Angela pulled up in the bumpy area of ground in the temporary Christmas tree sales lot that had been designated for parking. She turned the motor off, rolled down her window, and panned the area of the tree stands, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the semidark. Strands of dim lightbulbs ran in a grid pattern over the lot, held up by leaning two-by-fours, so she didn't have to wait long.
The sounds of an irritated voice dressing someone down arrested her attention. About midway down one of the rows she could see, a tall, strongly built white man was waving a finger at a younger black man. Both of them looked pretty good to Angela, but the black guy looked more intriguing. And he was quite a bit younger than the guy who was giving him a talking to.
". . . do NOT want to get another call like that, Reggie," Angela could hear the older man say. "Half way home, he said, when the tree came off the car roof on the freeway."
"Yes, sir. I'll make sure they're tied on good from now on," the black guy responded. He seemed to be genuinely remorseful, and he certainly was cowed by the older man, Angela thought. He was quite a hunk to be intimidated, though. A wrestler maybe? Or a football player. Whatever, he must be into bodybuilding. The older man was quite muscular too, his sweat shirt cut off to show his bulging biceps. Showing off? Angela wondered. It was pretty cold out here this evening to be dressed down like that. Well, he had a right to be proud of his guns.
Angela waited for the performance to end and the two men to separate off into different rows of trees before she checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, got out of the car, and smoothed down her overcoat. She'd spent quite some time getting the look she wanted. Getting the look she wanted was getting more and more difficult with the passage of time. At least the dim lighting the strings of bulbs over the tree provided helped her cause.
"Excuse me, ma'am, can I help you find a tree? We'll be closing in twenty minutes."
Angela looked around to find that the older man, probably the manager of the stand, had found her as, her stiletto heels clicking in the thin layer of gravel on the paths, she walked down the row of trees where she'd last seen the young black guy—Reggie, she'd heard him called.
The big bruiser of guy was practically leering at her—giving her a good up and down undressing look. She could see that she wouldn't have a bit of trouble landing him. But he was just like any man she could—and did—pick up down at the neighborhood tavern. Not as old as she was, of course, and in better shape than most in the tavern, but certainly not what she was shopping for this evening.
But don't be too revealing about that, she told herself. She was shopping for a Christmas tree this evening.
"Uh, I'm just looking around. If you close before I find something, I can come back tomorrow afternoon maybe. I'll be fine just looking around on my own."
The man looked a bit disappointed. "Well, you need any help, I'm your man." He said it in such a way that he could be her man for more than just buying a Christmas tree.
"I'm sure you are," she said sweetly, forgetting for a second that she was shopping for something else. Many had been the time that this muscle man would have hit the spot with her. At her age, forty in a guy could seem like the new twenty. Not this time, though. She'd already given thought to what she was in the mood for.
Her slip of the tongue had brought a flash of "maybe" to the guy's eyes, and he took a step toward her, but she stepped back, signaling he was to come no closer, and then moved over, on clicking heels, to the next row through a gap in the tree stands. She had to repeat that maneuver a couple of times before she moved into the row where the young black guy—Reggie—was standing, holding a tree up, and looking at it speculatively, like maybe he'd buy it himself.
"Yes, that's just the one. Yes, please hold it while I look at it from the other side." Angela turned on her sparkling smile that she knew men appreciated and walked to where Reggie was standing. She brushed by him, supposedly to see the tree he was holding from another angle, and, in doing so, lightly touched his upper arm. She left her hand there as she moved around him and was rewarded, she thought, with a slight shudder from the young man.
"Yes, that will do nicely," she said. "But you're about to close, aren't you?"
"No problem, lady." He named a price and she nodded her head like it was the best bargain she'd encountered all week. "I'll ring you up and then I can put it—"
"On the top of my car, yes. But, oh dear," this given as an afterthought as she put on her "weak little me" expression, "Someone has to take it off the car at the other end, don't they? And take it into the house, and get it into a stand. Silly me. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe a much smaller tree?" She looked at him expectantly.
"We do have some nice three- and four-footers one row over," he offered.
"Well, I suppose. But I do so love this tree. I wonder what I could do." Again she smiled expectantly at the young man. "If I could just get someone to help me at the other end. You are about to close, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I don't live far from here. It might even be on your way home. I'd be happy to pay extra, say $25, if you'd follow me home and bring it in and put it in a stand for me."
"I don't know . . ."
"Oh, you're right. That would be worth $30, wouldn't it?"
Apparently it would, as ten minutes later Reggie was tying the tree down on the roof of his car. She reasoned that since he was coming anyway and his car was a lot older than hers that the tree would be less likely to scratch his car. That it would be more likely to scratch any car it was strapped to didn't seem to make much sense didn't seem to dawn on Reggie. In addition to that, Angela could clearly see that she would have to tell him how better he could tie the tree down too—so it wouldn't go careening off the top of the car on the freeway. (She didn't live quite as close as she'd let on.)
But she hadn't singled Reggie out for his brains.
* * * *
"That looks just perfect, Reggie. Thanks a bunch. It'll look great decorated and in lower light." Although the tree wasn't decorated yet, she'd been itching to dim the lights in the room ever since they'd entered and did so now. The lighting was all important. "Bet you haven't had your dinner yet, and I've delayed that for you, haven't I? I feel awful about that."
"That's all right, Mrs. Walker. I was glad to do it."
The process of getting the tree, about twice as wide as it had appeared in the lot, into Angela's living room had result in the two knowing each other's names—and Angela to do a bit more knowing touching of Reggie as she "helped" maneuver the tree into place.
"You know what? It was a harder job for you than I'd thought it would be, and you must be starved. And I just remembered that I have a much larger steak thawed than I can eat myself. But then maybe you don't like steak."
"Who the fuck . . . um, sorry . . . who don't like steak?" Reggie exclaimed.
"Then you'll stay and let me fix you a nice steak?"
"Um, I was going to watch the Ravens and Saints football game with friends. I'm late now."
"You're already late? Oh, my, that's my fault, isn't it?"
"Oh, no, I didn't mean—"
"That game will start in about ten minutes, won't it? How long a drive is it to your friend's place from here."
"Uh, probably twenty minutes, easy."
"You'll miss a lot of the game then, won't you? Why don't you just watch the game here on my TV? Steak on a tray in front of the TV, right here."
"Uh, I don't—"
"And beer. I've got plenty of beer. Bud OK with you?"
She clicked on the TV as Reggie was ruminating over that. The game was about to start, and he turned his attention to the TV set.
"But look, we're still in our coats. Here, give me your jacket. I'll hang it up with my coat." She was shucking her overcoat and Reggie glanced away from the TV set at her and then his eyes fairly bugged out of his head. She was wearing a filmy black little thing under her coat. It was probably two sizes smaller than she should be wearing, and she now had rolled out her best weapons—she was busty and curvy. Nothing in the lighting could ruin busty and curvy. And those black stiletto-heeled shoes with the strap across the ankle really set the tone.
"I don't know," he said in a tight little voice, hopefully feeling a tightness elsewhere, but she wasn't there to listen to him. She'd disappeared down a hall with his leather jacket, and there was little chance he'd be getting that back in the near future. Angela wasn't above taking hostages.
"There then, you just relax and watch the game, while I rustle up those steaks," she said when she returned from the bowels of the bedroom area.
He'd finished off his steak and was into his second beer half way through the first quarter of the game. He was sitting on the couch, facing the TV set. Angela swept away the TV tray. He'd been so concentrated on the steak, beer, and game that he hadn't noticed that Angela hadn't fixed anything for herself other than a tall glass of red wine.
When she returned from the kitchen, she handed him another beer and stood behind him at the couch. She dared putting her hands lightly on his shoulders when play resumed after a commercial, and he didn't seem to notice that.
At the next commercial, she said. "You seem to like football a lot. I bet you're a football player too. You're quite a chunk and a half. In a good way, of course."
"Uh huh. Played it in high school. The trade school I'm going to doesn't have football, of course, but I play in a pickup league still."
"And you must work out a lot too."
