"Ronnie, hun. I need you to wing for me Saturday."
"Umm, What's his name?"
"How did you know it's about a guy?"
"Well, the last time you needed me to wing, it was about a guy."
"I keep forgetting how well you know me."
"Ok, text me the address and time. Maybe this will be the one."
"Jeez, I hope so. I heard he can lick his eyebrows."
"Slut!"
She laughed and ended the call.
Lettie was my best friend. We met in Grammar School, and we've been through it all together; the good, bad and ugly.
I loved her dearly, but she had this bad habit of following her pussy around. She was looking for a nice guy that could fuck her brains out. She had found both, but not in the same person.
Me? I'm eight months out of a bad relationship with an asshole that had taken jealousy to an art form. Every time I was out of his sight for more than an hour, I got quizzed on how many guys I had fucked. He hadn't started getting physically abusive yet, but I suspected it was coming.
A few times I saw him checking my panties for evidence of cum, but, of course, he never found any. The straw that broke the camel's back was when he wanted to do an up close and personal inspection. I knew then that it was over.
I stood there for a moment, turned and walked out the door. He followed me out, calling me a whore, a slut and anything else he could think of. He was sure that because I wouldn't submit to his inspection it was an admission of guilt.
He didn't take the breakup very well. He kept calling, telling me he would forgive me if I would just come back. My telling him it was over and we both needed to move on fell on deaf ears.
I finally had to make a police report that I was being stalked. The Judge granted a restraining order and after one run in with the police and he gave up. The next guy was going to have to be something special. I wasn't going to settle.
***
"Ronnie, over here."
"Hi, is he here yet?"
"I haven't seen him yet. He may be inside already."
"OK, Do you want me to help you look for him?"
"Why don't you go find our seats and I'll hunt him down."
"Hunt him down? You sound like a Cheetah going after an antelope. You going to mount his head over your fireplace?
"I'll mount him all right, and then fuck him to death."
"OK, let me know when you find him."
She raised her radar antenna and headed off into the crowd.
I checked in with the receptionist and got my table number. As I walked up to it, I saw an older couple holding hands and chatting, Next to them was an Asian couple sitting quietly. A black guy was next to them, holding his water glass. My place card was next to him.
"Ah, here I am."
He looked up at me and flashed a nuclear smile as he stood up and up and up. He must have been at least six ft. four. Even at five nine, I felt small beside him. He pulled out my chair and helped me get seated.
"Thank you."
He replied: "You're very welcome," as I took my seat.
That and one other thing surprised me. He made eye contact without looking at my boobs. That hadn't happened many times since I grew a pair of D's. I wondered if he was gay or just had the mind control of a Jedi Master. Needless to say, he made a good first impression.
He held out his hand.
"I'm Don Wilson."
"I'm Veronica Chambers. Nice to meet you."
"It's nice to see you're interested in this charity."
"To be truthful, I'm here with a friend of mine."
"It's a battered womens charity."
"Well, I'm certainly interested in that."
He briefly explained how it worked, and we chatted till the first speech started. I was waiting for his eyes to drift down, but it never happened. When I spoke, he paid attention. It was like he was interested in what I was saying. He was scoring lots of points as the evening wore on. We chatted more between speeches and the last one asked for us that hadn't already donated to drop it in the bowl at the center of the table.
I made out a check for two hundred and glanced over at Don's. It was for five thousand. I think my jaw dropped. I knew there had to be a story behind that, but I refrained from asking.
"Veronica, this place is famous for it's rubber chicken. There's a place just down the block with excellent food. How about we go get some real food?"
I was intrigued enough to accept,
"Sure. I hate rubber chicken."
True to his apparent nature, he stood and pulled my chair back so I could stand. Another point on his score card.
It may have seemed like I was testing him, but it was more of an evaluation. Having been in an impossible relationship, I wasn't going for another. I was just being careful.
I sent a text to Lettie asking if she found her guy yet. I got a big smiley face. I answered, telling her I was going to eat and would be waiting for a full report when she came up for air. Another smiley face.
While we were walking to the restaurant I remembered something my Mom had told me.
"You can tell a lot about a man by the way her treats food servers."
The host took us to our table and Don stepped in front of him and helped me with my chair. We were looking over out menus when the wind steward appeared out of nowhere.
"Veronica, do you have a preference?"
"How about a pink Chablis, and please call me Ronnie. I haven't been called Veronica since I broke my mothers favorite vase."
He ordered some by name. Another surprise. He knew his wine. I began to wonder how it was that this guy was out here on the loose. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe whoever he was dating couldn't make it tonight. Someone this nice must have women throwing themselves at him.
That thought brought me up short. I wouldn't be a banana in the bunch or a side chick.
Again he surprised me. He said please and thank you to the wine steward.
"Sure, Ronnie it is, and you've killed all of my Archie and Jughead jokes."
"Don't worry. I've heard all of them more than once."
We had a very nice dinner and chatted through another carafe of wine.
"We should go now. I have an early appointment tomorrow. A group flew in to talk about me representing them."
"You're an agent?"
"Yes, actually, I own a booking agency and a recording studio. I represent them and set up gigs for them."
"Oh my, that sounds interesting."
"There's an old joke about musicians. They load up their van with five thousand dollars worth of equipment, drive 300 miles to do a one hundred dollar gig."