Chapter 1

The Akropolis Diner probably doesn't serve the very best breakfast in Indianapolis, but the waitresses are cute and friendly, the coffee is excellent and it's only eight blocks from my apartment, and right on my way to work.

About a year earlier I had discovered that Amy, my ex-wife, was more interested in riding our neighbor's dick than she was in being married to me. Actually, she seemed to want both; she was pretty upset when I yanked her off Stuart's cock, slugged him in the jaw, packed a bag and left the house. We were divorced about four months later, despite all her best efforts to tell me "it didn't mean anything, I was the only man she loved, she'd just gotten a little bored," etc.

Once I got over the rage of being betrayed by someone I really loved--and once I got laid a few times and figured out that her cheating was her problem, rather than something wrong with me--it turned out I didn't miss her that much. But I'd gotten used to somebody else cooking me a nice hot breakfast, which is why the Akropolis became part of my morning routine every day before work.

I would have my daily cholesterol and coffee, read the Sports pages and the Op-Eds in the Star, and flirt a little with Iris and Debbie, the two morning waitresses. They were both cute, both married, and both happy enough to flirt right back. We all knew it didn't mean anything.

One morning my contemplation of the woes of the Reds, the team I'd rooted for against my better judgement ever since my childhood in Cincinnati, was interrupted by a hushed but intense conversation from the booth behind me. One woman sounded pretty distraught, and her friend was trying to cheer her up.

"You just don't know what it's like, Katie." Her voice sounded choked, like she was about to cry. "A procession of guys thinking I'm nothing but a cunt--not even a human being. I get hit on fifty times a day, and I'm the loneliest person in Indiana."

"C'mon, Tommie, it's not that bad. You've had more boyfriends than all the rest of my friends put together! And some cute ones, too--what about that guy Scott? He's really hunky, and he sure was into you that time we went out to dinner."

"That bastard! Do you know what he did? He was so nice to me, so loving and sweet--until he got me into bed. And then all he wanted to do was fuck me, day and night. Did he want to go out? See a movie, take a walk in the park? No, he wanted to bend me over his kitchen table!" Her voice was bitter, angry.

"He loved to talk dirty to me--'babe, you've got the best tits and the hottest pussy I've ever seen, I could fuck you forever, ' crap like that. Not 'you're a lovely person, I really care about you'."

Katie said, "oh Tommie, I didn't know it was so--"

"And then one night he brought two friends over. He was coming over for a nice dinner at my apartment, and we were supposed to go out to a movie, 'cause I insisted?

"And he walks in with these two asshole buddies of his and wants the four of us to do it together on my bed. 'Darlin', I told Jim and Andy how hot you are, and they would really like to fuck you too.'"

Her friend sat silent for a minute--probably shocked. I know I was. Then she said quietly, "God Tommie, that's awful. What did you do?"

"I threw all three of them out of my apartment, and I lay down and cried for two hours. And, needless to say, I hung up on Scott every time he called for the next two weeks. That ASSHOLE!"

She cried for a couple of minutes before she began to speak again. "It's always been like this Katie--ever since high school. Guys think I'm hot, but all they want to do is fuck me. No one ever takes even a minute to treat me like a person.

"You don't know how lucky you are to have Eric. He loves you AND he wants your body." She laughed briefly. "Even after six years. I am so envious of you guys."

I listened with complete fascination to this conversation going on right behind my head. All thoughts of baseball were forgotten. Needless to say it had never occurred to me that being seen as incredibly sexy could be a bad thing for a woman.

After a couple of minutes I heard Tommie say, "let me go wash my face before we go, okay? I must look like a sight." And then she emerged from the booth behind me and walked down the aisle past me to the Lady's room.

From the back she looked attractive but not unusual. Medium height, blond hair worn a bit past her shoulders, nice figure in a casual summer dress that came down nearly to her knees. I went back to the paper, only to look up again a couple of minutes later at the sound of her returning to her table.

It was mesmerizing. Truly. I was aroused by the sight of her like I'd never been before in my life. Tommie was very pretty, but no supermodel. As some of my friends might put it, she was an 8 or an 8.5, but no 10. She had lovely medium-size breasts, but certainly not the body of a Playboy playmate.

But in some way I can't explain she was the sexiest, most desirable woman I had ever seen. In an instant I was imagining having her down on my table and burying my head between her thighs, or of laying her down right in the aisle and fucking her, of rolling her over on her hands and knees...

Yet a moment later I was embarrassed, ashamed. I'd reacted just the way all the men she'd been complaining about had obviously reacted to her. I forced myself to look back down at my newspaper, afraid that she'd read the obvious desire in my face, and I didn't look up again until she'd passed. A couple of minutes later, she and her friend paid their bill and left the diner.

I thought about Tommie all the way to work, and several times during the day. About the way I'd responded to the sight of her. To tell the truth I felt a bit ashamed, because it was clear that all the men in her life had been assholes and, given the chance, I probably would have done just the same. Treated her like a piece of meat, like a potential hot fuck.

And it especially bothered me because I'd heard her tearfully describing how unhappy that brand of male attention made her. I was left with the uneasy feeling that most men were jerks--and I wondered if that included me.

After a couple of weeks I pretty much forgot about Tommie, though I vowed to be more respectful to the women I met. And I had a chance to live up to my vow, because about four months later I met her face to face.

I was at my desk at Minestra Business Systems, where I'm the head IT maintenance guy, when Irene Simmons came down the hall introducing a new employee. She was stopping at each cubicle, saying, "Tommie Parker? This is Hank Olson, our marketing blah blah," and before she got closer than 60 feet I could see it was the unbelievably sexy blonde from the Akropolis Diner.

So I had a couple of minutes to prepare myself. When Irene got to my cubicle I stood up and cordially greeted Tommie with a handshake and a warm smile, being sure not to let my gaze drop lower than her face.

"Welcome," I said. "Minestra is really a great place to work--I hope you'll be happy here."

"Thank you, " she said, smiling back at me. She seemed a little shy. Irene said, "Tommie will be taking over as Ben's administrative assistant in the Sales Division."

"Oh, you'll like working for Ben," I said. "He's a wonderful guy. Now, it's a good thing you won't be in Irene's office--boy, is she impossible! Why the stories I could tell you..."

Irene chuckled and punched my shoulder lightly. I glanced at Tommie and was relieved to see she could tell I was joking.

I made another brief comment, about how I was the guy to call if she needed any IT help, and then I said goodbye and turned back towards my desk. I was working as hard as I could to be warm, welcoming, and unthreatening.

To my delight I heard Irene say to Tommie as they moved down the hall, "Jack is such a kidder, but he's a really great guy."

I plopped down in my chair and took a deep breath. Seeing Tommie had just the same effect on me as the first time. She was SO sexy, in a way I couldn't rationally understand. If she'd come back up the hall and whispered to me, "quit your job right now and I'll take you home and ball your eyes out," I would have been unemployed in about five seconds.

But I kept remembering the conversation I'd overheard, Tommie's absolute misery at being seen as nothing more than a sex object--and I was determined to show her that I was a different kind of guy. I might never be anything but a casual friend, but I was going to try to be the kindest and most nonthreatening friend I could be.

Ben's office was at the other end of the floor from mine, so I didn't see Tommie again that day or the next. I waited until her third day at work, figuring she'd be feeling a little less overwhelmed by then, and around 11:00 I wandered down to where Ben's assistant's desk was.

"Hi, it's Tommie, right?" I asked--as though I hadn't quite remembered her name. "I'm Jack, from IT. How are you settling in so far?"

Her smile was friendly but wary, and I could almost hear her thoughts. But we chatted amiably enough for a minute or two.

Then I said, "there's a very nice lunch place called Armando's over on Fletcher Ave., just a couple of blocks from here, if you'd like to have lunch today."

I saw the wary look deepen, her eyebrows start to knit, and before she could reply I quickly said, "oh--sorry! That came out wrong. I didn't mean to make it sound like I was asking you out.

"There's a group of six or seven of us who eat there most days--Hank Olson, whom you met, and two of the women who work with him in Marketing, and Irene sometimes comes, and a couple of others.

"We'd love to have one more--but only if you don't have other plans."

She visibly relaxed, and after a few seconds of thought she said, "that sounds nice, actually. I don't know this part of downtown so well."

"Great!" I said. "We usually meet by the elevators around 12:15. See you then?"

"Okay," she said, giving me a beautiful smile. I walked back to my office feeling like I'd made a good start.

Tommie joined our lunch group most days, and within a couple of weeks she fit right in. Shy at first, she didn't talk much but laughed at the mutual teasing and joking among the others; and as she began to get more comfortable she started to hold her own, offering an occasional barb or putdown of her own.

Only one thing bothered me, though no one else seemed as aware of it: the men in the group all turned into total horndogs around her. Morty and Ted from the Accounting office could barely keep their tongues from hanging out. Even Hank Olson, about as happily married as a man could be, stared at her discreetly whenever he thought no one would notice.

Because we all knew each other pretty well there was no overt flirting--it just would have been weirdly out-of-place for anyone to come on to anyone else in that setting--but the other guys clearly felt the same lust for Tommie that had nearly overpowered me the first time I saw her.

As for me, the feelings hadn't gone away but they were dramatically changed by what I'd overheard that day in the diner. I felt bad for her--a pretty, friendly and nice person who couldn't help how the male half of the world reacted to her. She absolutely NEVER flirted herself; any teasing she did was about work, or about little things like somebody wearing a blue sock and a brown one, as Morty had managed to do one day.

She must have known very well aware what the men in the group were feeling. I wondered if the women noticed it as well; and one day I overheard Irene and Leanne talking quietly near the watercooler.

"I just don't see what's so special about her, that's all," Leanne hissed. "She's pretty, I guess, but why does that have every guy's dick tied in a knot?"

Leanne was 42 and unmarried, and a bit of a harpie. Irene said, soothingly, "I know what you mean, Leanne, but it's not Tommie's fault that I can see. She's friendly, but she dresses so conservatively, and I've never seen her even once flirt with any of them. And did you notice how she always sits on the side of the table facing the wall, so she doesn't have to get leered at by every guy who comes into the place?"

Leanne reluctantly agreed, and they began talking about something else as I passed by.

A couple of days later I came into the men's room to find Morty and Ted washing their hands side by side, and it was obvious who they were talking about.

" ... just can't believe how much she turns me on. It's like I'd never seen a woman before, for God's sakes!"

"I know," Morty agreed. "It's almost embarrassing. You had any luck?"

"None. She's always nice about it, but she's turned me down four times. No dinner, no movie, no walk after work--nada. Maybe she's a Lesbian!"

They both chuckled at this, and Morty said, "Christ, would that ever be a waste.

"Hey Jack," he said, turning to me, "you had any luck with Tommie?"

"No," I said casually, "I haven't asked her out. She is kinda pretty, I have to admit."

"Pretty?! She's a walking wet dream!" Ted almost shouted at me. "She's the hottest piece of fuck I've ever seen. God, but I'd wash her panties with my mouth any day."

I laughed and said, "thanks for sharing that image, Ted. Maybe you should make the offer, and she can save on her laundry bills."

When I left the men's room they were still talking about her.

The fact that I was determined to be a nice guy, to let Tommie see that a man could be friendly and warm without doing all he could to get in her pants, didn't mean that I didn't want to get in her pants.

But as time went on that changed somewhat. She wasn't any less sexy, but after a few weeks I got more used to it and the feelings of desperate lust didn't affect me so much.

More and more, actually, I found myself thinking about what a nice person Tommie was, how considerate and sweet she seemed to be, and how much I enjoyed just being around her. Would I have felt that way if she were unattractive? I asked myself that question more than once, but I never came to an answer.

I noticed how thoughtful and sympathetic she was when Irene's mother died suddenly, how willingly she interrupted her own work to take Irene out for a cup of coffee. And how patient she was with Connie, whose long-winded stories about her boyfriend sometimes threatened to take over our group lunches. Apparently Connie was dating a guy who "couldn't commit," as women like to say, and she frequently bent our ears about him.

More than once, Ted or Morty or I was ready to say, "enough already, Connie! Dump the guy or marry him, won't you?" But Tommie listened and sympathized--she always made Connie feel better somehow, when the rest of us had pretty much lost our patience.

It was nearly seven months after she came to work at Minestra before I began to think seriously about asking Tommie out. I'd just about killed myself to be a nice guy. I never allowed myself to gawk at her at lunch, like the other guys, and I never made a single remark that was sexual or flirtatious in any way.

At the same time, I casually mentioned from time to time a date I'd had with this woman or that one, indicating that I had a social life but that there wasn't anyone special. And if Morty teased me with a question about whether I was "getting any," I looked a little offended and quietly replied that Ruth or Alison or Lily was a nice person and we really enjoyed our time together.

I didn't come off sounding like a monk, I don't think, but I tried to come across as a thoroughly decent and discreet person--not a typical horny guy, in other words. And I wanted to make sure that that impression didn't change.

I waited for an opportunity to do something out of the ordinary. Tommie had mentioned at lunch one day that she'd played the violin growing up, and that while she'd dropped it after college she still really liked music.

So I emailed my friend Nick, who lived in Minneapolis and was a total classical-music nut, and asked him to look at the Indianapolis Symphony web page and tell me what concert he thought a former violinist might like.

He emailed me back recommending a concert that featured a Brahms Symphony and the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. He said that any violinist would be dazzled by the concerto, and that most classical-music lovers adored Brahms.

That sounded good to me. So I took his advice, got two good tickets for the concert, and then went to chat to Tommie and told her a little white lie.

She gave me the usual friendly smile when I approached her desk, signaling me to wait while she finished a call. Then she said, "hey Jack, what's up? Do you need to get in to see Ben today?"

"No, actually, Tommie, I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor." I said it in a very low-key way--no leering, not a hint of any sort of innuendo.

"I have this aunt in Phoenix, she's retired and doesn't have much to do, and now that she's discovered the Internet she keeps herself busy staying in touch with her nephews and nieces, and giving us useful advice via email--you know, carry an umbrella in case it rains, that kind of thing."

Tommie chuckled, and I went on, "so for my birthday, feeling I was in need of culture, I guess, she sent me two tickets to the Indianapolis Symphony, and the concert is a week from Friday. It's the Brahms Second Symphony, a Mendelssohn piece, and the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto.

"I know you really like classical music, and I was hoping you'd come to the concert with me and be my tutor. I know I'd get a lot more out of it."

I watched her eyes narrow a little as she thought it over; then she said, "I think I'd like that, Jack. A week from Friday?" She pulled a little datebook out of her purse and looked at it. "That should work. Who's playing the concerto?"

I pulled the tickets out of my shirt pocket. "A guy named Joshua Bell--he any good?"

"Oh my God," she gushed, "he's unbelievable! I heard him play at Carnegie Hall in New York once, and he ... Well, anyway, he's really terrific," she concluded, looking a little embarrassed about her enthusiasm. I'd actually Googled Joshua Bell, and found out that he was not only a phenomenal violinist but something of a dreamboat. It appeared that Tommie was aware of that too!

We chatted another couple of moments, agreeing that we'd meet at the Hilbert Circle Theatre, and I headed back to my desk. I hadn't invited her to dinner, and

I'd been very careful not to say the word "date" or make it sound like anything more than just a concert.

And we had a great time. I knew a little more about classical music than I let on to Tommie, having grown up with an amateur piano player for a mother and been taken to a lot of concerts. Tommie was very enthusiastic about the concert, especially about Joshua Bell, who absolutely played the ass off his violin, and she told me a lot about the composers and the music before we heard each piece.

What pleased me the most is that Tommie seemed comfortable with me. As she always did at work, she wore conservative, unrevealing clothing--never a low bodice or tight slacks or a short skirt. And as I always did, I maintained a strictly friendly demeanor. I continued to desire her like mad, but I'm pretty sure it never showed.

When the concert was over we had a quick cup of coffee at a place around the corner, and I walked her to her apartment. I wasn't going to try for anything more than a handshake, so I was pleased when she leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "thanks, Jack--that was really a lot of fun."

"I had a great time too, Tommie--maybe we can do it again sometime. See you tomorrow!" And with a smile and a wave, I watched her let herself into her building, then strolled off with a grin on my face.

Thinking carefully about it, I waited a full two weeks before I talked to her about another concert. I wanted her to see that I had no expectations, and that I could be totally discreet. I never breathed a word to anyone in our lunch group, or indeed anybody at Minestra, that Tommie and I had gone to a concert.

I wondered if she might bring it up the next day--you know, just to say, "that was fun, Jack" or something--but she also behaved with the lunch group as though it had never happened.

So after two weeks, I wandered down to her desk and said, "Tommie, I really enjoyed the Symphony concert--would you be interested in doing it again?"

And when she smiled and said she would, I pulled out the Symphony calendar I'd printed out and said, "well it just so happens that I have their schedule right here..."

Tommie laughed, and then I pulled up a chair and we looked at it and decided on the following week, when they were playing Prokofiev and a Beethoven symphony.

Our second visit to the orchestra was a lot like the first one: Tommie told me about the composers and the music, we both really enjoyed the concert, and we chatted away comfortably and easily. I learned a little more about her big sister Alice, who'd married a Canadian guy and lived in Toronto, and I told her some funny stories about working my way through college as a lifeguard at a YMCA pool, and some of the crazy things that went on there.

And during intermission something else interesting happened. I left Tommie for a couple of minutes to stand in line to get us a couple of cokes; and when I had them in my hands I looked back across the crowded lobby and there was an extremely handsome guy chatting away with her.

Since she and I were not officially "dating" or anything, I realized that I had to play it cool. I watched the two of them as I negotiated my way through the crowd--he was being as charming as fuck, but I couldn't tell how Tommie was reacting to him.

When I finally reached them I handed Tommie her soda and said to the guy in a pleasant voice, "hi, I'm Jack."

"Uh, hello, I'm Rene," he said, clearly not the least bit happy to have me join the conversation. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, and then Rene picked back up on some story he had been telling Tommie, presumably to impress her with how marvelous he was.

But now that he could see Tommie was with somebody his heart wasn't really in it, and after a couple more minutes he nodded to me, told Tommie in a really sincere voice how much he'd enjoyed meeting her, and moved away.

I wasn't going to say a word about it, but Tommie just rolled her eyes at me and said, "somebody seems awfully impressed by himself!"

I laughed out loud and said, "and interested in you, I'd say--he certainly wasn't pleased to see me turn up."

She just sighed, looking a little unhappy, and said, "you know, sometimes I just get so TIRED of guys trying to pick me up all the time. It's flattering, I guess, but it gets really old after a while."

I had a quick decision to make. My first instinct would have been to say, "well, I'm not surprised that guys try to pick you up, Tommie--you're gorgeous!" But I really didn't want to be flirtatious. I wanted to be sincere and warm and kind--and above all non-threatening.

So I went for funny instead. "That's strange," I said, trying to look thoughtful. "Guys don't really hit on me much at all! I guess a few times at the gym..."

I let my voice trail off, looking puzzled, and Tommie cracked up. She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her soda, and I laughed with her. It was a nice moment.

At the end of the night I left her at her apartment, and like the first time she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I don't know if I'd ever ended a second date without a real kiss before--maybe when I was 15 or something. But things were going my way, and I wasn't going to push it or rush Tommie at all.

And I knew three days later that I'd done the right thing. Tommie called me during the morning and asked me to stop by her desk before we all met for lunch. When I got there she had the Symphony schedule out.

"How would you feel about 'The Rite of Spring' this time?" she asked me right away.

"That's Stravinsky, right?"

"Good for you!" she replied. "And there's a Bartok piano concerto that's kind of dissonant, but really exciting."

We agreed on the date and I said, "I'll order the tickets right after lunch."

"And listen, Jack?" Tommie suddenly looked a bit unsure. "You've been paying for all the tickets--"

"Well," I laughed, "my aunt paid for the first set!"

"Okay, but you've bought them since then. So I thought ... well, how about if I made us dinner this time?"

"Sure," I said. "That would be great! I eat anything: filet mignon, caviar, fresh lobster..."

She laughed and smacked me on the arm. "I was thinking pork and beans out of a can."

"Fine with me--will you have the sauerkraut or should I bring some?"

When I arrived at Tommie's apartment I could see she was a little nervous, which made me feel good in a way. I figured that if she saw me as nothing more than a casual friend and concert-buddy, she wouldn't be nervous having me in her place.

I'd thought about bringing flowers but decided on a big gooey chocolate cake instead, as flowers suggested a guy courting a girl and I was trying not to give that impression. She opened the box and said, "wow! This looks delicious--and fattening. An extra hour at the gym this weekend for sure, but worth it. Thank you, Jack."

She'd made us chicken cacciatore over linguine and a beautiful Greek salad. It was very good, and obvious that she'd put a lot of effort into it. Another good sign!

As soon as we sat down I started asking her questions about Bartok and Stravinsky, and that seemed to relax her. We chattered away and ate and laughed--and before we knew it we were in danger of missing the concert.

"Oh darn!" Tommie said, glancing up at the clock. "We'd better dash. I'm sorry, Jack--we never even got to that cake. How about if we come back and have dessert afterwards?"

Fantastic, I thought to myself. "Sure, Tommie. Just grab your coat." I cleared the dishes, leaving them by the sink in her kitchen, and we headed out the door.

Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" was not my cup of tea, exactly. Imagine 100 musicians on stage, all angry at each other, all playing as if determined to piss each other off--now imagine that going on for just over a half hour. I won't mind if I don't have to listen to that again any time soon.

But the Bartok piano concerto was cool, and being with Tommie--which for me was the main point, of course--was just terrific. She seemed more relaxed and comfortable with me than ever, laughing and joking, occasionally putting a hand on my arm.

At intermission when I went for sodas again, I watched her. In the first two minutes at least three guys went over to talk to her, but she shooed them all away. And then to my surprise she came and joined me on the line, and we talked about the music while we waited.

On the walk back to her apartment after the concert Tommie's cheerful mood seemed to change. She grew quiet and a little withdrawn, and I had an idea what was bothering her.

When we were half a block away I said, "listen, Tommie, it's getting kind of late. Shall we skip the dessert for tonight, and maybe do it another time?"

She stopped walking and looked up at me seriously. "No, Jack, I--it's..."

Taking my hand in hers she said, "I'd like you to come up. But we--I'm not--

"Jack, I'm not going to bed with you."

Again my instincts fought a quick battle with my better judgment. I wanted to pretend to scowl at her and say, "go to bed with me? What sort of guy do you think I am? Do you only like me for my body?"

But I controlled myself. Instead I just smiled and said, "that's fine, Tommie."

Then I waited a beat and added, "I would just be really disappointed to go home without a piece of that cake."

That made her laugh, thank goodness, and the awkwardness passed. When we got inside I immediately headed for the sink and started washing the dishes. Tommie looked at me in shock, then grinned and said, "well, you certainly are full of surprises!"

While I finished the dishes she put the left-overs away, made some coffee, and cut us some of the cake, and then we sat together at the table and ate it. We talked some more about Bartok and Stravinsky, and then about some of our more colorful co-workers.

But then the conversation trailed off and Tommie looked uncertain again. Determined not to push things, I stood up and said, "thank you again for dinner, Tommie. It was terrific, and the whole evening was fun."

I went around the table and gently lifted her to her feet. Looking into her eyes I said, "I'd like to cook for you next time--would that be all right?"

And I moved towards the door, pleased that she'd taken my hand and was moving with me. "Yes, Jack--and you know, I like filet mignon and lobster too!"

The smile on her face told me that a goodnight kiss would be welcomed, so I took her in my arms and gave her a good one. But gently, nothing forceful or scary, no tongue--just affectionate.

When I let her go she smiled at me and said, "good night Jack," and kissed me back, and squeezed my hand once more before letting me go.