Introduction:
Two young men are in one's backyard in heated discussion. Their exact ages, and precise occupations aren't relevant. Both are well paid, upwardly mobile, and disgustingly healthy.
Warren scolded his friend, "Cal you're not a kid anymore. It's time you stopped frittering your life away and found a woman and settled down."
Cal, whose full name is Caleb Burkheim, answered, "Cut it out Warren, I'm happy the way things are. I don't need any woman around telling me how to live my life. It's the solitary life for me."
Warren, that was Warren Kaminski, Cal's life long friend, wouldn't let up, "You better start thinking about your future. No man is happy living alone. You need a good woman, a warm body beside you at night, someone to help with the cleaning, cooking, and the wash."
"Look I have a maid. She comes in twice a week, cleans, and does the wash, and I like to do my own cooking thank you."
Warren retorted, "Yeah, but what about that warm body at night."
Laughing Cal snapped back, "I have Maggie." He leaned down and patted the head of his six year old black lab retriever. "I have Maggie here. She sleeps in the bed sometimes, and she never nags except to go out and when its time to eat."
Warren gave Maggie a scratch, "You're hopeless buddy. Isn't there any way I can get you meet a girl."
Cal who was working on his lawnmower, answered, "I'd be interested if I could find a girl who wouldn't end up being a warden." He tightened a bolt on the belt that held the lawnmower blades in place, "You know anybody like that?"
Warren, squatting on his haunches next to his friend answered, "As a matter of fact I think there might be just such a girl."
After tightening another bolt Cal tossed the wrench in the toolbox, he responded, "And she's not somebody's pet dog?"
"I wouldn't kid Cal." Scratching Maggie again, "You've got a dog. You need a babe."
Cal, "And you think you've got one."
"I do."
"She weighs less than two hundred pounds?"
"A slight, slim young thing with a delicious figure,"
Cal inquired, "She doesn't have one of those high pitched screechy voices?"
"This girl's a perfect soprano."
"No diseases?"
"Clean as a whistle."
Cal stood up, having given up on any chance at fixing his lawnmower as long as his friend was around, "So you've found me a girl. She's pretty, smart, well shaped, and she doesn't shed."
Warren laughed, "And she's dying to meet you."
Cal laughed too, "That I doubt. OK, you want me to meet a girl. I'll meet a girl. When and where?
Warren grabbed his friend by the shoulders, "I'll pick you up tomorrow night at 7:00. We're headed for the tavern."
Cal answered, "No, I'll meet you there at 7:00. I prefer to have my own transportation on the off hand chance you're playing a joke."
Warren answered, "OK, fair enough. Tomorrow night, 7:00 o'clock, at the tavern."
The next evening Cal was predictably late. He'd never been very adept at dating; always finding a way to slide his foot in his mouth at the most awkward moment. A healthy happy guy, just a loser with girls, he only went this evening to appease his best friend.
Cal walked in. The tavern was reasonably well lighted by bar scene standards. He was able to see most of the way across the room.
The front of the tavern was home to a nice respectable restaurant. Here one could get a pretty decent home cooked meal at a halfway decent price. Sure it wasn't a Denny's with all you can eat pancakes, but they made good eggs in the morning, pretty good club sandwiches at noon, and great steaks to order at night.
The restaurant waitresses were mostly old timers; the kind who knew everyone's parents, and weren't reluctant to drop the, 'hey you should have seen your kid the other night, yeah drunk as a skunk.' Every small town has the type; home grown, honest, hard working busy bodies who did their damnedest to keep everybody's children off the streets when they were young and out of the calaboose when they were older. Cal had to admit he loved them.
Cal went through the restaurant and on back to the bar. The bar had a name. It was called 'Aunt Sal's Saloon', after the owner. She'd even had a sign made up so everyone would know. As bars and restaurants went, it was a great place to hang around, lose at pool, foul up at darts, and stay unlucky with girls, at least that was the case if you had a name like Cal. He walked on in. The place hadn't changed much. Hell, he'd only been away about three days.
At the far end there were two pool tables. He'd played on them once in a while. They were too close to the walls, and neither was correctly balanced; one good shot usually got most of the balls in one of the corner pockets. Even so, Cal wasn't very good. He had a slight stance in one eye, and was a little bit myopic. That meant glasses and reliable inaccuracy. His pool playing was always good for a laugh, or as was the case with Warren, he was a good set up man to draw in some fish. Warren was a real 'Minnesota Fats' when it came to pool.
Warren was good at darts too, and at baseball, and football, and at just about anything that required anything approaching athleticism. Cal, well Cal was Warren's unofficial cheer leader. Ever since they were in grade school the dialogue had stayed pretty much the same; 'How did we do Cal, Way to go Warren.'
Cal didn't care. Warren was his best friend. No the saloon never changed.
A teak wood bar extended the length of the back room on the south side, not that anyone else knew it was on the southern side. Two women, both middle aged, usually tended the drinks. A person was able to buy most anything; a simple domestic beer or almost any of the more exotic hard drinks.
Cal wasn't much of a drinker. He had a weak stomach when it came to alcohol; two or three drinks in, be it beer or something hard, and he was ready for the porcelain throne. He liked the taste of whiskey; it just didn't like him, so he and it agreed to stay mostly apart.
It was a clean place, at least clean for a tavern. There were numerous tables, most of which had at least one, maybe two legs a little off center, meaning they were easy to rock. Cal thought, 'nothing like a table that turns over drinks.'
All the tables were covered with some kind of cloth, red and white checkers mostly but some were more simple. It was a good idea to keep the table tops covered. There were so many sets of initials, drawings, and phone numbers scratched in them Sally wouldn't make any money. Everybody would spend all night reading.
Most of the tables had five or six chairs. But that more often depended on how many people were at a particular spot. One or two really popular people could draw twelve or fourteen chairs, while a nearby table might by the habitué of a single lonely seat. Regardless, one could rest assured at least some of the chairs were wobbly; always a scenario for an accident.
Cal liked people. In fact he'd always liked going to the bar. The only problem he had was he'd probably be at the table where the chairs disappeared to other places. It wasn't that he was a stick in the mud, it was just that he was a stick in the mud; a great listener but a noncontributory block of wood when it came to conversation, and he thought he had about as much sex appeal as a slab of bacon, not that he was fat.
Cal wasn't a fatso. He wasn't especially skinny either; at least he didn't think so. At six feet and one hundred seventy pounds, he thought he was pretty OK. That was Cal, pretty OK.
He looked around and spotted Warren. He thought, time to go get overlooked. Cal liked girls, he liked them a lot. He was just that perennial second place kind of guy. He couldn't count how many times he'd heard the fabled phrase, "If I didn't like so and so more, I'd want you to be my boyfriend."
Well he considered, 'time to go lose another round.' He sidled over to Warren's table.
Warren had his arm around his girlfriend Annie, "Hey Cal, I was getting worried."
"I was a little late getting started, couldn't decide what to wear."
Warren looked over what Cal had on. He was wearing pretty much what he wore all the time, a pair of faded jeans, gray T-shirt, and tennis shoes, not exactly the debonair cavalier.
"You look good." Warren kissed his girl on the cheek, "When are the girls coming?"
Cal looked confused, "Girls? I thought you said a girl."
"Oh I did, but the girl we want you to meet has a friend staying with her, so we had to ask both." Warren smiled, "Hey, you get a choice."
Cal sat down. Laughing he said, "You mean I get to be told no twice."
"That's what I love about you buddy, always the optimist."
Annie looked up, "There they are!" She waved at two girls who'd just come in the bar, "Over here!"
Cal had his back to the girls. He peered around, 'Holy shit!' One was drop dead gorgeous, and other was no loser. He figured he might as well pack up and go home now.
The girls sauntered over and sat down.
Cal and Warren looked the girls over. The girls looked Cal and Warren over too.
Annie broke the ice, "Sandy you know Warren. This other one is Cal. Cal this is Sandy."
Sandy put her arm on her girlfriend's shoulder, "This is Maureen."
Maureen looked from Warren to Cal and back. She had that look on her face like she was wondering why she'd bothered to show up. She said, "Hi."
Cal answered, "Hi."
Warren gave the girls a generous smile, "Sandy you look terrific, and so do you Maureen."
Cal thought, 'They did look terrific.'
Sandy was clearly the extrovert. She looked it. Bright smile, clear complexion enhanced by a bucketful of freckles. She had beautiful blue eyes. She had on just enough eye make up to make her look really fresh and clean. She was wearing a snow white blouse, peter-pan collar he thought with dark blue piping around the collar and short sleeves.
She was wearing a short, and he thought really sexy, plaid mini skirt. It was pleated, and looked really hot, like in extra hot. She was wearing white tennis shoes and white socks.
She had small hands, smallish breasts; Cal guessed maybe a B cup, and the whitest straightest damned teeth he'd seen.
She had honey colored blond hair. He could tell it had a rinse or something in it. It looked great. It was combed out straight, and hung invitingly down around her shoulders. This was some high school's prom queen once. He knew he'd never strike out, because he'd never get to bat.
