Like a bunch of other folks I got laid off when the economy turned sour a few years ago. I scoured the job prospects thoroughly for a year or more but there was absolutely nothing in my field for a guy of my experience level, so I decided to embark on a ride around the country. I had money saved up, wasn't in a marriage or even a serious relationship, so what the heck. I'd have a good time for a time while the economy foundered and then return when things got better.
So I got a renter for my home, put most of my stuff in storage, packed what I could on my Harley and struck out. I had no itinerary or schedule, merely followed the front wheel.
There were a few truck stops and similar places along the way where there would be some offers from a local gal, most of them looking like they wanted to get the heck out of wherever that place was, but none of them my type, if you know what I mean.
Then there was this one place where I stopped for a few days due to some lousy weather. Now, I can manage riding in the rain, but these were torrential downpours for days on end, so I decided not to fight it, to get a room and hole up for a few days of hot showers, catching up on emails and pay some bills online, and take it easy. I talked the manager into a room that was specially designed for handicap access with extra wide doors and more space inside the room. His business wasn't exactly booming and I think he welcomed the few extra bucks for that room. And for me it allowed me to roll my Harley up into the ground floor room for safe keeping. There was a diner less than a hundred yards away and a convenience store there too, so I could walk for some food and snacks.
The food in the diner wasn't the best cuisine I'd ever had, but I've eaten a whole lot worse and paid a whole lot more for it. I wasn't ever in a hurry and always took a booth near the back, and eating there three times a day for a few days I got on good speaking terms with the waitresses. The night waitress was maybe ten to fifteen years older than me but always had a warm smile. I noticed that with some of the locals and the crude crowd her smile and demeanor were obviously forced, but when she came to my booth she always seemed at ease and genuine. I would linger well past my meal and if the crowd had thinned she would sometimes take a seat for a few minutes to rest her feet and chat a bit.
Stella was her name; she'd married before getting out of high school due to being pregnant to a guy who thereafter made the least of himself. He had a drinking problem, often got mean, and almost always fell asleep on the couch, drunk, well before Stella got home from the diner. She hated her life there, but was too afraid to leave. Besides, she said, she had no place to go or any money to get there. I think more than anything she really appreciated someone just talking to her, listening to her, and not trying to get into her pants within the first five minutes.
Not that getting into her pants, and her shirt for that matter, hadn't crossed my mind a few hundred times. Stella might have been older than me, had premature wrinkles and gray hair, but I suspected there was still a tiger within. So it didn't surprise or disappoint me on the second night there that while sitting at the booth she reached across the table and took my hand just before standing to resume her duties. When I looked up into her rich brown eyes there was a twinkle in them, and a warm sense that she was reaching out to me with more than just her hand.
Through the rest of that shift Stella would drop back to my booth whenever she got a few minutes free. Each time she seemed anxious to tell me something, or to ask me something. Finally, about a half hour before their closing time I had decided it was time for me to leave and I started to slide from the booth. Stella quickly came back and asked if I were leaving, I confirmed, and she then asked me to do something for her.
"Do you mind stopping by the mart across the street and pick up a couple of beers for me?"
"Sure, Stella, but you want me to bring them back here?" I really didn't know what she wanted, and figured she wanted a couple of brews to swig down before getting home to face her drunken husband.
"No, take them to your room. I'll be by in about an hour. OK?" I agreed, told her the room number, and left with a puzzled feeling. I really didn't know what this was about, since none of our conversations had been the flirting kind, no suggestive talk, nothing. I still figured she just wanted something to make the return home a bit more bearable. So I walked to the mart, got a six pack of their best selection, grabbed some microwave popcorn, some peanuts and pretzels, and walked to my room. Thankfully there was a small fridge in the room to keep the beer nice and cold, and a microwave for the popcorn or whatever.
After kicking off my boots, turning on the TV to an old western and popping the top on a beer I'd about forgotten about Stella coming by. When an hour had passed I figured she was a no-show and I went for my second brew. I was scanning through the listings on the TV when there as a knock on the door. It honestly startled me as by then I'd forgotten Stella for real. When I opened the door Stella made her way right on in.
"Hey, cowboy, I'll bet you thought....whoa, what the hell?" It took her about a second to realize that there was a motorcycle sitting in my room, rolled back towards the back.
"It's safer in here than parked outside. You mind?"
