Another dull trip to the grocery store was interrupted on the way home by an alert from my car informing me that it was time to have the oil changed. As luck would have it there was a small sales and service shop that specialized in the type of car I drive less than a mile from my house. I pulled in to the lot and parked in front of the double glass doors and went inside.
I was greeted by a young woman who asked me what she could help me with. I explained that my car had decided that it needed fresh oil and asked her if it could be done today.
"The schedule's full for today but it's best to come first thing in the morning if you don't like waiting. We open at eight AM if you'd like to come back tomorrow."
"I could do that."
"Very well, I'll go ahead and get your information now so everything will be in order for you in the morning."
She turned to a computer on the counter and entered all the information about me and my car. While she was doing this I got the chance to study her.
She was tallish, about five-eight, and appeared to be in her mid twenties though I was not a good judge of women's ages. She gave an initial impression of being rather plain. Her brown hair was almost shoulder length and she wore it naturally as though she had only washed and brushed it herself. She wore very little make-up, which surprised me since the skin on her upper cheeks had a very slight but noticeable roughness to it. Most women would have covered it but she seemed quite comfortable allowing this minor flaw to show. Her lips, devoid of lipstick, seemed a little thin since their color blended in with the surrounding skin. One indulgence she did allow herself was beautifully manicured fingernails.
She spoke clearly and at a pace that was refreshingly slow enough that I could both hear and understand what she was saying. I have a difficult time understanding young people these days and had put it down to getting older but I had no trouble hearing her even though she was not making an effort to speak loudly. Her accent was disarmingly charming. Hers was the quintessential voice of a genuine southern belle. The more she said, the more infatuated I became with her. Each time she looked up from the computer to ask me for another piece of information, she made eye contact with me and after the third time she did this I saw the look in her eyes change as she quite accurately assessed what my eyes were saying to her.
When I saw how her demeanor changed it really surprised me. I'm fifty-two years old and she had to be about half my age. But that didn't stop her from doing what no other women in the world can do as well as a real southern belle. She very subtly eased into flirtation mode. Nobody can flirt like southern girls and it is one of the great joys of life to have one do it to you. The complex combinations of voice inflection, eye movements, smiles, gestures and head tilts is as complicated as those of a Japanese Geisha but she did it so effortlessly that you would hardly notice just how intricate it is.
When she finished entering my data into the computer she looked at me and gave me a smile that could melt lead and said, "Now if you would be so kind as to accompany me to your vehicle I need to get the VIN and the mileage." At this point I would have accompanied her practically anywhere and given her anything she wanted.
She walked around the counter and led me to the door, waiting for me to open it for her. She didn't miss a trick. I mean how many young women even want you to open a door for them let alone expect it. This was one more component of her flirting and a perfect excuse to convey to me that she required her gentlemen suitors to know their manners and treat her like the young lady she had obviously been raised to be. The finishing touch was the light placement of her hand on my arm as she walked through the door to communicate that touching was now an acceptable aspect of our budding relationship.
As she passed through the door I noticed her dress. It was as old fashioned as a parlor, and just as elegant. Most people would have thought it had been purchased in a thrift shop, a relic of a time long ago. I guessed it might have belonged to her grandmother. Expensive high-heeled shoes adorned her dainty feet. She wore a lace shawl over her antique gown despite it being a warm day and as she passed by me, the most delightful fragrance filled my senses. It was the aroma of confederate jasmine.
She stopped beside the door to my car and said, "I'll need your key."
"Allow me." I said as I pushed the button that unlocked the driver's side door and reached to open it for her. She leaned in, placing her knee gently on the seat so she could reach the control on the dashboard that displayed the mileage. This movement exposed her leg exactly as much as if she had used a laser beam to measure the precise amount of skin a southern lady could show in order to send a signal without it being misinterpreted. Damn she was good.
She stood and turned to me and said, "That should be all I need for now." I accompanied her back inside the shop making sure to open and hold the door for her. She entered the data into the computer. "Thank you for coming in today Mr. Loomis. I'll see you in the morning and have a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting for you."
"Please, call me Rick."
"And you may call me Sam. Samantha Hightower. Until tomorrow then Rick."
"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance Sam. Would that be Miss or Mrs. Hightower?"
"Miss Hightower."
"I'll see you at eight sharp."
As I drove home I wondered just what the hell I was doing flirting with a young woman half my age. I was being a foolish old man to even think anything could come of it. But the other half of my brain said, 'what's the harm in being nice. Southern women enjoy flirting more than any other activity with the exception of sex.' It's just a game, a pleasant playful way to interact and take a break from being so formal and brusque.
I awoke at seven the next morning without the aid of the alarm I had set. I had slept better than I had in months and wondered if it were the prospect of seeing Sam again that had me feeling like this. I was actually feeling things I hadn't felt since my divorce ten years ago. I had become a bit too reclusive in that time and the few dates I had were more for companionship than romance. None of the women I had met excited me like Sam did. I couldn't wait to see her again.
I took a book with me that I'd been trying to finish for over a month in case she wasn't there or was too busy to talk to me. When I arrived at the shop Sam was the only one there.
"Good morning Rick. If you'll just drive your car around to the third stall the technician will get started right away."
I moved the car from the front to the back and pulled up to the entrance to the bay. I put the window down and left the key in and got out and returned to the office area. When I arrived, Sam had a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for me. It was a real coffee cup not a Styrofoam one. I sat in a tall chair at a round table and took a sip of the coffee. "This is delicious Sam, thank you."
