A true story!
It had been a good day at work. The deals we had been working on had suddenly materialised and it looked like we would be getting more than £100k in the next two weeks or so. That would keep the main shareholder off our backs.
I had broken the news to Mike and Lawrence at about 11.00 a.m. With a little more work to do the celebratory lunch at the pub for 12.00 was agreed and we all met at our local, a basement bar in the town centre.
We had set up the company some 18 months ago and things were tough initially but the business was now beginning to take off. David (that's me), 36 and the youngster of the bunch. Full of great ideas and well respected in the finance industry.
Mike was 58, very much the patriarch and Lawrence was 45 and great with figures. We all got on very well.
Lunch was always simple – a sandwich and as much Thai or American beer as we could get down us. It always lasted three or four hours when we had something to celebrate.
That day we had something to celebrate. The two girls who ran the bar were a lot of fun. Chat, innuendo and even the real possibility of something happening was always in the air, even with Mike.
The time went by and soon after it was 4.00 and back to the office to check messages.
Nothing too urgent, a couple of phone calls made, check the e-mail and fax and by then it was 5.15 so time to go home.
The drive home was usually half an hour. The town where our office was had a lot of business premises so at 5 o'clock there was guaranteed a jam going out of town and the half hour journey was often 45 minutes or an hour.
Tired and probably a little too boozed to be driving I am slowly creeping along, stopping every 5 yards or so, waiting to join a junction. Radio playing in the car and it's fairly boring.
About 50 yards away I notice a figure on the other side of the road waiting at a bus stop. Even from that distance I can see it is a woman. She's in a white suit with a red collar and is wearing a fairly large red hat. Even from the distance I am, I can see that the skirt is fairly short.
As I approach I can see that she is carrying a small parasol. She doesn't seem to be able to stand still, walking about and swinging the parasol from side to side.
The closer I get the more detail I can take in. She's fairly well built, probably 5 feet 4 or so in height.
When I get about 10 yards away she has her back to me. Just as I draw level she turns round. This is like something from Royal Ascot. Absolutely dressed to the nines in the middle of a small town in England.
Her age - at least 60. Her dress - weird in the extreme. It is evident that the suit is home made, albeit not tremendously well, although it fits.
I begin to wonder where this woman has been and why she has dressed the way she has.
It is then that she catches my eye, looking at me with a broad smile. I smile back and begin to wonder. She waves the parasol and I wave back with my hand. Then the traffic moves again and I'm 20 yards past her.
I look in the mirror and she is still looking straight at my car, now swinging the parasol and standing square on to me.
"Don't be daft – she's old enough to be your mother!" – "I wonder " – I look again in the mirror and even though I'm a little the worse for wear from the booze, calculate how long it will take for me to reach the junction, turn round and come back on her side of the road.
"OK – by the time you get back there the bus will have come and that will be that"
I get to the junction and execute a slick U turn. I'm about half a mile from where she was. "She'll be gone – this is silly"
I'm getting closer now, just round this bend and as I come round it I can see that she's still there! "What do I do? – Drive Past? – Stop? – Come on make a decision"
As if someone else is in control I slow down, pull in to the bus stop and offer her a lift. Down goes the window.
"Hello – I passed you on the other side – are you waiting for a bus?"
She smiles – "yes I am"
"Can I drop you somewhere?"
"Are you sure – you were going the other way"
"That's OK – I have lots of time"
She opens the door and gets in; the short skirt rides up and shows a good deal of white stockinged thigh.
"Where can I take you?"
"Dunheved Road North – do you know it?"
"I think so – you can show me"
We pull back into the traffic and I've done it, I've picked her up, but what now? As she sits next to me I can see that the suit jacket is over a fairly low cut white top and that there is a sizeable cleavage on display. Also the skirt has settled at a level where the stockings are freely on display.
Does she know this? Is it intentional? All of these questions are going through my mind as we go along.
She tells me her name is Betty and she's just been for a job interview. I try and make conversation by asking her about the job but I am conscious of the fact that I am beginning to get a massive hardon as my mind races ahead to the possibilities of this situation.
We talk about the job and whilst for the life of me I cannot image why a 60 (64 as it turned out) year old woman would go to a job interview dressed like that.