Storiesonline.net ------- Having It All by JimWar Copyright© 2010 by JimWar ------- Description: This is a short story about a man who has a pretty good life, you might even say a rich life. He has things and yet he is lonely. Like most of us he doesn't realize that he is missing something. This is also a story about a young woman who is also missing something in her life. Well to say more would be to give you too much information. Codes: MF rom het ------- ------- Chapter 1 The phone's incessant ringing snapped me out of my reverie. Who could be calling this time of day? I looked at the clock as I picked up the phone, and swore under my breath as I realized I had once again lost track of the hour. Still, I wasn't expecting any calls. "Hello, Dad. I hoped I might catch you at home." "Jenna, honey, where else would I be?" "Oh, I don't know, but it took you long enough to answer the phone. Are you sure you're all right?" My daughter was both protective and nosey, just like her mom had been. "I'm fine honey, never been better. Doc says I'm in better shape than most men half my age." Of course I didn't tell her that as soon as he'd said that old Doc Rogers had laughed and given me a ten-minute lecture on what was wrong with most thirty-year-old males. "Well, that's good. I worry about you all alone in that big house. The kids miss you. Shawn asks me 'Where's Granddad?' every day, as soon as he comes in the door after school." "That's sweet. Tell him that I miss him, too. I sure enjoyed the three weeks I spent up there with all of you, and I thank you for having me." "Yeah, Dad, but we'd love to have you all the time..." "Now, honey, you know that Minnesota in winter is just a bit too cold for me. I've grown accustomed to these warm Florida winters, where snow is something you only see on TV and on Christmas cards. You guys should come down here, during Christmas." This was a long running discourse. Jenna and my son Mark had been encouraging me to move in with one or the other or to split my time up between the two of them. This had started almost as soon as my wife of thirty-four years passed away, a bit over four years ago. I knew that they both understood that I had no intentions of giving up the home that I had worked so long and hard to pay off. As we exchanged further pleasantries, I knew in the back of my mind that the real purpose of her call was to check up on me. I knew I could expect a similar call from Mark in a few days. I guessed there was nothing wrong with that. I loved my kids and grandkids as much as they loved me. Still, you can have too much of a good thing. We ended the call with promises to call each other soon. I returned to my writing, but the distraction had been too much. The paragraph that I had been working on made no sense to me now. My muse must have taken the phone call as his signal to take a nap. Why not? It was almost as old as I was! I thought about what else I wanted to accomplish. The grass was cut, the flowerbeds mulched, the pool cleaned, the oil was changed in the Mustang. Not a bad day's work for a sixty-year-old man. Hell, I told Jenna the truth, more or less. I felt like a thirty year old. Better, in fact, because when I was thirty, I was trapped behind my desk. I had hired all of those things done. Avoiding boredom had me in the best shape of my life! Still, it wasn't that I really lonely. I had my chat buddies online, as well as my friends, locally. I wasn't exactly looking for romance, either. Hell, the number of amateurs on Craigslist, advertising sex for hire, almost made romance obsolete. Things were much simpler with them. I didn't need to know what to say or guess what a woman wanted ... as long as I had an extra hundred dollars, and a little patience, it was a done deal. Hell, a hundred was dirt cheap, when you considered that the cost of a real date was usually double that, and didn't come with any guarantees. Of course I had to be careful of STDs, but no more careful than I needed to be with some sweet thing from a bar or bingo parlor. I didn't want to spend the morning day trading stocks, even though I thought of day trading as the equal of the best video game ever invented. My system seemed to work well, especially in the volatile market of the past couple of years. It wasn't that I needed the money, though. Lately all of my gains had been socked away into my grandkids' college trust funds. Hell, those funds already had enough in them to allow them to get advanced degrees at the best universities in the country. I laughed as I thought of the surprise those trust funds would be, when the kids graduated high school. Of course to hear Mark and Jenna brag, I expected that all my grandkids would get scholarships when they graduated, anyway. Well, musing about the future wasn't getting anything accomplished. As I glanced outside, through the large picture window that faced my swimming pool, I noticed that it was a beautiful warm fall day. It was more like summer, actually. Smiling, I decided to drive to the beach. That was the great thing about retirement. I could do anything I wanted, on the spur of the moment, without answering to anyone. I knew that school was in session, but I was still fairly certain that the beach would be covered with an excess of beautiful but barely covered young women. I filled a small cooler with soft drinks, quickly changed into my bathing suit, added a 'cool' beach shirt and ball cap, grabbed the SPF 50 sunscreen and car keys, and headed out the door. My 'old car' was a 1968 cherry red Mustang convertible. I had lovingly restored the car, but had added some improvements to the original factory specs. The convertible top was now motorized, and would open and close without the trouble of the original. I had replaced the original eight-track tape player with a state of the art DVD/MP3 player. I'd also had the original 289 CID V-8 completely reworked by a friend who owned a garage that specialized in high performance cars. He'd tuned the exhaust system, too. The car (which I kept buffed to a high gloss) never failed to grab everyone's attention, wherever I parked it. Occasionally a classic Mustang purist would wince, and tell me I had ruined a fine car with 'those mods'. I would answer that I hadn't rebuilt the car for show. I had rebuilt it to drive. Before I'd started work on the Mustang, I went to a lot of vintage car shows. I saw a lot of restored Mustangs rolled off of trailers at the shows, which were pushed into place without ever having the engine started. That wasn't what I wanted at all. It was a beautiful day for a drive to the beach. I headed off down a back road, rather than the much quicker interstate, in order to enjoy the power and handling of my car. The curves and absence of traffic and law enforcement on the back roads allowed me to exercise my right foot. I could concentrate on the road, rather than the rear view mirror. Several times I left the smell of burning rubber wafting up from the pavement as I peeled away from the various intersections. I was only a few miles from the beach when all at once, what had been a clear road quickly became congested. As I moved along at a snail's pace, I soon saw the apparent reason for slowdown. There was an older sedan, which was apparently broken down. It was sitting along the side of the road with the hood raised. I cursed as I realized the stupid driver hadn't taken the time to properly move the car from the road, which left about half the right lane blocked. That choked off passage at that point, as the road at that spot took a sharp dogleg turn, obscuring vision of oncoming traffic. Being a nosey old cuss, I pulled safely off the road behind the sedan, rather than pass as everyone else had done. I set my emergency flashers blinking before getting out. I was curious to meet someone who was stupid enough to leave his car in the road as a target for every other nut on the road. I shook my head as I wondered what would have happened if the breakdown had occurred on the other side of the blind curve ahead. Before I even got to where I could see the driver, I heard the sharp rapping of metal on metal. As I walked around the sedan I saw the butt and legs of the driver kicking in the air as the rapping continued. Then I heard a decidedly female voice launch into a steam of invectives that began with 'God damned, fucking old piece of shit' ... and ended with a screaming... 'Motherfucker!' I winced, as I knew I never wanted to be on the receiving end of that woman's wrath. I was looking at her high heels kicking in the air, and was about to turn around and sneak back out of there, when I heard the wrench she was using as a hammer clank as it dropped through the engine compartment. It was at that moment that the previously mentioned 'motherfucker' screamed forth from her lungs. Almost as soon as that happened, she pushed back off the fender. She pushed a little too hard, and ended up going over backwards onto the ground. Before I could move or say a word she turned to me and screamed, "What the fuck are you looking at?" I was wondering that to myself. Luckily I didn't say that as I took off my ball cap and scratched my head. I know it sounded idiotic to her, because it sounded stupid to me after the words came out, but I asked, "Somethin' wrong with your car?" I think she looked around for something to throw at me before she screeched, "Arrrrhh," and almost jumped to her feet. I say 'almost' because she stumbled when the three-inch heel on one of her shoes caught in the dirt and broke. That must have been the proverbial 'straw that broke the camel's back'. She limped to the door of her car, opened it, and sat down on the seat. The ends of the obviously too long coveralls covered her feet, which were hanging out the door. Raising her foot to her lap, she peeled back the leg of the coverall. She pulled the broken shoe off, and threw it at me! Then she began to cry. She cried for only a few moments, however, then gave me a withering glare. Having identified the enemy, she wiped her face with the back of the coverall sleeve. Then she surprised me by plagiarizing a line from an old Robert Heinlein novel, asking, "Were you born stupid, or did you have to study to get that way?" I considered the source of that line, and the eventual connection between those two characters, and I began laughing. At first she glared at me and then she gradually added to my laughter. At first I wasn't sure whether her laughter was at me, or with me, as she pointed at me and began taking off her other shoe. When I winced, and shielded my face, she laughed even louder. At that point I rejoined her laughter and she tossed the shoe in the back seat of her car. Even with her makeup smeared across her face, I could tell that she was a beautiful woman. I couldn't help looking her up and down, and admiring the calf that was exposed where she had pulled up the coverall. She was blonde with a complexion that let me know right off the bat that her hair color didn't come from a bottle. Her face was pixyish with a few freckles from the sun that had been lightly covered by the smeared makeup. After the laughter subsided somewhat, I found out that she was way late for an important job interview. "I was running a few minutes late when I began downshifting to slow down for that stupid curve. I knew the shift mechanism was stuck as soon as it happened, because it's happened before. I hopped out, grabbed my boyfriend's coveralls and a wrench from the trunk, and figured I'd have it fixed in only a minute." All of that came out as we pushed the car off to the side of the road. As we were safely off the road I asked, "Why didn't you park it off the road to start with?" She wavered for a moment and replied, "I didn't want to get my shoes dirty." She then held up her and continued, "I know how that sounds, but this interview was really important to me, and there wasn't any traffic that I could see. I thought it would only take a minute to fix the car. I was in a hurry, okay?" I couldn't think of anything else to say and nodded agreement as I opened the hood again. Looking into the shift linkage I found that whoever worked on it last had connected one of the linkages with an oversized cotter key and left the tangs sticking out. It appeared that her tapping on the linkage had managed to completely bend those tangs neatly around an adjacent linkage. I temporarily fixed this by cutting off the excess of the cotter key. As soon as I had the gearshift fixed I closed the hood. She removed the coveralls, threw them in the back seat, got in the car slammed the door and cranked it up. Shaking her fist out the window she made a quick u-turn and peeled off back down the road without a 'thank you', 'good-bye', or even a 'kiss my ass'. I went around and opened the trunk of my Mustang, wiped my hands on the towel I kept in the trunk, while staring off down the road after her. Still brooding over the exchange, and with thoughts of the rudeness of the younger generation, I finally got back on the road and on my way. Somehow the brief glimpse of the petite but perfectly proportioned body hidden by the coveralls was etched in my mind, and kept overriding my confusion as to why she had left so abruptly. I really was no longer interested in girl watching as I continually replayed the end of the encounter in my mind. As a writer I don't expect individual behavior to fit into any preconceived mold, but being from the south I have become accustomed to a certain minimum level of civility. At that moment I slowed to let a car get out of a crowded parking lot, and onto the busy street ahead of me. The driver waved his thanks. Well, at least the whole world hadn't gone crazy. I wasn't even sure of my destination, anymore. However, I realized that the gentle gnawing sensation right above my belt meant that it was time for lunch. The main drag of this small beach town had several fine restaurants, including several specialty seafood houses. I headed to one of my favorites. Al's Crab Trap was an older restaurant that, despite the name, carried a full line of seafood entrees. Of course their signature dish was the best crab cakes on the gulf coast of Florida. I was already thinking 'crab cake basket', as I jockeyed for an open space in the crowded parking lot alongside the large wooden building. Eventually, I found one, and parked. I put the top up, and activated the car alarm before going inside. I was waiting in line for a table when Jerry, the current owner (and Al's son), came up and shook my hand. "Jim, how many times have I told you that you don't have to stand in line, here? We've been friends ever since I took the restaurant over from Papa. Marsha called me when she saw you standing here, and I came right out." "I hate that she did that. You have to be a busy man, with this crowd. I'm retired, now. I really don't have any reason not to stand in line. Some of those customers back there are still working and may need the extra few minutes. "Can you give me a table on the veranda?" I added ingenuously. Jerry laughed and said, "Sure, no problem. You know almost everyone that comes in here is a tourist on vacation. Most of the working people use the drive-thru or call ahead for take-out. So, no excuses, next time! Just ask for me when you come in." I soon found myself sitting at a small table on the spacious open-air veranda that wrapped around the back of the building. There was a small sea breeze helped along by the large overhead fans. It wasn't air conditioning but it was enough air to keep the heat and humidity at a comfortable level. Even better was that I was breathing tangy salt air, and had a splendid view of the nearby beach. The crab cakes were delicious and I let my mind settle back into my original purpose in visiting the beach. I surveyed the young women walking around and lounging in the sand. The food and atmosphere had settled my stomach, and quieted any remaining misgivings about my earlier encounter. My only debate at the moment was whether I should feast my gaze upon a twenty-something redhead wearing a small black bikini off to my right, or whether my libido would be better served gazing out slightly further to my left at a flaxen haired teen in an even more miniscule lime green suit. I was fixated upon the teen in the lime-green suit when a voice said, "She's much too young for you," and startled me out of my reverie. The voice registered in my mind even before I turned my head. "Why would that concern you?" My conclusion that the stranded blonde was both rude and insensitive seemed to be verified again by her remark. The once stranded young blonde, now dressed in a tank top and shorts, pulled the opposing chair away from the table and sat down. Obviously, she chose to ignore my reply. I was still a bit hot about her earlier behavior, and continued with, "Go ahead! Have a seat. I was just leaving." She reached out her hand and placed it on my arm as I started to rise. "Please just give me a moment to explain." Well, she did say 'please'. I sat back down and crossed my arms, waiting. "I want to start by apologizing for my rude behavior. I'm not normally like that. My only excuse is that I was mad." Seeing my puzzled look she added, "Umm, not at you but at my boyfriend or should I say my ex-boyfriend." Her shoulders slumped forward a bit as she continued. "I know you probably don't care but I've been searching for a decent job since I graduated college this past fall. The job market being what it is there just hasn't been anything opened in my field." I was going to ask her what her field was but she continued before I could get a word in edgewise. "I've worked several part-time and less than spectacular jobs since that time. Nothing I can put on my résumé, but enough to keep me warm and fed. I met my ex-boyfriend when I was waiting tables and after we dated a few times he convinced me to move in with him. That was a couple of months ago. "Jeff wasn't really special to me but up until that point everything had gone okay between us. What I didn't know when I moved in was that he had just been fired from his job. "I didn't have a car because I'd never needed one in college and figured I could get one after I found a job. When I lived in the city, I rode the bus from my apartment to my crummy job. Jeff had two cars: an almost new Lexus, and an old beater. There was never a problem getting to my job from his apartment out in the boonies." The blonde stopped at that point and pointed to my full water glass. I shrugged and said, "Go right ahead." She took a drink, cleared her throat, and continued. "Anyway, we drove his Lexus, everywhere. Other than me going back and forth to work, we didn't drive the beater. About a month after I moved in the Lexus was stolen ... or so he told me at the time. Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure it was repossessed. "Well, not having the Lexus led to both of us driving the beater. He never came forward and told me in so many words that he was fired, but I suspected since all of a sudden I was paying for everything. I found out for sure when the landlord came down during the middle of the evening last week and very loudly demanded two months back rent. "I'm not on the lease but I used most of the rest of my savings to swing one month's back rent that was the least he would take. I had already been scheduled for today's job interview and I thought I had a pretty good shot at landing the job. I made up my mind to wait until I got my first paycheck and just leave. Not so much because Jeff was fired but because he never told me about it. "The thing that really pissed me off was that apparently Jeff fixed the beater's shift linkage himself last week after I told him the problems I had been having. He had supposedly used $75 of my money to have his mechanic fix it. When I went back and threatened to beat him silly with that big wrench I'd used on the car he finally admitted he did the work himself and pocketed my money. That was the last straw. He was lucky I don't believe in violence. "I went in and packed my bags right there. I then made him drive me into town, here, where I'll be able to get a bus back into the city. Then I saw your car sitting on the side of the building and I felt like I needed to apologize and thank you for your help before I left." She looked up at me and I for the first time I noticed what lovely emerald green eyes she had. I smiled and asked, "Who was your job interview with?" She answered, "It doesn't matter, anymore. One of the things she impressed upon me during my first interview was the need to be punctual. I got so wrapped up in the car that I didn't even call her on my cell. I'm sure my résumé is in the trash, by now." Before I retired I was the senior lender with a large regional bank. I knew most of the business owners that she was likely to have dealt with, either as customers or as members of the local Chamber of Commerce. I considered most to be good friends. I repeated my question. "Who was the interview with?" Shrugging her shoulders she said, "Delmar Resort Properties. My degree was in Hotel and Resort Management." I pulled out my cell and asked, "What's your name?" ------- Chapter 2 I pulled out my cell and asked, "What's your name?" I could see the question marks in her eyes as she answered, "Joyce Chambers." I extended my hand and said, "Bill Hunter, glad to meet you, Joyce." I flicked my cell open and searched my contact list. I found the number I was looking for and hit the send key. Almost as soon as it began ringing a female voice answered, "Delmar Resort, how may I help you?" "Dana, I thought this was your private number? When did you start answering the switchboard?" "Bill, is that you? I haven't heard your voice in too long. How have you been?" "I'm fine, Dana. I was wondering if you could do me a favor." "Anything, Bill, we probably wouldn't be here if you hadn't convinced your bank to renegotiate our mortgage after the last hurricane." "You know I'm retired now, Dana?" "Yeah, I heard that. The new guy from the bank was out here last month looking around. He seems to be a nice guy." "Well, I'm calling for a new friend of mine. Her name is Joyce Chambers. She missed her job interview with you this morning, and I feel it's partly my fault." Dana chuckled and said, "I'm not going to ask what happened. Can she be here at three?" I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and asked, "Can you be there by three?" Joyce mouth dropped open and I answered, "She'll be there." There was a pause on the line and Dana finally said, "Umm, Don't say anything to her but I had already decided to hire her based on her transcripts and her last interview. I was really disappointed when she didn't show up, this morning. Knowing she's a friend of yours is just icing on the cake. Just make sure she gets here this time." "I'll drive her over myself. Thanks a lot, Dana." "You take care of yourself, Bill, and don't be a stranger." "I won't. Bye now." When I turned back to Joyce she smiled at me and said, "Thank you but, you didn't have to do that. None of this was your fault." "True, but it wasn't really your fault, either. Now, we have about two hours to kill before your interview. How about I treat you to lunch? The crab cakes here are the best I have ever eaten." As soon as she finished her lunch Joyce used the restroom to change into business attire for the upcoming interview. She looked very professional albeit a bit nervous as I dropped her off in front of the resort. I gave her my cell number so she could call me when the interview process was over with. I guess I have mentored at least a dozen young eager college graduates during my banking career. I didn't really think of this as anything much different. I mused that she was certainly far and away the best looking young executive I had ever mentored. I also knew in my mind that my help would need to extend way beyond a friendly word of advice. I drove over to the nearest branch of my bank and drew out five hundred in cash, so that Joyce would have some walking around money. With debit, credit and all the other cards I usually never carried more than fifty dollars around with me at any one time. I stopped and topped off the gas in the car at the convenience store next to the bank and went inside and picked up a newspaper after gassing up. My Mustang drew some appreciative stares and one waved greeting from a gaggle of jailbait teens, as they rode by on beach bikes. I waited for traffic to ease up enough for me to leave the parking lot. All of this had taken less than an hour, but I decided to get back as I doubted that Dana would take too much of Joyce's time knowing that I was waiting. I was obviously wrong, as I finished all of the interesting articles in the paper, and still there was no Joyce. I was getting a little impatient when my phone rang. It wasn't Joyce, it was Dana. She almost giggled as she said, "I didn't know your tastes ran to petite blondes." I laughed and said, "You're the second person today to make a remark about my taste in women." Dana replied, "Really, I don't even have to guess who the first one was. Your ears must be really red as we spent most of the last hour talking about you. When I asked Joyce if she had any questions they were all about you. She thinks you walk on water and I didn't disabuse her too much. "She's a sweet girl and I'm in your debt, again, for keeping her from slipping away from us. She'll be out as soon as she finishes filling out her W-4. I only had her fill it out today, to keep her busy while I made this call. Bye, Bill, looks like she's calling you now." I hung up from Dana and immediately got a call from Joyce. "I-got-the-job--I can't-believe-it--When-can-you-pick-me-up?" All of this was non-stop. I told her I was waiting out front. Almost before I could hang up, she was out the door and in my car. All I got a chance to say was, "How did it go?" After that, I got a blow-by-blow account of at least the first part of the interview. She ended things up by saying, "You know, I thought this was a rotten day, until this afternoon. Now I realize that breaking down in that old beater was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. To hear Dana tell it, your recommendation counted for almost as much as my four years in college." I modestly replied that it was merely a demonstration of the power of networking. We rode along for a while with Joyce saying nothing. She was sitting there smiling, staring straight ahead with one arm lazily resting along the window ledge and the opposite fingertips almost absentmindedly dancing across the top of my shoulder. I looked over and noticed that her skirt had ridden up a bit. Actually much less was exposed to my gaze than I had already seen in the shorts she had worn earlier but somehow it seemed sexier to have her legs revealed this way. I only glanced at her legs for a moment but as soon as I looked up I knew I'd been caught. Joyce smiled and took both hands and moved her skirt up another inch or two and then giggled as the blush that spread across my face. She turned serious after that and said, "You can't know how good I feel having that job. Dana is so nice, and she really wants me to work for her. I'll be her administrative assistant for six months, and then she'll cycle me through all of the departments at the resort. I was so sure I'd blown it. Now all I have to do is get a place to live and a way to get to work." She smiled and asked, "You got any more connections." I started to say something, but she giggled and added, "I was kidding, Bill. You've already done more for me in one afternoon than anyone else has, since college." I joked, "I'll do almost anything to get a pretty girl to ride shotgun." Then turning somber I added, "Seriously, Joyce, this is almost nothing. You heard me telling Dana that I'm retired, but you probably don't really understand what that means. I grew used to an active life. I was working ten to twelve-hour days during the week for over thirty years. I ended up being responsible for hundreds of people. Since my retirement I've had to hunt for things to do! I do volunteer work, day trade on the computer, do all of my own housework and gardening, but it still leaves my life pretty empty. I'd go back to work in a minute, but there are young men that I trained to replace me that wouldn't appreciate me hanging on." Joyce nodded and said, "Dana told me that you retired when your wife was diagnosed with cancer in order to spend more time with her. She said she didn't think you were really ready for it." We were stopped at an intersection, waiting for a light to change. I closed my eyes as the memories of those days came flooding back. Answering her unspoken question I said, "I doubt very many people are prepared for those types of life changes. I had the idea when I retired, that we would have a few years to spend together. It was less than four months. After that, I wasn't fit to go back to work for at least a year. That was four years ago and I've somehow managed to move on." Trying to move the discussion back toward her situation I continued, "I don't really like to talk about those times. Look, I've got a simple suggestion for your housing and transportation problems, if you'll consider it." Joyce smiled and said, "Bill, I've already got it figured out. You'll drop me off at the next bus stop and I'll head back to the city and move in with my girl friend and her boy friend, until I can afford a place of my own. The bus runs both ways on a fairly consistent schedule, and after a couple of paydays I'll have enough saved up to get a place a closer to work. There's a new apartment complex in Midway Village that's only thirty minutes from here by bus. See, I can do some stuff for myself." I was beginning to see that Joyce was a more complex person than I had first thought. "Hmm, that will probably work. Not well, but it will work. Let's see as Dana's assistant you'll be working a minimum of ten hours a day, with some days being much longer. If I remember correctly it's an hour and a half ride from the last bus stop in the city to the first at the beach ... what with all the stops along the way. If you can get ready for work in a half hour without waking your girlfriend, and skip breakfast or eat it on the bus, that will mean your days will start with you getting up at five-thirty in the morning and getting home at seven in the evening. Of course, that's on a light day, and assumes the busses run according to schedule, something that almost never happens." I have to hand it to Joyce, she didn't show any chagrin but came right back with, "I've done it before, and I can do it again. I'm not helpless, you know." I chuckled (hopefully, under my breath) and said, "I know that. I never said you were. My point is that you don't have to do that. You have another friend who lives closer to the resort office, and has a spare car ... several of them, in fact. Why knock yourself out when you don't have to?" Joyce smirked and asked. "This friend wouldn't happen to be a retired banker, would he?" I answered, "Could be. Look, it's not a mansion or anything but I do have a rather large empty house in Stonebriar Estates that has three large spare bedrooms just gathering dust. I also collect vintage cars and even have an almost brand new SUV so you could have a ride that I doubt would ever leave you stranded. If you take the expressway the drive time would be less than thirty minutes. Added to that, is that your bedroom would be far enough away from mine that you wouldn't have to worry about waking me, if I decided to sleep in." Joyce asked, "Could I pay rent and for gas? I like to at least maintain the appearance that I'm paying my own way." I laughed at her phrasing, knowing that to say anything else would discourage her acceptance, I answered, "Certainly, that would be appreciated." I left the rest for the evening. I knew to try to offer her the walking around money, or asking her about her wardrobe might make her question her decision to stay with me. I quickly made a u-turn at the next break in the median, and headed back towards home. In case Joyce wasn't familiar with the route, I drove back via the expressway, to help her get her bearings. After I merged into traffic on the expressway I asked, "So when do you start work?" "Dana told me Monday would be fine. She said it would take that long to get me added to Payroll. Had to have my W-4 right away but said the rest could wait until I started. I figure I can use the extra time to get the rest of my stuff from Jeff's apartment. I'd better do that soon, because I have a feeling that as soon as the landlord sees that I've moved out, he's going to kick Jeff out as well." Without thinking I said, "We can go over and get your stuff tomorrow, if you want." I winced almost as soon as I said it realizing that the 'we' might be a bit presumptuous. Joyce didn't seem to mind and replied, "I suppose we should." I found myself smiling at that 'we'. Maybe the rest of the things that I wanted to do for her wouldn't be as hard for her to accept as I'd first thought. ------- One of the few advantages of the aging process is the lessening of the sex drive that has allowed me to better control my libido. I figure my libido is getting hard to control when a bulge appears in the front of my trousers. Up until the point of my wife's illness once a week sex had been enough to allow me this control. After my wife died I went a long time without. For a while thought that I would never want sex again. The spring after my wife's passing I found that was not the case, but also found that I could manage all the control I wanted via once a month sex. As I mentioned earlier, that was usually accomplished by the use of some out of the area's local amateur talent on Craigslist. So far, I had yet to meet anyone during those encounters that was exceptional. After spending just the afternoon with Joyce, I was already thinking that I might need to up the frequency of my libido control. After we returned to the house, I could tell that Joyce was impressed with both the house and automobiles I had garaged in the back. I left the choice of bedrooms to her, but suggested that she take the one at the end of the hall furthest away from mine. I explained that I often watched old movies in bed, late at night, when I couldn't sleep. She surprised me a bit when she teasingly asked, "If I can't get to sleep, can I watch them with you?" The idea of this wet dream of a blonde in bed with me almost left me shaking. Normally unflappable, I found I couldn't answer right away. I expected her blush to match mine when she looked down at the front of my trousers, which she did. I was really surprised when rather than blush she just smiled sweetly. When she started back down the stairs, I managed to adjust myself to where I was not so obvious, though I almost tripped and stumbled in the process. I showed her the rest of the house, and found her presence to be very stimulating. When she asked about my writing, she was looking over the shelves of books that I had in my library, as if she expected to find my works there. I sheepishly explained that except for one small volume of poetry that I had printed up for my wife, all of my writing was published on the web. I reluctantly gave her the URLs of the websites, and the pen names that held the majority of my stories. I say reluctantly, because the last thing I wanted was for her to read my stories on SOL, and come to the conclusion that I was some type of lecher. After that I mentioned the wireless router and confirmed that it would reach upstairs, she ran up the stairs. She retrieved her laptop, and I helped her sync it to the router. Joyce loved my kitchen and explained to me that her mother, who was the executive chef for a large well-known restaurant in Chicago, had started teaching her to cook at an age when she could barely to see over the top of the kitchen counter top. She was like a young child on Christmas morning as she walked through the pantry and opened every cupboard, seemingly memorizing the location of every pot and pan. Not everything in my home held Joyce's attention as well as the library and the kitchen. She seemingly had little interest in the home entertainment system I had installed a year before my wife died. I had only used the equipment a few times since my wife's death. I preferred the smaller screens located in the more comfortable settings of my office and bedroom, to watch the old movies and odd sporting events that I favored. After finishing the tour of the house, I gave her a key and set a special guest code for her in the alarm system. The code would have to be renewed every thirty days, but I hoped I could change the number to a permanent code before that time. I decided to hold off on showing her the outside until the next morning, as it was nearly six o'clock and I could hear rumblings of discontent coming from my stomach. It was complaining about some nonsense regarding regular meal times. I had all the ingredients in the refrigerator for a chef salad along with some cold fried chicken that could be warmed up. I mentioned that to Joyce and her eyes lit up. She asked me ... no, she ordered me to go sit in my office, while she fixed dinner. As I meekly walked back to my office, I could hear her whistling as she washed her hands. I switched on the TV in my office, and tried to find some interest in the babble that they called local news coverage. I figured if the television stations limited themselves to the man bites dog stories that were uncommon enough to hold some real interest, the local news would be reduced to a fifteen-minute segment, once a week. The weather report was more a report of what we had experienced during the day. The forecast for the next day was at best an educated guess, represented by a probability, and expressed as a percentage of whether it would rain or not. I didn't have time to think any more about the value of national news coverage, because Joyce came to the door and told me dinner was served. I was amazed at the transformation of the kitchen. The wooden table in the breakfast nook off the side of the kitchen now had a tablecloth on it. My everyday china was set for two places. There was a large wooden salad bowl in the center, containing what appeared to be a dinner salad. I could see pieces of walnuts sprinkled across slices of chicken, which were artfully laid across the top of the salad. A gravy bowl containing what appeared to be a homemade dressing sat beside the bowl. Joyce was watching my face as if gauging my reaction. I smiled and said, "It looks delicious, Joyce." "I didn't select a wine because frankly I'm not familiar with most of the labels in your wine closet. I know that a semi-dry white wine will best complement the meal, but I will leave the specific choice up to you." I smiled opened the wine closet and quickly found a good chardonnay from a small vineyard in California which I brought to the table. I sat the wine down, walked around, and seated Joyce across from me at the table. I then uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into Joyce's glass. She handed her glass up to me and said, "The gentleman should always taste the wine first." I tasted the wine, which was as it should be. I then poured a generous portion into the glass by my plate, and handed it to Joyce. I chuckled and said, "Had I said that to most women of your generation they would have thought me to be sexist." Joyce looked into my eyes and said, "I'm not most women. Although I'm a bit ashamed of the way I reacted this morning, my mother did teach me correct etiquette and proper courtesy. Even when I treated you with disdain you responded by becoming my knight in shining armor and I have decided that I can be feminine around you without fear that you will take that as a sign of weakness." "Joyce I believe that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me. I won't betray your trust. Please give my compliments to your mother as she appears to have taught you well. As for this morning, consider that in the past. I was pleasantly surprised and impressed that you stopped by to explain things as you did and was only too happy to provide what help I could." As this was the opening I had been hoping for I continued, "While we're speaking of your day, today I thought of one other matter that I might help you on. I know from your story that your savings have been severely depleted over the past few weeks. I stopped by the ATM while you were in your interview and withdrew enough 'walking around' money to get you by until you get back on your feet. I hope you will consider it a short-term loan, and use it as you have the need." As I said that, I passed an envelope towards the middle of the table. Maybe my choice of moments wasn't the best, because Joyce just looked at the envelope and then burst into tears. My experience at this type of situation was better than most, after having spent thirty-five years married to a woman who was emotionally predisposed to tear up at the most unlikely situations. I knew to wait at least until I could determine whether the tears were of joy, or of sorrow, before reacting. After stifling her tears, she pushed the envelope back towards me and said, "I still have a credit card that my mom co-signed for when I entered college. I can use it to tide me over until I get paid. Thank you for the offer, though." "Tell you what. I'll put the envelope in the safe in my office. If something changes or you need something and don't want to pay an exorbitant credit card interest rate, it will be there." We both ate in silence. It was an excellent meal! The dressing was both tangy and tasty. A diet of salads such as this would keep my doctor happy, as well. I finished the last bite of my rather large portion of salad, and refilled our wine glasses before ending the silence. "I can't believe you whipped that up in a matter of minutes. It's as good as any chicken salad I have ever eaten. I've never had one with walnuts, before, although I have had several with pecans. This one was better than any of those. The dressing was what really made the difference. It was very flavorful and sweet, and yet had a bit of a bite to it. On a scale of one to ten this meal was definitely a ten. Maybe you can cook some on the weekends, if you're not doing anything else." Joyce beamed. I thought she was teasing me when she queried, "So I rate a ten on this meal, and that's only good enough to cook for you sometimes on the weekends? I can't wait to taste one of your meals, so I'll know how much I have to improve to become the regular house chef." I laughed and said, "Well I do wonders on the barbeque grill but I'm afraid you have me beat hands down by both the simplicity and the taste of your creation. I just assumed that since you would be working, while I am home, that I would cook on the nights that you work." Joyce considered this and replied, "I don't even know when I will be working, and I don't know whether that will involve weekends or not. The resort industry does more business on the weekends than during the week, especially after the summer months. I just assumed I would be working a lot of odd hours as I learn the ropes." I held up my hands in mock surrender, and said, "Let me rephrase that, then. You can cook any time that you have both the time and inclination to do so. Now, if we're both finished, I'll get these few dishes and let you unpack and finish getting moved in." Joyce smiled and asked, "What, no dessert?" "Dessert? Surely you didn't have time to make any dessert." Joyce got up and walked to the refrigerator. She opened the freezer door, and returned with a small tray containing what looked to be two small cream pies, and two spoons. Each was in what appeared to be a martini glass. She set the tray before me, and took hers, along with a cold dessert spoon and sat down on the chair next to me. With her knee touching mine she took her first bite of the dessert and said, "Umm, this is good if I do say so myself. I think you may have to give me an eleven or twelve, now." I took the other glass and tasted the dessert. She was right, this was heavenly. It had the flavor of raspberries and the light smooth texture of whipped cream. There were small pieces of walnut sprinkled across the top along with a couple of vanilla wafers artfully wedged into the dessert on opposite edges of the glass. It was puzzling as I knew I had no raspberries in the kitchen. I also knew that she had only been in the kitchen for 20 minutes at the most before she called me to dinner. Finally I could stand it no longer so I asked, "Where did you get the raspberries? I know there were none in the kitchen. This is even better than the dressing." Licking a little of the cream from the tip of her spoon she teased, "So if I reveal my kitchen secrets will I get one or two more points?" I licked my spoon with my whole tongue and replied, "On a scale of one to ten you can't get any better than ten and this dessert is a ten." Trapping one of my legs between her legs under the table she asked, "So that means I can add the ten from the salad, to the ten for the dessert, and get twenty ... right?" Realizing that the delicious dessert had nothing to do with the sensations I was feeling, I answered, "Honey, you can have all the points, and anything else I have that you want." Joyce giggled and set her glass on the table and put her hand on my knee, which was now held motionless by her legs. She looked deeply into my eyes and asked, "Really? Anything I want?" I was hypnotized by her emerald green eyes and could only answer, "Anything!" ------- Now it's six months later and she truly does have it all. Our joint bank account now has her name on it. The deed to our house has her name on it, right next to mine. She even took my last name as her own. It was rougher convincing my daughter of our love than my son or her mother. Jenna was always daddy's girl and I think she thought that she was somehow being supplanted by Joyce, in some way. The truth is that my grandkids now have the hottest grandmother south of the North Pole, and they know it. My grandson Mark, who used to talk about marrying his mom when he grew up, now, is serious about marrying his mom and his grandmother when he grows up. The only thing that he doesn't know yet, is that he's going to have a new aunt or uncle who is five years younger than he is. Edited By TeNderLoin ------- The End ------- Posted: 2010-10-04 Last Modified: 2010-10-06 / 11:35:36 pm Version: 1.10 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------