I have always thought that Betty had a lot of balls to do what she did. Big brass ones. I was at least 20 years younger than Betty and I don't think I had ever exhibited any attraction toward her. She was just another pleasant acquaintance in the workplace. But, like so many of the remarkable women who have graced my life, she knew what she wanted and she had the inner confidence to go for it.
I had known her for about two years prior to that fateful evening. Betty was the court reporter for all general courts-martial (or felony cases) in my military district and, as the senior defense counsel in the jurisdiction, that was where I practiced my art most often.
It was in the nature of her job to be practically invisible during the trials and I fear that she was almost like a piece of furniture, seated to the side of the Judge's bench quietly transcribing the testimony. She always wore pants and loose fitting conservative clothes as befits a silent court player, so I knew nothing of her physical attributes other than that she was slender and petite. That she wore little or no makeup, with her hair pulled back in a bun, added to her relative anonymity.
She was a judicial employee, which meant that we really didn't socialize outside the courtroom. If she had not been a smoker, I would not have known her at all but she frequently joined me outside for a smoke during court recesses. The extent of our conversation was usually the weather. I did come to realize that she heard content as well as words, so she had a good idea of the personalities and skills of the advocates who appeared in her court. I guess that is how she got to know me better than I her. It also helps that the military uniform that I wore carried the various badges and medals that distinguish the members of that community.
The day that she became something more to me was the end of a grueling two-week murder trial that had occupied my undivided attention for some six weeks. My client was charged with a death penalty homicide that presented gruesome evidence followed by extensive psychiatric testimony as I presented an insanity defense. After a trial that had everything from tense cross-examination and high drama to some very unusual laughter, the jury came in late on Friday afternoon with a verdict of involuntary manslaughter.
It was a great victory for my defense and I was justifiably proud of the skillful craft I had brought to bear during the trial. But my exhilaration occurred in a relative vacuum. My wife was traveling back East visiting family during the second week of the trial and I had no one to share my triumph with at 6 PM on a Friday, when all of my companion attorneys back at my office had already gone home.
So the high quickly gave way to exhaustion as the long mental strain subsided. And that is when Betty made her move.
"Can I buy you a congratulatory drink?"
I was alone on the court balcony, savoring a second cigarette, when I turned to see Betty standing behind me with a smoke in her hand. I had thought I was the last one still at the courthouse and was a little startled to see her standing there.
"That would be nice, but I think I'll just go home and unwind," I replied with a smile.
"A verdict like that deserves a suitable celebration, Mac. That was a hell of a piece of work. The best I've seen in 15 years recording this court," she admonished me.
"Thank you, Betty. I used to think you just tracked the words, but that is high praise indeed coming from an old pro like you."
"I mean it. You were great. And I know you don't have anyone to share it with at home, so why don't you let me buy you that drink?" she said with a twinkle in her eyes.
"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. It would be nice to share the victory with someone who knows what was involved but I think I'll just soak in my hot tub for a while before packing for my early flight to Boston tomorrow," I explained.
"Is that an invitation?" she prompted. "I have a new bottle of Jack Daniels that needs to be christened."
For probably the first time ever, I really looked at Betty as the thought of seeing her naked, or nearly so, in my hot tub made this much more personal. I guessed her age to be almost 50, although she looked younger. I tried to imagine her with makeup and without her hair pulled back, and decided that she just might be very attractive away from her job. She had high cheekbones, dark eyes, a cute nose and a very inviting smile when she allowed it to appear.
And she knew I liked Jack!
"I am beginning to think you are serious about that drink," I chuckled. "Tell you what. Give me a little time to grab something to eat and pack for my trip tomorrow, and then you can join me for that drink around eight."
"You're on. I have never been in a hot tub before, so this should be a real treat. And I'll bring the Jack!" she replied, with that cute smile.
I gave her instructions to my bungalow in the small seaside community nearby and finished packing my trial materials. With a wave in the parking lot, I headed home after grabbing a Big Mac on the way.
The more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became by Betty and the possibilities of the evening. I had not said anything about bathing suits in the hot tub but figured she would set the tone when the time came. I didn't wear one unless my guests insisted, so Betty could bring one -- or not. I felt a modest excitement at the prospect of seeing what she looked like under those conservative court clothes.
At 29, I had been with an "older woman" once before, a buxom blonde nurse who was about 15 years my senior. But Krista had been a beautiful 40 year-old and she was divorced. I assumed Betty was married from the ring she wore on her wedding finger but I really knew nothing of her personal life other than vaguely recalling that she lived about 15 miles from my home. If Betty were anything like Krista, she would be a responsive lover.
But I was getting ahead of myself. I was amazed at Betty's persistence about that drink but that may be all it would be. Before that night I had absolutely no reason to believe that she was romantically interested in me, or me in her, for that matter. It promised to be an interesting evening nonetheless, if for no other reason than to get to know a pleasant woman whose professional work I had admired for a long time.
At home, I showered and did the necessary packing for my weeklong seminar in Cambridge. I had an early flight and a friend was picking me up at 7 AM to take me to the airport, so I didn't want to worry later about those preparations. Then I checked the hot tub to insure that it was hot and balanced.
My redwood hot tub was outside on a wooden deck off my bedroom. We had very small lots in that seaside city, but I had built the deck for maximum privacy from the neighbors who were right up to the fences dividing our property. The deck had been built around a large oak tree that rose next to the tub, giving it a sense of seclusion despite the nearness of the neighbors. They could see into the tub area, but they had to get up on a stool to do so. Consequently, I had never been concerned about lack of privacy for various party activities that had taken place there, as long as we kept the noise down.
