Chapter 2

We returned to our conversation. The subjects were innocuous and really were leading nowhere in particular. ‘She’ was smart and funny and single minded. I say that because I returned from the men’s room to find her being chatted up by local boys and as I took my seat ‘She’ placed her hand on my thigh.

“I don’t care for boys, boys.”

“I am no boy. I am 30 years old. I can do better for you than your grandfather.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He looked at me defiantly. I did nothing. Where was this going?

“Did you see him sing that last song?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sing a song to me and do what he did.”

“What did he do? He sang a fucking song.”

“And he got me wet and I had an orgasm as he sang to me. Your turn. Brody? This boy would like to sing a song to me. Can you pleeease get him up next?” She made a great little princess whine.

Brody looked at her, then at me, and said “Sure.”

“There is your chance. But you better hurry, talking to you has made me dry as a bone.”

The 30-year-old ‘boy’ was flustered as hell. He turned to me and I just returned his look with raised eyebrows.

“Fuck you!” He turned to walk away when I grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Apologize to my lady.”

“Fuck you too.”

I squeezed his arm tightly.

“You WILL apologize, or I WILL ask the security guys to remove you and then I WILL meet you outside to teach you the manners your parents failed to teach.”

“What are you going to do, old man?”

“Don’t apologize and find out.”

He looked at me and tried to pull his arm away but could not. The security guys saw what I was doing and approached us. I just coldly looked into his eyes and waited for his response. ‘She’ touched my leg and looked at me smiling, but I did not release the boy, only squeezed harder.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong to speak to you the way I did.”

I released his arm immediately and smiled.

“That is the way to get a date and make friends. Be polite and be a man.”

“It gets me every time.” ‘She’ smiled as she tapped my thigh.

After the ‘boy’ walked away I took a sip of my Sambuca and looked at the woman next to me.

“So, I’ve got you?”

“You do.”

“I didn’t know I was looking for you.”

“Yes, you did. You have been looking for me for a long time. You just didn’t know it was me or that it would be here tonight.”

“So, what did I get?”

“Do you want to know what your gifts are before Christmas or do you enjoy the thrill of opening the package?”

I sipped my Sambuca again as ‘She’ took the same from her Guinness. We sat quietly while more singers performed, and a few birthdays were celebrated.

“What is your end of the night routine?” ‘She’ asked.

“I go home.”

“And?”

“I take a shower and go to bed.” I said.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“You don’t ... masturbate?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you have urges?”

“Nope,” The answer was very dead pan.

“Why?”

“They got ripped out of me.”

‘She’ looked at me with a new set of eyes. Pity? Pain? Sadness? Regardless, it was a look I did not care for. I stood and walked to the rest room. I began to pee and thought for a few moments before feeling a hand on my shoulder.

“Good, you are alone.” She stood behind me and looked over my shoulder at what was in my hand.

“Yes.”

‘She’ surveyed the glory of the bar’s restroom for drunken men.

“It is cleaner in here than in the women’s room.”

“Why are you in here?” I began to shake myself free of the last drops.

“Because you are.”

I tucked in and washed my hands before going to the towel dispenser and pulling off a section.

“Are you going to be hanging on to me all night?”

“Not if it bothers you or if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I never thought that a beautiful woman could make me uncomfortable.”

“Am I?’

“Beautiful or making me uncomfortable.”

‘She’ thought for a moment before looking me in the eyes.

“Both.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I could mess up my make-up.”

“You aren’t wearing much of that.”

“I could mess up my hair.”

“Wouldn’t make a difference.”

“I could tell you that I think that your penis is very attractive and just the right size.”

“There is that uncomfortable thing.”

“You don’t like women looking at your penis?”

“I can’t remember that last time a woman looked at my penis, so I don’t remember if I like it or not.”

“It was 9 years ago.”

“Now you knowing that is uncomfortable, right?”

A very drunk guy walked into the restroom as we walked out and back into the main room of the bar. I was followed closely by the woman that I was starting to be afraid of. Why? I didn’t feel anything for her. I didn’t want to stare into her eyes or gaze on her bare midriff or glance at her tits or examine her slight camel-toe.

Why? I should at least be feeling lust. But nothing.

I sat at the table again and ‘she’ sat next to me, this time not touching.

“How damaged are you?”

“Pretty.”

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you go.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“We have been talking.”

“No, we have been yelling over the music and crowd.”

“I have not been yelling.”

“I have, and I don’t like yelling. I would like to speak with you.”

“About?”

“Damage. Repair. Restitution. Redemption.”

“Whose?”

“Ours.”

“Ours? You don’t seem to be someone who has had enough time on this planet to know about all of those.”

“And you seem like someone who has known about them too much.”

“Look, I don’t know you, I don’t feel comfortable talking about this stuff,” I explained.

“You sang to me.”

“You asked me to.”

“I’m asking you to talk to me.”

Touché. That gave me pause. What was I worried about?

“OK, where do you want to go for this talk?”

“I like Denny’s. But if you know of a better place name it.”

“Denny’s is fine. Do you want to go now, or wait for the end of the night?”

“Are you going to sing anymore?”

“Probably one more time.”

“Then we can stay for you to sing one more song to me.”

“What song?”

“I don’t know. Surprise me.”

We sat quietly and listened and sipped our drinks for another eight or ten songs. Brody tapped me on the shoulder and held up my song list. That was his way of asking what song I wanted to do. I stood and leaned over to him and named the song. He looked at me and then at her and smiled. I went to the mic. ‘She’ went to the center front of the stage again.

“By request,” I said as the music started.

I broke into the opening line of “Have A Little Faith In Me”. When I was done, I walked off the stage, Brody said good night to the crowd, and ‘She’ kissed me on the cheek.

“Let’s pay our tabs and be on our way.”

“The tabs are paid. Let’s go.” ‘She’ waited for me as I got my coat, then we walked out.

“It occurred to me that I walked here tonight,” I confessed. “I only live a few blocks from here.”

“I have a car, if you don’t mind,” ‘She’ said softly.

“You have been leading the way so far, no reason to stop now.”

‘She’ walked me to her car, a very nice Honda Accord. I opened the door for her and then got into the passenger side. As I walked around ‘She’ reached across the interior and opened the passenger door. When I was belted in, she started the car and drove us toward the airport where the only Denny’s in town was located. ‘She’ stopped, I got out to open her door and offered her my hand. We walked in and were seated, by her request, in a booth off in a corner.

“There, now we can talk.”

“Amazing how busy the place is after the bars close, even on a Monday.”

“Yup, but still quiet enough that two people can carry on a conversation.”

“Well, you wanted to talk. What about?”

“You and me.”

“Right, then there are a few things that we need to clear up, since before a few hours ago I didn’t know there WAS an ‘and me’. Who are you and why are you chasing me?”

“Chasing? I would say it is closer to pursuing you. But to answer your questions fifteen years ago you lived next door to me in San Clemente, California. I was scared, and you sat next to me and calmed me down.”

I was shocked. I remembered that little girl. She was seven or eight years old. I came home from work at about 8:30 at night and she was sitting on the common bench between our two apartments. She was crying and shivering. It gets cold in December, even in So Cal. I went into my apartment and got a coat and put it over her shoulders.

I figured that she was locked out of her place and that was why she was upset, so along with the coat I took some tissues for her tears. When I sat next to her she pulled her legs up and inside the coat and leaned against me.

“What are you out here? Did you forget your key?”

“No, my daddy is beating my mom and fucking my sister.” I flinched at the words the young girl had used.

“What? Are you sure?”

The girl nodded, so I did what I could. I called 9-1-1 and reported it and then stayed with the girl until the police arrived. We stayed on the bench, in public view. I had gone through training at work to never be alone or in private with an underage child. When the cops showed up, I explained what I was told, and they knocked on the apartment door. It was obvious that the woman who answered the door, had been hit.