## ~~~~~~~~ ##
Trish yelled "Fuck!" slamming on her brakes, tires squealing and horns blaring at her when she swerved into the oncoming lane. When she finally caught her breath and realized that, miraculously, she had not caused an accident, she collapsed back on her headrest. Her hand reflexively covered her belly. She was going to have to be more careful now. Then, remembering what had distracted her enough to nearly rear-end the delivery truck, she twisted her head to search for the couple across the street.
The woman was Erica, for sure. Trish had helped her pick out those stilettos to go with that slinky black dress. Even from behind, the twerky tick-tock swing of her friend's scrawny ass was unmistakable, as were the copper highlights in her mousy brown hair.
It was the man on Erica's arm who had made Trish gape long enough to miss the traffic stopping in front of her. She had caught only a glimpse of the two of them from the front, and they were in a crowded plaza on the other side of the street, so she wasn't absolutely certain. His gray suit was nondescript, but something was familiar about the way he carried himself, the broad shoulders, and the graying at his temples. It was the hat that prompted her double-take: a black fedora with a narrow, burgundy satin binding, just like the one Trish had given him for Christmas last year.
She was still cockeyed across the double line, and the street was clear. Hitting the gas, she whipped her Beemer into a quick U-turn just in time to see the man guide Erica through the revolving door of an upscale hotel.
Trish lucked up. A metered parking place opened up in front of her. She pulled in haphazardly, her back end not quite inside the lines, but it was good enough. Eighteen minutes were still on the meter. She ran clumsily in her heels for a few steps, then jerked them off and sped to the hotel lobby, mangling the soles of her pantyhose. As she cleared the door, the two of them were walking into the elevator. She quickly concealed herself behind a large, potted fern, and her heart sank into her belly as she watched her father turn and kiss her friend.
She stood at the elevator, replaying their heated kiss over and over and watching the numbers climb. Fifth floor. She pressed five on the waiting car, and tapped her foot impatiently as it slowly ascended. Why did it matter? Seriously? He was a free man, and Erica a grown woman. Why the hell should Trish care what the hell they did? When the doors opened, she peeked out just in time to see his gray-suited backside enter a room about halfway down the hall. Quietly, she approached the room and put her ear to their door, listening to their muted conversation. She had no idea what she would do if they suddenly came out, but even that embarrassment would be preferable to the scene her imagination concocted.
Everything went silent, then Erica giggled, and she cooed, "Ohh, James." That was quickly followed by a squeal. Erica's noisy lovemaking had always grated on Trish when they were roommates, but this was too much. "Oh, James! Oh, my fucking God! Yes! Yes! Right there! Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! Yes!" Then came her long, wailed trademark, "Ooh, fu-uck!"
Erica was a slut - that was a given - and Trish certainly held no illusions about her father's love life. She'd seen enough half-naked, freshly fucked women at his condo over the years. Maybe it was the hormonal maelstrom her body was caught up in. Maybe it was an adrenaline letdown from the near collision in the street. Trish didn't understand why she suddenly felt so alone, so despairing and heartsick. Her back against the wall by the door, she slid to the carpeted floor and dropped her face into her hands, crying.
## ~~~~~~~~~ ##
James readily admitted his own failings, and how they had alienated his daughter: the forgotten birthdays and soccer games, the cheesy Christmas gifts, and a dozen embarrassing visits to his house where she had been exposed to his debauched and bacchanalian lifestyle. It didn't help that Gloria - he rarely referred to her as his ex-wife, since their teenage marriage lasted barely a year - had seemingly made it her lifelong goal to poison his relationship with Trish.
He'd seen her more often in the last few years since college, and felt like they might actually have a relationship. Still, he hadn't heard from his daughter in a couple of months, so the telephone call was a surprise. But not nearly as much as the invitation.
"Can we go to dinner sometime soon, Daddy?"
She never called him 'Daddy' unless she wanted something. She was his daughter, however, and he was powerless to resist her. What was peculiar was that she actually wanted to spend a whole meal with him. Usually it was a quick visit, a hug, and where's the check?
"Sure, Trish. Any time you want. Where would you like to go?"
"Someplace nice," she said. "Not too expensive."
That was a new one. She had never considered the cost of things. But then, she wasn't a little girl any more, was she? It was hard for James to remember that she was...just how old was she? He had to count up - he had been sixteen, so she must be twenty-five now. She had somehow survived her own tumultuous teen years better than he and Gloria had, and made a good life for herself, a commercial realtor with an MBA. No husband yet, but she was pretty in her own way. Eventually she would attract some guy who could appreciate her full figure and clever personality.
"How about Marcelli's?" he suggested. She always loved Italian, especially the pastas. Maybe a little too much.
So he was surprised again when she countered, "I don't know. Maybe not Italian, James," reverting to her more typical moniker for him. "Tomato sauces haven't really appealed to me for the last while. Can you handle Thai? Maybe Vietnamese?"
They settled on a new oriental fusion restaurant close to her apartment. She suggested the following night.
"Is everything okay, honey?" he asked. There seemed to be an urgency about her call. Whatever she was after, he knew he would give her if he could. May as well get it in the open so he could figure out how to finagle his finances. "Do you need anything?"
"No, James. I'm doing fine." Her voice was cheerful, almost ebullient. "Actually, I'm better than fine. We'll talk tomorrow and I'll tell you all about it."
They said their goodbyes, and James poured himself a bourbon and water. What could it be to make his daughter so happy? Maybe she was getting married? She would certainly make some guy really lucky.
That would also explain her aversion toward Marcelli's. After shedding a lot of the fat she'd picked up at college, his daughter was still overweight, but with an appealing, feminine roundness now. He hoped she wasn't overdoing it to please some guy, starving herself like her skinny friend Erica.
Or should he say 'my skinny friend' Erica, he thought with a smile, swirling his tumbler. She had been a pleasant amusement for the last few months, eager to please him, although a little too vocal sometimes. He wondered how such a slut had become best friends with his straight-laced daughter, the perfect image of her mother. The two young women seemed opposites in so many ways. Erica wasn't nearly as smart, but whatever she lacked in stimulating conversation was compensated by her ever-hungry pussy and mouth.
He sighed. Warm, wet, and willing just wasn't enough anymore, was it? After nearly a quarter century, the hedonistic life had run its course. James wanted a companion, someone to fill the empty hours with more than just fucking, although that was definitely important, too. He certainly wasn't interested in spending the rest of his life with someone like Erica. Surely there was a bright, intelligent woman out there with a libido to match his, someone he could count on for both love and laughter, to satisfy each other's needs and desires for years, not just a month or two.
Then there was that strange yearning to have a child around the house. Maybe it was some sort of weird, male biological clock. He'd never been able to enjoy Trish when she was young, and he'd missed out on those wonderful years. There was no insistence that the child even have to be his - he would be happy to find the right woman with a child or two of her own that he could raise as his. He had the time and the money to give them all a good life. Now, all he had to do was find a woman with the right combination. He'd been looking for a while, but so far he was batting zeroes.
He pondered how his life could have been different if only he had been smarter at a younger age. Gloria had been fun and attractive at first, but she was like so many of his 'lovers', women who used sex as a tool, a bargaining agent, instead of an expression of their devotion and their passion. He'd found only a few like Erica who genuinely craved the physical contact, the mingling of naked flesh, the hot and nasty and smelly joy of sex. Too many women acted seductive only until they thought they had him snagged. With Gloria, the spigot had dried up as soon as she became pregnant with Trish.
James drained the last of his bourbon, thinking about his daughter. He was glad that they were finally growing closer, but he deeply regretted missing out on being a proper father to Trish. He had been young, poor, and selfish, and she was right to have despised him for so long. He would do whatever he could to make it up to her now.
## ~~~~~~~~~ ##
When her daddy came to the door, Trish was nervously running through all the scenarios of how she might break the news to him. She hadn't said anything to her mom yet - she wasn't ready for another double-barreled rant about her promiscuity from her mother and hypocritical asshole of a step-father. Somehow, she knew it would be easier to talk to James about it first.
He was in a gray suit, similar to the one that he'd worn with Erica. For some vague reason, that recollection gave Trish a small knot in the pit of her stomach. The colorful ribbon on the black fedora pulled low over his eyes made him look cool, though. And he was a pretty cool guy, wasn't he? Despite Mom's constant invective since her childhood, over the last few years she was finding that she genuinely liked him. They had more in common than she wanted to admit.
Rising up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, then gave him an eager hug around the neck. That elicited a surprised smile from him.
"Well! I'm glad to see you, too," he laughed. He kissed her cheek and stepped back, looking her up and down. With sincere admiration, he told her, "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you dressed like this. You're - you're beautiful, Trish. I mean, you're always beautiful to me, but this..." He stared, awed. "You look like a princess. No, a queen."
Trish blushed, and looked away coyly. She hadn't intended to dress up, but she hadn't been on a single date since she found out. She missed the joy of preparing herself for a man, regardless of who the man was. After deciding on the cream-colored, calf-length evening dress and the matching strap heels, the pearl necklace and earrings were a natural decision. Then she had to have the right makeup, and even took the time to apply French nails. She knew she looked elegant, and a flurry of butterflies whirled in her stomach when he noticed.
James offered his arm like the gentleman he was, and led her to his Lexus, opening the door for her. At the restaurant, the young valet leered into the shadow of her cleavage, then jerked his head downward as her graceful leg appeared through the long slit of her gown. She grinned inwardly as she imagined what was going through his head when he spied the handsome older man with her. It made her feel wicked, even though he was her father.
The maître d' seated them at a booth, and James started to order an expensive bottle of wine. Trish raised her hand. "I'll just have water, thanks," she said, looking at him with a curiously inscrutable expression. Her refusal perplexed him - he knew she appreciated a good Pinot. He asked for a bourbon instead.
After ordering their meals, Trish took a deep breath and asked her dad, "What's new with you, James? Any special women in your life?"
His expression appeared troubled for a moment, which she presumed was a reflection of guilt over Erica.
He shook his head, "I'm afraid not, Trish. I've had a few dates, but nobody of any lasting importance." A certain poignancy came over him with that admission.
Trish, on the other hand, struggled to contain her glee. She would have been upset if anything serious was going on between her father and her slut of an ex-roommate.
With a heavy sigh, James said, "I'm glad you brought that up, Trish. I guess I should tell you that I am looking to settle down. There's no one on the radar, but I'm searching for someone - someone who can give me a little stability in my life."
"Are you going to find me a new mommy?" Trish asked in a playful, little girl voice.
