Author's Note: This is my first submission to Literotica. I welcome all constructive criticism and comments. I will do my best to answer any emails.
Special thanks to ColletteJulie whose efforts significantly improved my original effort. Any remaining errors are mine.
#
He rolled his head around and shifted his shoulders trying to loosen the knots. The day had started with a feeling shared by most of the project team that things were beyond fixing. Tensions ran high, exchanges were emotional and everyone was on edge at first. Gradually, however, he was able to convince everyone to calm down and think things through, laying out a set of steps to bring them out of the quagmire they found themselves in. It had not been without struggle, but slowly a direction had been adopted and the team began to once again act in concert.
The tone from the elevator rang and doors opened on his ride home. He entered the elevator, tired and strained from the tensions of the day and looking forward to unwinding as best he could. He punched the button for the ground floor and felt the car begin to smoothly accelerate. He thought about his wife and wondered if she got his message, wondered if she would leave him a response.
The doors opened onto the atrium of the office complex and he began to make his way across the marble floors towards the adjoining hotel and their set of elevators. Smiling tiredly at the small knot of travelers arriving and making their way to their rooms with their luggage, he held back as they began to board the newly arrived elevator. As tired and tense as he was, he knew from experience they were probably at least as worn out and was not about to delay their respite. But once aboard the car, they waved him aboard making room for him to join them. A girl in her twenties near the button panel smiled at him and asked for his floor.
"Nineteen," he said and returned her smile as he looked away.
He made way several times as the elevator stopped at each of the requested floors until he was alone once more with his thoughts. Arriving on his floor he made his way down the hall reaching into his pocket for his keycard. He inserted it into the door lock and the green light acknowledged his card and he could enter his room. He was always struck with a feeling of gratefulness and pleasure to note the way the room had been made up. On reflection, he did not really know what prompted such feelings, as he supposed there was nothing really special about the room or the service that had been rendered. Still, it was pleasant to walk in and see what for all intents was a fresh room.
Removing his tie and hanging it in the closet, he kicked off his shoes and strode over to the chest. He picked up a bottle of water left by the maid service and made his way to the padded chair next to the bed. Stretching out his legs, he opened the water and took a drink contemplating his options for the evening. He glanced over to the phone on the desk and noted the message light was not illuminated which reminded him to check his personal cell phone. Reaching into his pocket he thumbed a button and saw his wife had indeed left a reply.
He started voicemail and listened to the voice he treasured most of all in this life. She told him she was going to be able to take the day off tomorrow after all and so she was going to look into joining him as he had suggested. She said the kids would be spending the weekend at their friends, so no worries there, but she had promised to help them get where they needed to go so she said they would have to forego their usual evening time conversation. He smiled at that. Their "kids," as she called them, were all in their twenties and in college yet she still minded over them as if they were still in high school or even younger; much to their consternation sometimes. Well, at last a bit of good news to top a tough day. He would miss talking to her tonight, but considered it a fair tradeoff for the opportunity to have her here in person tomorrow.
He turned his mind to the next order of business: dinner. He hated eating alone, especially in restaurants, resorting most evenings to room service in front of the television. For tonight though, he was tempted to go down the bar and start with a... but, no. That would only make him feel worse than he already did, alone for the evening, and the alcohol would only make him begin to feel sorry for himself.
No, tonight he would venture out and see about one of the local eateries close to the hotel. The office complex was located near to downtown in an area of shops, bars, bistros and restaurants designed to accommodate the visiting tourists and businessmen. Tonight maybe he would venture out to enjoy the ambience a bit and find a new eatery to explore.
#
He put his shoes back on and crossed the room to the bathroom. Running a brush through his hair and replenishing his cologne he judged himself ready to face a fun-filled evening alone for dinner.
"Okay," he muttered to himself.
"I need to stop thinking that way before I change my mind."
Rounding the corner from the bathroom he reached into the closet for his topcoat and scarf. Wrapping the scarf around his neck, he slipped his topcoat on. Reaching reflexively to check for his wallet, he caught himself in the mirror. Smiling at his reflection, he reached into his pocket for his keycard and was momentarily confused when he discovered it was not in the pocket where he expected it to be. He looked over to the desk and spied it next to the phone. He shook his head and strode over to the desk to retrieve the keycard and turned out the lamps as he made his way back to the entrance of his room. He grinned at himself in the mirror waving the keycard as he thought about how he and his wife always made it a habit to show each other the keycard to the room before they left it. Swiping his hand across the light switch by the door he plunged the room into darkness then opened the door and strode down the hall towards the elevators.
He tucked his scarf closely about his neck and secured his topcoat as he walked towards the door, acknowledging the bell captain's greeting. He pushed his way through the revolving door and into the cold evening air. The night was illuminated by business signs and street lamps. He began to walk towards the corner. He noted with appreciation the bricked walkways and cobblestone streets and the way they added to the ambience of the area. Waiting for the light to change at the corner he tried to recall how far the restaurant he had in mind was, exactly. He had visited it with a colleague once before and they had walked to it, although it had been summertime then. A brisk gust underlined the fact that summer had long passed, as if he needed a reminder. He crossed the street with the changing of the light and looked about himself as he walked. People were scurrying this way and that, bundled against the cold and wind. Bars and restaurants interspersed with the occasional shop provided an interesting diversity of daytime businesses mixed with some nightlife.
Passing the mostly closed shops, he smiled to himself thinking about how his wife wold have insisted on window-shopping along the way despite the cold. How that woman loved to shop! Although, on reflection, she really was nearly as spendthrift as he was. But the thrill of discovering a deal or a hard-to-find item seemed to thrill her, even if she could not - or would not - spend the money to buy the item when she spied it.
Crossing another street, he paused to get his bearings; he thought the restaurant was still another block or two ahead of him. Squaring his shoulders against the chill, he continued on his way noting other restaurants he had not noticed before. Soon he spotted the restaurant's sign ahead and closed the distance watching for the door.
Pushing through the door he found himself in a small entryway, with wooden walls to about waist height topped with windows onto the dining area, and to the left, the cashier and maître d'hôtel.
"Just yourself tonight, sir?" The maître d'hôtel inquired.
Opening his topcoat and spying seats at the bar, he replied, "I'll just take a seat at the bar, please."
"Of course, sir. May I take your coat?"
"Thanks, but I prefer to keep it with me," he replied, draping the coat over his arm.
"Very good sir. Have a pleasant evening."
He wound his way through the tables to the bar and hung his coat and scarf over the back of one of the chairs at the bar and sat down.
#
Settling into his seat at the bar he glanced around the place noting how few patrons seemed to be present. Maybe it was just early. There seemed to be only two tables occupied, a threesome of twenty-somethings dressed in business suits and a group of two men and two women (two couples?) sitting around a table. There was one other patron at the bar just finishing up and scrutinizing his bill. He noticed the bartender was making her way towards the three men at their table with a glass of wine. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and it contrasted starkly with her black attire and black apron.
He turned back to the bar and idly began looking over the bottles on display when suddenly a disturbance from the threesome's table caused him to snap his head around to look at them. One was shouting and waving his arms while his companions were regarding him with shocked looks on their faces. He cocked his head looking more closely at the shouting man, noticing details about his dress: a green blazer over light blue shirt with khaki-colored slacks, narrow dark tie loosened at the neck, close-cropped sandy brown hair and beard. The man suddenly jumped up out of his chair still raising his voice.
"Stupid bitch, I didn't order this and there is no way am I paying for it. I've gotten nothing but lousy service since coming in here, the meat was cold and now you have the nerve to bring me this!" He snarled, gesturing at the wine glass on the table as he stepped towards the barkeep.
Had he thought about the situation, he would certainly have done something different, but instead he found himself standing quietly about two feet behind the young man with his topcoat slung once more over his arm. Looking past the barkeep, he noticed two of the other waiters cautiously advancing on the scene. They took note of him as well, not certain what to think of his presence.
In stark contrast to the shouting, he calmly, quietly, but firmly spoke.
"Son maybe you've had a hard day but you don't need to take it out on the bartender here, so calm down."
Startled, the man turned quickly regarding the stranger, looking him over.
"Why don't you just mind your own damn..." His shout stopped suddenly as he became aware of the two waiters taking position behind him.
"If you piss off my bartender and frighten all her customers, you had better believe you have made it my business. Neither I, nor the two gentlemen behind you will be too happy about it."
Gesturing towards the man's two companions who by now had left the table to put some distance between themselves and their colleague, he continued.
"Why don't you settle up with your friends here and call it a night? Do so quietly, and I'm sure we can let bygones be bygones."
"What if I don't want to let bygones be bygones, asshole!?"
He regarded the drunk man through slitted eyes, stepped slowly closer raising his covered arm and quietly spoke to him.
"Then the odds of you having a pleasant evening are at least three to one. Against."
The young man looked down at the overcoat covering his arm and hand suddenly realized he might have underestimated the situation. His friends meanwhile had stepped up to his side. One looked at the young man in his green blazer.
"Come on, let's go Stan." He took his arm and threw a wad of bills on the table. The other looked at the tall man with the overcoat.
"Look he's just had a bad day and a little too much to drink. We don't want any trouble."
Nodding at the two waiters, he stepped aside to let the others pass. As he moved to make his way back to his seat he realized he could not recall exactly how he got to the table from his seat. He also noticed the odd expression on the barkeep's face as he walked back and took his seat.
He watched the bartender pick up the cash from the table and then stop and take the bill and payment from the other patron at the bar who had watched the whole scene transpire.
"Keep it honey, it doesn't look like you got anything from those other yahoos."
"Thank you, sir." She replied as he left and she began to clear the dishes away and wipe down the place at the bar the patron had occupied.
She made her way down to where he was sitting patiently.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"A Sam Adams?"
"Coming up." She turned and grabbed a bottle, opened it, and pulled a mug from the freezer then set them up on the bar in front of him.
"I could have handled it, you know." She said, looking at him curiously.
"I'm sure you could. Not sure what got into me, but once there I decided I wasn't going to let him get too far out of hand."
"You know in the dark pinstripe, black overcoat, and white scarf and the quiet way you handled yourself you looked like you were in the mafia or something."
He laughed. Mafia? When was the last time he heard that term?
"What do you have under that overcoat? Do you have a gun?"
He nearly spit out his beer and coughed, laughing as she handed him a napkin.
"No, no gun and no mafia. Just a scarf to protect my knuckles if it came to that, which I hoped it wouldn't. Wait, is that why that kid backed down?"
She grinned at him shaking her head.
