I want to thank eigengrau. Your beautiful love story, Always Bigger Than Him, inspired me to write this.
*****
I sat at the bar, listening to the music and nursing a bourbon. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing there. At twenty-nine, the clubs were starting to get a bit old. I found very few of the women to be really attractive - that plastic, post-disco look doesn't really do it for me - but where else is there to go on a Friday night when you're alone, as I usually was these days?
I'm not a bad looking guy, and I don't pick my nose or fart in public, but I was beginning to realize my dilemma. Most of the women around my age were married or otherwise paired up. I was a bit too old for the recent college graduate crop, and a bit too young for the newly-divorced ladies tentatively re-entering the dating pool, although I had had a couple of very brief flings with two of them. They were more attractive than the recent schoolgirls, but I found I didn't really enjoy being someone's rebound fuck as they once again ventured into the single world.
I took a sip and looked up to see Wendy walking up to me. Wendy is an old friend, and a strikingly beautiful woman, but we don't hook up. No chemistry. Oh, we tried it a few times a while back, but it just wasn't working for either of us. Wendy dates a lot of men. "Bobby! Buy me a drink!" she announced as she walked up next to me. I signaled the bartender and ordered her a gin and tonic.
"What's up, Wen?" I asked her.
"I'm glad you're here," she replied. There's someone I want you to meet. A woman."
I looked around but didn't see anybody nearby who looked likely. "Well, bring her over."
"Silly boy," she countered. "She's not here now. She works at my office. Just started a month ago. She's really sweet, she's not seeing anybody, and I thought of you."
I love it when Wendy looks out for me. "So?" I asked.
"Meet us at Gus's for happy hour tomorrow, say five o'clock. I've told her about you, and she wants to meet you." Gus's is a quiet neighborhood bar we sometimes go to. Much more conducive to conversations about work, philosophy and sex than the dance clubs, where you can't hear yourself think.
I didn't ask Wendy what this girl looks like. Like I said, she looks out for me, and I know it'll be fine. The woman might not be Miss America, but she won't frighten small children either, and that's enough for me, at least to find out more. At worst, we can have a drink and go our separate ways, like civilized folk. Wendy finished her G&T and walked back to wherever she came from. After a bit, I settled up and went home.
The next evening, I arrived at Gus's a little early, found a table and ordered a whiskey. I was checking my phone for emails when Wendy walked in with an absolutely stunning woman at her elbow. Well, maybe not quite as beautiful as Wendy, but definitely up there. I stood up, and Wendy made introductions. The woman's name was Michaela, and she had long chestnut brown hair and a smile that enchanted me immediately. She was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than me. We all sat down and ordered a round of drinks when the waitress came by.
"Michaela is a design engineer at my company," Wendy informed me. Then, looking at Michaela, "Robert is a marketing account manager." She never refers to me as "Bobby" if we're with anyone else. As we chatted, I asked Michaela about the products she works on, and described briefly the work that I do. The conversation got around to music and movies, and then Michaela told me about a book she had just read, a pretty deep novel, not a drugstore paperback - a good sign. Through it all, her eyes remained locked on mine, and that smile never faded. I felt the beginnings of a connection.
Wendy felt it too, because after a couple of drinks, she excused herself, saying something about having to meet her mom for supper. Michaela and I talked on, and eventually I asked if she'd like to walk down the block to a place I know for a casual bite of dinner. She agreed immediately. I paid the tab and we left.
At the restaurant, we ordered steaks and salads, and a bottle of wine. The conversation continued, with me asking Michaela lots of questions about herself, her likes and dislikes, how she spends her time, and so on. But I never asked the one question that was screaming in my head, "What is a beautiful, accomplished woman like yourself doing alone?" After the meal, I walked her the few blocks to where her car was parked, and before she got in, I leaned over to give her a quick goodnight kiss. She reached up and pulled me in, and the kiss went on much longer than I had expected. "I'd like to see you again," I told her.
"I want that, too, Robert," she affirmed. "Call me." I told her I would, and she drove off.
Later that night, masturbating at home alone, I could not get Michaela out of my mind. Her brown hair, her eyes, her smile. I was captivated. After a long time, I slept.