This is a series of stories that are a sort of sequel to two text-adventure games. Each installment is a complete story on its own, but for a full understanding, the reader may want to start with Chapter 1.
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Over the weekend, I really buckled down on the at home part of my new fitness regime, as assigned by my personal trainer Courtney. As I was doing pushups in my back yard, I thought about the obvious fact that her business wasn't doing as well as it ought to. The thought irritated me. I liked her, even if I was a little afraid of her. I also hate to see a good product go unappreciated. It's the salesman in me.
I resolved to see who I could send her way as new clients. Word of mouth is always the best sales tool for businesses like hers anyway. Also, if I got her enough new clients, she'd probably appreciate it. I like doing things to make beautiful women appreciative.
I started with work. I talked her up to a number of co-workers, focusing mostly on the ones that were not in bad shape, but not workout rats either. With most people, I concentrated on what good results I had felt. I also added in a bit of reverse psychology along the general lines of, "she'd be great for you too, but I'm not sure you could take her intensity." I made sure everyone knew to mention me to Courtney if they found the intestinal fortitude to sign up. I even felt like there might be a nibble here and there. I resolved to use it as one more incentive to keep up with the pushups and other homework, so I could act as a walking billboard.
But my main focus that Monday was on my dinner sales call with Gretchen Williams. No one, not even my boss Cathy, had had any luck getting her company's business, so as the promising new guy, I'd been passed the folder on this Great White Whale. So far, I was feeling my way into an Earnest Young Man In Need of Guidance From (slightly) Older, More Experienced Mentor role. I'd had success with older women using variations on that theme a number of times, though usually not the kind of success I was looking for here. Attractive as I found Gretchen, I had all the reasons in the world to focus only on her business, not her. That said, I had resolved to choose a restaurant from the more romantic end of my list to take her to. Puppy dog eyes and a need for guidance and support would go over better in soft lighting and quiet music than they would in a more frenetic venue. Or so I hoped!
I spent that afternoon at my desk, reading over my predecessors' notes on Gretchen, my own notes, as well as my research into what she had asked me and told me at our first meeting. That, along with a fresh shirt and a quick pressing of my suit, had me as ready as I expected I was going to be.
When I arrived at her corporate offices, I found that I would not have to cool my heels much this time. Gretchen was already in the lobby. I had only to wait while she finished hauling an older woman over the coals about something. The older woman looked like a fairly high level executive herself, so I winced as I thought about about her department, upon whom this shit would roll downhill all week.
"Problem?" I asked innocently, as we shook hands after Gretchen turned to meet me.
"Hmm? No. Well, yes, but sadly for you it is not some disaster caused by your competition where you can swoop in and save the day."
"My momentary dreams are shattered," I replied, dead-pan. For this evening, I had to project both confidence and charm, as well as inexperience and curiosity. In short, I needed to come off as the perfect clay for molding.
She laughed. "C'est la vie! Your arrival is well timed, though. Let's go. I could use a stiff drink."
She let herself into my car, and I reflected idly to myself that remote keyless entry had done more to eliminate male gallantry than even the most prickly forms of feminism.
As we were being seated at my chosen restaurant, Gretchen looked around at the place with a skeptical eye. As the host left us, she turned that skeptical eye on me. "Well, this place is certainly... atmospheric."
I had perhaps pushed a bit hard on the romance button. The music was violin music. LIVE violin music. A good 80 percent of the tables were for two. Many, including ours, were in intimate little spaces providing the impression or reality of privacy. Long candles burned phallically on the tabletop.
I looked around the restaurant, hiding the skittish feeling I had inside with an irritated expression on my face. "I've never been here myself," I explained, now glaring at the sumptuous upholstery on the walls. "I have a co-worker who suggested it to me when I told him I was taking you on a dinner call," I lied easily. "I had not figured out until right now that he is a 'Practical Joker'."
"Still, here we are. I imagine the food will be good," I went on. "If it's not, look for a murder mystery in the papers tomorrow." I reached for the wine list, but she dismissed it.
"If you want wine, that's fine," she said, looking at the cocktails on the menu. "I'd prefer some real drinks." I readily set side the wine list that had looked scarily incomprehensible at first glance, and perused the dinner menu. The lead waiter on the team that would serve us that night appeared and Gretchen ordered a Whiskey Sour, while I chose a variant they offered on my usual Manhattan. We made idle chat about the news of the world until our drinks appeared and we made the first half of them disappear. At that point I worked in a joke about the character of the restaurant and again referenced my doomed fictional co-worker. I solicited ides for revenge.
Gretchen laughed heartily. "I have to say that I was not sure what to do with you when we walked in here and saw all this," she said with a grin, indicating the late-modern french boudoir decor. "I mean, even if I was the sort to let a romantic overture affect my business dealings, that idea should have been tried by your boss Cathy back when she had my account."
What?
Gretchen leaned forward to clarify. "You and I play for the same team."
"Ye..., er, what?" I was a bit less confused than I appeared, but this was a very unexpected development and I was temporizing while trying to reevaluate... everything.
"As I feel sure is the case with you too, I prefer women," Gretchen went on mercilessly, but with the same grin as she pressed the point with an evil grin.
I once again referenced my fictional, practical joking co-worker. "I wonder if that bastard knew...?"
"I doubt it. I don't make a big deal about it, and I certainly never told anyone at CKE during any previous attempts at getting our business," she replied. She cocked her head for a second, then went on with another wicked smile, "Though maybe I should have told Cathy. That might have been interesting. She really is hot, isn't she?"
I may not have been as confused as I was pretending to be, but I was still off balance. "Oh, hell yeah," I let slip out.
Gretchen laughed again, harder. "Well, we DO have something in common! Shall we have a discussion on how much we both like your boss's tight, tasty body?"
"How about," I countered, a note of genuine panic entering my voice, "we go over the answers I have for you about what we discussed last time?"
Gretchen relented and we got through the first course on safe business topics. Inwardly, I was both relieved and cursing myself. I was relived to escape her teasing, but cursing myself because a plan had simultaneously entered my head; a hare-brained scheme if you will, but I liked it. Stupid as it was, I was already sure I was going to try it. But that meant that I would have to bring this conversation back around to the general subject matter that I had just escaped.
The food was indeed delicious. I knew it would be. The reviews had been nigh universal on that. She was well into her second Whiskey Sour before I finished my first Manhattan. As we neared time for a decision about desert, I managed to insert the subject of Cathy back into the conversation. After Gretchen rose to the bait, I let her actually goad me into a discussion of Cathy's looks. Despite myself, Gretchen eventually managed to embarrass me again. But it was the opening I was looking for.
"How about instead a piece of cake that my personal trainer will make me pay dearly for," I suggested, "we go somewhere else for a nightcap?"
"The cocktails are actually pretty good here," she replied, "but where did you have in mind?"
