Chosen Mate Ch. 04

"I'm going to meet her and take her to breakfast after she gets off work. We have not made any plans past that. I'm going to take a nap before I leave. Don't let me sleep past seven or I'll be late to see her." He got a cold soda from the refrigerator and started toward the bedroom. Maddie burst out in laughter.

"Go, take a nap. But Harry," she paused and decided to help Sandra's program of abduction. "...if you get tired, don't try to drive home." Harry nodded, more to himself than her, and walked away.

Halting by his desk, he gathered the photographs that leapt off the pages that were scattered there. He examined the candid shots taken that day while walking to the bedroom, pleased at the quality, while instilled with the qualmish feeling that they were made by someone else.

He had never considered himself a good photographer. The better pictures he had taken seemed to be accidents rather than deliberately posed with thought of form, content, or composition. These three were excellent. They should hang in a gallery for all to enjoy. Harry studied them closely and carefully.

The longer he stared at them, the more they revealed details. His favorite, the cove and Sandra, inspected at length, seemed to show fish gathered under her perch in a frolicking school of assorted species. He placed the picture on his chest then cleaned his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Taking up the photograph once again, he found that he was mistaken. There was only water there.

He glanced at the clock radio and groaned. Time was slipping away. Stripping his leather clothing away from his body and pulling on a pair of briefs, he lay on the bed and willed sleep to take him. He stared at the Green Warrior, who returned to his thoughts, standing a silent unmoving vigil. Harry was careful not to speak, as it accompanied him into the still solitude of sleep. The soft waves of slumber spread their covers of darkness over him.

The alarm went off at 7:45. AC/DC blasted Back in Black. Harry opened his eyes in shocked reaction and sat up on the side of the bed holding his head. Yawning, he forced his slowly waking body to rise and reluctantly accompany him to the shower. Thoughts whirled in his head, stampeding wildly and unstoppable as he let the hot steaming water pound life back into him. Unable to concentrate on any one, he did not attempt to capture any and let them run as they willed. Finishing in the bathroom, he set it once again in order making sure it would be ready if Sandra returned with him tonight.

He dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, then went in the living room to attend Maddie before his departure to town. A slice of fresh baked apple pie, a cold glass of milk, and a kiss and smile, thankfully, with no questions, saw him saw him off for the evening.

Soon, he was beside Sandra's Caddy. He paused and walked around it again. Sweet Ride, he greeted it with a grin as he opened the door and flicked on the interior lights. The engine purred into life almost at the keys insertion, humming its feline readiness to move and quickly at that. Harry studied the instruments, tested the turn signals, and found the wipers on the off chance that it would rain. He turned on the lights and drove away.

He loved the feel of silken power writhing under his fingers, waiting impatiently for release. Pausing, fractionally, at the mailbox, he allowed his curiosity to let the panther-like Escalade claw the street while escaping the barking sound of the tires. They ran to town, slinking around the curves and racing down the straights. Slight cautious moments at the state road running parallel to the inter-state readied him for the drive through town. The Caddie pounced to the left, prowling for a car wash.

Harry stroked the steering wheel and imagined what it would be like to ride strapped securely in the soft, comfortable seats with Sandra driving. He became a little uneasy; it would be a wild ride. Hell, it has been a wild ride but he was still holding on, sometimes it felt like it was only with his fingertips. So far, he had been able to get a fresh grip. He turned in to the carwash.

Washing the light film of dust took little time and left few drops as the water drained from the well-waxed black paint. The Caddy passed through the light town traffic and slunk down the nearest ally as it made its way along the backstreets to the bar and into the lot. Harry drove the freshly washed, shining vehicle far back to one of the few open spaces and left it peering out of a protected spot under a tree. The lights of the parking lot reached into the shadowy spot creating gleams from the bodylines and headlights that shone like cats eyes, open and watching. He did not see his Frog among the vehicles filling the lot. Anxiously, he moved to the door and entered the crowded confines.

The Thursday night band was visible over the heads of the milling mass of people as they prepared for the next set. The bar was shoulder to shoulder with people leaning, resting, standing, talking or drinking and waiting for drinks. He could not see her past the horde of partying humanity and cared little to enter the presence of so many to jostle for a position there. He looked to the poolroom near the tiny foyer. The tables were full but the crush was not as bad there.

Bob and Billy sat at a table against the wall, nursing from their beer bottles. Both Bob's eyes were blackened; the bruised flesh met over his nose forming a carnival mask of darkened skin. It looked painful. Billy's eyes, moving quickly and alertly, spotted Harry standing by the opening to the game room and nudged Bob. Harry raised a chin in greeting and pointed to his eyes, silently questioning. Bob shook his head negatively and dropped his eyes to where his fingers were destroying the paper label of his beer bottle. Harry turned his eyes to Billy; he sat, looking diminutive beside the bulk of his brother. He merely gazed back with no comment in his face or eyes. A place opened at the bar. Harry moved into it before it could close or be filled, placeing a boot on the rail while looking into the heart of the bar.

There she was, moving effortlessly and fluidly with no wasted movement; she mixed drink orders and made change. The outfit looked good on her and she knew it, using every opportunity to turn, stretch, twist, and pose as she worked to keep the crowd lubricated; and, they seemed to be. She had an assistant girl working closely with her who kept busy catching beer orders and washing glasses. Two more women, waiting tables, hurried in and out from the main floor.

Silas, her boss and the bar owner, was drunk again as usual. The potbellied man leaned drunkenly on the far inside corner, drinking from a tall glass and watching the crowd blearily. The help moved around him, serving drinks and taking orders. Silas' hands moved freely on all of them except Sandra.

She saw him and struck a sexy pose with shoulders back and a deep breath in her lungs, her legs set like a beauty pageant contestant amid the ordered chaos around her. She held the pose for a count of three, then bent over, seeming to search in a cooler while her hips moved with the juke. She stood with a beer.

--We got a winner. Oldman proclaimed brightly.

She placed her hands on her leather-clad hips and pirouetted slowly. He clapped his approval as her long legged approach kept pace with her sweetly smiling face. She took a sip from the bottle, letting her lipsticked mouth slide seductively to the tip and holding a kiss like position before setting it on the bar. He tried to give her money, but she turned away, giving him a good look at the fit of her buttocks as they rolled back to her workstation. The tip jar was near full as he stuffed a dollar in. His entranced eyes were glued to her incredibly seductive body.

The band began to play; the crowd around the bar cleared, leaving for the dance floor or tables near it. Sandra spoke to her assistant, and moved to Harry with two beers in her hand. She placed one in front of him, drank deeply from hers, then grinned widely at him. Impish eyes twinkled with unsuppressed joy.

"Drink up Harry, free beer for you tonight." She said loudly over the band and drank deeply again. Her face glowed with unsupressed glee.

"Why are they free?" He asked, and then chugged his drink and reached for the new one. She threw the empty in a trash barrel with a clatter of glass and turned slowly, displaying her enticing appearance proudly once more.

"My outfit, women have been complementing me and asking questions since I walked in the bar, before really; Donna caught me in the parking lot, almost made me late." She danced around in a stationary circle showing off her new apparel. They did look good on her especially now that she was cleaned up and made up. She had skillfully done her face. She was born to wear dark red lipstick. She was catching the looks too. No man that passed failed to gaze lustily at her. In addition, she was his.

"I'm Glad you're happy with it because I don't do returns. By the way, where's my truck?" She laughed.

"It's in my garage. Where's mine?" She glanced around the bar; making sure things were well in hand.

"I left it way back in the parking lot. I may keep it." He laughed at her expression.

"Fine, I'll hold yours for ransom then. I've got to get back to work, bye." She gave his beard a light tug and danced away to speak to her assistant and send her on her break.

The assistant stopped in front of Harry, inspecting him with friendly interest, and placing a fresh beer on the bar.

"Sandra said drink up. I'm Debbie. I want a pair of those pants. Sandra said you have more of them." Before he could answer, she walked away, shouting loudly while proceeding to the exit. "I'll be back!" She went out the door.

Harry looked to where Sandra was dancing between orders. She saw him and pointed, then made the drink up sign with her fist and thumb. He saluted her with his bottle, then drained it and began on his third. She laughed and turned away to take care of a shouted order.

Eventually all the beer he drank had to be recycled, so, he made his way to the restroom. On the way out he bumped into Bob. He placed a hand on the big man's chest, stopping him and examining his damaged face.

"What the hell happened to you buddy?" Bob's eyes became unfocused at the question that had been asked countless times tonight. He answered with long practice, the manufactured events leading to his injury.

"I was standing in the boat casting and caught a limb in the face as we drifted under some low trees." They stood for an embarrassing and unspeaking pause as both remembered the unspoken events from earlier that day.

"I'll get those cigarette cases to you soon, I've been preoccupied." Harry said filling the pregnant halt in conversation.

"Yeah that will be fine. Take your time. See you later." Bob pushed past and entered the bathroom. Harry walked away, confused at the conversation with Bob. He seemed unusually quiet even considering his recent injury. There was more occurring here than he was being told, much more.

The set ended as Donna stopped him before he moved a great distance from the restroom. He studied the attractive dark haired woman for a moment, then recognizing her from the restaurant, greeted her warmly and respectfully.

"Miss Donna, how are you?" She smiled, pleased to be remembered by him and at his genteel manner.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking. Sandra can't stop talking about what a nice man you are. I'm so happy for her. Now, Tell me about those leather things you make." He started telling her about the different items he had made and others under development.

A small crowd of women gathered around them listening intently, asking questions, and requesting to see his line of products. The press, not only by close physical contact, but by the questing eyes of those near by, unnerved him. Glancing at the floor, Donna's calm face, then back to the force of eyes and voice, he waited for a chance to escape. A waitress walked by, placing a beer in his hand. He tried to pay her but she shook her head no and left to service the thirst of the crowd. He made his excuses to the throng of women and promised to make himself available to show his shop of goods.

He went back to the bar to reclaim his spot. He was too late; it was full again. He hovered near the bar, drinking his beer, and was again surrounded by women who had heard of his occupation or seen Sandra's svelte form covered in his creations.

Oldman was drunk with knowledge gained in the unpresidented weekend trip to the bar. The majority of the people were the same race as Sandra. He should have extrapolated this fact from the puzzle begun at Mildreds. His thoughts were abuzz with information, as Harry's mind was intoxicated with alcohol and the need to get away from the crowd.

The last set began and Harry was able again to secure a place at the bar. Sandra came over immediately with a cold beer and joined him in conversation excitedly.

"Whew! I love Thursdays; they're always crazy. That was some crowd of women you had following you around. Is there something I should know?" She said teasingly. He pointed at her and shook his finger. Too many people had spoken to him in the short time spent at the bar; it was overwelming.

"You told them I made the clothes you're wearing." He said accusingly, giving her an annoyed look. She drew herself up; Eyes became hard glittering points of ice that sent frigid beams of outrage at him.

"Should I not be proud of the fine clothes you made me, or the fact that you are a handsome, caring, man? Does the money you will make, if even half of those women buy a single item, distress you? She waited with folded arms for his reply. Her eyes continued to chastise him coldly. Harry looked away, ashamed that he had belittled her appreciation of his gifts, her pride in their creator, and the attention of women desperate to acquire the fashionable garments that were given to her in such a lavish manner.

"I'm sorry for saying that," he said. The desire for anniminity had caused him to make a mistake. She answered his words with unrelenting eyes.

--You're in the shit now, Oldman proclaimed. He replied to the thought with disgust.

--Where have you been while I destroyed her night? There was no reply.

"Last call," Sandra shouted, looking at her watch; She turned away. The help echoed the call. She didn't dance around during the busiest time of the night as they began shutting the bar down while keeping it going. Harry stood up, walked outside, and lit a cigarette. Had she over reacted? Had he been... Before he could complete the thought, the door burst open and Debbie was grabbing his arm.

"Sandra wants to make sure you're not leaving. I still want those pants too." Earnest eyes regarded his.

"I'm not going anywhere. It is really loud in there. I just needed a quiet moment and a smoke." She ran back inside to complete the many chores waiting. He stood smoking in solitude, unable to grasp his direction of action. He crushed his cigarette and left his lonely post.

--It's time to face the music. Oldman declared.

--Yeah, I know. Harry answered.

Sandra saw him walk in as the last song ended, leaving only the sound of many people moving and talking in the large space. She climbed up on top of the bar with a microphone and began speaking. The amplified sound of her voice had all looking and listening.

"HOW DID YOU LIKE THE BAND?" Roaring appreciation sounded. She let it die down.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE MY OUTFIT?" Catcalls and whistles accompanied the cheers acclaiming their appreciation. She strutted along the bar top, maddened joyfully with the attention directed at her.

"IF YOU DON'T KNOW, THEY WERE MADE BY MY BOYFRIEND, HARRY!" She pointed at him as she said his name, a malicious grin on her face. He watched shocked as the eyes of the crowd turned to him. Cheers broke out for Harry also, along with congratulations from the male members. Harry wanted to fall through the floor, but held his arms up in victory and surrender.

"HOLLAR IF YOU WANT SOME." Sandra yelled into the microphone. The din was deafening.

"DRINK UP. LET'S GO." She jumped down to the floor behind the bar as the house lights came on and people started moving toward the door. The rumble of their voices mixed with the sound of bottles thrown in the trash.

Harry looked for refuge and moved to the poolroom to avoid the press of their exiting bodies. Then suddenly it hit him. He was her boyfriend, officially, it seemed. So much for his being anonymous. Many times, as he rolled a cue ball on a tabletop to bounce around the cushions, Sandra's friends and complete strangers came to him to offer congratulations or request access to the vicinity of his leatherwork. He replied thankfully or referred them to the phonebook or Sandra. Moving to a chair and table he sat chin in hand trying to think of a way to apologize to Sandra.

He formulated an idea and a plan. Speaking in short sentences and scraps of doggerel, both silent and aloud, he waited for her. He was ejected by the sweeping crew and returned to the clean swept bar to continue his ruminations.

Silas, supported by a waitress under his arm, walked up in a drunken stagger; he stopped and patted Harry's shoulder while speaking an incoherent congratulation. Harry shook his offered hand then watched as they made their way to the door. Silas' hand was on her ass.

The lights were extinguished. The help left with farewells to him as they passed. He shot the deadbolt behind them at their request. He was left waiting for Sandra alone. He looked for her from his seat under a solitary light. Only the colored neon signs around the bar and the light from the kitchen illuminated the dark rooms. The kitchen light went out and she was there at the bar with him. She placed two bulging bank bags on the counter.

"Sandra I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." She said nothing. The distant gleam of ice and tears were visible in her eyes as she solemnly waited for him to finish. God, she was beautiful.

"I composed a poem while I was waiting for you." Her eyes showed a spark of interest. He took her hands in his, and then recited his hastily practiced prose.

Fire and Ice, what a dangerous pair. Pointed in my direction.

They are coming from my lady whom I hold in high affection.

I love the fire; it burns my soul. The ice chills me with reflection.

And I swear to apologize for changing her completion.

How can I repair the words I stupidly ejected?

Their escape from my mouth was very unexpected

There can only be one, one word that I must utter

Not quietly or softly, no mumbling or mutter.

So I'll say it simply, gazing in your eyes.

SORRY

Sandra's eyes were liquid. They started melting at the end of the second line. Harry's were pain filled, repentant, and hoping for forgiveness. Her heart was breaking at the flood of emotion on his face.

"That was terrible," she whispered. her eyes filled with unspoken worship and tears.

"I know. Good poems take much more time that I didn't have to make the rhyme and rhythm better. I'll rewrite it a thousand times until I get it right for you. Don't be surprised if it gets painful.

The determination and truth in his face made her tears roll down as she realized how deeply he felt for her. She vowed to try to keep his fragile feelings protected.

"No," Sandra protested. Don't change a word. I want them inscribed and framed so I can speak them back when I've done something to hurt you; and I have. I was short with you when you pointed your finger at me. I've always hated that. You didn't know." She bowed her head in misery. He bowed his head also in shame at his callous words, and began speaking shakily, tears escaping despite his attempt of control.