RAINING WOMEN
PROLOGUE
I live in Northern New Mexico, in the high desert. I love it here, and have lived here for just under seven years. As this story starts, I live alone; have for those seven years. I moved here after my last divorce, right when I made a career change.
Last year I bought a house northeast of the city of Albuquerque. The house, which I've been renovating, is almost complete, just needs a few finishing touches inside. Outside, I am completely redoing the landscaping - converting to a bold xeriscape that will be in tune with the surrounding environment. The home is a three-bedroom, two and one-half bath, sprawling, ranch-style, one-story with an expansive, covered rear patio, a large, three-car, detached garage with an attached, very functional workshop. At just under 3,000 square feet of living space, it is certainly larger than I currently need; but I am hoping to someday increase the occupancy rate by one.
My new business enterprise is going well and I have come a long way from where my life started, in a rundown, and pretty rough suburb of Camden, New Jersey. I was a short, fat kid and got bullied - a lot. I hated being bullied, so I learned to fight at an early age. Fortunately, I got into sports in a big way in junior high, and by the time I got to high school, I was still on the short side, but no longer a double for the Pillsbury Doughboy, and I was battle hardened. Also, by then, nobody bullied me, unless they really wanted to fight. I was only in one scrap in high school, which was in defense of another kid, and after I beat the living crap out of that bully, no one ever messed with me again.
To this day, I hate bullies. Bullies like to pick on people smaller and weaker than themselves.
I also hate it when people slow down on the freeway before the off-ramp. It's there for a reason. Use it!
And people that park their basket in the middle of the aisle at the grocery - oh my goodness!
And people that don't use a turn signal...Good grief, what do they think that little stick is on the left side of their damn steering column?
And arrogant people...What use is arrogance? Pride, self-pride is one thing, and can be bad enough, but arrogance? Really?
Okay, I have some issues. I'm working on them.
Yeah, I got sidetracked.
I'm Matthew, Matt, 40 years old, 5'-11" and weigh in the mid-190's. I'm stocky but not fat, and not bulked out or muscle-bound - just stout. I have slightly wavy, dark-blond hair worn medium-short, and blue eyes - but I'm no blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty or whatever you call a guy who looks like Brad Pitt. I'm not bad looking, but that's about as far as I can stretch it. I have a slightly crooked nose (broken twice), a scar over my right eye, and have lost three teeth in different altercations. Thanks to a periodontist, my dazzling smile has been restored.
My two wives said I was 'ruggedly handsome' - I agree on the 'ruggedly' part. And, no I'm not Mormon - separate wives at separate times. I'll let you guess how many times I've been divorced. I was fortunate though; they were uncontested, mutually agreed upon divorces.
My first wife and I figured out early on that we were oil and water. My second wife and I really did love each other, but we had too many things in our lives that we differed on - politics, food, friends, activities, etc. - too many for love to overcome in the long run. So my first two choices for spouses were not ideal, but I like to think I've learned from my mistakes, and that I will get it right the next time - if there is one.
I graduated college with a degree in finance, and over a twelve-year period, I worked as a personal financial advisor, financial analyst, and eventually as a financial manager. I made a good living, but had realized early on that I was not going to make big money that way. So, I established what I thought were realistic, attainable financial goals, and developed a long-term strategy to achieve them. Over my twelve years, I played the markets on a small scale, with decent success, and accumulated a substantial war chest, enough to bankroll my entry into the venture capital game. So now, I am a venture capitalist by occupation, and make a lot, and sometimes lose a lot of money, but my net is pretty decent.
Anyway, seven years ago, after having accumulated enough capital, and having done extensive research and analysis, I made my first three, large investments (large for me) that launched my career. One was a disaster, but the other two hit big, really big, and I was able go on from there. I'm no Jeff Jordan or Peter Fenton, but these days, I'm a serious player on a smaller scale.
As far as companionship goes, I don't actively play the field - I don't go trolling, though I do date occasionally, have a one-night stand, now and then, and over the last seven years, I have been in a few short-term relationships. But either I haven't met the right gal yet, or I'm the wrong guy, or both. So, lately, I've been down a little - can't seem to find the right woman to share my life with. And I do want that. I'm a bit of a loner, don't have any close friends, but I do like female companionship, and miss it now, very much. But before I get maudlin, let's move on.
Oh, and did I mention people who drive slow in the fast lane...For the love of Pete, move over!
Sorry, last one. I promise.
STORY
I. SUPERMARKET RESCUE
I was shopping at the grocery store, and as I turned a corner, a lady coming up the aisle ran into my basket.
The older woman gave me one of those looks, kind of uppity, like it was my fault, that I was an inconvenience, an intrusion on her bliss.
So, I politely apologized, "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where you were going."
She started to acknowledge my apology, then caught herself when she realized what I had said, "That's al...Oh!" and stomped off in a huff.
Yeah, I can be a bit of a smart ass at times, especially when confronted with attitude. As much as I hate bullies, I equally dislike people who think their time and space is more important than anyone else's. And when confronted by them, it doesn't bring out the best in me.
Anyway, as the gal stormed off in a snit, I heard someone laugh and looked across a low-boy freezer towards the deli counter where this tall, attractive, young woman was waiting for her order.
When we made eye contact, I said, "I don't know what her problem was; I apologized."
She replied, "I think 'you' were her problem."
"Why? I was polite."
"If that was you being polite, I'll assume you don't have many friends."
"None that I can think of," I quipped.
As the deli attendant handed her a package of sliced brisket, she laughed, "Well, enjoy your shopping, and watch out for those women-drivers."
I had a whole bunch of wisecracks for that, but simply gave her a one-fingered salute.
No! Not that one - the one where you touch your pointer finger to the corner of your eyebrow and give an abbreviated wave, like if you were British, you would accompany it with, "Cheerio!"
She smiled and gave a small wave of her hand. I continued shopping, which is to say, I continued filling my basket with chips, cookies, frozen tv dinners, ice cream and other healthy choices. Hey, ice cream's good, right? It has milk in it, and eggs I think.
When I was done shopping, I headed to the parking lot and started hunting for my car (I can never remember where I park - and my car is low to the ground, disappears behind a Vespa). I turned down one row just as a small sedan was backing out from between two SUV's. At the same time, a big, jacked-up, four-wheel drive truck was passing behind it. The small car locked up it's brakes, just missing the truck by inches. The big jerk driving the truck got all irate, jammed on his brakes, climbed out of his vehicle, and started berating the lady who came from her car to apologize.
"I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't see..."
"What the fuck, lady. You damn near hit me! Why don't you watch where the fuck you're going!"
This got my attention and I wandered in that direction, sizing up the big guy (when I say big, I mean about 6'-3" and at least 230, with big shoulders and arms, and a big, saggy gut, which I made a note of).
He continued his diatribe, and when I had closed to within about thirty feet, I shouted out to the foul-mouthed idiot to get his attention off the woman and on me.
"Hey, shit for brains, the lady said she was sorry. She didn't touch your precious truck. Why don't you get back in your big-assed, jacked-up, four-wheel drive substitute for a penis, and leave."
It worked. I captured his undivided attention.
"Fuck off, asshole," was his witty rejoinder.
"No, I said it first. You fuck off," I wittily returned. Is 'wittily' a word. It doesn't sound like a word.
Anyway, the big, ugly, Mensa candidate headed my direction, posturing and huffing, "You don't know who the fuck your messing with, mother fucker!"
"You're right; I don't know 'who the fuck' you are. But for the record, I never fucked my mother; yours, I'm not so sure about. Was she fat and looked like...you?" I countered, to see if he had a sense of humor.
He didn't.
Actually, I said it so he would be thinking about killing me but not how to go about it.
I had my cart between him and me, and when he was about a stride away, I shoved hard, catching him in the legs, bringing him to an abrupt stop and knocking him a little off balance. He grabbed at the cart and whipped it sideways to his left, knocking it over and scattering my carefully selected health food items all over the parking lot. In the process, he shifted most of his weight to his right leg.
I immediately shot forward and kicked him hard, square in the right knee. Hey, I never said I fight fair. He hollered and grabbed at his knee. I immediately hit him with a hard uppercut, catching him in the forehead, nearly breaking my hand. That pissed me off, so I made him pay. As the punch straightened him up, I hit him with two quick jabs to the gut, then followed with a better-aimed, hard uppercut, catching him square in the face. I quickly followed that with a powerful, straight jab to the face, nailing his already bloodied nose. He scrambled to cover up, bringing his fists up high, and I took the opportunity to gut punch him with everything I had, driving hard off my back foot. He doubled over, dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and wheezing, trying to catch a breath, and I'm sure pondering where is plan of action went awry.
I was going to kick him in the head, but by this time, we had an audience, so instead, I grabbed him by his greasy hair and tilted his head up.
"We're done here. Get in your jacked-up truck and go back to whatever shithole you crawled out of. Just leave."
He got up, limped to his truck, climbed in and drove off. Several people in the crowd applauded. I gave a small wave and went to check on the woman, who by this time was shaking and white as a sheet. As I approached her, I realized it was the brisket lady.
"Ma'am. It's okay; he's gone."
"You, you...what you..." she stuttered.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't let him treat you like that, and he wasn't going to relent..."
"No, no, Thank you. He scared me to death, but I thought he was going to...I was afraid for you...but you beat him...really..."
"It's okay, I'm fine, you're fine. It's over," I continued, trying to calm her as she looked past me.
"Your groceries, they're all over the ground, a mess, just a mess."
I turned and looked at my mostly ruined purchases. My frozen food was quickly becoming not frozen food from being on the hot tarmac, especially my three tubs of ice cream. Many packages were smushed and damaged, including a bag of those little chocolate donuts. I love those little donuts. I should have kicked him in the head. Anyway, everything was dirty, gritty, smashed, or torn...or melted - pretty much a total loss.
A cart wrangler and a couple of people had up righted my basket and were picking up the remains of my groceries. I went and started picking them up and was joined by the brisket lady.
