Tricia

A small romance about two people destined to meet, but who keep just missing each other. A memorable day, a beautiful woman, and an ugly scar, who could ask for more? Enjoy. Jb7

Tricia

Jared Wilkins, 34, was more or less satisfied with his life. He had a career he liked, was good at, and paid well, for now. He was, from his point of view, successfully balancing, relationships (with benefits) with three, and sometimes, four very attractive women. He had a nice condo, in a popular, up-scale neighborhood, drove a British sports car which reflected his financial status, and lived alone. Living in the western suburbs of Chicago gave him access to some of the world's finest entertainment, food, and cultural events, resulting in a fairly busy social life, with a group of friends, similar in age, interests and status.

His condo was one of four in the 1930's vintage building he owned. Originally, the building had housed eight 'two' bedroom apartments; the second, little more than an eight by ten walk in closet. When they were converted to condominiums, the eight apartments were turned into four, two-story three bedroom condos. At street level, were the living/eating areas of the two lower condos (1A and 1B); the next two levels were sleeping quarters, with the top level, the living/eating quarters for the upper dwellings (2A and 2B (Jared's)).

He shared the upper level with a pair of young professional women with social lives as active and varied as his own. They had hosted each other at large parties, and for small dinner gatherings, occasionally with dates for all of them, sometimes just the three of them, very occasionally, overnight. As sometimes happens, due to career demands, and the vagaries of their social lives, it had been several weeks, nearly four months, since they had the opportunity to do more than wave in passing.

If you are familiar with Chicago weather, when the day is described as a glorious May Friday, you will understand why Jared felt so up beat coming home that afternoon. Added to the weather, he had just signed a contract to provide outplacement counseling, individual and group for executives and upper management, plus classroom style for production and middle management personnel, for a mid-sized company about to be taken over by a larger national company. Unfortunately, it would require extensive travel for him over the next year.

"Suzanne! My god, I thought the earth had opened and swallowed you and Carole whole, it's been so long since I've seen either of you," he exclaimed, meeting one of the women from apartment 2C by the mailboxes in the elevator bay.

"Jared! I was just thinking about you. How've you been?"

"Been better, been worse. Like everyone else, too much work, not enough pay; too much to do, not enough time; too many people wanting something, not enough me to go around."

"Isn't that all the truth! It's nice to know I'm not alone." She paused, looking at the young bachelor. "Did you hear Carole got married?"

"Really! When? It must have been sudden," he replied, with a knowing smirk, opening his mailbox and taking out the contents.

"Keep your gutter mind to yourself." she laughed. "It was sudden, but that's not why. Her fiancé, now husband, was offered a three year assignment in Australia, housing and transportation for his family paid for by his company. So they pushed their wedding plans up a year. Just family and close friends, in early April, a couple of weeks or so after you disappeared."

"Good for them. As I recall, he was a really nice guy." He cocked his head and asked, "Any plans like that for you?"

"No," she sighed. "In fact, they are even further away than the last time I saw you. Pete, the guy I was dating, turned out to be married. His wife came for an unexpected visit a couple of months ago. Luckily, we were only eating when she arrived."

"Ouch! You said further away; was it serious on your side?"

"Not really, not yet, thank Heavens. But it was getting to the point where I was going to have to decide whether or not to get serious. Did that make sense?"

"Enough. So, you're unattached at present?"

"Yes, thankfully; otherwise...Why?"

"Would you go to dinner with me? I feel like celebrating a little, and you know how I hate to eat alone." He grinned at her, as he pushed the call button on the elevator. "I was thinking of going to Mancini's, up on Clark."

"I'd love to join you. Did you really want Italian, or are you willing to try a little adventure?"

"What?"

"There is a brand new Moroccan place just around the corner. Opened about two weeks ago. You can have a table, or you can sit on the floor, on pillows. And there's no silverware, unless you request it. I hear the food is authentic, and delicious."

"Sounds great. About seven, seven -thirty?"

"Seven will be good. I don't remember the name, but I've got a flyer they sent out. I'll call and make reservations for seven-thirty, okay?"

As they walked to the restaurant, Suzanne shared the news that her company had offered her a huge promotion, which required a move to LA. She was flying out tomorrow, to assume her new duties Monday.

Sitting on the floor, they shared a lamb tagine, a lamb vegetable combination cooked in a traditional native cook pot, some native flat bread, an eggplant and tomato salad, a dessert of melon and berries sweetened with spiced honey, and mint green tea.

During a playful period when they were feeding each other dessert, sans utensils, Jared caught Sue's fingers with his lips, and slowly laved each of her fingers with his tongue, never breaking eye contact. The next time he fed her, she returned the gesture, one finger at a time, treating each finger as if she were giving head.

Conversation to this point had dealt with the reason for his celebration (new contract), her new position (creative director for west coast clients), and Carole's wedding and news from her about her new life. Once the tongue play commenced, conversation slowed to a stop as the osculatory behavior increased in variety and intensity.

After a particularly intense kiss, Jared asked his companion, "What time do you leave?"

"I have to be at the airport by three."

"Stay with me tonight." She nodded, smiling.

As they made their way back to Jared's place, his arm around her waist, he asked what she was doing about the balance of her lease. She replied, "There's three months left. Carole has a cousin, Patricia, who will be moving in, in a week or so. I've already paid until September, so she'll pay me back three-fourths of the monthly until then. I have to come back a couple of times for three or four days, and will stay here while I'm in town."

"You can always stay with me, you know."

"Mmhmm, and you said your new clients have a branch in Beverly Hills. Once I'm settled, you know you'll be welcome to stay with me, too. Just call ahead so I can clear the way," she grinned, "unless you like the two man threesome."

"I'll call," he laughed. "You'd better, too, just to make sure I'll be here." They had reached the elevator foyer. As they stepped inside the car, he folded her into his arms and leaned in for a kiss. Wearing pumps, as she was, she was only a couple of inches shorter than he. During the slow ride to the top floor, his hands explored her breasts to 'mmms' and 'ahhhs' of appreciation and approval. Inside his condo, he offered her a drink, which she refused, then led her down to his bedroom.

This was not the first time they had shared a bed with one another, and familiarity with each other's bodies was reflected in the act. Instead of the passionate, but timid approach of a couple just discovering each other, they came to the act as two self assured partners who knew and understood the likes and quirks of the other. With them,

It was a slow, almost languorous, progression of a series of mounting orgasms for Suzanne, each stronger, more complex than the preceding one, until, at last Jared joined her, expelling his seed deep within his lover, adding to the sensations engulfing the tall, busty brunette.

As his member deflated, he rolled off her, onto his back and pulled her to his side. They slept that way.

She woke to the touch of a tongue gently lapping at her clitoris. "Mmm,' she moaned. "If there was a marriage proposal attached to that tongue, I'd be tempted to stay."

"If I thought you'd really stay..."

"Careful, love. Let's not say something we don't really mean which will wind up embarrassing both of us, but thank you for the sentiment. Just promise that you will come out to see me; and I will be back to repeat this." She pulled him up for a kiss and gasped as he entered her. "Oh! God! Do we have time for this?"

"We should. It's not eight yet."

"Then fuck me hard and fast, like there's no tomorrow!"

He had driven Suzanne to the airport and promised to visit as soon as possible. He also promised to keep an eye out for and on Tricia. When he got to his office Monday, there was a message from his new client, asking him to be in Cincy by the end of the week, to set up services for the personnel there who were not being retained. The short notice was somewhat of a surprise. All negotiations during the writing of the contract had led him to infer that his first service delivery would not be for a couple of months, giving him time to hire and train new staff.

Still, by the end of the week, he had gathered materials, placed an ad in the Cincinnati papers, and arrived to meet with client representatives to arrange for working space and set up the referral process. By the end of the next week, he had hired his staff and oriented them. By the middle of the third week, things were sufficiently in place he could turn things over to one of his senior personnel, whom he had called down from Chicago.

From his western suburb office, it was about a five hour drive to Cincy, so he had driven. Driving back, he got on the road about two and so missed all the rush hour traffic, making it a pleasant, if boring, drive. He got back to his condo around seven-thirty, tired and hungry.

As he approached his building, he glanced up to see if the lights were on in Suzanne's apartment. There was no sign yet of anyone living there. Inside, he looked at her mailbox. There were some envelopes, but it didn't look like over two weeks of junk mail. When he got to the door of the girl's condo, he knocked, but got no answer. He proceeded to his own place to clean up, then went out to get something to eat.

On the ride down in the elevator, he reviewed his nearby options. There was the Moroccan restaurant, but eating there alone held no appeal. There was a small diner, with counter service only, not much better than the fast food burger joints, and there was McGinity's, a pub-like bar which served fairly good food. It was a popular watering hole for his friends on weekends, but was usually fairly quiet on week nights. And it was less than a three block walk.

As he headed for the pub, Jared started reviewing his accomplishments for the last two weeks. Lost in thought, he nearly knocked over a woman coming out of a neighborhood grocery, carrying a large bag of food and a larger purse. He only just avoided knocking her over and the groceries out of her arms by grabbing her at the last instant.

He started to apologize when he was struck dumb by her appearance. Something about her–her eyes–the strawberry blonde hair--was so familiar. He was sure he knew her, but could not recall from where. He continued to hold her until she said, with a small smile, "Excuse me," and stepped out of his arms and proceeded to walk around him.

He continued on his way to McG's, as they referred to it, and in a few steps, forgot the incident. When he walked in, he was pleased to find some of his friends at the bar and joined them for a quiet evening of beer sampling with his supper. When he arrived home at eleven, he failed to note the light on in the girls' old apartment.

That Friday, he and his date for the evening stopped in at McG's for a drink on their way home from a movie after dinner. Again, they joined friends at the bar. His date was busy discussing costumes in the movie with another woman, while he let his eyes wander over the crowd sitting at tables toward the back of the establishment.

They were caught by a particularly striking strawberry blonde sitting with a mixed crowd just off the center of the area. As he looked at her, and tried to place her, she appeared to glance at him and smile, but, a second after the smile appeared, she turned back to her friends. Something made her laugh and he could hear it over the crowd noise, clear, bell-like, inviting, enticing. Just then, his date grabbed his arm, pulling his attention away from the crowd, back to her.

Jared joined the discussion of the movie they had seen that evening as they had another drink. Frequently he heard laughter from the back of the bar room, the woman's laugh clearly audible. It seemed to float above the other sounds in the bar, like the top notes of a fine cologne, wine or single malt scotch. It was the first sound you were aware of, but like other top notes, it seemed to quickly disappear, while it, or the memory of it, lingered in the background.

During the discussion, Jared had been busy softly stroking his date's back and buttocks. As he placed his empty glass back on the bar, he leaned in and whispered to her. His comment resulted in a wide smile and short nod.

They made their good nights and left the bar. His garage was off the alley behind his building. They entered the main building from the back and just missed the elevator as it carried the other occupant to the fourth level.

After some preliminary foreplay in Jared's living room, the nude couple descended to his bedroom. To take advantage of the cool summery night, Jared opened the windowed doors to a small balcony. As he turned back to the bed, the sound of a ringing phone reached his ears from outside. It was quickly answered, and, as he joined his date on the bed, he heard that enticing, inviting laugh, practically dancing on the in-coming breeze.

In the morning, he took the woman home. Although she had often shared his bed, last night had not been satisfying. He, and she, had felt he was distracted. When he returned, he set about the mundane tasks of housekeeping necessary even with a housecleaning service, and a handy laundry. He left his front and balcony doors open to take advantage of the westerly breezes. Toward noon, he sat down to a soup and sandwich lunch. As he pulled his stool to the counter, from the hall he heard a door close and hurried steps retreating down the hall to the elevator bay. "Damn," he thought.

Monday, after dropping his car at a local service station for some routine maintenance, he took the westbound El to his office. Fifteen minutes and two dollars for the train ride replaced a thirty minute thirty dollar cab ride. As he waited on the platform, the downtown train pulled in across the tracks. Without much attention, he watched the downtown bound passengers through the car windows as they sought seats.

A flash of color, an attractive body contour, a tickle of recognition, something caught his eye. As he focused, he recognized the blonde from McG's Friday. She glanced out the window, and their eyes locked. She smiled that same beaming smile, focusing the beam on him. Then she turned away, glancing down to read the newspaper he could see. "Tricia! Or I'll be damned!" he whispered.

That day he received a call from Cincy, telling him he was needed to smooth the feathers of an unhappy executive who was upset because he was unable to capitalize on the job leads he was receiving. From there he had to fly to LA to set up operations. For the ten days he was there, he stayed with Suzanne.

Saturday morning, after his return, he took his dirty clothing to the laundry, and completed some other errands. When he returned, out of habit, he glanced up and saw the balcony windows were open in the girls' condo. "At last," he thought, "I get to meet Tricia."

He exited the elevator and went to his apartment where he opened a pair of Stellas and grabbed some crackers and cheese. He gathered the food and beer and went back to the door to the other apartment and knocked. In a few moments the door opened to a vision of loveliness: a tall, well proportioned, thirty-something, strawberry blonde in halter and capris. "Tricia?" he asked. "I'm..."

"Jared," she finished. "And with my favorite beer and snack. You must have been talking to Suzanne."

"Guilty," he confessed. She stepped back and waved him in. "Are you getting settled? You've been here, what, about a month?"

"Just about a month. And just about settled. Suzanne left this place pretty much intact so all I had to do was unpack. And people at work have been helpful with directions for getting around the city when I need to go out for work. But there hasn't been much time to learn the city, to do the touristy things, you know?"

"What tourist thing would you most like to do?" Jared asked, sipping his beer, a memory nagging at him.

"Oh, god. I'd like to see the Picasso, and Buckingham Fountain. Go to the zoo, see Old Town. Go downtown and shop at Marshall Fields and Carson's. See the Wright houses. Get a real Chicago style hot dog from a street vendor. Go to a Cubs game. Look for that rib place that was mentioned on M.A.S.H. Go to the Art Institute, The Field Museum, The Museum of Science and Industry. Find one of the 750 gourmet restaurants for dinner, then some funky little jazz bar for a nightcap and some dancing. Is that enough for one day?"

"It may be a bit much, but I think I can help you with a half dozen or so of them. Slip on some thing you wouldn't be embarrassed to go to dinner in, and I'll change. Then put yourself in my hands for the rest of the day. We can do Old Town, but I have to warn you, it no longer lives up to its reputation unless you're only interested in the architecture, the hot dog, Picasso and the Fountain, dinner and dancing. And be home by dawn."

"Oooh, sounds lovely. What should I wear? I don't really have any thing dressy down here yet."

"The place I'm thinking of will accommodate anything from office casual to cocktail dress, so a pretty skirt and a sweater over your halter would be fine."

"Okay! See you in what, half an hour, hour?"

Jared grinned at her obvious enthusiasm. "Will half an hour cut it too fine? It's twelve thirty. I'll knock on your door at one fifteen, okay?"

Their first stop in Old Town was at a street cart operated by an older guy named Dennis who had been peddling hots and sausage to tourists and locals, from March thru November, for twenty years. Jared ordered them what Dennis called his standard–onions, kraut, mustard and catsup, on a long dog and roll, along with diet sodas.

They found a bench on the street and surveyed the neighborhood, selecting stores they wanted to visit. After shopping for a couple of hours, they strolled the neighborhood. Jared pointed out the church, the only building in the area to survive the Great Fire.

He gave her some of the history of the neighborhood, explaining the effects of politics and gentrification over the last forty years. His parents had met, married and lived in the area until their deaths a few years ago.

Jared had lived there until he graduated college, with his PhD, nearly ten years ago. "Property cost, relative to value, have gone crazy, rising faster than the normal rate of inflation by five or six times. When my mother died and I inherited their house, I was able to sell it and payoff their mortgage and put down a 75% down payment on our building, and had money to repaint all the units and upgrade the kitchens and still have money left over."

They had arrived back at Jared's car. He glanced at his watch. "There's a small restaurant, between here and the Picasso, which is building a nice reputation for really good food, served well. We can stop on the way, or go on and see the Picasso, eat then go back to see the light show at the fountain. Any preference?"