For a complete understanding of this series, please read the previous parts first.
Part IV: Confession
It started raining just as he pulled into the parking lot, and for an instant, he considered blowing off this hasty decision to stop. But other considerations took over, and so, he quickly exited his vehicle and ran around from the rear of the building to the front, cursing the place for not having a back entrance since that was where the owner had chosen to put the parking lot. As the precipitation came down harder, he kept his head pointed down to at least keep his face dry while the rest of him was getting soaked. Just as he finally reached the entrance, he looked up in time to collide with another person about to enter. They knocked heads, to be sure, but not so forcefully as to send either to the ground. They did regard one another coldly for a moment, but the now driving rain cooled any hostility, and Ron quickly grabbed for the door, yanked it open and allowed the woman to enter first.
In the lobby, both stepped aside and shook off the water. Each was wearing a light overcoat that seemed to have repelled the rain, and aside from their heads and feet, neither was particularly drenched.
"Table for two?" the hostess said, assuming they were together.
Ron looked up and around realizing the origin of her assumption. "Uh, no. No, no, we're not together."
"I just need a table for one," the woman said.
"Hmmm," the hostess mouthed in a tone of perplexity. "Well, I have only one table available . . ." She just trailed off.
"That's okay, she can have it," Ron offered, very gentlemanly. "I'll just grab a seat at the bar."
"I'm sorry, sir, the bar is full."
"Then I guess I'll have to wait."
"It could be some time," the hostess cautioned.
"It's alright. I have no where to be."
"That sounds lonely," the woman commented.
"Excuse Me?" Ron asked, confused.
"So, you're not meeting someone?" the woman went on.
With a frown of incomprehension, Ron replied, "No."
"Are you here hoping to get lucky?"
Now with raised eyebrows at the unusual questions, Ron answered, "No. But pardon me for asking, are
you
?"
She smiled. It was becoming—and alluring. "No. But as long as
you're
not, I would be willing to share the table."
Ron's purpose in coming to this establishment—having no idea it was so popular—was to go someplace he could be alone that was not his apartment. It was also the reason he did not visit the usual lounge that many of the company's other employee's frequented. When he had arrived home yesterday from the weekend with Jenna, he had lost himself in his normal Sunday chores, albeit later than usual: grocery shopping, washing clothes and general housekeeping. But with Monday and the start of the work week—and a slow start at that—the concerns about entering into a relationship with Jenna resurfaced and nagged him all day. So, he thought a visit to a different lounge would either help him forget those concerns, or at least, help put them into perspective. Now, that did not seem quite viable.
However, Ron quickly noticed—and he hoped he was not too obvious—that, without her coat, this woman, who was probably close to his age, was quite attractive in her . . . brown, he guessed in the dim light . . . button-up-the-front, low cut dress revealing a nice cleavage with fair-sized breasts and equally decent legs. Perhaps being alone was
not
what he needed.
"That's very nice of you," he said, again very gentlemanly. "But only if you let me buy the drinks."
"Well, maybe one," she said, then turned to the hostess, who had been standing by patiently. "We're ready to be seated."
"So, I gathered."
* * *
Neither said anything until after the waitress had taken their order: white wine for her, a beer for him. Even then it was . . .
"I guess this is somewhat awkward, isn't it?" Ron noted, for lack of anything better to say. He also had his eye on her cleavage.
She giggled nervously, "Yes, I guess it is."
"By the way, I'm Ron—"
"No last names, please. I'm Mia."
"Pleased to meet you, Mia."
"Likewise."
They shook hands tentatively with more maladroitness as their drinks were served. Ron also hoped he wasn't being too obvious stealing glances at her breasts.
"Sorry about the last name thing," Mia mumbled.
"Oh, that's fine," Ron said, waving it off with his hand. "Just two ships passing in the night. Although, this doesn't seem . . . are you a regular here?"
"No, no, I, I'm not. I'm not a regular anywhere. Are you?"
"No, actually, this is my first time. Forgive me for saying it, but we both seem out of place here."
"You mean at a lounge, or this particular one?" Mia asked, almost clinically.
"Yeah, this one," Ron answered, fumbling. "What did you mean; you're not a regular anywhere?"
"Oh, I don't usually visit lounges after work. But when I do, it's never the same one."
"Like to try different places?"
"I'm a psychologist," Mia explained, as though the occupation itself was an explanation.
Nodding, Ron surmised, "So, after listening to other people's problems all day, you need an attitude adjustment."
"Well, as a psychologist, I could never admit that turning to alcohol is the proper course of action." Mia grinned, "but if you'll promise not to tell anyone, that's exactly what I'm doing."
"Bad day, huh?"
With a twist of her head and a raised eyebrow, she noted, "All you can do is offer advice and it's up to the person to whom you're offering it to take it."
"I get the picture." Then, it occurred to Ron, "Maybe that's what I need is to talk to a psychologist."
"You are."
"I meant, in a clinical setting."
"I know," Mia smirked. "A little shrink humor. If it's not too personal, what would you want to talk about?"
