'd been married for several months that my husband was easily discouraged. When he became discouraged, he drank, not that we could afford to spend the money on beer like he did.
His dissatisfaction with life and the fact that he often drank himself into a stupor to escape reality and then tended to take it out on me, verbally, hadn't helped any. He had never struck me, but I was damned if I was going to spend the rest of my life with a potential alcoholic or someone who spent more time feeling sorry for himself than trying to pull himself up and forward.
I have to admit that the letter he left me on the kitchen table, though it hurt and cut me deeply, was in some ways a relief. After all, I’d also caught him sleeping with a woman, in my bed no less. While he was the one that accused me of holding him back, I wanted more out of life, and I was willing to work hard for it. The problem was that now, with bills to pay, finding time when I could even think about going back to school and paying for it, were just a few of the issues that held me down. Sure, I could get loans, but I had to consider paying them back. I had applied for some scholarships, but nothing ever came of it. I had had pretty much been forced to take any job I could find, and the job at the casino had been it.
Ever since then, I'd been trying to make ends meet. There was no time for anything else, let alone going to classes and finding time to study. I picked up extra shifts at the casino when I could and I had a few dollars put aside, but it certainly didn't amount to much, and would probably take care of maybe one month's rent, maybe two. Thoughts of Ben and people like him who had oodles of money that they didn't know what to do with irritated me to no end on occasion, but I tried not to be jealous, envious, or covet what they had and I didn't. That was self-defeating and it didn't take much to get me depressed about it. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever be able to live beyond paycheck to paycheck.
That had me wondering. Ben sounded interested in me, but was he really? Or was I just a distraction for him? And even if I wasn't, I certainly wasn't ready to begin another relationship. I certainly wasn't willing to risk my heart or the carefully balanced equilibrium I had finally achieved. Work, come home, maybe watch some TV if my cable hadn't been shut off due to unpaid bills, go to bed, get up, repeat. That was my life.
By the time I finished with my chores and got dressed for my date, or whatever we were calling it; my heart was beginning to race with a combination of anticipation and dread. What should I wear? I had no idea. I should have asked where we were going.
Of course, the city was home to hundreds of restaurants and since I decided we certainly wouldn't be going to McDonald's, I decided on a simply cut pair of black slacks and an ivory-colored silk tank top with a string tie around the waist. I finished off the simple ensemble with a pair of black flats. I hoped my attire would be adequate for wherever we were going. I expected him to call at any moment, and then wondered if I had insulted him when I had just given him the apartment complex address and not my apartment number. Still, because I wasn't too sure about him, I didn't exactly want him knowing which apartment was mine. A girl couldn't be too careful these days.
By the time my cell phone rang, I had worked myself into quite a state of anxiety. I had been pacing my apartment for the last twenty minutes; even though I had known what time he would be picking me up. I finally got disgusted with myself. For crying out loud, it was lunch, not a marriage proposal! Still, as I answered the phone, my hand trembled.
"Hello?"
"Hi Maggie, it's Ben. You ready?"
"Yes, I am."
"I'm in the parking lot out front. I'll meet you at the front door, okay?"
"Okay, I'll be down in just a minute," I said, striving for calm.
As I made my way out of my apartment, locked the door, and walked down the short hallway toward the stairs, I just kept repeating my mantra. It's just lunch, it's just lunch. I made my way down the hallway toward the glass front doors, which were locked. Only the tenants had a key, with a strong warning by management not to make any copies or loan them to anyone else. Just beyond the glass doors, I saw Ben, standing with his back toward me, looking out at the street.
While I certainly didn't live in the worst neighborhood in the city, it wasn't one of the best, either. For the first time, I felt self-conscious about where I lived. As I pushed open the metal rod that opened the door, he quickly turned to face me. He gave me a quick once over and then smiled.
"Is this okay for wherever were going?" I asked. I wasn't sure, because he wore a dark washed pair of black jeans, a white dress shirt, and a loose fitting sports jacket over it. No tie, so wherever we were going couldn't be too fancy.
"You look great, and what you're wearing is just fine," he said.
As I approached, he lifted his arm, elbow bent, waiting for me to take his arm. Well, that was a gentlemanly thing to do, I thought, lightly grasping his forearm as he escorted me into the parking lot and toward his car. Under my fingertips, his arm felt strong and solid, like I knew it would. After all, I had spent the last month or so watching him, and I had gotten the distinct impression that either he was very active or he worked out on a close to daily basis.
I couldn't tell which car was his, as the parking lot to the apartment building was fairly full, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. When he paused next to a black sports car, I glanced at him in surprise. It was beautiful, sleek, and shiny. I couldn't believe this was happening. Was I dreaming? Would I wake up soon and find myself staring up at my spackled ceiling, laughing at myself for my daydreams of grandeur?
"You like?" he asked, gesturing toward the car.
I laughed. "What's not to like? It sure beats my Honda Civic."
He laughed and opened the passenger side door for me. I slid in, amazed at the feel of the buttery soft leather seats and sleek interior. He walked around the rear of the car and then climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. It literally purred. I tried to take everything in without acting like I was too impressed. I had never considered myself poor, but then again, I had never sat in a Porsche, either.
"I hope you like where I’m taking you," he commented. "They have a nice menu for lunch."
Actually, because of the time of day, it was more like my breakfast time rather than lunchtime, but I didn't care. I imagined he was taking me to one of the casinos in town, one of the many that served twenty-four-hour buffets, but to my surprise, he drove a short way out of downtown and pulled into the parking lot of one of the nicest restaurants around. It was a chain, but a very nice chain. I found it rather odd, that due to my perceived sense of his obsession with the casino, that he wouldn’t take me someplace gambling related, even to eat.
Still, I was pleased with his choice. It wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't exactly a Denny's, either. We were seated, got our drink orders, and I perused the menu. I saw that breakfast, as well as lunch options were available, and decided on a Denver omelet, while he chose the meatloaf special. After the waitress left with her order, I turned to him and smiled.
"I wouldn't have thought you were meatloaf kind of guy," I commented.
He acted surprised. "Why not?"
I shrugged.
"There are times when I do appreciate the simpler things in life," he explained. "I have
money and lots of it," he admitted. “But I don't indulge in fancy-schmancy foods like caviar." He grinned.
He said it without any sense of bragging, and the way he talked amused me. We had never engaged in conversation outside of the casino, so this was a side of him that I had never seen: somewhat playful, more laid-back, and less serious.
I didn't feel awkward while we waited for our food because he filled the silence with casual discussion. He didn't ask me any private questions, which I appreciated, and I found him to be comfortably charming. The only private question he asked was whether I had a boyfriend. In answer, I merely shook my head, and then asked him the same thing.
"No, I don't have a boyfriend," he said with a grin.
I stared at him a moment, startled, and then felt the heat of a blush rush into my cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it," I replied.
"I know, I'm just teasing you," he said. "And the answer is no, I don't have any current girlfriends." He turned his glass of tea around and around, turning contemplative. "I haven't had much luck in the dating department lately."
I didn't even want to go in that direction, so I changed the subject. "Is that why you come to the casino every night? Boredom?"
He shrugged. "It's just a hobby and a lucrative one, at that. Of course, that's not to suggest I have a gambling addiction or anything of the sort, but it does help pass the time. I've always been pretty much a night owl and living here, it’s a convenient entertainment."
I dared to ask a personal question. "Did you grow up here in Atlantic City?"
He shook his head. "Far from it. Actually, I was born in Minnesota."
"Seriously?" I asked.
"Seriously, in a town so small it had only one stoplight."
I couldn't imagine anything that small.
"Where did you grow up?"
"Tom's River, up the coast a ways,” I replied. "So, how did you get from Minnesota to Atlantic City? What brings a country boy to one of the most popular gambling towns on the East Coast?"
He smiled. "I'm good at it…gambling, I mean. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not a professional gambler or anything, but I find it easy."
I wanted very much to ask him how much money he had that he could so easily spend every night in a gambling casino. Yes, he won the majority of the time, but still. And when it came to that, how come he won so often? Could he be cheating? I didn't want to think so, but could anyone really be so lucky?
He didn't volunteer any additional information, and I didn't press. Besides, I wanted to keep this casual. To be honest, I didn't really care where or how he got his money, at least, not right now. I was looking forward to lunch as a simple distraction for me; a change of pace, but I certainly didn't have any expectations.
After lunch, we lingered. When he'd finished with his iced tea and I with my diet Pepsi, he ordered each of us a glass of wine and we continued to chat. It wasn't as if there was a crowd lined up outside the doors waiting for seats, so we just spent the time shooting the breeze. One glass of wine turned into two, and then he asked the waitress just to leave the bottle.
I was beginning to feel quite relaxed by my third glass of wine and decided that I'd better stop while I was ahead. Even slightly toasted, I knew better than to let him see my cards, so to speak. I wasn't willing to share my background or my hesitance toward developing any new relationships. I still had a niggling suspicion that he wasn't quite on the up and up, but I didn't want to say anything that might even slightly come across as an accusation.
Instead, I kept the conversation light. He wasn't slurring any, so I knew that he wasn't drunk, and while I was beginning to feel a little fuzzy-headed, it was more of a relaxed feeling than tipsy. I wasn't slurring, either. Still, after the third glass of wine, I was feeling so relaxed that when he did begin to ask more personal questions I felt less hesitant to answer.
He asked me about my past. I told him that I had been married once, not long ago. I told him the whole sordid story about finding my husband in bed with a woman he had obviously picked up from the neighborhood bar while I had been out of town visiting my family. I had returned home earlier than expected and found him.
Because I was so naïve, shocked, didn't know exactly what I wanted to do, and still loved him with all my heart, I had forgiven him. It had taken me longer to forget, which I never really did. But then, not six months later, the same thing happened again, though not exactly the same way. He began to show up later than usual from work, claiming that business was booming. Eventually, I caught on and realized he had been lying. Not only had work slowed down, but he was spending at least two or three hours of his workday at a local strip club.
I didn't catch him sleeping in our bed with a woman he’d picked up the next time. No. I had driven home from work one afternoon to find him going at it in the car in the driveway. I wish I could say that I had never been so shocked in my life, but to be honest, I hadn't been, not really.
I should've known better than to trust him after the first dalliance, but I had wanted to so badly. That second time had been an eye-opener. Of course, he had begged for forgiveness and promised that he would never do it again, but now I knew better. He would never stay true to me. I could give him everything he wanted and still it wouldn't be enough. I don't know if his straying was a result of getting married too young and feeling like he had missed out on something or if I just wasn’t enough for him. It didn't really matter in the end. I wasn't going to put up with it. I filed for divorce.
My divorce had only been finalized the previous year, and despite my intentions not to spill the whole sorry mess, I ended up telling him that part of me that I had, up until now, managed to keep private and deeply buried inside me. So it was that I had been divorced before our second anniversary. I had been 18, barely, when I got married, so I could chalk up my mistakes to immaturity, but I would never have that excuse again. I had not seen or heard of him since the divorce. I had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or if he was even alive, perhaps married again, and I didn't really care. Needless to say, he had left me wary of any new relationships and with a severe distrust of men.
"Even though I've been divorced a while now, I have to be honest and say I've never been able to trust another man since," I somberly told Ben. To my surprise, he laughed, which didn’t make me feel too good, but then he admitted he wasn't asking for my trust, anyway.
"No strings, remember, Maggie? I just want to show you a good time."
I stared at him for a moment, not quite sure what he was implying by that, but then he made a face and wiggled his eyebrows, and I could tell that he was joking. I laughed. The expression that passed over his face gave me pause. Had he been joking or had I misinterpreted what he meant?
"Do you have any plans for the rest of your afternoon?" he asked abruptly.
I should've said yes, that I was going to meet a friend or something, but the wine was affecting my judgment. I shook my head.
"You want to hang out with me for a while?"
I shrugged and decided I deserved to take a break. I was having a nice time, he wasn't pressuring me, and I was feeling rather proud of myself for even agreeing to go out with him for lunch in the first place. As long as he remained a gentleman, I decided that an afternoon not working and not sitting in the house watching TV would be a good thing.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked.
"Nothing terribly exciting, I can assure you," he said with a smile.
I wasn't too sure whether to believe that or not, but again I shrugged. What the hell? I deserve to have a little fun, didn't I?
Chapter 4
The lunch turned into a three-hour plus deal and after topping off over three glasses of wine, I was definitely feeling a little tipsy. By the time we left the restaurant and headed back for his car, I had to concentrate on walking steadily so he wouldn't think I was drunk. I wasn't, really I wasn't, but I was feeling a little floaty. I still had complete faculty of my emotions, but I could alm
ost say that the wine had taken the edge off many of my inhibitions. Not to an extreme measure, of course, but enough to make me a little bit reckless.
Dammit, I deserved to have some fun, and I was determined to do just that, at least for this afternoon. I could enjoy one afternoon without feeling terribly guilty, couldn’t I? It wasn't as if I had my sights set on Ben or any man for that matter, but he was paying for it, and I was rather enjoying being out and about a little bit without having to worry about how much it would cost me.
"How about a dip in my Jacuzzi?" he asked suddenly.
I glanced at him in amazement. Why should I be surprised he had a Jacuzzi? "I don't have a bathing suit," I replied.
He grinned. "You need one?"
I stared. Was he suggesting…
"I can see by the look on your face that I startled you," he laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Actually, I... I don't know quite sure how to say this so that it comes out right, so I’ll just say it. I have a lot of friends over and sometimes they like to go swimming or sit in the Jacuzzi, but don't have bathing suits. So, I decided to buy a bunch. I have quite a collection of men's swimming trunks and ladies bathing suits, bikini style and one piece suits in a variety of sizes to deal with that situation."
Again, I supposed I shouldn't be too surprised. While I didn't know that many people, okay, make that any people that had a Jacuzzi, let alone a collection of swimming suits for men and women in various sizes, for someone like Ben, is nothing unusual. After all, he was bloody rich, wasn't he?
The alcohol was beginning to play with my brain. Under normal circumstances, I might've declined, but I was feeling less inhibited, was enjoying myself, and perhaps even feeling a little bit sorry for myself. Why not soak up the attention of a rich, handsome man like Ben, at least for an afternoon? Why deny myself the pleasure of one stupid afternoon when I didn't have to worry about anything?
