Rose glanced at her Italian watch and realized it was time to go. Shutting down her computer and storing her files she whisked out of the office, soft skirt flapping toned muscle. “Peter,” her voice cracked out as she spoke to her secretary, “I’m done for the day. If there are any emergencies I’ll have my cell.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
She took her private plush carpeted elevator down, studying herself in the gold etched mirror. She slipped into her cream Mercedes and the engine purred to life. Her relaxation tape of Hindu chants playing she backed out of her personal parking space and merged into the surging traffic of the masses. It was only a short trip to her country club, behind their hedges she could be with her own. She slipped into her simple black leotard, feeling it tight on her skin, and hit the floor. Eyes followed her as she went from machine to machine, her nipples were clearly visible, and intent starring could just detect the shape of her camel toe in the shiny lycra. She pretended not to notice, and that she did not like it, but in truth it pleased her immensely to know that men still found her attractive.
An hour and half later of cardio, aerobics, and body sculpting later she dragged herself back into the locker room. Her lungs burned slightly, muscles cried for a rub, sweat stung her eyes. She would be forgoing her massage today to meet with friends. Taking a quick shower with scented shampoo, she stopped to look at herself. All the grueling work paid off. Her inspection done, she did as always: covered her body in a finely tailored business suit.
Melinda and Danielle were already there. The club had a little health bar attached. They were already seated at one the sterile white tables, their expensive outfits clashing with cheesy Hawaiian plastics of the ambiance. Rose ordered a fruit shake and sat with them. “So how is everyone?”
“The divorce is final.”
“Congratulations.” They clinked their glasses. Rose had never been married, neither had Melinda. For her it was simple: she had never met a man worth spending the rest of her life with. She was special and deserved a special guy. She remembered being jealous of Danielle at her wedding, even though she could tell Roger was a dog. “Here’s too three successful, beautiful, and single women!”
“Here here!”
“I couldn’t get rid of that loser fast enough. Thank god I got a pre-nup.”
“Really. But you had to; you’re the president for goodness sakes.”
“That’s right. You run the whole company now that Mr. Dumocus has retired.”
“Well I just had to get to your level.”
“It’s not all fun once you’re there deary. I had to fire a V.P. this week. I missed a night here because I was cleaning up his mess.”
“Such are the burdens of command.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about work. What else have you been up to?” The conversation drifted over the mundane: rumors, movies, little stories, and the like. Words that were personal and friendly without possibly being embarrassing. A few tasteless fruit drinks later it was getting dark.
Rose frowned at the heavy low hanging rain clouds as she came out of the club. Drops pelted her perfumed hair with large drops. She made her way slowly home on the slick roads, the swollen clouds blotted out the setting sun, helping to limit visibility so much she unconsciously leaned forward in her seat. She lived outside of the city, a land of walled mansions, her own dwelling included. She loved the seclusion from the city, and the normally pleasant drive past manicured golf courses. A few miles from home she momentarily lost control as she misjudged the slope on a curve in the road. In an instant she had it back white knuckles fiercely gripping the wheel, but heard the sound of a tire popping. Cursing she pulled over and dug for her cell, it was drained. She spent $200 a month on extra services and the five cent battery screwed her. “Fuck!!!” her howl carried into the heavens. Stumbling out into the storm, teetering her patent high heels as they sank into the mud and wet sand the state had used to build a shoulder, groping around she fought to find her spare. Thankfully some dim headlights appeared on the horizon and she was able to wave a large van down as they brightened. It looked a little menacing, rusty and painted various colors. What was a work van doing out here? Maybe some was getting work done on their home.
A young man hopped out, moving in an easy loping stride. “Can I lend a hand?”
Relieved to see a normal looking guy Rose sighed, “I have a flat, if I could just borrow you cell…”
“Sorry, don’t own one. They’re terrible things.” He wandered around the car, Rose thought he was a little in his own world. He was oblivious to the cold rain, and largely to her. “I’m no mechanic by any means, but I can change a flat.” He spoke without looking her way. Nonchalantly he squatted down, brushing a curled blonde ringlet out of the way, and efficiently switched the tires. His hands moved mechanically, as though they worked on their own. Rose uselessly stood in the rain and watched, her waterlogged suit tugging on her, her makeup probably looked awful now. That goodness he was a stranger and it was dark. He did not seem to be a bulky individual under his soaked brown sweater, but he easily hefted up the empty to toss it in her trunk.
“Oh thank you. Let me have your number.”
“Don’t worry over it.” He brushed his hands as he stood to leave.
“Well let me give you my card.” She pressed it into his hand.
He shrugged, stuffed it into a pocket, and got into his van.
Rose made her way home. Tomorrow she would take her little Lexus coop and have the car service come fix the flat. After taking a shower to clean off, she rubbed herself with coco oil and slipped into her normal routine. She had a little snack of rice cakes, and got into her bed, turning on Leno. She did not really like him, but had nothing else to do. At least tomorrow she had a date for the first time in while. She had spent hours slaving over what to wear.
The next day was full primarily of marketing reports. A new quarter was starting, and it was traditionally the busiest time of the years and Rose wanted a detailed plan for the season in place before it started. If the at meant everyone (including herself thank you) had to work a little harder than so be it. Rose was constantly busy, but she did not mind, she thought of a it as a normal uneventful day. Unfortunately she thought the same of her date. Ken droned on endless about work, grilling her about her position. It was a less a date than a power seminar over escargot, pasta, and chocolate moose. She had picked the most romantic place she knew, a live string quartet and blue crystal statues were bitterly wasted. Again the ride home was one of disenchanted silence (but she refused to cry); all her recent dates had been this way. It seemed as though everyone in her circles was total into business. There is more to life, and she wanted it. Each time it was getting harder and harder to rebound from the disappointment. Why did men only want to talk shop with successful women? She spent so much grueling time on her body, and the guy looked well built, but she would never know. She watched Leno again, frowning at the insipid, yet seemingly happy, stars.
Rose was having a busy day trying to calm a fight between two V.P.s. How could anyone get so worked up about whether or not it was better to ship by rail or truck to the Midwest? When the phone rang she waited for Peter to get it, preferring to focus on finding a way to let both men claim credit for the unexpectedly higher earning last month. But Peter didn’t pick up, probably away at lunch. Cursing she picked up. “Hello?” If this was something stupid she was going to take a chunk of out their ass.
“Rose Berchoui?”
“Yes? Who is this?” No one who she did not know should be calling this number.
“Eric Matterson, I helped you out with that flat Wednesday night.” His tone was unfazed by her assertiveness.
“Oh, right. How are you?” She put down her papers and flopped back into her executive leather throne. Thankful this call was not going relate to a power point presentation.
“Good, good. I take it you made it home alright?”
“Thanks to you.”
“Hey, glad to help. I was just calling to see what you are up to tonight to see if you want to get some drinks.” There was no pause, no change of inflection in his voice, he sounded confident.
Rose was mildly taken aback. You don’t ask girl out for later that day! But then she realized he was just being friendly. It was not a date; they did not know each other at all. All he probably wanted was a free meal in thanks, and then the debt would be closed. “Sure,” she would be happy to get out. Who cared if she missed Leno’s monologue?
“Great. Do you know the Blue Moon? On Maple between 8th and Wilmont?”
That was downtown. Rose never went downtown. “No, but I can find it.”
“Sounds good. 8:00?”
“Okay.”
“See you then.”
Rose looked at the phone after she hung up. That was certainly unusual. She did not usually have contact with people outside of her business world. She felt as though she were back in college.
The invitation fled from her mind for remainder of the day as her job again overwhelmed her. In the end she’d ended up having to yell at both of the VPs. It was only when it came time to leave and she asked Peter if she had appointments she’d remembered. The idea appealed to her more now, even if it meant she would skip the bike at hit the country club. It would be good to meet someone new for change. She did a quick workout to keep her tone up and applied a little makeup.
The Blue Moon proved to be a small bar; she was not familiar with it as she rarely went down town. It was a cozy little place, music playing from at jukebox by the bathrooms, but the sound of conversation drowning it out. Eric was there at the bar, the quintessential shiny brass rail before well polished wood. He was looking comfortable in a casual sports jacket over his thin frame. Getting a good look at him for the first time she could see him as a ruddy youngster, no more than twenty-five if that. Not really her type, except for the hair. He had long curly blonde ringlets, silky and full, so much that she wanted to touch it. She knocked herself for being silly; he was just a random guy.
She felt several pairs of eyes on her as she made her way to him; men, young and old alike, earning her the consternation of several dates. She figured it was partially her expensive suit in a run of the mill bar and (with a twinge of pride) her figure. Even though she in her early thirties she knew she could knock of 5-6 years from her age with confidence. She always kept her skirts just a bit shorter than usual, giving everyone a hint at the firm thighs beneath. She stuck her hand out for a shake when he stood to greet her, but he slipped an arm around her waist. That was inappropriate. Part of his hand just touched the top of her ass, his pinky moving about ever so slightly.
“Glad you could make it Rose. Say hello to Sammy, our bartender,” he gestured to a thick scowling black man. “What can he make you?”
