Wendy

This conversation and the ensuing adventure took place nearly a half century ago, when ‘a penny for your thoughts’ was a bargain worth consideration and when American made automobiles gathered at drive-ins where a tray of food was hung on the driver’s door and at drive-ins where cars faced a giant screen in case someone actually wanted to watch the movie.

“She kept me waiting!” I blurted out. Then catching myself, I lowered my voice an octave and said through clenched teeth, “she kept be waiting forty-one minutes.”

There was an awkward silence from the other end of the phone line then a snicker, her voice showing amusement at my consternation.

“How do you know it was forty-one minutes?” Marcie inquired, mimicking my adolescent tone.

Even at two hundred miles away I knew she was standing, not sitting. I pictured the half smirk on her full lips and the glint in her eyes. The slight roll of her shoulders, caused by the too tight bra which labored to support her full breasts, heavy with mother’s milk.

“You’re standing up.” I countered, avoiding her question.

“You are too.” she said, catching on to the game.

In those days, even long distance calls from 200 miles away were expensive.

Since the bill was being paid from company funds it was my responsibility to keep it as low as possible; I wanted to get our weekly telephone conversation over with quickly.

Instead of our usual chat which often consisted of ‘Who died this week?’ ‘How many orders did we get?’ ‘Who is in the hospital and expected not to live?’ ‘Were any new engagements announced?’ ‘Anything that would help generate the flower business?’ Marcie spoke about what she seemed to want to focus on; my visit to the lawyer’s office.

“Firstly,” I began. “I thought I was to see Mr. Banger, that’s who...”

“Blanger.” She corrected me in mid sentence.

“Whoever... that’s who you said to make the appointment with. When I got to the office, ten minutes early I might add. That girl...”

“The receptionist....Sally.” Marcie put in again.

“Yea, Sally. She said I would be seeing Miss Jeffries so I said Okay and took a seat.”

“She’s new there. Her father and Kenny Blanger went to school together, she comes from a good family so be nice to her,” Marcie interrupted.

“She made me wait,” I countered. “I had to get to class so I got fidgety. After thirty minutes the girl, ah...Sally. She noticed that I was still there and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee or something. I said no but that I needed to get going.”

“Honey, I wish you were not so impatient, you’ll send the wrong impression to the Blangers. We’ve been friends with them a long time,” Marcie scolded.

I knew of her family’s connections with influential people in our little town, she never let me forget how important relationships can be in business. I did not respond.

“What’s her name?” Marcie broke the silence.

“Tiny!”

“Cotton!!” a near shriek, hushed because the baby was probably asleep. But a shriek just the same.

“She’s a big girl,” I laughed. “She did not stand but I think she is about a quarter of an inch taller than I and must outweigh me by a ton. I don’t know what her first name is, though she did say.”

“Cotton!” Marcie was pacing now, I could tell. I loved to get her pacing.

“There were folders everywhere, all over the desk; I think she had some in her lap. Probably why she didn’t stand, she sort of leaned forward and shook my hand. I’ll swear, Marcie. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen”.

“I’m glad you found it amusing.” Marcie was calmer but clearly frustrated, probably fearing that somehow I would upset her standing in the community. “Is she going to do the contract?”

“I guess so, I explained what we are thinking of, I even gave her the list”.

“The list, you say?”

“Yeah, notes from what needs to go in the contract.”

“Sounds good, what was she wearing?” Marcie’s tone was lighter.

“You won’t believe it,” I exclaimed. Then, for fear of sending her into another triad I softened. “A suit, coat was all I saw, navy blue; and a blouse with wide pointed collars stretching almost to her shoulders and pearls to match.”

“You Noticed!” Marcie chided. “I think you like her. Besides, what’s so extraordinary about wide collars? If you paid more attention you would know they are in fashion.”

“Marcie, the blouse was lavender and did you hear me? I said the pearls matched. I have a stinking suspicion that her shoes matched too!”

“Oh,” she said.

On Friday afternoon I was the only one in the shop, taking stock of what needed to be ordered. I was getting ready to close for the day when the telephone rang.

“Hi, this is Wendy”.

“Wendy?” I questioned. Then; recognizing the voice, “Oh, hi Miss Jeffries?”

“Mr. Fabrik,” she said tentatively. “You were in my office the other day, about the contract?”

“Sure. I mean, yes...yes, I was”, I answered, wondering where this was leading to.

“I know you are busy during the day and so am I for that matter, but a question arose regarding the contract and I was wondering if we could meet for a few minutes.”

There was a short pause, I was trying to digest what she was getting at.

“Say about 7:30? I live at the Windsor Apartments. Do you know where they are?”

Friday nights are my wind down time. After a week of classes and keeping up with the operation of the flower shop, I’m usually exhausted and need some time to recover.

“Sure,” I said. Meaning I knew where the Windsor is located.

“Fine, see you then.” The line went dead.

The apartment complex was new and comprised of two story brick buildings, gardens clustered around them and a swimming pool.

Young working couples and older singles lived there. It was exactly six blocks from the bungalow where I lived next to the flower shop. I chose to walk. Wendy of the Windsor, I thought; Whimsy Wendy.

Packed, absolutely packed. That was the only way to describe her white pants, the legs cut off about half way between her knees and ankles.

The top was also white; loose fitting and frilly, tucked in at the waist. She wore pearls to match. Her amber hair had the hint of a curl where it met her shoulders and short bangs partially covered the freckles that dotted her forehead.

I held my breath as the pants stretched even more when her rump hit the love seat. She motioned for me to take the chair at the end of the coffee table.

Laid out on the table was an open bottle of wine and two glasses. A sheet of white paper was placed next to one of the long stemmed vessels.

“I thought we would have a glass of wine and discuss your needs. I hope Chardonnay is okay with you?” she asked, starting to pour the wine. When I didn’t respond, she glanced my way.

“I hope you’re not too young to have a glass of wine?” A smile crept across her face as it turned slightly pink; about the same shade as her lips.

“No, No. That’s fine.” I said, not admitting I did not know a Chardonnay from a lamp post. I knew wine came from California or France and was either red or white. Otherwise, my only experience with it was a glass someone handed to me at Marcie and Tads’ wedding two years before.

She set my wine down and handed me the paper. “I had your notes cleaned up; they look so much better typed. Don’t you think?”

The paper contained points that needed to be included in the contract I intended to enter with a supplier of plants and flowers for delivery the following spring.

The grower was new to us; I had only met one of the partners, a lady who had stopped by the shop during the summer.

She and her husband wanted to expand their greenhouse operation and sought new business in our area.

Under the circumstances; I felt a contract to spell out such things as the condition of the plants at delivery, endurance to our weather conditions and availability of an additional order if sales went well needed to be included.

Glancing at the typed paper I wondered if this was the right approach. I had spotted two typing errors.

“Much better,” I agreed; smiling at Miss Jeffries as I took my first sip of wine.

She looked pleased. A new shade of pink flooded her cheeks. “Oh, I forgot the cheese!” she exclaimed, jumping and sprinting to the small kitchen, butt giggling like two mellons fighting one another for space in a sack.

I wondered what questions she would raise regarding the contract but the subject was not raised again. We ate small chunks of cheese cradled on toothpicks and talked about her new home in my home town; the activities offered, the weather, and the law office where she worked and drank chardonnay.

“Call me Wendy.” She ordered as she poured a second glass of wine for us both. “My goodness we’re just talking, you’re such a help, it’s not easy to get settled in where you are a stranger, you know how it is.”

She leaned back on the two-seater, glass in hand. She propped her feet on the coffee table. She was wearing white slip ons with no socks. That I thought, is why we were at eye level when I came in.

“I haven’t had to do that,” I admitted.

“Never moved? Always lived here?” She gave me a concerned, ‘you poor thing’ look. I nodded.

“Do you have a girl friend?” she smiled, teasingly.

“No,” I answered. I was considering if I should pick up the second glass of wine or make an excuse and leave but she persisted.

“No? You mean don’t have a girl friend now?”

“Never have.” I stared back at her, noticing her eyes for the first time. They were greenish and she had a squint.

I decided to modify my answer. “I haven’t had a girlfriend, a girlfriend is the same age or younger than the guy. I’ve had ‘lady’ friends in the past but not now. I guess you could say I’m between lady friends.”

This amused her and we both laughed. Without thinking, I took a sip of wine.

“How about you, do you have a boyfriend?”

She was silent.

“Or boy friends?” I was teasing now.

She was slow to respond. At first she spoke softly, “Not at present.” Then she perked up, “I’m between ‘gentlemen’ friends.” We both howled at that.

“Did they seduce you or did you seduce them?”

“What do you mean?”

I knew the meaning of seduce but was trying to understand how she expected me to answer her question.

“I mean,” she placed her feet on the floor, poured herself another glass of wine. She checked mine before replacing her feet on the coffee table. “Did these ‘lady’ friends make the first move or did you?”

I stalled, leaned back in my chair, took another sip of wine and looked in her direction.

Wendy was leaning forward; as much as her straight legs and tight waist band would allow, anticipating my answer.

“The first one did I guess; make the first move I mean.” I answered, thinking better of it as soon as it was out of my mouth. My wine glass was almost drained but I reached for it anyway.

“Tell me about it.” Wendy was glowing with excitement, “Tell me!”

Now I was the one with pink cheeks. This was something I had never done before. I was taught at an early age that you don’t fuck and tell. Stories get distorted when retold; it screws things up. Wendy must have guessed why I was hesitating.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know anyone here. Change the names if it makes you feel better,” she assured me.

“You know people here,” I countered; still stalling.

“Just the people at the office.” She thought for a second, “Wait a minute, it wasn’t one of the Blanger women was it?” She gave me a mischievous look and we both laughed.

I decided that I liked her so I began. I told her about Ellen, Marcie’s friend from college coming to visit Christmas week three years before.

It was clear that Marcie was not happy to have our guest. She explained that we only had two bedrooms but Ellen could sleep on the couch which Ellen happily accepted.

To Marcie, Ellen must have been a distraction we did not need, especially with our busy seasonal business and Tad in town.

Ellen flirted with me from the moment she arrived. Marcie found us together in the greenhouse and chased Ellen out, saying she had something for her to do up front.

By the end of the first day Ellen decided I should have a nickname; Cotton, which Marcie abhorred.

“I get it, Cotton Fabrik, clever. You mean Marcie was jealous or just a fuddy duddy?” Wendy interrupted.

“She was and is the latter.”

“So you and Marcie never....you know?” She gave me a curious look.

“Are you kidding? Never! She’s always been like an older sister to me.” I said emphatically.

I resumed my story. I recalled how Ellen decided I needed to learn to dance and offered to teach me. I think Marcie took her aside to lay down some ground rules.

I also think Marcie considered staying in that night but when Tad called we heard her say eight o’clock. Ellen gave me a wink

“So!” Wendy laughed, “You and Ellen, huh? What did she look like? How was she dressed? Don’t leave anything out.”

“We were both wearing flannel shirts and jeans, fairly drab I suppose and Ellen was not what I would call pretty but boy! She was stacked and when we danced; she was as soft and hard at the same time.”

The minute Marcie was out the door; Ellen selected some records and started the player.

She motioned to me with her forefinger; taunting and smiling until I followed her to the center of the room. It was cramped and we were in front of the couch where she was to make her bed.

Ellen showed me how to stand; where to grab onto and then we moved to the music slowly, until I stepped on her toe. She took off her shoes and made me do the same.

By the second song we were dancing close; her face was pressed against mine. Her hair was soft and pleasantly scented. She whispered instructions as we moved. I tried to back off because I feared she would notice the little broom stick between us.”

Wendy snickered.

“Ellen tightened her grip on my shoulder and squeezed my hand saying, ‘It’s okay.’

By the third song I had loosened up; actually feeling the beat of the music. Then she kissed me on the lips.”

Wendy sat up, eyes glowing. She did not interrupt this time.

“You may as well have had a lesson in kissing,” Ellen whispered.

I kissed her.

“The music stopped playing; neither of us moved to turn the records over. We still moved, swaying to the silence, kissing.

Ellen was a good teacher and I was a good pupil.”

I sat my empty wine glass on the table. Wendy watched me, expectantly as if to say, ‘then what?’

“The next thing I knew we were on the couch; me on top. Ellen pulled a blanket over us because it was getting chilly in the room. Ellen found my hand and guided it to her breast. I was petrified; my hand couldn’t move but Ellen did. She was unbuttoning her shirt. She eased my hand inside her bra and I felt bare skin.

Ellen was moaning, approvingly. I was hard as a rock and uncomfortable as hell. We were really getting in to it; moving together, hotter that corn about to pop when the front door opened and the hall light switched on.”

“What!” Wendy jumped out of her seat. “What! She stammered, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I laughed, “We just froze, Marcie must have gone into her room. I slide off the couch and crawled towards mine.

I heard Ellen make a snoring sound, she sort of over did it. We both slept in our clothes that night.

The next morning my shoes were under my bed, Ellen must have moved them during the night.”

“Wheee,” Wendy was fanning her face, “Whee, what a close call!” She had a look of exhilaration on her face.

I stood up and moved over on the love seat, putting my left arm around her shoulder. She scrunched down a bit, laying her head back on my arm. She looked contented, all aglow.

I moved my head in and brushed my lips to hers. She stiffened.

“Hey!, You’re getting FRISKY,” She yelled.

Instead of six blocks, my walk home turned in to twelve, I kept making a wrong turn talking to myself, “You’re getting FRISKY, You’re getting FRISKY,” I repeated, over and over.

{Thanks to Angel -the volunteer who made this possible}