It was a late morning in May and I was seated in the sun in the front window of my favorite coffee shop in Portsmouth. I was well on my way to solving the daily Sudoku and all was right with the world.
As the New England regional sales rep for a number of high end flooring manufacturers, I made my rounds through my territory once a month. I had gotten into a routine on these trips and sitting in Profile between visiting a few designers in the southern New Hampshire market had become part of that routine. The cafe had a comfortable modern vibe in a cool little New England town and I always enjoyed an hour or so spent there having a coffee, reading the paper and slaying a difficult puzzle with my bare hands.
As I pondered the puzzle, I suddenly felt someone's presence hovering just in front of me.
"Excuse me. Mr. Sloane?" a woman's voice softly inquired.
I had always felt relatively anonymous on my business travels, so I was surprised to hear someone saying my name. I looked up to respond to the sweet voice making the inquiry and was immediately struck by two thoughts. Who was this gorgeous creature asking the question and how did she know my name?
If my morning was going to be interrupted, however, then having it be by a lovely young woman would certainly be my first choice. She looked familiar, but I wasn't placing her. I know the confusion registered on my face, even though I was doing my best to process who she was. She quickly came to the rescue.
"I'm Madeline Crow," she said, holding out her slender hand. "Maddy?" she asked hopefully.
Of course! How could I have forgotten this ravishing young lady? Then again, I hadn't seen her in probably six or seven years, so my confusion could be chalked up to old age and context.
"Maddy Crow? Of course," I stated with assurance. I could see her face relax as she saw the smile of recognition cross mine.
Maddy had played varsity high school soccer with my daughter, Alison, when she was a junior and Maddy was a senior. I couldn't say that I knew Maddy well; she was a member of the soccer team and I knew her parents casually. But I do distinctly remember noticing her that year. She was a presence on the team as a senior, and not just for her athletic prowess. She moved and played the game with a grace and style befitting a beautiful woman playing any sport. And she was a truly stunning young lady. That had not changed.
Two memories quickly flashed through my head as I stood to shake her hand. One was watching the team practice in the pre-season that summer years ago. I remember this one tall graceful midfielder catching my eye. She was wearing a tight top with those short tights that girls wear these days, and she was bounding around the field with style. What was impossible to ignore in the garb she was wearing was the way her breasts heaved and bounced as she caromed from one side of the field to the other. They looked rather large for her slender frame and like they were barely being contained by whatever she was wearing underneath. That poor sports bra was just not up to the task. I know I should have been focusing on my own daughter that particular day, but I was entranced as I watched this young woman play soccer. I learned that her name was Maddy and watching her would be one of the bennies of attending each one of my daughter's soccer games that season.
The other memory was a party we had had at our house on Labor Day that same season. My ex-wife had been a high profile realtor in Andover, Massachusetts during the heyday of our marriage and we had a home befitting of her status in the real estate community. Our house was well appointed and had a huge yard for the three girls to play in as they grew up, highlighted by a large pool overlooking the grounds. As parents we had always wanted our girls and their friends to use our house as much as possible, so we often opened it up for sports parties, pajama parties and other social affairs.
This particular party was for the girls' soccer team and they turned out in force on that beautiful Labor Day afternoon. I commanded the grill in my blue jams and sunglasses and enjoyed watching the festivities as the young ladies bounded around our pool and relaxed in the late summer sunshine. I was in my prime physically at that time. I'd been working out and had a good tan that year, befitting the Italian heritage from my mother's side. I was wearing a Sox hat and my long hair, though now white, was cascading over my ears. I was grilling shirtless and felt confident among all the youthful bodies on display that particular afternoon. I was king of the grill and loved dishing up burgers, dogs and brats for the assembled masses.
But, once again, I remember noticing Maddy on that particular day. It seemed like several times that afternoon we made eye contact. I can't say there was any particular reason, or maybe it was just my imagination. I chalked the connection up to wishful thinking, but still remember how she looked in a one piece bathing suit.
It wasn't that she was wearing a particularly provocative suit. It was just that she had one of those bodies that was impossible to hide in a skin tight one-piece, no matter how modest the cut. She had a very pert bottom that twitched so tightly when she walked, matched with long sleek legs that seemed to go on forever. Her long wavy dark brown hair was tied up that afternoon, highlighting her graceful neck and shoulders. But her breasts were once again very present, on display and impossible to ignore, at least for me. I used my shades to my advantage, pretending not to look when I clearly was. All the girls were trim and athletic. But Maddy stood out above the rest.
But those were fleeting images from a time gone by. I knew she had graduated and headed up to the University of New Hampshire. Life goes on and I had forgotten about her, quite honestly, until this moment as she stood shaking my hand. She was three or four inches shorter than my six feet, and I let go of her hand and put down my paper so I could give her my undivided attention.
"Maddy! Yes, of course. What a surprise? What are you doing here?"
A quick scan of her turquoise uniform and sneakers told me that she was a nurse of some kind.
"Well, I live in Portsmouth now. I'm a nurse at a pediatric clinic nearby and was just grabbing lunch." She quickly turned the tables. "And how are you? How is Alison? And what are you doing in Portsmouth?" she inquired in rapid succession.
I quickly brought her up to speed on my three girls and my journeys as a sales rep and we made small talk for a few more minutes.
Damn, those eyes were captivating. I debated whether it was appropriate for me to invite her to sit for a minute, but I also didn't want to upset the flow of our conversation. In the few short minutes that we conversed I found out that she had graduated from UNH, gotten married, gotten divorced, gone to nursing school and was now an RN. She told me what was going on with her older sisters, contemporaries of my two older daughters, and she also found out that I was now divorced.
I finally asked if she'd like to sit for a few minutes, but she glanced at her watch, as I feared she would, and realized she needed to be heading back to the clinic. My offer had broken the flow of our short, but very condensed, conversation.
"I'm sorry you can't sit. I'd love to catch up some more, Maddy," I offered.
"I'm sorry I can't stay either," she replied. "But, if you're back through here on a regular basis, give me a heads up next time and we'll have a coffee."
As she said that she grabbed a pen from her pocket and leaned over to write her number on a napkin. She handed it to me and smiled. I must have looked dumbfounded at this turn in my morning ritual.
"I will most definitely do that," I said.
"Good. Say hello to Alison for me," she noted with a lovely smile. "Bye."
And with that she turned and left. Even in the formless turquoise uniform I could still detect the twitch of her pert round bottom. I remained standing as the door closed and she sauntered off down the street toward her office.
What the hell had just happened?
I let the events of the morning percolate over the next few days and realized I had nothing to lose, and potentially everything to gain, by contacting her as she suggested. It was the fact that she had left her number that gave me hope that she might actually want me to follow through. I didn't want to appear overeager, so I waited until the week prior to my next trip and texted her one morning, letting her know I would be in Portsmouth again on the following Tuesday and could work my schedule around hers. She responded within hours and we scheduled our coffee for 10:30 that Tuesday. To say I was looking forward to a second meeting would be a gross understatement.
