4 comments/  5433 views/  2 favorites

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor

By: 2Xwidderwoman



A very heart-felt Thank You to Erik Thread. His help, suggestions, and corrections, make my story a better read for you.

This story doesn't have a hot sex scene, so if that's what you are looking for, please read elsewhere, then come back at another time to enjoy this short tale.

*

The sun, low in the western sky, reflected off the windshield of a car in the parking lot. The glare momentarily showed a bright light inside the darkened bar when the door was opened. He didn't need to turn around to see who walked in the door. The mirror behind the bar gave him a pretty good view of the woman.

Her steps weren't hesitant, but she did move slowly, her fists clenched in the front pockets of her jeans. The soles of her leather loafers barely made a sound as she walked to one end of the rectangular bar. She briefly looked at each of the men scattered on barstools on the long side of the bar and the two men sitting on the short side opposite her. She took her hands out of her pockets and held onto the edge of the bar as she lifted her hip and slid onto a barstool, leaving the corner stool vacant.

After waiting a moment to see if a companion would join her, the bartender left his quiet conversation with the two men on the far side of the bar and approached his new customer. After placing a coaster in front of the woman, he gave her time to consider what she wanted to drink.

"Double Black Jack and water with a little ice, please."

The bartender moved to select a glass and took a bottle from one of the shelves to prepare her drink. The bartender walked in front of a man sitting on the second stool nearest the corner to place the drink before her. The man held up a ten-dollar bill and nodded his head toward the woman. 

She slipped her hand into a pocket of her jeans, brought it back to the surface of the bar, and then opened her fist to place a folded twenty-dollar bill on the bar to pay for her drink. She smiled at the other customer and gave a single shake of her head. "Thanks anyway, I'd rather buy my own drink."

The bartender took her money and went to get her change, speaking quietly as he passed the man. "Better luck next time, Tinker." 

Tinker picked up his beer, nodded to the woman, and offered her a brief salute with his raised bottle and then took a long swallow of his drink. She lifted her glass to give him the same salute before taking her first sip of the diluted Tennessee Whiskey. 

The original proprietor of the distillery would have been proud of the way she appreciated the first taste of his family's 80 proof product, although he might not have liked that she was a woman. 

The bartender returned with her change. She selected one of the bills and stuffed it into the nearby tip jar, then slid the remainder under the edge of her coaster. The rings on her left hand momentarily reflected the light from the back of the bar.

Tinker didn't need to turn his head to look at the woman. As near as she was, he could see her easily. He suspected she was in her early-to-mid thirties. She was a little taller than average, slender. Her jeans fit well but weren't skin tight, which meant she wore them for comfort rather than to show off her figure. She wore her simple light blue shirt with all but the collar button securely closed. The flat, tailored collar neatly wrapped around her neck. If she was wearing makeup, there wasn't much of it. The matte color on her lips meant she wanted just a little color rather than the shiny look of come kiss me. She wasn't dressed like a woman on the prowl. She was probably in the bar on the spur of the moment. Maybe had a little time to kill before she needed to be somewhere. Perhaps she didn't want to go home to an empty house.

Just barely loud enough for the man two seats away to hear her, she said, "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor."

His chuckle preceded his own response, "Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief."

"Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief," She completed the fortune telling rhyme, and then added, "Big House, Little House, Pigsty, Barn."

Tinker nodded at the rings on her hand and asked, "Did your dreams come true?"

"I thought they did." Her words were self-deprecatory, as if she wasn't particularly happy about her answer.

He watched some kind of emotion cross her face as she looked down at her glass. "But ..." 

He waited a moment for her to finish the comment she started. When she remained silent, he prompted her, "Seems like you wanted to add something, didn't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders in non-committal agreement then looked at each of the other men along the edge of the bar. Most of them were giving their attention to the television above the head of the bartender. 

They nursed their drinks in silence. Tinker glanced at her a few times, surreptitiously. She didn't appear to be angry or disturbed. She simply appeared to be giving a lot of thought to some weighty problems. 

Likewise, she occasionally lifted her eyes from the glass in front of her, noticing the relaxed way Tinker sat at the bar, as if he was exactly where he wanted to be at that moment. She also looked over her shoulder as a new song began playing on the jukebox, her head moving slightly in time with the heavy beat of the music.

Tinker turned his head to see several couples from tables on the other side of the room walk out to the dance floor and begin to move in step with the slow music.

Her head snapped up when Tinker asked, "Would you like to dance?" She looked over her shoulder again and thought about it for a moment then nodded. 

Tinker stood and turned her barstool giving her plenty of room to stand. He took her arm and steered her between a few tables, then put an arm around her waist to turn her into his arms. After a few steps, when it appeared they moved together pretty easily, Tinker looked down at the woman.

"You know, I usually know at least the first name of a woman I hold in my arms."

"Beth."

Tinker pulled her just a little closer and appreciated that she didn't push him away. When the song ended he didn't immediately step away, nor did she. Instead, he held her a moment until the next song began and felt her relax a little more as she got used to being held by a man she did not know.

Beth wondered about this man, accepting that he was attractive, in a rugged way. He might look different in a suit, but the jeans, denim work shirt, and boots fit the little she had learned about his personality. He stood a few inches taller than he had seemed, sitting near her. She was curious what kind of work he did, his hands were rough with calluses but held her gently. She could feel the shoulder muscles under her hand moving as they danced and those in his legs when they occasionally touched her as he turned them. 

They did not talk during the dances. They simply enjoyed the music and the movement. A few times, Beth looked up at Tinker and usually saw his dark eyes looking down at her. However, other times he watched the other dancers on the floor to avoid a collision. When the second song ended, Beth took a short step back and whispered, "Thank you."

Tinker followed Beth back to her seat and nodded at the bartender's look of inquiry, consenting to another round. This time Beth allowed Tinker to pay for her drink. 

"Do you need to talk about it?" Tinker asked, not really expecting her to unload her problems. He just wanted her to know that if she needed a friend for the evening he didn't have anywhere else he needed to be.

In a sudden burst of anger, Beth responded quietly, "Talking doesn't always solve problems."

"No, it doesn't," Tinker agreed. He remained silent, giving her a chance to change her mind.

Beth placed her left hand flat on the bar and moved her ring finger from side to side, watching the stones sparkle in the subdued lighting. She looked at Tinker's hand and showed she had also made an observation. "Yours is newly missing. Maybe that's what I should do."

"I didn't lose much," he answered, looking at his own finger. The once white skin had tanned, but the dent left by the missing wedding ring was still obvious. 

"I don't think you can say that," Tinker added. He could see the large diamonds in her rings, one of the pair of diamond studs in her ears, and no one could miss the largest one hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. Every breath she took caused the diamond below her throat to sparkle.

Still looking at her hand, Beth asked, "If you could, would you undo it?" She wasn't specific about asking if he would have preferred he hadn't married his wife, or did he wish he had stayed with her.

"It wasn't my choice." Tinker answered, assuming she was speaking about his single status. "She decided another man's bed was better than mine."

"Yeah," Beth breathed out the word in a sigh of acknowledgment that she knew what it felt like when a spouse strayed. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to one side, "Maybe that's what I should do." 

Tinker smiled, "I might enjoy it." It wasn't really an invitation but it did sound like he might be interested in her. Then his voice turned rough, "But I don't think you really want a revenge fuck."

"No," Beth responded, not taking offense at the words he used or the assumption that he was her target.

Their conversation was quiet, giving very little information about themselves. They responded to a remark from someone else down the bar or an item on the local newscast. He laughed at her wit and she smiled at his complaints about the city's failure to repair pot holes in the streets. 

Before they finished their second drinks, Tinker stood and turned Beth's stool. "Come dance with me." His words were less an invitation and more a demand than his previous offer.

They moved to the dance floor, both absorbed with their own thoughts. Tinker maneuvered them to the darker corner of the dance floor, put his hand under her chin, and raised her face. When he kissed her she responded, then rested her forehead against his shoulder.

"Is that what you wanted?" He asked against the side of her face, breathing in the fragrance of her. He didn't need to tell her, she could feel the beginning of his erection pressing against her.

"I don't know," she responded as she pressed her breasts against him a little more firmly than necessary while his arm tightened around her.

She was much easier to lead around the dance floor after two very potent drinks. Without hesitation, Tinker moved them off the dance floor, taking a few steps into the hallway leading to the restrooms. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her thoroughly, not letting her come up for air until she was responding to him without restraint. He pressed his erection against her, grinding his body against hers, letting her feel him. Then he moved his hand down to cup her sex between her legs, almost lifting her off her feet as he massaged her.

"Is that what you want, Beth? I can show you how much I want you, but I don't think that's what it takes for a woman like you."

Tinker didn't give her a chance to respond. He kissed her again and used his hand to stimulate her, pressing the seam of her jeans tightly against her until she was panting and moving her head from side to side.

As suddenly as be began his assault Tinker stopped and stepped away from her. Beth's eyes slowly opened to look up at him. 

"Fuck," he exclaimed, grabbed her hand and walked around the edge of the dance floor and out the door. In the fresh air, Tinker took two deep breaths of air and pulled Beth behind him until he had her at the passenger door of his truck. Once he had joined her inside the truck, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. 

A few blocks away from the bar, he turned into a drive-in restaurant with curb-side service and ordered two large black coffees. Beth had not said a word since they left the bar. As if she were coming out of some kind of trance, she accepted the cup of coffee and nodded that she understood when Tinker told her it was hot.

Now that his erection was subsiding, Tinker could think with the head above his shoulders. "You need to go home and tell him what you want."

The defeat in her voice was almost frightening. "I don't think he cares."

Tinker's voice was rough and deep, "Lady, I've spent less than two hours with you and I already know I could wrap myself around you and stay there until my dying breath."

Beth lifted her eyes from the steaming cup in her hands as a tear rolled down each cheek. "He won't leave. He'd lose everything he has."

"Oh shit," Tinker finally understood. "Look, give me your address, I'll drive you home."

"He won't be there. Will you ..."

Tinker stopped her from completing her request. "Look Beth, that's not what you want, is it? You don't want to play his game."

Beth shook her head, looked around for a moment, realizing where she was. "I ... I need to ... my car."

"You've had two double Black Jacks. I'm not letting you drive. Now, give me your address."

Tinker drove across town, eventually passing streets he never travelled unless he was on a service call in his work truck. But then he would be more likely to need his climbing spurs. He was more familiar with the alley and utility poles behind the houses than he was the front doors.

Clutching a business card in her fist, Beth left Tinker's truck with his words ringing in her ears, "Call me when you can have what YOU want."

Once inside her home, before she could change her mind, Beth walked into the study, closed the door and locked it. She picked up the telephone, and without looking up the number, made a call. She was surprised to hear her call go to voice mail with instructions, "Leave a message for Toby." 

For a moment, she almost forgot the reason for her call. After the beep, Beth spoke haltingly, "Daddy ... ah, I ... he ... ah, Brent ... I'm at home. If it's not too late when you get this message, please call me. I need to ... ah ... I want to tell you something."

Beth leaned back in the desk chair, took a deep breath then picked up the telephone again and made her second call. Not surprised to hear a recording machine this time, Beth spoke slowly, "Good evening, Gerald. It's Beth Magill Thornton. It's almost eight o'clock at night. I need some legal advice."

Within an hour, armed with information, telephone numbers, and available options explained by Gerald Brooks, Beth was still pacing the open space in the study, waiting for her father to return her call. 

* * * *

"Hi, Dad, thanks for calling me back."

"You are welcome, my dear. What are you and Brent doing this evening?"

"I'm not sure. Brent is probably out with some friends. He doesn't seem to want to spend his evenings with me."

"Really? He said he took you to dinner a couple of days ago and you'd had a pleasant evening."

"Daddy, that was a business dinner. That man brought his wife with him. Well, at least he said she was his wife. All they talked about was how big a grant they needed from the foundation to build the newest section of a playground."

He spoke sternly, as if he was teaching his daughter a lesson, "Beth, that's part of Brent's job. Are you saying you don't like to help with the goals of your mother's foundation?"

"No, I didn't mean that. That's not why I called."

He chuckled a moment and his voice was a little softer when he asked, "Okay, why did you call?" 

Hearing the sound of traffic in the background Beth asked, "Are you going somewhere or on your way home?"

"I'm headed toward my condo."

"Come by here and I'll pour you a nightcap."

"Whoa, baby girl, what brought this on?"

"I need to talk to you and I'd like to do it in person, not on the phone."

"All right, I'm about two minutes away. Make mine light, I've already had a few."

On the spur of the moment, Beth pulled a couple of packages of her father's favorite snack from the freezer and put them in the oven to warm, then filled the ice bucket at the bar. She wanted her father relaxed and comfortable for the conversation she planned. Most of their personal visits seemed to turn into yelling matches, something she desperately wanted to avoid.

* * * *

Beth heard the car door slam and opened the front door as her father approached. "Hi, Dad. Did you have a special date tonight?"

His answer was gruff and challenging, "Remember? You and I do not discuss my social life."

"Sorry, I was just being polite. Fix yourself a drink. I have some sausage rolls warming in the oven."

"Okay, then you can tell me what you want to talk about."

Beth and her father had a strained relationship. They loved each other, but since the death of Beth's mother, every time the two of them were together, it seemed to end in some kind of argument. Toby had a controlling personality. She had always been comfortable taking her father's advice, but now she was beginning to realize she allowed him and also her husband to have too much control over her. 

Beth's hands shook as she arranged the sausage rolls on a tray, but she had calmed down by the time she placed the tray on the table in front of her father's chair. Toby selected a roll, took a bite, and nodded his approval.

They had a short conversation about the most recent dinner when Brent and Beth had been entertained by the president of a local service organization. The appeal was to the foundation for a grant to complete the next phase of a children's playground within a large city park. Brent was more interested in giving them less than they asked for so he could keep some funds for an addition to the local ball field named in his honor.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, trying to show some confidence, Beth asked, "What would you say if I told you I want to go to work for the foundation?"

Toby paused a moment, surprise showing on his face. "Well, charitable foundations always need people with a business degree. Is that what you want to do? And if it is, can you tell me why?"

"I have a personal dilemma I need to resolve ... and then I'd like to do something with my life. I'm tired of being a trophy wife to a has-been who has nothing to show for his career but a few trophies and a championship ring."

Toby chuckled for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, baby girl, that's all I had when I married your mom."

"Yes, I know. I shouldn't have let you use the same criteria to pick out a husband for me."

"Now wait a minute ..."

Although she knew it was going to create friction, Beth was ready to say her piece, "The reason you hired Brent was because you could tell him what to do. And you knew he would tell me what to do." Her father was sputtering to get his words out but Beth didn't stop, "So, you gave him a rich heiress to marry, just as you did with mother, and you kept all the control for yourself."

"Beth!"

"Well, a public figure uses his name to draw more public figures to him. You just let Mother's money speed up the process."

By this time, he was on his feet yelling, not careful of the words he used, "I did not benefit from your mother's money. She left all of it to you and that stupid foundation. That's what made you a little rich bitch. All I get out of it is a salary."

"And all I get out of it is a famous name who can't keep his pants zipped."

If this were another time and place, he would have been standing on the field, stomping his foot, yelling at an umpire. As it was, the veins on the side of his neck were bulging and Beth was no more afraid of him than the umpire had been. 

"Fine," he sputtered. "Get your shit together and tell me when you're ready to put in a full day at work. Wear business clothes." His voice rose as he added, "And not something you'd see at a meeting of the Garden Club."

Challenging him, for perhaps the first time in her life, Beth clenched her fists and glared at her father, "Okay, but not in a position where Brent will be my supervisor. I have a business degree and he left school for a professional career. I will not be under his thumb."


Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor



Beth watched as her father turned to leave, talking over his shoulder, "Alright, alright, but I'm not going to let you come in and mess up a well-run organization."

Rather than say anything that would renew the argument, Beth remained silent as her father left. She cringed when the front door slammed, thankful the argument had been of short duration. As she cleaned up the drink glasses and carried the snack tray to the kitchen, Beth considered what she had to look forward to during the next few months. 

She had problems with her father for what he had done to "pick out" her husband. Her husband was growing more blatant about his extra-marital affairs as if he thought he was still a single playboy. Instead of doing a good job, Brent merely responded to the tight leash her father held, and in doing so, kept Beth on that same tight leash. Now that she wanted to be involved in fighting her own battles, she feared her father would still be running interference in her personal life.

* * * *

THREE WEEKS LATER:

Beth left her attorney's office and parked her car two blocks from home, knowing the walk would give her a few minutes to build up her courage. She closed the front door and was not surprised to hear, "Where the hell have you been?"

She clenched her jaw for a moment then answered, "You've given up the right to ask me that question, Brent." Beth walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Standing over the sink she looked at the rear driveway and craned her head to see as much of the driveway as possible, searching for his vehicle, feeling one more detail of her plan fall in place. Brent lowered his chin and looked over the top of his glasses, surprised at the strength of Beth's voice. Instead of a comment on her veiled accusation, he asked, "Where's your car?"

"None of your business. Where's the car I bought for your use?"

Brent frowned, gritted his teeth and kept his temper under control, "Beth, what's going on? I told you this morning I'd need a ride to the dealership. I'm meeting friends later and I left MY CAR for an oil change."

"It's not your car, Brent. I bought it. If you need a ride, call a taxi." Beth said the last word as she took the first step up the stairs. She didn't wait to hear anything else he cared to say, knowing the comment about a taxi would get to him. He thought he was still entitled to all the frills of his former notoriety.

Brent sat for a full minute, thinking about the way Beth had spoken to him, anger simmering just beneath the surface of his calm façade. He shook his newspaper and tried to continue reading the article he'd started before she walked in the front door. Finally, he folded the newspaper, laid it on the table beside his chair, and went upstairs. 

Halfway down the hall, he ducked a pair of shoes tossed out of the bedroom doorway. "What the hell ..."

He stormed into the bedroom and saw the light on in his dressing room. Beth stood holding Brent's favorite leather jacket. "You know," she commented. "I can't recall if you had this when we married, or if I bought it."

"Beth?" He yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

"You'd better find some luggage if you want to pack your clothes."

Brent stomped across the bedroom, his fists clenched at his side as if he was ready to raise them to defend himself, "What on earth ..."

Beth tossed the jacket at Brent and asked, "Did you call for a taxi?"

"No!" he exclaimed, disgusted that she would expect him to ride in a nasty taxi, for god's sake. There were several limousine services in town he could call if he needed to go anywhere. 

"No taxi? Then I guess you'll want your newest slut to pick you up."

"Slut?" Color drained from his face as he asked, "Beth, what are you talking about?"

"Slut. That is the right word, isn't it? You know, a woman who fucks a married man. That is where you go the nights you don't come home until three o'clock in the morning, right?"

"Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?" Brent seethed, barely able to hold his temper in check, "I may stay out a little later than usual with friends, but I'm certainly not seeing another woman."

Turning to Brent, Beth put her hands on her hips, "Brent, just how stupid do you think I am?"

He leaned forward, his voice menacing in its intensity, "I don't think you're stupid."

"Blind?"

"No!" The disgusted voice was back.

Deaf?" She didn't wait for a response, before asking, "Dumb?" She paused a moment then added, "Oh, I'm rich. Is that the reason you think you can do anything you like and I'll accept it or ignore it? Hum-m-m, is that it, Brent?" 

Without waiting for his response, Beth walked around the end of the bed, and opened the drawer on her night stand to remove a large brown envelope. Brent watched as she opened the clasp and removed a stack of photos then tossed them on the bed. Holding the bottom corners of the envelope, Beth allowed the remaining contents to fall to the bed. Brent watched the cassettes and CDs tumble on top of the damning photos.

Beth tossed the empty envelope on top of the mess on the bed, looked at her watch and said, "Two hours, Brent. You have two hours to pack and get out of my house. You'd better hire a good lawyer, 'cause I'm going to make sure you never see another penny of my money."

She walked past him then turned back, holding out her hand. "Keys, Brent. I'll take your keys, too. You won't need them after tonight." 

Stunned speechless, Brent pulled his keys from his pocket and dropped them in her palm. He returned his attention to the photos on the bed.

She took another step then stopped. "Oh, by the way, you have two hours and the bank account has two thousand dollars in it. Use them wisely, you won't get any more."

Shaking worse than she thought she would, Beth walked downstairs, closed and locked the study door behind her. Brent had never hit her, but the way she had confronted him upstairs was not conducive to him keeping his temper in check. She picked up the telephone to make her first call. Although she had left his office less than an hour earlier, she knew he was waiting for her call. Beth was still faintly disappointed a recording device answered the call. "Gerald, I've just told Brent he has two hours and two thousand dollars. I guess I'm ready for you to file the divorce. If you think it's advisable, I'll agree to your suggestion that I have a restraining order. If there's no other way and you need to name a co-respondent, you'll have to call the Kitty Kat Club. The private detective said her stage name is Tami."

The second call wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. It might put a strain on their relationship, but he was as much to blame as Brent. "Dad?"

"Hi baby."

"Can you listen to me for a minute?"

"Sure darlin'."

"Brent won't be in the office tomorrow. He won't be there anymore, I mean, forever. I've given him two hours to be out of my house and told him he has two thousand dollars to tide him over until I can divorce his ass."

"Beth, what the hell ..."

"Listen to me, Dad." Her voice was much stronger than she had ever used with her father. "You pushed me at him and I fell for his slick lines. He has fucked around on me since the day we returned from our honeymoon and you know it. You've just covered up for him to keep me happy. Well, I wasn't happy."

"I'm sorry honey. You're right. I thought he would settle down and realize what he had to lose. I told him over a year ago that if you didn't do something soon, I'd do it myself."

"Okay, I've done it. I guess I'll take the offer, if it still stands. I'll be in the office on Monday morning. I can't do any worse than Brent did, and I'll work every day without a hangover."

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes, sir. I think you and I have a few fences to mend. Can you come to lunch on Sunday?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

"See you then. Bye-bye."

Pulling out the desk lap drawer, Beth reached to the back left corner for her address book. When she didn't find it, she frantically extended the drawer and took a deep breath when she had the small book in her hand. She opened the back of the book and turned a few pages until she found the business card she had carefully taped inside the book. As she had done several times during the past three weeks, her fingers brushed lightly across the card. Like a talisman, the card was her good luck piece, the charm that had convinced her she could make herself strong enough to take a risk without a safety net in case she failed.

The words were still in the forefront of her mind, "Call me when you can have what YOU want." As badly as she wanted to make that call, it was not yet time to do so. 

* * * *

Beth asked, but never discovered if someone threatened Brent or paid him off. Nor could she determine who supported him through the divorce proceedings. The seven years of their marriage had taught him how to live in luxury. In addition to the married women he had been seen with, he must have had a lot of friends, or maybe his various girl friends made more in tips than she thought they did. If her father had helped, Beth would not complain. It was a situation he instigated; he could help with the resolution.

Brent signed documents prepared by her attorney and provided the requested list of personal possessions he wanted from the house. Beth was not surprised that her husband elected not to appear at the divorce hearing. Shortly after the judge's signature made the divorce final, Brent left the city. 

He would need to look elsewhere for green pastures and another woman to support him. The newspaper photo of Brent and a scantily clad stripper being led to a police van would not gain him admittance to any of the local country clubs.

Despite Beth's requests to her attorney and her father that she did not need to be protected from him, if Brent provided a forwarding address, she did not learn of it. After he left her house, he did not contact her. If he went into hiding, she wouldn't blame him. Several husbands did not appreciate the copies of photos and videos they received. 

It took another two weeks to receive her official copy of the signed divorce decree. It was almost a month after that when she signed the papers to sell the house. Content that she had escaped a failed marriage without losing her dignity, Beth settled into an apartment. For the first time in her life, she was really on her own, away from a house that had never felt like her home and without a husband who tried to manage her life. She and her father were learning they actually liked each other.

* * * *

The sun had moved farther across the horizon but still reflected off a car windshield. It was brighter than it had been earlier in the year. It added more light to the inside of the darkened bar when the door was opened. As he had done each visit for the previous few months, Tinker almost turned to look behind him to see who walked in the door. The mirror behind the bar gave him a pretty good view of the woman, at least good enough that he put one foot on the floor, prepared to stand as she entered.

Her steps were hesitant, slower than her normal pace, as she walked to one end of the rectangular bar. She ignored all but one of the men scattered on barstools on the long side of the bar and the empty stools on the short side opposite her. She lifted her hip and slid onto a barstool, leaving the corner stool vacant.

Although Beth had approached the small neighborhood bar with trepidation, the last few months of being in a business environment had given her some confidence she had not felt for many years. If she was being aggressive with a man she had only kissed a couple of times in a bar and hadn't had contact with for those months, it did not seem to bother her.

The bartender left his quiet conversation with two men at the bar to place a coaster in front of the woman. He nodded giving her a half smile in greeting as if he thought he might have seen her before, but wasn't sure. He raised an eyebrow, his soundless invitation to state her preferred drink. 

"Black Jack and water with a little ice, please."

The bartender took a bottle from one of the shelves behind him and selected a glass for her drink. The man sitting on the second stool nearest her corner held up a ten dollar bill and nodded his head toward the woman when the bartender walked in front of him to place the drink before her. 

She smiled at the man, her way of telling him thanks for buying her drink. The bartender stopped before the man, speaking quietly, "You ready for a refill, Tinker?" 

Tinker picked up his beer, nodded at the bartender, and offered the woman a brief salute with his raised bottle, then drank the last of the beer. He placed his empty on the bare bar instead of on his coaster. She lifted her glass and gave him the same salute before taking her first sip of the diluted Tennessee Whiskey.

This woman had changed from the one he'd seen months earlier. She was wearing heels and a business suit. Her hair and make-up were stylish and professional. Gone was the casual woman he had danced with earlier. In her place was someone he could never have approached for that first dance.

Loud enough for the next few men down the edge of the bar to hear, she said, "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor."

He chuckled, nudged the man next to him, and added the next line, "Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief."

Beth laughed, telling him more of the children's fortune telling game: 

"Who shall I marry? Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief. What shall I wear? Silk, Satin, Cotton, Rags. Where shall I live? Big House, Little House, Pigsty, Barn." 

Tinker nodded at her and tilted his head toward the dance floor, stood and turned Beth's stool. "Come dance with me, Beth." His words were full of his smile and his hand was warm on her as he led her to the dance floor. With a twirl, he turned her into his arms and held her close.

"Don't talk, Tinker, just hold me," she asked and put her head on his shoulder.

He rested his face against her for a moment, breathing in a fragrance he had not forgotten. "What took you so damn long?"

"You haven't been here for almost a month," she responded and felt him nod his head against her.

"Yeah, but I thought you'd call me."

"I wanted to see you."

He released her hand for a moment and put his fingers under her chin to lift her face for a kiss. 

"I had to make a few changes in my life," she admitted. "A major one took a little extra time."

"Oh yeah? Do you need to talk about it?" 

"Maybe. Later. You told me to call you when I could have what I wanted." 

"Okay, what do you want?"

"I've been trying to be a different person from the one I was when we had our first dance."

"And ..." Tinker waited for her to finish telling him what she wanted. He was taking his time, just as she had taken some time to be ready for her next step toward independence.

"I need a little help."

"What kind of help?"

"You know that "Tinker, Tailor ... Rich Man, Poor Man" ... thing?"

"Okay ..." He wasn't sure where this was going, but he was enjoying the expressions going across her face.

"Can you help me with that?"

"Beth ..."

"Wait, can we go ... can I take you to dinner?" Her blush was attractive enough to make Tinker wait for her to finish asking him for a date.

"Tomorrow?" He offered.

"Oh, well, I guess so. I sort of thought maybe tonight."

"Tomorrow," Tinker said with confidence. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"I moved. I mean, I sold the house. That was part of ..."

"Okay, but I want to see the other woman, not this one. I don't think I know this one."

"Yeah, I just left the office. That's part of ... "

"Tomorrow," Tinker repeated. "Tonight I have a game."

"A game?"

"Yeah, baseball."

"Baseball," Beth echoed, perhaps not understanding what he was saying. Yet, she was interested enough to ask, "Can I watch?"

Tinker chuckled, "Not dressed like that," he responded dropping his arms and walking away from her. Beth playfully pounded his shoulder as he turned to walk back to his bar stool. She watched him sit down before he spoke to the man sitting beside him. 

"Butch, the lady says she wants to go to the game with us. Shall we let her watch?"

Butch leaned back to look at Beth, starting at her high heels and ending up at the top of her head, slowly shaking his head, "Come on, Tinker. Don't do this, man." 

"If she buys the beer?" 

Butch looked at the man seated on his other side and spoke low enough to prevent his words from being heard all along the bar, but Beth listened eagerly. "How 'bout you, Craig. You think she can say, 'Swing batter, swing?'"

Craig looked at Beth, glanced at Tinker, and then turned his attention back to Beth. He shook his head as he spoke, "Marcie would kill me." 

"Hey guys, if I send her home to change clothes and if she buys the beer?"

Beth watched and listened to a conversation between Butch and Craig who seemed to be debating whether they really needed Tinker's fielding glove, or batting skills in exchange for allowing his guest to attend their game. They consulted two men farther down the bar who offered their own opinions. It took her a few minutes longer to discover the men were just having a little fun. 

Finally, in a voice that carried down the length of the bar, Beth addressed her remarks to Tinker, "Do you think if I asked Toby Magill to drive me to the game, those guys would let me sit on their side?"

Tinker leaned back, "You ... you know Coach Magill?"

Beth nodded, pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and touched one of her speed dial numbers. "Daddy, can you take me to a ballgame. I have to bring the beer, too."

"Holy Cow." 

"No Shit?" 

"Hot damn," and a look of amazement on the faces of five men answered Tinker's question, while Beth promised to call her dad back as soon as she knew which field and what time the game started.

Beth stood, planted her hand on her cocked hip, and asked, "Well?"

The men competed to inform Beth which field they would play on that evening, along with the starting time for their game. Each of them, in one way or another, assuring themselves that she was actually going to bring the baseball coach they revered to watch them play. 

As a group, they turned to watch the sway of her hips when she left them sitting at the bar.

* * * *

Beth didn't actually get to sit with her father for the ballgame. Somehow, Tinker convinced Toby Magill to join them in their dugout where he was encouraged to talk to a dozen men -- who, it turned out, were more interested in listening to the tough decisions Coach Magill had made during his career than the help he could offer them for their own game. 

The last of the field lights were being turned off when Tinker told Coach Magill he would see Beth safely inside her apartment, saving the Coach from the drive across town. 

* * * *

As Beth slid her key from the lock on her front door, Tinker put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around, "Beth?" He paused a moment then said, "Thank you. I'm not sure if you know how much the guys appreciated meeting your father."

Beth blushed and looked up at Tinker, "If you were watching, he was having as much fun as they were."

"Are we still going to dinner?"

"Can you ...?"

"I'd like nothing better," Tinker answered while he debated with himself if he was going to kiss her goodnight.

Beth put her hand behind her waist and twisted the doorknob, taking one step backwards into her apartment as Tinker advanced a step thinking to get near enough to kiss her.

She stopped, waiting for him to advance a little nearer and then took another step backward slowly drawing him inside.

"Beth," he warned, "this isn't a good idea."




Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor



"I don't know. I sort of like it," she answered letting go of the door with a slight push that caused it to close behind him as he took his next step.

"You little tease," he groaned as his hand went around her waist and held her against himself. 

Between his kisses to her lips, along her neck and the soft spot under her ear, Beth asked if he remembered the first night in the bar, when he kissed her in the hallway. "I was shaking so much I could barely stand up."

"I know," he breathed against the side of her neck.

"I didn't want you to stop," Beth moaned as she lifted her chin to give him room to kiss the hollow at the base of her neck. 

"This time, I won't stop." 

THE END