Evelyn Pierce
"Hello, this is Evelyn Pierce." I hear as she's answer the phone.
"Hello Evelyn, this is Bob Swaggart; Master Sergeant, Bob Swaggart; if you remember me from that day at your gym. And that disastrous demonstration that Catherine Parker and I put on of..., how not to put on a demonstration"
"Yes Mister Swaggart, I remember you and that day; and what can I do for you?" Evelyn asked, where I think I hear some humor in the tone of her reply.
"I came across the business card you gave me that day, and you're asking if I would have a drink with you some time," telling her.
"Yes, I remember." Evelyn's repy.
"So then, the reason for my call is to ask if that invitation to have a drink with you is still open. And if so; I accept." Telling her.
"Of course it is, Mister Swaggart. And when would you like to meet," she asked.
"Well, almost any time; now that my work schedule and reserve responsibilities have shifted back into a more predictable routine." Telling her.
"Well I'm happy to hear that too, sooo, how about..., let me check," she says. Where it sounds like she's covered the phone, but muffled conversation is still filtering through.
"Mister Swaggart," she says, coming back on. "How about this evening," she's asking. "And say..., about eightish?" She tells me.
"That would be very good. It will give me more than enough time to get home, check the mail, change clothes and go for a run. Then shower and put on a coat and tie. And of course, I would need to know where we could meet for that drink." telling her.
"You won't need a coat and tie, Mister Swaggart," she laughs.
"Just some casual, comfortable street clothes if you prefer, would be perfectly fine," she's telling me. "And where we would meet, that would be easy," she says. "We can meet right here in my home; if meeting here would be okay with you," she follows asking.
"If you're sure you're alright with that, it would be perfectly fine with me," telling. her, And of course, I would need directions to your house."
"Excellent," she replied. "Now if you give me your email address I can send some directions on how to find where I live, and I'll get them off to you as soon as we finish our call." She tells me.
"That would be great," I told her. 'But you could just give me a general description of where you live and a general description of your home, and I could probably find it anyway," telling her. "I'm very good at finding places I'm not supposed to know where they are," joking with her.
Where I can hear her laughing."
"But having your directions will make finding your home so much easier," telling her. "And now here's my email; if you have something to write on?"
"Go ahead, I have something right here." She replies.
Giving Evelyn my email address, is followed by her repeating it back. Then it's her, "Goodbye Mister Swaggart, and I'll see you later this evening." She tells me before dropping the call.
And like I thought that day and like now she has a very nice voice, mature, cultured, formally educated I would think too. And also what I thought about her age; as I watched her walk back alongside my truck.., that disastrous day at Catherine's gym. And what has that been.., two months now, and well into the official seasonal Spring. Yeah, just as I remember back then; spring like that day in my truck at the park -- so much for repeating that.
Looking at the email Evelyn sent me and right away the roads jump out at me; I know them pretty well from past motorcycle rides over those old farm roads. And that time on one of those rides; when I was taking a pee break, is how I discovered that bike path that wound back through the surrounding wooded area, to a creek that had been dammed up to create a "swimming hole," that was perfect for some skinny dipping. Which also led to a surprise encounter with someone who had the same idea.
Catherine's house I know must be in Evelyn's neighborhood. Which used to be all farms, but the names of those roads I've traveled when riding my Harley have stayed the same; it's the farms that are all gone. Replaced with large homes with gated wrought iron fences and immaculately landscaped yards and gardens. I've never been to Catherine's house, but I'm sure I would know which one is hers, just from the way she's described it; not palatial, but still impressive I bet!
And I'm not surprised that Evelyn's home fits in well with the size and styles of the homes I believe are like Catherine's. A gated long driveway I've followed around to the side of the house where she told me I could park. Also where my truck seems out of place parked where it is.
With my phone in hand about to call to let her know I'm here, I'm surprised by the phone buzzing, displaying her phone number. So answering I hear it's her, "I'll meet you at the door right across from where you're parked."
Thank you," telling her. "Now I won't be stumbling around in the coming darkness wondering which of the doors I should pry open first." Again hearing her laugh.
"The one I just told you, I'll be opening it before you get to it," she tells me.
And already seeing the door opening as I approach it to see her standing just to the side with her, "Good evening Mister Swaggart, it's so very nice to see you again," she's telling me, as she steps back and to the side letting me in, along with my acknowledging it was nice to see her again too.
But, OH, MY, YES! This can't be the same woman who stood by my truck's driver's side door that disastrous Thursday. If I thought she looked good standing there beside side the door; followed by my thoughts as I watched her walk back between the parked cars. Those thoughts or guesses then completely missed the mark. This woman is beautiful, and she smells good too. But even more surprising is what she's wearing; where I'm guessing from it's look or style, as well as how it cling to her; is a Oreintal Kimono or dressing gown. But why so now? And with me, a stranger in her house too?
Don't be naive, Swaggart, thinking to myself. That drink invitation along with the friendly squeeze to my arm, she was coming on to you; laughing to myself -- yeah Swggart, you dumb jerk; your imagination always running way ahead of you ever catching up to it.
"This way Mister Swaggart, the bar is this way," she's telling me. But as I'm following her across the room towards a doorway into another room, that movement I watched as she walked between the park cars is even more eye-catching. Maybe because the way the Kimono clings to her curves along with the sway of her very fine butt moving within it; now even more interesting than what I thought it was in those painted on yoga pants.
