On a recent shopping trip to Montreal I decided to treat myself to a gourmet dinner in the excellent restaurant, located in my hotel. I quickly threw my packages in my room and did a quick primp in the mirror. My jeans were pretty tight, which accentuated my hips and thighs. Those daily aerobic sessions were paying off and although my bust had sagged from a 36C to a 38D I still looked pretty presentable. I brushed my short reddish brown hair and touched up my makeup.
I had no intent of meeting anyone, but feel very flattered when I become the centre of someone's attention. I made my way downstairs and into the restaurant and immediately the Maitre d' walked in my direction and smiled. "Table for one, please," I said, returning the pleasant smile.
He explained they had just opened and asked if I could have a complimentary drink at the bar while my table was being prepared. I accepted his kindness and ordered a vodka martini (by far my favourite drink).
The restaurant and bar were void of patrons except for one woman sitting a few stools down from me. She appeared respectful, but was nursing her drink in a methodical manner. We made eye contact and I offered a slight smile, which she returned.
I was enjoying my drink (and the constant glances from the bartender) when I noticed the other woman was sobbing slightly. My maternal instincts kicked in and I asked if she was alright. She mustered up an apology and I told her that sometimes it was better to let it out. She attempted a smile and nodded. I asked her if she wanted to talk and she offered a nod. I picked up my drink and moved a few seats down to be next to her.
It only took a question on my part, and another two drinks, and she blurred out her recent problems, stopping only to sob and wipe her tears. It seems her husband had cheated on her and she stormed out of the house making her way to the hotel where by chance I was staying. All she wanted to do was forget for a few hours and I explained that I would be honoured if she joined me for dinner.
Reluctantly she agreed and a few minutes later the Maitre d' showed us to a table. Marie was French Canadian and lived on the outskirts of Montreal. She was in her late forties and quite attractive. Her long black hair (probably from a bottle) hung slightly disheveled but had signs of being recently styled by an expert. Her husband, the bastard, as she called him, was a lawyer who travelled a great deal. They were to go out that evening and while she was dressing and preparing to shower she overheard him on his mobile, talking to his assistant.
"He must have thought I was in the shower because their conversation was anything other than business." I sympathized and having been married for 36 years I understood how the sparks had gone out a long time ago. I was certain it was more of a bruise to her ego than the actual 'affair', but I kept this thought to myself.
She relaxed during dinner, mostly a result of the cocktails and the near empty bottle of Shiraz. We actually joked a bit and she began to feel more comfortable. I asked her what her plans were and she said she had none. I suggested she stay the night, but she had little money and her credit cards were at home. She decided to return to her house and I suggested that might not be the best idea.
"You will want to let the prick stew for a while," I said and she smiled. "You are more than welcome to stay in my room. I have two queen size beds so it would not make a difference." I was surprised at what I had offered, as I normally would not invite a stranger under my roof, but she seemed so sad and in need of a friend.
At first she declined, not wanting to 'put me out' but I explained she wouldn't be. We finished dinner and the wine and made our way to the twenty-third floor. I apologized for the mess and quickly picked up my packages. We discussed arrangements and I explained that I normally sleep nude so I had nothing to cover myself, leave alone offer her. I said I could go to the bathroom, ready myself, come out wrapped in towel and jump into my bed. Then she could do the same.
We chuckled slightly at our high school antics, but agreed it made sense. I was only in the bathroom a few minutes and came out wearing my towel. I positioned my folded clothes on the dresser and waited until Marie had made her way into the bathroom. I hung my jeans, blouse and jacket in the closet and placed my bra and panties in my suitcase. I jumped into bed leaving the towel on the floor. A moment later Marie came out.
"Are you sure this is not an inconvenience?" she asked, in her French accent.