It was 4:30 p.m. and already dark one dreary, rainy late January day in Portland. As usual, I stopped by my local Fred Meyer store to buy some items for dinner. One trip to Montreal years ago and, ever since, I've liked buying just enough fresh items for dinner each night. I even shop with an old web sack that I got when I bought too many oranges. It is a ritual now. I see some familiar faces and get to talk to few people briefly before heading to my quiet house and the evening news.
Don't go saying, "Oh, how sad." This is exactly how I want things. I work from early till late building a house that I will sell for money I do not need. I like building. I enjoy giving some young couple a good deal and carrying the paper for them. I like to drive by my former projects just to see what the young couples have done with them. Seeing little kids out front always put a smile on my face. I wonder what room they were conceived in. When my wife was alive, we would christen each room before we sold one of my houses. I'm sure the new owners thought they were the first; never imagining that their sixty plus year-old builder beat them to every room with his horny little wife.
Connie had been a hot hand full right up to her death at fifty-five. She knew how to keep me making it home on time. It has been eight years now. I still miss her. I work most of the time. Dating and strip clubs just don't seem to be me. I do love the women, their touch, their smell, their softness, their voices. I'm relaxed with them. My closest friends have always been women. All have known that I am dominant and sexually playful. Often, new female friends find me unconventional and shocking - too direct, too open, too inquisitive.
I had all the ingredients in my bag for Chinese Chicken Salad, when I spied another frequent shopper. Usually, not my type, she was mid-forties, thin, short, good shape, overly short hair colored almost platinum, very little makeup and dressed down to jeans and sweat shirt. I had not said a word to anyone since ordering breakfast at McDonalds, "I see you in here many evenings. You must shop for dinner every night, like I do?"
The look was pleasant, standoffish, wishing I would go away. "I decide what I want for dinner by looking at the fresh vegetables."
"Good healthy idea. I sort of do that. It keeps the leftovers and waste down. And I get to talk to interesting people before I go home and cook."
She could have let the conversation drop at that point but she didn't. "You could go out for dinner and talk with people and not have to cook."
"True. I guess I like quiet evenings after a workday and I like to cook."
"What are you cooking tonight?"
"Just Chinese Chicken Salad and French Bread, but it will be the best on the West Coast."
"Pretty sure of yourself."
"Well test me, pretty lady. I live across the street. Come over for dinner and you can write a review of my dinner for the Sunday paper."
"Thanks for the offer, but I have to get home. Besides, we don't know each other."
I reached out and took her hand, "John Harper, you see my Harper's construction trucks all around. My son runs the business now. I just take on a project once in a while to keep myself busy."
"I have seen your signs. You are too young to be retired."
I let her pull her hand away, "You are not only pretty but you have a silver tongue and lie beautifully. Thank you."
She blushed a little and turned back to the tomatoes.
"Tell me your name and you can have a rain check anytime you change your mind."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Janet Thorn. I live a few blocks behind the store."
"Here's my card, Janet. Some evening, tell a hundred people where you will be and for how long, then risk calling me. I would love to have dinner with you. You pick the place or I'll cook."
She read the card. "You do live close."
That seemed like an opening. "Yes, I am. Reconsider, come over about seven; we should be finished eating by eight thirty and you would be home before curfew. I guarantee the food and conversation will be better than eating alone in front of the TV. I'm an expert at that."
"I don't know when my daughter will be coming home tonight. I had better not."
"Maybe another time."
Right at seven the telephone rang. "John, this is Janet Thorn. Is that offer still open for dinner tonight?"
"You bet it is. Bring you daughter, if you want."
"She is working late again tonight. I'll see you in a few minutes."
I moved my setting from the coffee table, set up the kitchen table for two and selected a nice light wine. Before she arrived I mixed up some batter for desert crapes - banana slices, shaved almonds, whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate. I had one chilled bottle of Asti Chinzano Spumante that would be perfect with the crapes. I was wondering if she drank wine, when the doorbell rang.
"I hope the house wasn't too difficult to find."
"No, I've always wondered what this big house looked like inside."
"Let me give you the nickel tour and then you'll be on your own after that."
She liked the indoor waterfall and pond; she liked the indoor pool, the kitchen, living room, family room and den. We stopped there. My bedroom is downstairs; we left that out. We left out all the upstairs bedrooms. "Too bad it is dark, I would like to show you the backyard."
"I would like that too."
"Janet, will you have wine with you meal?"
"A little."
I continued doing everything I could to make her comfortable and not think I was going to drug her. "Get the glasses out of that cupboard and pour the wine while I get our salad dished up."
Dinner was relaxed and talkative. She could not believe I lived alone in such large house. "At one time there were four boys, my wife, two people who worked for us and dozens of people I did not know very well that seemed to be here a lot. My boys all have their own families and places nearby, my wife died a few years ago. Just me now. Banana Crapes for desert, OK?"
"I've never had crapes before."
"Fancy name for thin pancakes. I think you will like them. Get the other bottle of wine from the fridge. It is a very light sparkling desert wine that should go well with the crapes."
Over dessert, Janet began to talk about her daughter, Denise. She was proud of the twenty eight year old, college graduate, first-year law student. But something rang hollow in her words.