Sheila was lying on the sofa with a cool damp cloth covering her eyes when the phone rang. It was her friend, Jim, calling to see how her afternoon was going. "Hey Baby, How are you?" he shouted. Jim always shouted. He was bouncy and exuberant and was the perfect person to sell real estate to wealthy yuppies, which is what he did during the day. At night, he sang three times a week with a band that specialized in covering Beatles songs.
"Jim, I do NOT want to talk about it," Sheila replied. She still had the cloth over her eyes, even though it was dark outside and she hadn't turned on any lights in the house yet.
"OH, c'mon baby! Tell me, didn't you have drinks with that contact you made last week? How did it go? Did you get any leads?" Jim peppered her with questions until Sheila sat up and pulled the wet rag from her face. Her eyes were sore and tired and she had a mild headache. She did not want to recount the afternoon to Jim; she just would rather forget it ever happened, in fact. But, Jim was Jim. He would not let her rest until she spilled the whole story, top to bottom.
"Yes, I had drinks. No, I didn't get any leads. I got hit on. Over and over and over. It was a nightmare."
"Well, baby, you should have expected that. You're much too pretty for any man to let an opportunity to get you into the sack go by. I try it all the time with you - why are you so upset with this guy?"
"Because, Jim - I thought he wanted to meet me to talk business. Hell, he knows I'm just starting out and could use all the clients I can get. Besides, I know the guy. I've known him for years. I've met his family, his kids. I just was blind sided by his motives, that's all."
"Tell Perverted Uncle Jim all about it, sweetheart. I want details. Start from when you arrived at the - where did you go? Gallaghers? Start there," Jim said encouragingly.
Sheila thought she better fix herself a drink before telling the story to Jim. She probably would need it when she told him what happened and how she fixed this guy from ever hitting on her, or maybe on anyone, ever again. She told Jim to go get himself a glass of wine too; it was going to be a long story.
Sheila began. "I arrived first, about 15 minutes ahead of schedule. You know how I am, Jim. I hate to be late. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink. The place was pretty empty for early afternoon. Only two other people in there besides the bartender and me. I was kind of excited to be out doing something social for a change.
You know how it's been for me lately. I don't really talk to anyone unless it's business related. That's why I agreed to go in the first place. I knew this guy from way back. I was looking forward to chatting and catching up and, I don't know, just having a drink! The fact that he works for a place I've been trying to get my foot in the door was really secondary."
Jim interrupted her, asking, "What were you wearing?"
Shelia described her outfit. "I had on a simple business skirt - white - and a green knit twin set. You know, a tank top and little sweater over it. Nothing flashy or seductive. I didn't even put on any perfume."
Jim laughed. "Honey, everything you wear is seductive. You could have shown up in a housecoat and looked good enough to eat!" He thought for a moment, then added, "well, except that red thing you insist on wearing around your house. I won't even approach you in that rag."
"Shut the hell up about my robe, will you? Do you want to hear this or not?" Sheila demanded.
Jim immediately became contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. Please continue. Tell me what happened next."
"O.K. He got there right on time, and ordered a drink. Bourbon and coke. We talked about work and my new business, and our kids, homes, families. You know, the usual catch-me-up-on-life shit. He sat very close to me, but I didn't really think much of it, the stools were kind of squashed together anyway. When he started touching my back and my neck, though, I began to realize something was up."
"Oh, yeah. Something was up all right! It was in his pants," Jim exclaimed.
"After he downed 4 bourbons, he suggested we move to a booth because his ass was getting tired of the hard bar stool. Well, I agreed to that and we moved over to a booth. Jim, when I sat down, he practically sat in my lap!"
Jim laughed again. "Damn! He didn't waste any time. So, what does this dude look like, anyway? Is he handsome like your old, unwanted friend Jim?"