The next day, I walked the beach. No Pete. The day after that, too, and no Pete. I figured that the discussion hadn't gone well. Now, it was Saturday and a day that I don't go near the beach because it is too crowded. I have my own secret places where the dog and I can walk unmolested and still have surf, sand, palms and mangroves. And the occasional eyeball of babe-itude.
I had just devoured my second cup of joe when my phone rang.
"Hello"
"Hey Ray, it's Pete. I was wondering if you were busy tonight and if you'd like to come over for dinner and drinks. I'd like for you and Mickey to meet..."
"Oh, so you're trying to slip me a mi..."
"Her real name is Monica, wise guy. Are you high already?"
"Wake and bake, my man, wake and bake."
"So what do you say? Like seven or seven-fifteen. I'll text you my address. And bring your best weed, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Pete. I'll see you then."
I spent the day doing normal chores except for picking up a good bottle of red wine, packing my best stash in a convenient zip-lok bag and prepping my body, what there is of it, for the event. I studiously manscaped and trimmed all over. My ex once complained that I had this old grey chest hair that made me look like an Italian mobster, all I needed was the bling. I clipped my chest hair.
I entered the address into my Maps app. Wow, was I surprised! His house was on the tip of the peninsula where the public beach was located but further from the causeway where the public beach was located. His house was second from the end, on the oceanside. I'd been down to the little park located there at the tip and it was a beautiful vista with one side ocean and the other side bay with the city beyond. Gee, I wondered if my bottle was good enough. I'd better bring my "A" game, too.
As I drove up, I was even more impressed. An architectural masterpiece of a home, all glass and deck, stared down the driveway. I pulled into the circle in front of the house. There were several other cars there, all pretty sleek except for Pete's unassuming and beat-up old Wrangler.
Mickey opened the door and welcomed me in. She was a very attractive woman, somewhat small...umm, maybe five foot two or three...uhhh, long legs for her size...with a nice thirty-four inch cleavage running down her gold-lame pantsuit. This was Pete's horny little wife? Did she look her age? Yeah, sure. Did you she look hot? You bet. Hell yes, I was impressed, especially when she rubbed gently against me guiding me into the house.
Pete came in and took the bottle. "Oh man, excellent juice. This must have cost you a bundle. You shouldn't have."
"I only drink good wine. It's part of my monthly budget. Pop the cork, Pete. I'm thirsty."
"Come out onto the deck. We're going to eat as the sun sets."
I was astounded by the view. Two hundred degrees of deserted paradise. Dolphins leaping near the shore. You get the picture. Nice large deck, big pool, A Sea Ray Sundancer at the dock. What else do you need to know?
"Pete, I had no idea...Why would you ever go to a public beach? You have this! And how come we never take the boat out?"
"You mean, you didn't know about any of this?"
"I thought that you were Pete, just another beach bum. Like me."
"Good. I like to hear that. That's why I go there. I want to be the Pete I was fifty years ago...just another beach bum. Now, that you know who I am, does anything change?"
"Well, I hardly know you and I still haven't put two plus two together, but you are still the same Pete. I understand why you like that beach, it's all denizens and bums, the common folk. I understand your need to escape, too. And all too well. I've been there. That beach is our only tenuous link to sanity these days, it's the only way we can get anchored, and that's why we are kindred souls. Si? But let's not talk about anything except wine, steak and sex. This is a party, not a 'pity party.' Si, Si?"
"Oui. Si, Si Senor."
"My husband, the linguist. You know, he always wanted work at the U.N." Mickey had walked in at the tail end of that conversation and was shaking her head.
"Yeah, but I found other things to do with my tongue!"
"Well, we're going to see about that tonight!"
I liked a sharp repartee. She presented herself as a smart, sexy, and sassy woman, just my kind - a wise ass. She'd brought out table settings and began to lay out the table. I had plenty of time to ogle her gilt-clad ass as she bent over. Hmmm, a trace of thong. She reminded me of Paulette Godard in "The Women", a sharp-dressed woman with that same fast and clever mouth. Nice!