(fyi. This is another slow burn story, where the sex only happens later. [Although it does happen.])
I gotta tell you. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of going back to work at the ripe old age of sixty-five, but I did it for the money (and not the 'satisfaction'). I'd been my own boss, and I wasn't necessarily looking forward to the idea of working under Someone Else.
I did it for the money, because... Well, women cost money (and while I was relatively young looking even with my steel grey hair, I'm no stud). Vacations cost money (and I was tired of not being able to go on them, my retirement savings being almost nil). And last but not least, I had grown tired of my little one bedroom dump. I needed to upgrade to another one bedroom (less than dump).
I also didn't like the idea of job-hunting. I'd created my own graphics business back in the day, but was also quite frankly, too tired to do that again. So interviewing I went.
It's also not easy in this day and age to get anything of a decently paying job without a long commitment. And since I was already 'close to being dead' in most peoples estimation, that'd take some finding, too.
So I was looking for the proverbial unicorn of job hunting: not too long work hours, and not too boring to drive myself crazy with. The benefit that I was looking for was, if I wasn't satisfied at this job, I could just give my two weeks and walk away. I didn't need to care about getting a bad rap by doing that, because... I'd retired just in time, with my social security fully vested. Fuck it, I'm retired. I didn't really
have
to work.
I'd been through the wringer several times in these 'interviews' with 'managers' who were my son's age (if I had a son). I'd sat there and patiently answered all of their questions. I'd stood at the end of several that ended with, "Thank you for your time," (which meant that I had a snowballs chance in LA in August of getting the worthless job.)
I was about to give up, when I got the email that changed my life.
No, it wasn't that I'd 'won the jackpot' (or some other such scam), but that I'd been invited to a small business run by a woman past the age of forty, that was just what I was looking for. Simple work that I could leave behind me after I left the office. And it paid rather well for the simple office work that I'd be doing.
The Owner mentioned in particular, that she wanted someone who was both reliable as well as efficient. She didn't want to hire another under forty person glued to their cell phone and whatever app that they lived on 'working' for her.
I replied that she wouldn't get that with me, and that I'd be honored to come in for an interview. (I had to stretch some to lie for that "honored" part, but hell, the job sounded fine to me.)
The date for the interview was set, and she also mentioned that I didn't need to wear a suit and tie, as it was only her and a secretary. They kept it casual, and, well, that sealed the deal.
"Hi," she said, holding her hand out. "I'm Marion Ash. Pleased to meet you."
And I was pleased to meet Maid Marion as well. She looked as if she was in her forties, but she dressed nicely for her 'informal' look, which had a hint that she was maybe in her fifties instead.
"Hi, Ron LItwak," I said, gently taking her hand and holding it for perhaps a few seconds too long for an interview.
She had long auburn hair, reaching down over her shoulders, which fell in glowing curls. Her blouse was unbuttoned down to the third button, hinting at nice cleavage sitting in between a nice pair of modestly sized breasts. And her slacks fit nicely, hugging her hips down to comfortable flats.
On top of that, she had the sweetest smile, and my heart melted. I was awestruck. Could I work for someone this gorgeous and not want to do 'inappropriate' things to her after work?
She smiled shyly, looking down at her hand still in mine, smirked, and said, "Perhaps we should get to the interview." That shook me out of my daze.
"Ummm. Sorry about that," I whispered, looking down at my shoes.
"It's ok," she said softly, and then clearing her throat said more forcefully, "Shall we?" pointing to the chair in front of her desk.
We both sat down, sneaking looks at each other, before getting more 'professional.'
"So why do you want to come back to working?" she asked me rather straightforwardly. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and my heart (and prick) took immediate notice.
"I just need a little more money than social security is giving me. Vacations. The ability to ask women out on dates. That sort of thing."
She smiled at that. "I see," though, was all she said.
I knew I was blowing this. No potential employer would want to hire someone who would find themselves with a lawsuit waiting to happen. The potential of harassment in the workplace was not guaranteed to get you hired. I cleared my throat.
"I'm sorry we're getting off to a bad start," I told her. I was ready to stand up and apologize and leave. But first I looked at her straight in the eyes, and told her, "I'm sorry for taking up your time."
I watched her breath catch before she tried to answer. "That's not... I'm fine. I feel flattered that you..."
So I stood. It was obvious that this was the end of the interview. I didn't like that I had made her feel flustered. I'd like to ask her out, but it was obvious from my answers that I was not exactly flush with money. Most women these days were not looking to support a man.
"I'm curious..." she began to say nervously. I stopped and waited for her to continue. "You had your own business for so many years. Why would you want to accept a job so menial as being a glorified file clerk?"
I sat back down again. "I don't do golf. Or bowling. Or any of those other things that most seniors do when they retire. And I've already gotten tired of sitting at home and watching TV." I felt a hitch in my throat as I was about to tell her the real reason why. "And I'm tired of being alone in my apartment and having no social life, so... I figured, 'go back to work.' At least I'd be around other people twenty hours a week."
We sat in silence for a while, looking at each other, not knowing what to say. I saw her sitting across from me, her face somewhat without emotion for a minute, before I saw a hint of sadness float by like a breeze on her face. She continued looking down vacantly at the paperwork on her desk in front of her, until she looked up suddenly and smiled."
She stood and reached out her hand again, and I took it. "When can you start?" She asked softly.
----------------------
And that was it. I started the next day.
I did my best to come in, greet Marion courteously, and go about the daily tasks of my lowly position without any sign of expecting anything more.
