Thanks to all who commented on the previous submission, especially those who made constructive suggestions, both publicly and privately.
*****
When I arrived home I was joyfully overwhelmed by the new look Denny had given the condo. There were tastefully lit pictures of various scenes hung on the foyer walls. In the kitchen area there was a small breakfast table which seated three. Gone were the wooden barstools, replaced with leather and wrought iron stools which fashionably complemented the kitchen island.
Moving into the living area I saw a large leather couch, recliner and two other comfortable looking chairs, all arranged to look at a large flatscreen TV, with two smaller monitors on each side. With the sports memorabilia on the walls, I deduced the idea was to enjoy a televised game, while monitoring two others. That was a lot of action to take in at once! I was duly impressed with how Denny had gotten in my head and transferred that to my living space.
Moving towards the bedrooms, I noticed my queen bed had been moved into the spare bedroom, and the decor had a decidedly feminine look and feel to it. Okay. The master bedroom had been completely redone; the paint scheme was, what I later learned, 'Newman Blue', supposedly the color of the actor's eyes. Pleasant enough. The queen bed was replaced with a king size bed, new nightstands and dressers, and a high-back chair in the corner. If Denny had been standing next to me at the time, she would have heard me utter, "I love it."
As a matter of fact, it all looked so good I didn't want to spoil the effect by undressing and emptying my suitcase. Denny did good. Real good. Her work would always remind me she was here, as well as the brief physical memories of her touching me. I could settle.
But first, I had to call her to let her know how pleased I was. When she picked up her cell, I jokingly said, "Hi honey, I'm finally home and got your message."
Recognizing my voice, she laughingly said, "Oh, you're so silly! Can I assume you like it?"
"You assume incorrectly," pausing before finishing, "I love it. Truly and absolutely. You really got into my head."
More than you think, I wanted to add, but decorum dictated I not.
"Great!" Denny replied, before saying, "Scottie, you and I are going out tomorrow night. We'll swing by and pick you up, we can talk more about it then. But now I gotta run. Busy. See you then. Love ya."
Click.
I held the phone away from myself and stared at it. Going out tomorrow? Did I have any say? Knowing Denny, neither Scott or I did.
Then I remembered Denny's words to me after she'd spent the night, "When you christen this place after I'm done, make sure she's worthy."
Little did I know, those words would come back to haunt me.
Soon after my condo makeover, I was assigned to a special project at an off-site corporate office. It had a six month timetable, with monthly progress reports the first four, an options/recommendations presentation after the fifth month, and a final report at the end. I was to be paired with a corporate program analyst, and this was to be a team effort. Any disagreements, which were a normal part of the process, had to be resolved between us before the presentation.
The preceding Friday I went to the site to scope out where I'd be working.
Being an early riser for as long as I can remember, I was in the office a little before 7 a.m. It took about an hour to get settled and logged in, and promptly at 8 a.m. my "partner" walked in.
She introduced herself as Catherine, but insisted I call her Katie because if I addressed her by her formal name, I'd likely get a silent response. Ohhhh-kaaaay...
Despite her curt greeting, I did notice 'Katie' was quite an attractive woman, probably mid- to late-twenties. Standing about five-seven in medium heels, she wore her obviously longer dark blonde hair up quite nicely. On this particular day she wore a smartly-tailored dark blue pantsuit, and white blouse nicely accentuated with a thin dark blue ribboned pendant through the collar. When she removed her jacket to hang it, peering up from my monitor I surmised her breasts were in the 34C range. Nice.
Our desks didn't exactly face each other's, but they were set up in such a way, at angles, that we could easily converse without any physical discomfort.
Trying to thaw the frosty atmosphere, I said, "Katie? Because I arrived earlier, I just grabbed this desk. If it would be more ideal for you, I'll gladly swap places."
Looking up at me from the box she was unloading on her desktop, then around the room, Katie softly replied, "No, but thank you. This one will do just fine. But I do appreciate the thought," she spoke, trying to sound sincere.
I tried to return to what I was doing, but noticed, among the papers and folders she was moving from the box to her desktop, removed and set down a picture of a young girl, I'm guessing maybe around age six?
"Pretty girl," I politely said while pointing with a pen at the picture frame, "Your daughter?"
Katie seemed to stiffen just a little and drew in a sharp breath before noticeably relaxing. As I straightened up, ready for the impending barrage, Katie smiled and said, "Yes, Meghan, my daughter. This picture is a couple of years old."
"Lovely girl," I said, "She looks like her mother."
Katie stiffened again, and trying to avert the next war, I quickly said, "Just so you know, that wasn't a come on line, or me trying to be flirty."
Katie exhaled and some normal color started to return to her face.
I continued, "I was just acknowledging a natural fact, no more, no less. She strongly resembles her mother. Meghan, you said?"
Katie nods in agreement.
"Well, Meghan should be very happy and proud she looks like her mother. As happy and proud as I'm sure her mother is of her."
Seeing her relax a little more, I looked for an obvious out. Standing up, I said, "I'm getting myself some coffee, can I get you a cup as well?"
