When Emily's feet got tired walking along the covered walkway she was crossing she found a place to sit down. She knew she had been foolish to have worn high heel platform shoes. She also wished that she had dressed more warmly for the autumn weather. All she had on was a short, black, clinging dress. She wanted to impress Ken. She had on the same clothes she had when she first met him three years ago. She wore the same ear rings. Her long black hair was in a pony tail, like it was then.
That evening, three years ago, she had not intended to be picked up. She had gone to a club on Wisconsin Avenue in Washington, DC with a girl friend wanting only to have a few drinks, and maybe meet someone. She met Ken. He was several inches taller than her, charming, and good looking. Because he was well dressed, when he told her he had a position with a prominent law firm she believed him. He was a good dancer.
Later on that night she found he was good in bed, with the chiseled body of one who works out at a health club. Ever the thoughtful lover, he had an unused toothbrush for her. Everything in his condominium overlooking Connecticut Avenue spoke of good taste and a good income.
When Emily looked at pictures framed on the walls, she said, "I recognize several reproductions from the National Art Gallery. The others are original." She walked over to one his book shelves. "These are impressive titles," she said, "The books have obviously been read." She picked out one book, opened it and read, "The Poetic Edda, translated from the Icelandic with an introduction and notes by Henry Adams Bellows. I read part of this in the Library of Congress. It has been out of print for decades."
"I am fortunate to have found it in a used book store, just as I am fortunate to have found you." Emily put the book back on the shelf, and walked over to kiss him.
The next morning they took a shower together. Ken prepared an excellent breakfast for them consisting of omelets, freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee ground from beans he had bought on a recent trip to Jamaica. The cups, plates, and silverware reminded her of an exhibit she had seen at the Smithsonian in an exhibit on the eighteenth century English aristocracy.
When he drove her to her apartment in his Jaguar she asked, "When will I see you again?"
"I'll give you a call."
'You don't have my phone number."
He gave her something to write with and on. When Emily was alone in her apartment in Prince George's County she wondered how many unused toothbrushes Ken kept for events like her. He did call. The next Friday they saw a movie, had drinks afterward, and spent the night at her apartment. They were great in bed together. Then they had to get out of bed.
Weeks would go without a call from Ken. When she called, he always wanted to see her. When he called it was usually for something special, like a weekend at a vacation resort. He gave her gifts. He remembered her birthday. The anniversary of the night they met was celebrated at the club where they met. He introduced her to several of his friends. He never introduced her to his colleagues at the law firm. He never introduced her to his parents.
He let her know he dated other women. He told her she meant more to him than they did. If she showed up at his condo unexpectedly, he was alone. He was glad to see her. There was never evidence of another visit. He suggested she see other men, and told her that she was fortunate that he was not possessive. Every now and then she accepted a date with another man. Nothing compared with Ken.
.... There is more of this story ...