Everyone noticed Elise Hathaway the moment she entered the bar.
Happy Hour was almost over and any guy with any money in his pocket or available funds on his credit card watched the door for the arrival of possible feminine company.
Every guy except me, that is. I'm out of the dating game. I'm not cynical about sex; I've just acquired the perspective that comes with age. Also, a balding, middle-aged man with some extra pounds on him isn't likely to win the attentions of a vision like Elise Hathaway.
My job used to be observing people, so I was observing.
Every eye was on Elise as she stopped for a second, searched the fifteen or so warm bodies on hand, and headed straight for me.
Elise was in her mid-twenties. She was voluptuous--not fat but not thin, either. She had blonde hair, ample breasts, and jiggling hips. Her skin was flawless. She wore a white cotton blouse, a knee-length skirt, and modest heels. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She had been crying.
"Excuse me, but I've never ordered a drink before," she said. "I want one now. Can you suggest something?"
Her voice and body shook.
"Have a seat," I said. I ordered her a margarita on the rocks, no salt, and light on the tequila.
Elise looked lost sitting on that bar stool. She began to pull her wallet from her purse when I put my hand on hers.
"Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be fine."
She fought back tears as she took hold of my hand. Elise looked into my eyes. Hers were green.
"Thank you for saying that."
Alice brought Elise's drink. Alice didn't have to be told to put it on my tab. Elise turned to the bar and I watched her as she regarded the glass in front of her.
"Take the straw out. Tastes better that way," I said.
She put the straw on her napkin, lifted the glass to her lips, and drank.
"It's good. Like lemonade."
"Well, it's not lemonade. Go slow."
She took a gulp and set the glass down.
"Elise Hathaway," she said, offering her hand. I took it.
"Lee Jackson."
"Thank you for your help, Lee."
"No problem. What brings you here?"
She stared at our reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
"I just saw something."
She turned and looked into my eyes again, then looked around us. A tear rolled down her cheek. I leaned toward her so that our mouths were at each other's ears.
"I just saw my husband with another woman," she whispered.
"I can't imagine a guy being unfaithful to a beautiful woman like you. Maybe you misunderstood--"
"They were...fucking in our living room!"
The whispered flash of anger surprised me, but I didn't show it.
"No misunderstanding that," I said.
"Nope."
I sat back to look at her. She was smiling for the first time since she'd come in. A sad, wry smile but a smile, nonetheless. Then, she began to cry. I gathered her to me, let her bury her face in my shoulder, and waited for the storm to pass.
Once it had, she turned toward the bar, reaching for a napkin.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed.
"Here."
The handkerchief in my jacket pocket had been an affectation of style up until then. I gave it to her. She put it to good use.
"Put it in your purse in case you need it again."
"But it has your initials on it. And it's nice linen. I'm sorry I--"
"I've got a drawerful just like it."
Elise turned to her drink and took a sip.
"What do you do," I asked.
"I'm a temp at an ad agency over on Wilshire. You?"
"Retired after thirty long years of writing news."
"Retired? You don't look old enough to be retired."
"That was the point. I've got this little problem with authority, so I worked toward the day that I wouldn't have to work. And thank you for the compliment."
"Why the jacket and tie, then?"
"After thirty years, there's not much left in my closet."
I saw her eyes flit toward my left hand.
"Divorced. Twenty-five years. I have a son a little older than you."
"Scott and I were going to have kids one day."
Elise finished her drink and hailed Alice.
"Could I have another one of these, please?"
Alice made Elise's drink and Elise made a trip to the bathroom. The old reporter's twitch returned and I thought of a couple of questions for Elise. I forgot one of them when she got back. She'd done a quick makeup job--a touch over the eyes and on the cheeks and red lip gloss--and the sight of her walking toward me stirred my blood.
"I was a mess," she said as she sat.
"No, you weren't. But I can see what you mean."
"You've been very nice to me. I appreciate it."
"I'm glad I could help. I can't help asking how you ended up in here, though. Don't you have family or friends around?"
"Scott and I married right out of college. We came here so he could get his law degree. That was two months ago and I've been working to support us both. All my friends and family are back in Iowa. They wouldn't want to hear about this kind of trouble from me. The man is head of the household where I come from, and a woman's job is to serve him. A clean, upright, Christian woman--that's me! Martha Elise Hathaway, at your service, Lord!"
Elise plucked the straw from her drink, placed it on the clean napkin, and put a big dent in her second margarita.
"I got off work early just so I'd have his dinner fixed when he got home. Mind you, I'm taking the bus! So, I get home and our car is already there. At first, I was happy to think that we'd get to spend some time together, what with him working all those long, hard hours. Then, as I'm walking toward our side of the duplex, I hear this woman squeal. They were too stupid to draw the blinds. He wasn't expecting me home until about now anyway, now that I think of it.
"I looked in the window and there was Scott with this skinny harlot on our couch. He was taking her from behind and spanking her--"
We'd both crossed our arms on the bar and had leaned toward each other so we could keep the conversation private. Elise didn't look at me. She breathed through her nose, anger radiating from her.
"I didn't know what to do. What to think. Bust in on them? Scream? I pass this place on the bus every day and I just thought I'd come in here to figure things out. I'll be honest with you, Lee. I decided to talk to you because you remind me of a preacher I knew back home. He wasn't the preacher at my church. He was pastor at the negro church on the other side of the highway. You've got the same look he had. They always said to me that a true child of God wouldn't have to say a word to let you know who they were."
"I'm no saint, Elise."
"You'll do for now."
She leaned against me, put her hand on mine, and kissed my cheek. I could feel the softness of her breast against my arm. The warmth of her. What do you say to someone who doesn't know she's a sexual force of nature? What do you do when you're not supposed to want what you want?
I reached across her, picked up her glass, and finished her margarita.
"What'd you do that for," she pouted.
"You need to think clearly right now because it's time for me to go."
I took one of my old business cards from my wallet, scratched the paper's number out with my pen and wrote down my cell phone number. I gave it to Elise.
"Best thing to do is go home and confront him. Talk it out. Tell him you know. If that doesn't work out, call me and I'll put you up with my sister in Encino. Do you think he's a danger to you at all?"
"More like I'm a danger to him."
"You're no danger to anybody. You're a nice young woman who's hit a rough spot in the road. You'll look back on this and find that it's made you stronger. It's been a pleasure to meet you."
I held my breath for a few seconds. This created new priorities for my body; my lungs and brain reclaimed the blood that fueled my erection. It wilted and I stood up.
"What's the damage, Alice," I called.
Alice came over with my credit card, bill, and receipt.
I usually just sign it, add Alice's twenty percent and leave, but there was something wrong.
"You missed the margaritas."
"On the house--and if you add them to my tip, I'm going to kick your nuts in!"
"You win."
I kissed Elise on the forehead.
