Chapter II
I expected Rachel to conduct herself with her normal professionalism at the office, but I did not expect it to be 'that' professional. When I arrived at the office on Monday, she was aloof, as I expected but also seemed cold. I wanted to say something but did not know how to put the words together. I wasn't sure I condoned our action, but I did not have any feeling of guilt; in fact, there was an eerie feeling of well-being. If she had second thoughts, I did not want to say something that would contradict her thinking. If she questioned my emotions or the incident; I wanted her to say so. Instead, we masqueraded through our office routine, perfect mimes of the normal workday.
I found her apparent disregard or lack of interest very unsettling. On Wednesday when I left work, I was emotionally distraught. At my apartment I sobbed uncontrollably without really knowing why. I could not make sense of my emotions, perhaps it was just hormones. This was so new. If it was just a onetime fling, I can understand and accept that. If there was more than that I would like to know that also. However, whichever was the answer I was not certain I could have handled it.
My resolve on Thursday was to address the matter directly. I did not want a scene, but I felt I deserved an explanation or, at very least, a rejection.
Rachel did not show up early. The morning passed and her office door remained closed. The notes taped to her door were an indication she has not been in the office all day. At late afternoon, she sprang into my cubicle with her usual aplomb and sat in the chair. Before I could speak, she held a finger to my lips for silence. "Tomorrow after work at Ryan's? Just nod yes or no." She removed her finger from my lips as I gave a quick positive nod. "I'll meet you there. I must be out of the office in the afternoon."
At least things between us were not all bad. I accepted her gesture as a positive, but not convincing sign. She still maintained her supervisorial aloofness and I my worker countenance.
Friday morning saw Rachel dressed in a business suit and scurrying around among the conference rooms. I kept to myself in my cube. About noon, she poked her head around the corner and asked softly, "You OK after work?" I nodded. "Good. I'll see you there." With that she left the building and I felt very apprehensive.
The walk to the light rail seemed long and fatiguing. The afternoon had dragged and the uncertainty, along with a large measure of unreasonable guilt, gave me queasy feeling. The train was on time and dropped me a long block from Ryan's bar. At the door I scanned the booths for a sign of Rachel. I did not see her and decided to wait on the sidewalk.
"Hey!"
Her voice rose above the background noise, and I turned to see her sitting alone midway down the bar. I took the stool next to her, saw she was drinking a Manhattan and ordered the same.
"Good choice."
I nodded.
"I don't know how to begin," she paused, "but I need to talk to you. So let me just say what I am thinking and let it go from there."
I felt a lump in my throat, and I tried to inconspicuously gulp air as she continued. "About the other night, I have no regrets. I don't know about you but however you feel, I still feel we can be friends. If I did anything inappropriate, I apologize. Right now, I just want you to talk to me."
A wave of guilt and embarrassment swept over me. Was I mistaken in my perception that Rachel was avoiding me? I glanced at her. She projected a stern profile that seemed counter to her carefree effusive attitude. She seemed vulnerable and I felt great deal of empathy, perhaps longing for her. I raised my glass towards her and proposed "To friendship, at the very least."
As she nodded in assent a mildly effeminate voice rose over the background noise. "What have we here; my two favorite literary critiques! I am not accustomed to discovering intellectual conversation in a dive. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald sought inspiration from smoky bars and demon rum. So, I should not be surprised."
I turned to the voice coming from behind me. As I did, Rachel exclaimed; "Dr. Visnow. This is a bit out of your element." She appeared agitated at his untimely arrival.
Visnow smiled knowingly at her comment as he invited us to join him in a booth since there was no room at the bar. Rachel hesitated before rising from the barstool. "That's OK." She said as she places a small pile of bills on the bar, "This should cover me. I have an appointment to keep. You can have my seat." The abruptness of her action took me by surprise and my expression must have indicated that, since Rachel leaned towards me, gave a small peck on my cheek, and said, "Take care and give me a call as soon as you can." With that she nodded to Visnow and left.
I felt abandoned. She admonished me about Visnow, the self-proscribed 'sexual conquistador' and yet she saw fit to leave me almost in his clutches. I also knew I was old enough to fend for myself. If Visnow became inappropriate, I could stop his advances. If I had an urge to continue, so be it.
"Double, very dry martini" Visnow ordered "and another drink for my companion." I cringed at being a 'companion' but accepted the drink. "Would you like some dinner? My treat." He continued with a presumptive air. "If so, may I suggest a quiet bistro that is casual but a trifle more elegant than here?"
"I like this place." I countered as I gazed about at the mix and match clientele; everyone seemingly enjoying themselves.
"There is nothing wrong with this establishment, but I had something a bit more intimate in mind."
Rachel's admonition rang through my mind. I felt I had four options: resist his advances, play hard to get, go along with the inevitable and enjoy it as best as possible or just go home. I made up my mind in a flash. "OK. I am still new in town and do not have any established loyalties, so OK. Let me visit the lady's room." In the cramped bathroom stall, I removed my panties, folded then as compactly as possible and stuffed them in my skirt pocket. I knew what to expect so there was little reason pretend.
His car was not quite what I expected, although I can't say what I expected. He noted it was a Jaguar XJ-S V12 convertible; very classic. It was long and low; muscular, not what a university professor drove. He held the door as I slid almost backwards into the low seat. I revealed a substantial bit of thigh as I pulled my legs in. I caught a smile from Visnow as I did.
He drove north up the main street, passed the university, "I teach there", and turned left onto a tree lined boulevard through a residential neighborhood. We were only about a mile from my apartment, but I never ventured to this neighborhood. There were elegant; large Victorian homes with expansive lawn surrounded by mature trees that implied a different place and time.
We came upon a small row of shops tucked back from the street with parking spaces. At the end of the strip was a bistro, almost unnoticed by the casual observer. Visnow nodded, "Do you approve?"