|The New Lawyer in Town: Prelude
by Doug4Dirt ©
It's every business traveling man's fantasy. You're sitting on a plane, coming back from a long week out, looking forward to a quiet flight home, and she sits down next to you. I think most of us (all of us) hope to have some drop-dead gorgeous female sit down in the vacant seat next to us. My usual reaction, being a married man, is to try not to acknowledge their presence, and focus on the back of the seat in front of me, or that airline in-flight magazine that you've already memorized.
But this time it was different, and I don't know why, but this set of circumstances could generate another novelette of stories.
I had just turned 48, feeling old, mentally, but then again, not. Still in decent shape, not unattractive to the opposite sex, but not really in the market. She was going to my home town, a medium sized Midwestern college town, just big enough to have its own airport with regular major carrier service. She was about to be divorced, had a two-year-old daughter, was 27 years old, and had given up on being a singer, and learned to be a legal assistant. Now, with her law degree, and no strings, she was moving back to be closer to her widowed mother. I learned all this, accompanied by punctuations of knee touching, and patting, all on her part.
"Well, do you know any lawyers in town that might be hiring?"
"Well, as I travel, I don't really have a lot of acquaintances in town, but I know a couple, and I'm sure my wife knows some."
"Can I give you my business card, and will you see if you can get me in touch with someone?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem, I can do that."
"I'm also looking at houses while I'm in town this weekend, where do you live?"
"We're down near the river, in one of the newer older areas, you know the town, it's where the new money moved when as the city began to grow."
"Oh, yeah, my parents used to live there, but I've only been there a couple of times, they sent me to an all girls school back east, and I hardly came home on weekends, and then I worked every summer, trying to get gigs, you know how the entertainment industry is, you've got to be there all the time, or someone else will take your place."
All one sentence, and not even a pause for a breath, she sure had the lung capacity to be a singer.
"But, when my dad died, my mom moved up into that new area, on the bluff, near the campus. From what my realtor tells, me, though, there are some real bargains in the Riverside area, so that's where I'm looking."
"Well, maybe we'll be neighbors."
"Wouldn't that be something, I meet you on an airplane, I'm looking for a job, and a house, and a complete stranger helps me out. You know, you really meet some flaky people on airplanes, especially with economy fares these days, you never know who you're going to sit next to."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
"I'm not bothering you, am I, its just that I'm kind of nervous about this whole thing, and when you told me where you lived, well, it just seems natural to share with you."
"No, it's not a problem, I'd like to help you any way I can."
"Thanks, I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you."
"I'm sure you'll find a way."
"I've got a bag in that bin up there, can you help me with it? Thanks, and don't forget to pass my business cards along."
"I won't, good luck, and, stay in touch."
I headed for my car in the parking lot of the airport, and she headed for the baggage claim. "Hi, yeah, the plane was late, and packed. No, not much, I did meet a women who's looking for a job, though, you know any lawyers who are hiring? Okay, I've got to go, I'm at the pay out window, see you in a few." I hung up my cell phone; handed the attendant my ticket and credit card, paid out, and headed home.
<Several weeks later>
I had put the entire incident into the great inventory of "on-plane" conversations that would go nowhere, you know what I'm talking about, each one of you agrees to "keep in touch" because of that marginal common interest, and then never do. It was a lazy Friday afternoon, and I had put the last bit of follow up correspondence in my outbox. The telephone rang and I almost didn't answer it, I didn't need a last minute project, I had plans for the weekend.
"Hi, is this Doug?"
"Yes, it is, can I help you?"
"You don't remember me, do you? It's Barbara, from the plane."
I'd only been on about another dozen airplanes since the one where I had the conversation with Barbara, so I wasn't real quick on the uptake. "Oh, yeah, Barbara, how are you, find a job, find a house?" I impressed myself with my quick recovery.
"Well, yes, and no, but I'm so excited, and I have you to thank!"
"Oh, really, what'd I do"
"Well, someone that your wife passed my business card on to called me, and offered me a job, over the telephone, I'm in town this weekend to look at houses, my realtors got ten lined up for me for tomorrow."
"Well, this ought to be a busy weekend for you, do you think you'll survive?" I knew that my wife was going out of town, as a matter of fact, was on her way to the airport as I talked on the telephone, gone until the following Wednesday, and I had made plans to do nothing all weekend. The US Open was on the tube, I had already been to the package store and stocked up on my liquor supply, and there were plenty of leftovers and easy-to-prepare meals in the pantry.
"Well, if everything goes according to schedule, I'll be done with my house hunting by about 5:00 on Saturday, and I thought I'd invite you and your wife to dinner, on me, as my appreciation for your generosity. Can you make it; I've already made reservations at that neat roadhouse restaurant down on the river road, for 7:30, please say yes!"
I thought to myself: "If I'm going to dinner Saturday night, that means I have to shave, and get dressed up, neither of which I had planned on, and my wife was out of town, and . . . "Well, let me check and see what I have on my social calendar for Saturday evening. Hmmm, looks like I'm not too busy, well, okay, I can make it."
"Will it be the two of you, I'd love to meet your wife."
"No, she's out of town this weekend, so it will just be me, do you mind, we can do it some other time, if you'd prefer."
"No, it's you I really owe, so, I guess it will be okay, maybe I can make it up to her later."
"Yeah, if you're moving into town, then there will be plenty of opportunities in the future."
"Well, then, I'll see you at the Roadhouse, Saturday night, 7:30, okay?"
"Okay, I'll see you there."
I'd heard about the Roadhouse, it was a nice, secluded place, where couples could meet, discretely, if necessary. Some of my local clients would take some of their customers there for dinners, and entertainment. I wasn't sure just what I had in mind, but it had been a long time since a charming your lady invited me out to dinner.
The day seemed to drag on forever. I got up, went to the driving range and hit a bucket, came home, turned on the tube, and the first round of the Open was rained out. The weather locally wasn't too great either, as clouds began building in the early morning and light drizzle had lay in. "What a shit day, I didn't hit the ball for shit this morning, the Open's fucked up, and there's nothing to do outside, this sucks!"
I channel surfed the digital television system, and it seemed like every show on every channel was a re-run of something I had seen a million times. I actually started looking forward to the evening with Barbara; it might be the only shining light on an otherwise totally wasted day. I started getting ready around 5:00, giving myself plenty of time. I fixed a Scotch, carried it to my bathroom, and began to shave.
I looked in the mirror and took an inventory of myself. Not bad for 45, a little bit of a gut, but not as bad as some I'd seen in the locker room at the country club. A little bit of a receding hairline, but still enough to style, and not comb over like some of the really prematurely balding guys I played golf with. At least I still had all my own teeth, and good eyesight.
As I showered, I absentmindedly played with my cock and balls, washing them thoroughly, playing with myself and becoming semi-erect. I made sure that my ass crack was clean, as well, sticking a soapy finger up my asshole, again, not sure why, but something in my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but I wasn't paying too close attention to it.
I surveyed my wardrobe and picked out a casual outfit that complimented my coloring and my physique. Three different shirts, two different pairs of slacks, which sport coat, why did I care what I looked like? This was a woman I had met, in person, exactly once, on an airplane, and although she was striking when it came to her appearance, she was young enough to be my daughter, I was still not sure why I cared.
At 7:00, I headed to the garage, with the keys to my company car in hand, since they paid for the gas, why not? At 7:05, I headed back into the house to get the keys to my wife's Porsche, might as well not be totally square on this deal. At 7:12, after having cleaned all her accumulated crap out of the various pockets and floorboards, I headed down our winding drive and out toward the river road.
To Be Continued...
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