It was a dreary overcast day with a threat of snow or freezing rain. The weather affected everything. I suspected it would depress me if I had the opportunity to stare out at the leaden clouds, but I did not. My office was not near a window.
My phone rang with an internal number. I answer it. Without an introduction, Rachel's voice announced in hushed tone, "I got a call. Are you interested?" The 'call' was a code work for her buccaneer activity. Since her confession, I had not asked if she was on call. I presumed she was at times but nothing she said or did confirm her activity. This was the first she mentioned it since then.
"I need to know more" I stuttered slightly as I tried to reply and collect my thoughts at the same time. "Do you have any details? What do I need to do?"
Rachel laughed over the phone. "You know what you need to do! But I can fill you in on the details this evening. Should I say no or maybe? You can always back out later."
My Nebraska upbringing wanted to say emphatically "No", but my new-found sense of adventure, which was inexorably tied to Rachel, demanded a "Yes". I demurred. "Can I think about it?"
"Sure. We can talk tonight. Then need an answer by tomorrow morning at the latest. Talk to you before quitting time." With that she hung up. As abruptly as it began, it concluded. I drifted through the rest of the day constantly turning over the question in my mind hoping for an obvious answer or some revelation to occur. Nothing did.
At quitting time, I made my way to the front door. The sky was low and foreboding. A slight freezing drizzle was beginning to varnish the grass, bushes, and colder surfaces. "This will be a terrible night" I thought. Rachel's car was still on the lot. I had not seen her all afternoon and assumed she was working late.
So, rather than delay the inevitable discomfort, I decided the sooner I started walking the sooner I made it to my apartment. So, I cautiously trudged across the parking lot. The sleet became more intense as I crossed the train tracks, my psychological 'halfway there' checkpoint, and began the slog up the slippery hill. I kept my head down and a scarf pulled up over my ears and listened to the cars crunch across the freezing slush.
"Hey! Get in." I turned. It was Rachel. The line of cars behind her slowed to a halt as I jumped in the passenger seat and scrunched down low. Before we got moving a car blared its horn in disapproval, much to Rachel's complete lack of concern.
"Don't you have any heat in this thing?" I complained as she accelerated with a fishtail up the hill. "It doesn't have much traction, either" she retorted. "And whatever the heater puts out disappears through the tears in the roof and the gaps in the doors and floor." Rachel laughed as she pointed to the duct tape on the canvas top and a bent piece of metal pop riveted to the floorboards to cover a rusted-out spot. I just smiled. Her general lack of concern for the minor annoyances of day-to-day life always amused me.
Rather than turn down the side street to my apartment, she continued up the hill to the main street. The wheels spun on the slick street as she veered to the left and accelerated into traffic. "Shit! I can't park here it is a snow route." With that she took the first turn off and wandered into the neighborhood on the opposite side of the main street. Silently, she prowled along looking for an appropriate parking spot. Preferably one that would not be plowed in, if the city decided to plow, and on the downside of a hill, so the need for traction to exit was minimized. She located the ideal spot on a pothole ridden alley, slanting directly into the main road about three blocks from my apartment.
"We are walking from here?" I asked rhetorically, expressing my fill of walking in the freezing rain for the day.
Rachel pointed to a neighborhood bar with a large oval sign hanging over the sidewalk. "I thought we could stop there for something to eat. It is about halfway from here to your place. Think of it as a compromise." In the eight months I lived down the street, I never paid attention to it. It was a small cozy looking neighborhood pub directly across the street from the bar with the unpronounceable Russian and the unsavory characters hanging about the door. "The company had a few social hours here. It is a bit small for that many folks but otherwise quite nice." Rachel declared.
It was small; the bar ran along the right, perpendicular to the front wall. There was a row of stools and enough room to crowdedly accommodate a row of standers. To the left beyond a parting wall, was a dining area; about the same footage as the bar area with small tables distributed evenly across the floor. Rachel peered into the dining room and shrugged. "Is the bar OK?" I shrugged, "Sure." We grabbed two remaining stools at the bar.
The foul weather seemed to draw a crowd to the bar and in a few minutes all the stools were occupied. Any chance at a private conversation vanished as the regulars called for service and engaged in loud conversations with whomever was nearby. All the while, Rachel humorously interjected herself into the random conversations. Shifting gears between sports, current events, politics, as if she had been a regular for years. Seamlessly, she gregariously moved among the conversationalists. My reserve, taciturn Midwestern nature prevented me from effortlessly engaging in a stranger's conversation.
I watched and mused at her confident manner. I also was privy to Rachel's other side when she was vulnerable and weak. Those times when I felt a reaction from me could hurt her or drive her completely from my life. At the bar she was not vulnerable; she was invincible; up to any challenge, capable of deflecting any criticism, steadfast in her bearing. As I watched her, I thought back to a college course on Plato's. I did not recall the exact writing, but it was concerned with love. The professor explained that Plato's definition of love involved searching for something we lacked. Love was that which made one complete; perhaps that explained Rachel and me. Rachel was a full complement to my personality. Jealously, I admired her confidence, certitude and lack of inhibitions when dealing with strangers; something I did not do very well. I consciously wondered what she saw in me. The persons who would gladly share her bed must be legion. Why did she reserve that coveted spot for me?
A middle-aged couple entered the bar and surveyed the crowd looking for an available seat. In a flash, Rachel stood and offered the lady her seat at the bar. The woman politely declined but Rachel insisted. "We are just leaving. So, make yourselves comfortable." She looked at me for approval and winked when I nodded.
The snow and slush covered the sidewalks. The roads were passable but showed signs of freezing over. The wind picked up. "It is a good thing I parked my car where I did. If I parked it on your street, I would not get out until the spring thaw."
We clung to each other as we made our way down the slippery hill. There was nobody on the streets to eavesdrop. If someone was watching from a window there was nothing so unusual to make them suspicious of two women embracing to maintain balance.
"Tell me about the call." I asked between lurches on the ice.
"I have not done anything since I mentioned it" she began, referring to her confession of a few weeks ago, "In fact I turned down a couple offers since then." She paused and with a sincere sense of gravity added, "I did that for you."
