Divorce is never easy, even if both parties desire it. When it is the action of only one of the two, it becomes more difficult; particularly when the other person had no clue that it was coming, nor any understanding of the reason for it. For Samantha Simmons, it had been particularly brutal. Her husband had taken her out for dinner on their tenth anniversary, they went home afterward, ostensibly to celebrate further in the bedroom, at which point he unceremoniously announced he was filing for divorce. He offered no opportunity for discussion nor any indication that he was amenable to resolving issues. His statement that he no longer loved her and she no longer satisfied him implied finality. Even throughout the court proceedings he offered no additional reasons.
Now, nearly a year later, Samantha was miserable and lonely. She had no idea what her future held. Each day was merely a sad repeat of the one before. She had done nothing more than go to work each day and home—which was now a dreary apartment; she hadn't wanted the house—each evening living a mundane existence.
Friends and family kept encouraging her, telling her things would get better. Everyone tried to cheer her up, but she found nothing uplifting in anything anyone said. Samantha's mother even made her an appointment with a psychiatrist, Dr. Joanne Podesta, through the Employee Assistance Program at work, which she kept simply to avoid an unnecessary lecture. She even went for a second visit for lack of anything better to do.
Some of what the doctor said actually made sense. Samantha even decided to take the counselor's advice and start living her life again. The suggestion was to begin slowly. Treat herself to dinner out, nothing fancy, someplace she really liked, but her ex did not. Surprisingly, it made a lot of sense; except that she didn't think she was quite ready to sit through an entire meal alone and have people stare pitifully at her. She believed a safer start would be a drink—or two—in a dark lounge.
And so, she did.
Now, at just over 30 years old, Samantha was still a very attractive woman: tall, lithe, blonde, fair-sized breasts, shapely legs. What she did not anticipate was men actually attempting to hit on her, and then with cheesy, pathetic lines. At first, it was uplifting, knowing that men still found her desirable. But after fending off two or three, it became tedious.
Considering the advisability of having a second drink, Samantha looked around and spotted a woman seemingly her own age who was elegant-looking as well as attractive. She was seated at the bar, alone. An idea quickly formed and Samantha moved from her table. Stopping at the empty stool next to the woman, Samantha asked, "Is this seat taken?"
Seemingly lost in thought, the woman turned. Upon seeing Samantha, she smiled warmly and said, "Please."
Pulling the stool out, Samantha caught the bartender's attention and ordered another glass of white wine as she hefted herself onto the seat.
"Thanks," the woman offered. "I think you might have saved me."
With a frown of incomprehension, Samantha said, "I'm sorry. I don't follow."
"I've been hit on by a number of assholes tonight. Maybe if they don't think I'm by myself, they'll leave me alone."
"That's exactly my motive," Samantha admitted with a smirk.
With a chuckle, the woman asked, "How many for you?"
Samantha shrugged. "Didn't bother to count. But after the second, it was way too many."
"I agree. By the way, I'm Wendy." She held out her hand.
"Samantha." She didn't think surnames were necessary yet.
"So, what's your story, Sam?"
"Please, I prefer Samantha."
"Ah. Sorry. So, you're an attractive woman in a bar alone not looking to be picked up; I'm guessing you're here to drown your sorrows because of a recent break-up."
"You're mostly correct," Samantha said with a wave of her hand. "But I'm not drowning sorrow, I'm starting over."
"By coming to a singles bar?"
"Well, I didn't realize that's what it was when I came here. It was just an alternative to staying home alone on a Friday night."
"So, it
was
a break-up?"
"Divorce," Samantha nodded.
"Men!"
"Yeah. So, what about you?"
Wendy didn't answer right away. After several seconds, she said, "I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I guess I've been stood up." She ordered them another round.
"Oh, no, no more for me," Samantha said with a sweep of her hand. "This is more than my limit."
"What the hell else do you have to do?"
Samantha shrugged. "Well, maybe
one
more."
"So, tell me about your divorce."
As she finished her second glass of wine, which as she indicated was more than she was accustomed to, Samantha became loose-lipped. She was certain she revealed more than she should have and more than Wendy probably wanted to hear. But aside from her shrink, she hadn't talked much to anyone. It was as though the wine had opened the verbal flood gates. She hadn't realized she'd had this need to talk; and then with a total stranger. She hadn't talked this much to her doctor. Maybe that was why. No one here would judge her, or if so, no one who would matter.
"What a
rat!"
Wendy remarked when Samantha finished.
"Yeah. Who knew?"
Just then, two men, thinking they were cool, approached offering to buy the women drinks. Their pick-up lines were no better than any of their predecessors and even less original. When the ladies declined, the men persisted.
Finally, in exasperation, and much to Samantha's surprise, Wendy put her arm around the other woman, pulled her closer, and gave her a hard kiss on the lips. "Does it look like we're interested? Now, leave us alone."
Clearly not expecting that, one of the guys said, "Whatever," and he and his friend backed away.
Still somewhat stunned, Samantha's expression demanded explanation.
"It always works," Wendy said simply.
Samantha nodded hesitantly with a forced smile. Perhaps this was not such a good idea to start over. Then she saw other guys who had been eying the two women seem to lose interest. Wendy obviously knew a trick or two. Samantha relaxed a bit.
"I suddenly find this place has lost its appeal," Wendy said. "I know another place not far from here that is a little quieter."
"I don't know," Samantha grimaced. "I think I've had enough excitement for one night."
With a big grin, Wendy said, "What the hell else do we have to do?" As she said this, she was leading Samantha out of the lounge.
Like a little lost lamb, the divorcee followed. There was something she liked about Wendy, but she wasn't sure what. The woman hadn't really talked much about herself. However, as they walked, it occurred to her that she was accompanying a woman she knew little about, and for all she knew, Wendy could be leading her into some adverse situation. Samantha halted. "No offense, Wendy, but I think I'm going to head on home."
"Oh, come on. I hate drinking alone."
"Well, that's another thing. I don't want any more to drink. And to be absolutely truthful, I don't really know you."
Wendy offered a big, warm smile. "Now, I can't argue with that." She reached into her purse, pulled out an ID card and held it out for Samantha to see. "
Doctor
Wendy Robinson, at your service. I work at the downtown medical center just a few blocks from where we were."
"I'm familiar with it," Samantha acknowledged. "I'm Deputy Director of Human Resources for Ford Enterprises."
"Yes, I know. I glimpsed your ID in your purse," Wendy admitted. "And just to make you aware, I know Peter Ford, I know the kind of people he hires, and I wouldn't be here with you otherwise."
Samantha giggled. "I'm sorry. I guess I've become somewhat distrustful since my divorce."
"No need to apologize. We girls have to be careful. All kinds of crazy people out there."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Samantha quipped. "Are you a psychiatrist?"
"Heavens, no," Wendy answered as she started walking again with Samantha mindlessly following. "Internal Medicine. Nothing fancy."
"You must be fresh out of med school."
"For a couple of years."
"I can't imagine going to school for that long."
"It
