Finding Himself
Thanks to Black Rand for inviting me to contribute to this 2
nd
'Legends Day', and many thanks to those who suggested my stories to her...
Some special thanks to my readers FB & MM and the ever present Voldamort, whose suggestions are almost always included because they are usually correct!
For LW readers: sorry, but there are no bitches burned or bastards crucified, just people making mistakes, going off in wrong directions and generally screwing things up. That is to say, being human. And as is usually the case, they muddle through!
This is a 4-part story with each part coming a few days apart. Part 4 is already with my readers for final corrections, adjustments and improvements.
~~~
By the early 17
th
century, coffee and coffee houses appeared in Europe, first in Venice, Europe's gateway to the Middle East and within a decade there were already coffee houses as far away as England. I remember reading somewhere that in many of the European cities you met with your friends and acquaintances at the coffee house because people's 'living space' at home was too limited to be comfortable.
The coffee house became, in effect, everyone's 'salon' as well as many a businessman's office. Edmond Lloyds Coffee House in London, was where the famous insurance consortium started and Lloyd's of London is still in the specialty insurance business today — although they outgrew their space at the coffeehouse long ago.
Nowadays, most of us have houses or apartments that are large enough to have friends over to entertain, but then we have to remember to get food to serve and after the guests have left, we have to clean up.
The modern day coffeehouse still seems like a convenient place to meet up with friends and do business. I've taken to meeting people over a cup of coffee that I haven't actually had to make myself. The advantages have been making me a coffee house habitué.
My local favorite (a one off, not the big one out of Seattle) off of Topanga Canyon in the West Valley, north of L.A., was where I encountered my friend Joe White having a cup. This wasn't one of the oversized, sanitized and mass produced coffee houses. It was snug, warm and comforting. The baristas at this establishment knew their coffees; they made it right (and sometimes with those fancy little designs and all that nonsense).
The owner, a friend of mine, actually paid his employees enough to keep them there working and learning for years, not months at a time. They even believed in customer service.
Joe asked me to join him, which, after getting my own light-roast, regular size cuppa with all the fixings, I did.
I need to amend what I just said a little, though. I called Joe a 'friend', but he wasn't quite the level of friend with whom I spent a lot of time with drinking or hunting or even watching sports, although he was more than a mere acquaintance. He was married to a woman I'd known since the seventh grade, Susan White, nee Thompson, and became by osmosis, a friend of mine. Joe was actually a couple of years younger than Susan and me and had attended a different high school.
As I recall, Joe and Susan met several years after we had all graduated from high school. I had gone away to college while Susan had gone to work as a receptionist/secretary in a law office (she would eventually become a paralegal, which she remains today.) Joe had gone to work right out of school for his Dad who owned one of the local auto repair shops that eventually Joe took over. Susan brought her car in for some minor maintenance. Joe saw her, asked her out and the rest, as they say, is history.
Anyway, Joe was a nice enough guy, at least I thought so, and he was a darn good mechanic. I hate to tell you this, but good mechanics and good plumbers can be as valuable to know as your doctor or dentist! At least when your car won't start or your toilet stops working on a weekend. But forgive me, I digress.
Joe was on his lunch break, which accounted for his sitting there drinking coffee in the middle of the week, while I had just been doing a little shopping in the neighborhood.
We chitchatted a bit bringing each other up to date on our kids, how his shop was doing, what the chances for any of the local teams to go anywhere were. In other words: trivialities. Until I inadvertently asked the 'can-of-worms' question.
"So, Joe, you and Susan have any special plans now that the kids are all out of the house? Take one of those 'gotta see' — what do they call 'em? 'Bucket list' vacations, or anything?" I asked. Their youngest daughter had left for college that Fall and their son had enlisted in the Air Force so they finally had time for themselves. Their older two had been out on their own for quite some time and were both married and producing grandchildren.
Joe sort of hemmed and hawed before he answered, like he was deciding whether he should tell me or not.
Oh yeah, for politeness sake, I should introduce myself: I'm Ted Barnes. Just an average guy in just about every way: average height, average weight, mid-fifties and a single widower. My hair used to be a light brown, and although it has been getting grayer recently I still have most of it.
Thank goodness my teeth are all my own. My eyes are hazel and women used to tell me I had 'bedroom' eyes, whatever that means. I'm reasonably healthy, save the normal conditions associated with my age.
Almost the only unusual thing about me is that I retired in my mid-forties when we (my wife and I) sold a family business. I didn't especially want to sell the business at that time; I thought we could get some additional good growth out of it. But other family members who were part owners wanted to cash it out, so we did.
It didn't leave us in the super rich class, but we would fall into the 'comfortable' with a nice retirement nest egg category.
Anyway, I just sat there silent while Joe mulled over telling me whatever it was.
"Ted, I guess I might as well tell you, since you'll probably hear about it one way or 'nother.
"I'm thinking of finding myself a place, an apartment or a condo and taking a little time out away from Susan to 'find myself.' Isn't that what they call it these days? You know, take a couple of months on my own to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life."
I looked across the two-person table — a jaundiced look in my eyes.
"Joe, it sounds to me like what you're really talking about is about getting out to check out the available pussy. Just at the time in life when you should be pulling Susan closer to you, you want to 'find yourself?' It's pretty much like telling her that you want a divorce," I pointed out.
"Oh no. Nothing like that. Just a little break from each other before we get too old to change direction if that's what we need to do. Susan and I have been talking about this off and on for, I don't know, maybe four years."
Somehow I suspected that Susan might view this whole thing a bit differently than the way Joe was explaining it. Remember, I'd actually known her longer than Joe had, granted not as intimately, but I doubted that some of her core attitudes would have changed that much.
I sighed, but had to make my pitch, "I don't understand why you would want to do this to Susan. She is a great wife. She is a loyal woman, a wonderful mother, a hard worker and just to add icing on the cake, she is a very attractive and desirable woman."
Honestly, Susan had a very pretty face with intense and seductive looking dark-brown eyes and a cupid's bow mouth that simply asked to be kissed. Her hair was a light brown (although I suspected that was the result of good hairdresser — I remember it as being darker when we were young) and came down a little longer than shoulder length.
She had photos of herself with her two daughters and they could have been three sisters, not a mother and daughters. Susan was rounded and solid in the right places. Shapely legs and ass and as I recalled, bodacious big tits.
"Plus," I continued, "just think of the economic aspects of it. Trying to support two separate households is a lot more expensive than one. Are you planning on financially dumping on Susan?"
"Oh no," Joe replied, "I'll still be contributing to keeping the house running. She might have to cover some of the utilities, car insurance and her own stuff — clothes, food and the like. Almost everything else is paid off. And remember, she's got a good job and makes pretty much the same as I do.
"Anyway, the most likely outcome is that after I've taken my little break, I'll probably be ready to move back home and spend the rest of my life with Susan."
The assured self-deceit of an optimist.
