Choral groups; the stage; local productions of any and all sizes; those were his passions away from work. Freedom from market restraints was the apple. Interaction with an entirely new group of people every couple months or so didn’t hurt. Every once in a while a new person piqued his interest. This time it was a strawberry blonde in the alto section. Joe knew he had found a rose amongst the thorns.
She was young and modestly attractive. She was told it was her perky attitude that brought her so much attention. Personally the figured it was that or the hair coloring she’d used just before joining this choral group. This latest color from Clairol was as hot as she’d ever picked. It brightened an already effusive demeanor and showed off her dimples just right. Deb liked being noticed.
She knew he was studying her from the third practice on. She slowly began to let him know that she was interested. Sometimes it was a coy glance between numbers, or across the room after practice. Once she brushed against him as she slid into her row after break. His lean, muscled buttocks didn’t disappoint her mind, and enticed a further glance when he wasn’t looking.
Joe finally decided to break the thawing ice a week before the performance. He strolled to where she was talking with Alice, the lead Alto, and picked up a few details. “Cats, dogs & other pets” seemed to be the topic of conversation. When Alice walked out to visit the water fountain, he said (nearly to himself), “I’ve got an old, broken-down cat. Loveable though.” He was almost surprised, yet pleased when Deb turned toward him.
“An old cat, huh? What kind of pet is that for a tenor?” The mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her eyes. “Surely you have a dog, or a woverine or something more manly?”
Joe’s lips curled into a smile, “Nope, never saw the need. My cat and I keep the apartment nice and quiet enough without the racket a dog makes. How about you, Deb? What pets do you prefer?”
Deb smiled wider, glad to finally have a legitimate conversation with this man. “I prefer a dog. Or would if I could. Our Building Super is hell on pets! I saw him press charges against my down-stairs neighbor over a goldfish.”
Joe shook his head. The thought of a lawsuit over a goldfish was ludicrous. He briefly wondered if she was making it up. “You’re in an apartment, eh? How long you been there?”
The conversation might have gone like that for another hour, but Joe noticed that break was nearly over and finally asked her out for coffee after practice. “Sure,” she said. Right away Joe knew they had similar interests.
That evening at Starbucks they let their hair down. Joe admired her figure as they walked to the coffee bar. He decided she must be at least a “C” cup, and her hips were well-proportioned. The hair was just the icing on the cake.
Deb admired Joe’s manners. At least he didn’t drool while he was trying to decide if everything was ‘natural’. His pecs twitched beguilingly as she hung on to his arm, letting him walk her to their table. That arm, strong and stable, spoke of workouts galore.
When their latte’s arrived, she asked him about it, too. He said, “Thanks,” and sure, he worked out twice a week at the gym. But the real toning was done at his home. He jumped on his weights there any time he had 10 minutes to kill, and that kept him in good shape. She cocked an eyebrow, and hoped he had a balanced workout.
Just as they were rising there was a commotion at the register. Some bastard in a mask had a gun out, and was threatening the teller. Deb gasped, backpedaling to their table. Joe saw the bandit and something overcame him. He became – dangerous.
The crook had his back to the rest of the restaurant, and even though there was a mirror above the register, he didn’t see Joe coming. Joe’s tackle threw the gun out of the man’s hand and into the glassware across from the entry, knocking over cups and glasses. They both hit the ground, and the mask flounced up, obscuring the bandit’s vision. Joe rolled up and around behind the man, holding onto an arm, and quickly had him pinned face-down in a wrestler’s hold. By then another patron and the gal at the register had finally reacted to the chain of events and jumped to Joe’s assistance. Everyone cheered, and once the felon was securely tied onto a chair, Deb ran gushing to Joe’s side.
“Oh, Joe, you were marvelous!” Deb’s sincerity came through, as though the crook had been holding her up. “I can’t believe you just ran up and tackled the guy!”
Joe, sweaty and hyperventilating, began to blush at the praise. “Oh, it wasn’t that much. I just felt I had to do something. Besides, it wasn’t a real gun anyway!”
Several people heard that comment, and a resounding, “Huh?” was muttered.