A Night For Old Time's Sake

"Wow. And all that time I thought you were a twenty year old virgin."

Craig flashed a wide grin. "Hardly. Your little puppy knew how to change a girl's oil in more ways than one. You missed a real treat."

"I missed more than that," Danny insisted. "I just didn't realize how much I cared about you until you were gone. I was the one that didn't deserve you."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"That's for me to decide."

"After the way I treated you, what's to decide?"

Craig paused to tongue his lips. "You never hurt me. Until now, at least."

"What?"

"I never knew you cared, so I never thought I had a chance. When you were honest about not wanting to be exclusive, you allowed me to keep my feelings in check. I'm not saying I didn't love you. I did. But you never lied to me or broke any promise. And it was me that essentially, uh, dumped you, remember? Is that the action of someone that's hurt?"

"I guess not," Danielle admitted. "But how have I hurt you now?"

"Knowing I had a chance after all, and missed it; with the most perfect woman I've ever known. How can that not hurt?"

Danny inhaled a gasp. "Most perfect woman? How can you say that? You're engaged to someone else!"

"I still intend to marry Judy, but it can't help my marriage if I deny I have feelings for you. It's better to admit, accept, and deal with them, don't you think?"

"What are we going to be then? Friends?"

"More. There's no word for it because our culture doesn't make allowances for such things, but they exist whether society accepts them or not."

"And Judy's ok with that?"

"You're married. You're not a threat."

"What if I wasn't?"

"Well, that might be different?"

"How?"

"I suppose she might be worried you'd try and steal me."

"I'd be more than worried. My claws would be out. I wouldn't even let you talk to me- if I were in her shoes, that is."

"Yes you would."

Danny dropped her brow. "What?"

"I don't need her permission to talk to you. And if the situation were reversed, I wouldn't need your permission to talk to her. There's nothing wrong with talking to you. I wouldn't hide it from you, but it would be my decision. If you couldn't accept it, you could go sharpen your claws elsewhere."

Danielle lips formed a circle. Wow. That's not the little puppy dog I thought I had on a leash. "I, uh," she stammered, "I guess you're right. I would be jealous though."

"I know. Judy is too. But she's a good woman. She understands."

"You're really lucky to have her. You should send me a picture of you two."

"I will," Craig promised. "What about Ken?"

"I already sent you a picture of Ken. You want another?"

"No. Is he jealous? Of me?"

"He would be; if I told him."

"What? You have to tell him. Secrets are like cancer to a relationship."

"It's my relationship. I'll decide what's cancer and what's not."

Craig shrugged. "Ok, but I..."

"Ok," Danielle interjected. "Now what?"

"You mean what should we talk about next?"

"On second thought, Judy's awfully nice letting you talk to me at all. We should call it a night."

"I told you, Judy's not letting me do anything."

"Oh. Yeah. But I still don't want to intrude."

"Ok. We can call it a night if you want. When do you want to talk again?"

Danielle's eyebrows bounced high. "Same time next week?"

"Monday again?

"Yes!"

"Ok," Craig agreed. "That'd be great. Shall I call you this time?"

"Do you have my number?"

"No. Reply with it when I send you the pic of Judy and I. Will give me some incentive not to forget about it."

Danny smiled. "Deal." Several seconds of silence followed before she spoke again. "Well, guess I better let you go."

"Yeah," Craig replied through a sigh. "I guess so."

"Until next week then?"

"Yeah, until then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Danielle shuddered as she hung up the receiver. Replaying the conversation in her head, she stood and wandered into her kitchen.

"He said he loves you," she muttered as she opened her fridge. "And not in the past tense." She grabbed a can of cola and snapped the top open, before setting it down on the counter so hard a portion of it spilled.

"But he also said he wasn't leaving Judy. Ever. So what the hell are you hoping for?"

With a sigh and a nod, Danny reached into her cabinet and grabbed a tall glass and a fresh bottle of rum. "I guess we're waiting for Judy to die, if that's what it takes," she mumbled, mixing the rum and cola in near martini ratio.

Leaving the open liquor bottle and the spilled soda on the counter, she made her way out of the kitchen, through the living room and onto the token balcony of her apartment. There, over the next several hours, she wept, drank, and remembered; occasionally reminding herself aloud, "He did say he loves you," until she at last lost consciousness.

* * * * *

The e-mail Danielle waited for with anticipation did not arrive for three days. Her heart bounced and a broad smile spread across her face as she saw his name in her inbox. And I was starting to think you'd forgotten, she mused. Then her eyes drifted left to the title, 'Judy and I.'

The woman's smile melted. She double clicked on the message. A large, crisp shot of a smiling couple appeared. He wore a sharp black suit; she, an elegant green dress. It was obviously a formal occasion.

But not too formal, Danielle mused. Probably one of those Christmas parties where the women all try to outslut one another. You can see half her tits! And even that half's bigger than anything I ever had. And how old is she? Thirty. At most. No fucking wonder he's not leaving her!

She forced her eyes the few degrees to the other half of the picture. The corners of her mouth curled upward again. "You've put on some weight too," she murmured. "But it suits you. And the beard. Makes you look like a teddy bear."

Yes, she continued silently. A teddy bear! She squeezed her clasped hands between her thighs. Oh, to cuddle with you just one night.

* * * * *

Danielle's phone rang promptly at nine the following Monday. She pounced on it at once. "You lied to me!"

Craig's eyes bolted wide on the other end. "Uh. Hello?"

"Yeah. Hello. You still lied to me."

Craig's hand began to tremble, and his phone with it. "About what?"

"Allison."

"Allison?" Craig's eyes wandered under a low brow. "The one I got pregnant?"

"Yeah, her."

"Are you saying I didn't get her pregnant?" He shrugged. "I suppose I only have her word..."

"No. I'm saying she's not the hottest babe you've ever bedded."

"What?"

"Hello! Judy?"

Craig's mouth formed a full circle as he exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh, that. Well, I guess Judy's pretty nice looking too."

"Nice? She could be a fucking model."

"I suppose so. But remember, I did say looks aren't everything."

"I bet they don't hurt!"

Craig smiled. "You should know."

"What do you mean?"

"You're even prettier than when you were twenty."

"Now I know you're lying. I'm forty pounds heavier. Twenty; uh, I mean, ten per kid."

"So am I. Forty pounds I mean."

"But you carry it better," Danielle countered. "Men always do. Makes you look like a teddy bear. You were too scrawny before anyway."

"You were scrawny back then too," Craig noted. "Don't assume weighing more makes you less attractive. It doesn't."

Danny bit her tongue for a second as she searched for any hint of dishonesty in his word or tone. Finding none, she smiled. "Nice of you to say," she replied, but in the back of her mind she added, There's still no way I can compare to Judy.

"Not nice," Craig countered. "Just honest."

"Ok. I still think you lied."

"You never saw Allison."

Danielle issued a crisp grunt. "True enough, but she'd have to be awfully pretty."

"Thank you. She was. So I'm acquitted?"

"For now."

"Good. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. How was your week?"

Craig shrugged. "It was just a week. You know; eat, sleep, work, and stuff."

Danny giggled. "I don't think you ever told me what you do?"

"I just did. Eat, sleep..."

"For a living!"

"Oh. Install fire alarms and sprinkler systems."

"Really? In houses?"

"No. Commercial buildings. We design and install systems. Most city codes require a new system every so many years and the codes are always changing."

"Sounds difficult."

"Difficult thing is putting up with the users that break their system because their janitors or whoever they let mess with it didn't bother to read the instructions. I guess you could add 'Get bitched at for somebody else's fuck-up' to my job description."

Danielle giggled. "Can it be all that bad?"

"Nah. But it is thankless, that's for damn sure."

"Pays the bills though, yes?"

"That's for damn sure too. You?"

"What?"

"What do you do?"

"Take care of kids," Danny chuckled. "What else?"

"Nothing else?"

"There isn't time for anything else."

"Isn't that what you always wanted?"

"Yeah, but sometimes it seems pretty thankless too."

"I don't think it's ever thankless," Craig contended, "but it's always work."

Danny smiled her agreement. "Maybe you're right."

Several seconds of silence followed, too many for either party to feel comfortable breaking it, or not breaking it.

"So how did you find me?" Danny asked at last. "I mean if my name was still Medgewick, that would have been easy. But Williams? There must be hundreds."

"One of those school reunion websites."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"But I put myself on all those about six years ago, hoping you'd find me. What took you so long?"

Craig shrugged. "I guess I never was one for looking back much. Remember, I never thought of you as 'the one that got away.' I wouldn't have been too surprised if you didn't even remember me."

"Don't be silly! How could I forget you?"

"I think we only dated about, what, six months. Never fucked. Kissed once, and I didn't even remember that. Sounds pretty forgettable."

"But you're the one that insisted we had a relationship."

"You're right," Craig conceded. "We did."

Danielle smiled. "We still do."

Craig smiled as well. "Yeah, we still do."

The conversation drifted to spouses, jobs, friends and other mundane topics, but returned all too frequently to old times, and what could have been. Before either knew it, an hour had passed. Then another.

"Shouldn't I let you go?" Danny asked, though she dreaded the answer.

"Yeah," Craig said. "I suppose we have talked a while."

Danielle paused for a long second before replying, "Sometimes I think I could just talk to you forever."

"Me too."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Judy must wonder? You and me talking this long."

"Maybe. But I tell her everything we say."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Everything. What about Ken?"

"Oh, he's watching football. Why do you think I picked Monday?"

Craig smiled. "So he doesn't know you're on the phone?"

"No."

"Won't he be mad?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm not telling him."

Craig shook his head. "That scares me."

"It shouldn't. Not like he's going to beat me or anything."

"That wasn't what I was worried about. You'd never stay with anyone abusive. But I'd never stay with anyone disloyal."

"Relax. He's not going to leave me. Trust me."

Craig nodded. "Ok. I guess you haven't lied to me yet."

Oh, if you only knew! Danielle thought. "Same time next week?"

"Sure."

"Ok. My turn to call, right?"

"Sure."

"Right. Talk to you then."

"Ok," Craig said. He paused. Do I dare tell her I love her again? What if she doesn't say it back? Will she feel pressured to say it again? Why do I need her to say it again? He terminated his deliberation with a heavy sigh followed by a resigned, "Bye."

"Bye," Danielle agreed, again waiting for the click before she hung up the phone. Parting was never sweet sorrow for her. Just sorrow. She looked at her empty little apartment and again wept, then began counting the minutes until next Monday.

Craig was not as overwhelmed by loneliness, but he too began to look forward to their weekly chats. They spoke of many things, but the conversations were always bittersweet as each heard about the other's life and family. Although they tried not to discuss the past much, it seemed every week they managed to confirm that each still dreamed of what might have been. Neither would admit to dreaming what might still be, but they did this as well, no matter how much they tried not to.

After each such long-distance rendezvous, the two would retire to their respective beds, each thinking of nothing but the other. Slumber was never quick to claim them. For Danielle, rarely did the sun of Tuesday morning find her asleep.

A month passed. Then two. As the holidays loomed, Danny's spirits sank. She spent many an evening staring at the phone, wondering if she was really allowed to call anytime. Her previous misadventure in that regard always prevented her from ever picking up the receiver other than on Monday.

This did not prevent her from practicing what she felt she had to say, over and over again. At long last, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, her conscience and confidence united.

"So how was your turkey day?" Craig inquired. The silence at the other end left him a bit uneasy, but nothing could have prepared him for what he heard next.

"Lonely."

He cocked his head. "What?"

Danny whispered the word a second time. "Lonely."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I lied to you. I'm sorry."

Craig's eye wandered as he tried to put meaning to the word, but he could not. "For what? About what?"

Danielle released an extended sigh. "Ken and I divorced six years ago."

Even across the gulf between them, both hearts still managed to skip a beat in unison. Craig waited a few seconds, but then concluded that Danny was waiting for his response to her admission. "Why?" he whispered.

"Why did we divorce?"

"No. Why lie about it?"

"At first I was jealous," Danielle began. "No. Not jealous. Embarrassed. You have everything. And I have nothing. I didn't want to admit I was a failure. Especially to you."

"Why not to me?"

Danny clamped her eyes tight. "Because I care more about what you think of me than anyone else. Ever. Not Ken. Not my parents. Not my kids. You. I care what you think. And then I lied to you." She paused to sniff back a tear. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course I can forgive you," Craig assured. "But I do wish you had told me sooner." He paused for a moment, but hearing nothing continued, "Do you want to tell me the truth now? I promise I will think none the less of you, no matter what it is."

Danielle smirked. "How can you promise that? How can anyone promise that?"

"Trust me," Craig insisted.

"Fine. I only have two kids. Jesse and Tonya. Both are in college now. The younger two, Sam and Yvonne, I made them up. All the stories I've told you about any of them, the ones that I said had happened in the last week; well, they all happened, just years ago."

"So Sam breaking his arm trying to jump the trash dumpster on his bike?"

"Yes," Danny said. "That happened, except it was Jesse, not Sam, and it was sometime in the early nineties."

"And Tonya's first date?"

"Five years ago."

Through pursed lips, Craig exhaled an elongated breath followed by a long, low, "Wow."

"Yeah," Danielle said. "Kinda sad, huh?"

"More like kinda unnecessary. You can always trust me with the truth."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Ok. You probably already saved me from being an alcoholic."

Craig's brow plummeted as he sat upright. "What?"

"I couldn't really afford liquor and the phone bill," Danielle explained. "You gave me a reason to pick the phone bill." She paused to sigh. "And a reason to live until next Monday."

"Wow," Craig muttered again, mostly to himself. "So, when you called me that night, you were feeling suicidal?"

"Yep."

Craig swallowed. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For calling. And sticking around."

The couple shared a chuckle.

"So what's the rest of the truth?" Craig asked as the laughter faded.

"Well, I'm a waitress in a truck stop on I-80. It's a twenty-four hour buffet, so the tips suck, but I can eat for free, so that helps my budget- and my waist."

"And your waist?"

"Yeah. I eat before and after my shift. Don't have any food at home. I even unplugged the fridge to save a couple bucks on electricity."

"You know, I can send you a little if it would help," Craig offered.

"I thought you were saving for a wedding?"

"I am, but we still don't know when it'll be. If you need it..."

"No," Danny snapped. "Sure, I could use it. But I don't want it, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Craig muttered with a nod. "I think I do."

"Ok then. I won't be getting any anonymous donations in the mail, now will I?"

"I guess not. Do I even have the correct address?"

"Yeah," Danny said. "I just left off the apartment number. Sixteen-C."

"What else?"

"That's it. Sixteen-C."

"No. What else have you not told me; or told me that wasn't true?"

"Well," Danny began with a sigh. "Let me see..."

The two continued to chat for another hour and change, occasionally returning to Danny's deceit, but never lingering. As she hung up the phone she smiled, more broadly than she had in many years. Well, she mused with a nod. He knows it all and it didn't seem to change a thing. You should have just told him in the first place, you fool. You should have known you could trust him not to judge. Feeling like she could easily make it to the next Monday, she headed to her bedroom, still grinning from ear to ear.

Little did she know Craig was already in bed, wearing a similar smile. As he reached for his lamp, he glanced to the pillow next to him and winked. "Well, Judy. I think it's time we set a date, and I know the perfect one."

* * * * *

Danielle didn't check her mailbox that often. Usually she only found bills and she was playing catch-up on most of those. Expecting more of the same and perhaps a Christmas card or two, she turned her key and opened her letterbox door.

A barely perceptible scent wafted from within. She didn't think much of it. Grabbing her post, she slammed the door. She sifted through the envelopes on the way back to her apartment. The aroma lingered, though it remained subtle.

Danny's hands stopped as her sorting as it brought a pink envelope to the top. Her feet stopped as well. Only her eyes moved as she sought the upper right corner. It was not the flowers on the stamp that caught her eye, but the postmark: San Diego.

She scurried back to her apartment. Slamming the door and dropping the remainder of the mail on the floor, she ripped open the envelope. Inside was a card with a bouquet on the cover. As she opened it, dozens of red rose petals fell from within.

Danielle gasped as the fragrance from the falling flower pieces floated upward to greet her. For several seconds, she but closed her eyes and breathed. Then she returned her attention to the card. Inside, a piece of paper had been pasted over the token sentiment. And on that paper was a poem.

~~~

Danny,

I've been wanting to send you flowers,

but thought your hubby would get mad.

Even now, I'm not sure whether it

might also make a certain fiancee sad.

But if sending flowers is out,

can I still send just the parts?

To represent some of the pieces

of a little boys heart?

Pieces that I try keep contained,

but they escape anyway;

Breaking out all times of the week,

but especially on Monday.

When the phone rings these pieces

can't help but dance and rejoice,

Knowing they will soon hear the sound

of a special girl's voice.

Always Your Puppy,

Craig

~~~

Danielle just stood, her jaw hanging limp. Raspy breaths passed through her open mouth as she read the poem again and again. Each time her eyes traversed the lines, they were moister than the time before.