Author's Note: Although ratings are nice, nothing beats a comment or two about what you liked or disliked about a story. Please take a moment to leave one. Thank you.
August 1975
Conrad Garret sat at the bar at Sullivan's Bar & Grill, nursing his second beer of the evening. Normally, the twenty-four-year-old mechanic wouldn't have stopped for a drink in the middle of the week, but a co-worker, Mark Myers, had wanted to buy everyone at Petroski's Garage a round to celebrate the birth of his son. Conrad had thought that, seeing that the thirty-year old office manager already had three daughters, he might have been better off saving his money, but who was he to pass up a free drink, even on a Wednesday?
That proved an opinion shared by just about the entire crew, especially since Sullivan's was only a half block from the garage. But the free round had been drunk almost an hour ago, after which, one by one, his associates had left, until only he remained. With no place to go, really, other than an empty apartment, Conrad had ordered another drink.
Glancing around the bar, Conrad could see that it was a slow night, as might be expected mid-week. There were only about a half dozen patrons, some of whom had been there since he'd first arrived and might still be there come last call.
One of the reasons that Conrad had no place to go was that he had broken up with his girlfriend a few months ago and hadn't met anyone that interested him enough in the interim to ask out. Not that he'd really spent that much time looking.
"Can I get you another?" the bartender asked as she wiped down the space in front of him, drawing attention to his nearly empty mug.
"No, I think I'm good," Conrad replied as he decided that the beer in front of him was going to be his last.
"Well, if you change your mind, I'll be right over there," the thirty-year-old buxom brunette said as she motioned in the direction of the cash register with her head.
She paused a moment before moving away, long enough to give Conrad another good look at her barely concealed breasts, which she'd practically waved in the younger man's face while cleaning up an imaginary spill in front of him. Conrad had no illusions about his looks being anything more than average, so he saw the bartender's action for what it was, merely an attempt to drum up a better tip.
He'd been to Sullivan's enough times to have heard the rumor that if you left Wendy a good enough tip, she might take you into the store room, where you could get a much better look at her prestigious bust, maybe even a quick feel. One of the other mechanics at the garage claimed that, after inadvertently leaving her a ten instead of a one, he'd been treated to a hand job. Conrad seriously doubted the story, but seeing that even the suggested gratuity for a closer look was more than he made an hour, it was unlikely that he'd test the validity of either tale.
Glancing down the length of the bar to where Wendy now stood, Conrad noted how the brighter light above the register made her extended nipples even more visible. He sighed heavily and put down the glass he had started to raise to his mouth. If he had any more, he thought, the cost of a closer look might not have seemed so prohibitive.
'Definitely time to call it a night,' he told himself, leaving a few coins on the bar as a tip as he gathered up the paper bills.
Sliding off the stool, Conrad decided that a trip to the bathroom was called for before he headed home. The bathrooms were located along the narrow hallway leading back to the storage room and kitchen, and as he started to move down the passage, Conrad found the way blocked by a man and woman standing between the two restrooms. It was immediately apparent that they were arguing over something.
Pausing as he considered if he really had to go, Conrad observed that the woman, who had her back to him, had short black hair cut just above her neck, leaving a small show of skin above the medium length blue dress she wore. The man, who he didn't recognize but looked to be in his mid to late fifties, had short graying hair and was dressed in a denim work shirt and jeans. From his mannerisms and speech, it was pretty obvious that he'd been drinking rather heavily.
"I told you, Eddie, it's not working and we're done," Conrad heard the woman say. "There's nothing more to discuss and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't call me again. This is the last time I'm going to ask you that."
Not wanting to get involved, Conrad decided that the bathroom could wait until he got home after all. He'd just started to turn when he caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause and reverse direction.
Conrad couldn't be sure if the push that sent the woman into the wall was intentional or if the guy had just been intoxicated enough to have lost his balance as he moved closer to her, but either way, the younger man had been taught growing up that there was never any excuse for hitting a woman. Reacting instinctively, Conrad put himself between the man and the woman, reaching out with an outstretched hand to keep the man at a distance.
Disregarding the gesture, the man also reacted instinctively, only in his case it was to take a swing at Conrad. A punch that was so telegraphed that he had no trouble avoiding it, which was more than could be said for the short conflict's instigator as a counter-punch knocked him on his ass. A vantage point that allowed him to look up and realize that he might be better off staying there, at least for the moment. Conrad wasn't a gym guy, but he did keep himself in decent shape.
Once he was sure the man wasn't getting up. Conrad turned his attention to the woman behind him, hoping she hadn't been hurt. As he did, he saw a small bruise on her cheek where the man's hand had landed, but other than that, she appeared to be okay. It was only when he expanded his focus to the rest of her face that Conrad realized that he recognized the woman.
"Mrs. Collins?" he asked, surprise in his tone.
"Yes, who...? She replied hesitantly as she looked at her rescuer, at first only seeing a strange young man in a t-shirt and jeans.
"Conrad, Conrad Garret. I used to go to school with your daughter, June, and your son, Mike was in the same scout troop as my little brother," he said reassuringly, trying to establish himself as a friendly face.
"Oh yes, Conrad," Linda Collins said as she now recognized both his name and face, "I remember you."
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, I'm okay," she said, an assessment Conrad wasn't sure he agreed with. "I'm just a little embarrassed, that's all. Public scenes really aren't my thing."
By this time, her companion, who Conrad learned later was named Eddie MacKay, had picked himself up and, while now keeping his distance, glared at Linda and her protector. Figuring the best course of action was to just ignore him and get Linda out of there, the dark-haired mechanic led her through the bar and out onto the street.
"Was that guy a friend of yours?" Conrad asked, even though what he'd heard of the exchange between them certainly seemed to indicate that.
"Actually, he was, well, I guess you could call him my boyfriend," Linda said, her face reflecting a look of embarrassment. "Although I guess ex-boyfriend would now be more accurate."
"Boyfriend?" he inquired, confusion in his voice.
"Things have changed quite a bit since you and June graduated," Linda replied, her face trying to form a smile. "Thomas and I divorced a little over a year back. He lives out in California now."
'Divorced?' Conrad thought, the word sounding quite strange as he repeated it in his head.
Divorce wasn't a word he usually heard around the family table, and if it did find its way there, it usually referred to some Hollywood type. Those people, his mother would always say, lived by a different set of rules. People in the neighborhood, real people, didn't get divorced. They lived by the preacher's words -- 'till death do you part.'
"I'm sorry to hear that," Conrad said. "I hadn't heard."
