A Drink, A Dance, A Kiss

This is a Valentine's Day story, so please vote. Thank you.

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I have written a lot of fiction here at Literotica, and all of it has been peppered with one account or another from my personal experiences, but this is the very first one hundred percent factual account I have ever offered, and it is just in time for Valentine's Day.

The date was Thursday, February 13, 1986. My girlfriend of seven months had broken up with me a week earlier and I was in a constant sad and sorry state. I just couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that she would break up with me so close to Valentine's Day. I went to the theater alone to watch some movie I can't even remember the title of anymore, and once it was over, I really did not feel like going home to my empty apartment.

I drove around and came upon a small Country / Western tavern and decided to stop for a drink. It was right at eleven-fifteen p.m., so I could be in and out before midnight. I had no plans on getting drunk as I had to work tomorrow, but I felt like a couple of strong ones couldn't hurt me. I took a seat and awaited the arrival of the waitress. Just before she reached me, I noticed a young blonde woman sitting four tables down; she was by herself as well.

"Hi, I'm Tina," the waitress said as she stood before me. "What'll it be, sugar?"

"Double Tom Collins," I answered, "and do you know if that woman is here with anyone?"

"I don't think so," she answered. "She's been here alone about thirty-forty minutes."

"What's she drinking?" I asked.

"Jack and Coke."

"Send her one for me?"

"Sure thing, hon," and she walked away.

The only other patrons in the bar were a guy and two women sitting at a booth. I noticed them just long enough to notice them, then my eyes were back upon the blonde. From where I was sitting, she looked to be about eighteen, but she must have been twenty-one if she were being served Jack and Coke, though. She wore a long-sleeved burgundy blouse, dark blue jeans, and black, flat-heeled shoes. I needed something with which to fill my time. Noticing her state of dress was just as good a thing as any other.

Tina eventually dropped my drink on the table, then headed to the blonde and gave her the drink I had bought her. She pointed at me, then moved on to the three patrons at the booth. The blonde inclined her head as she slightly raised the glass, then she took a sip and ... nothing more. She had been looking down at her empty glass ever since I entered the bar, and now she looked down at her refill. I made no move toward her. I figured that if she wanted to talk, she would have made the effort to reply to my obvious signal.

It took all of fifteen minutes, but she finally made her way to my table, and the closer she got, the more beautiful she became. She stood maybe five feet even, but probably more like four-ten or four-eleven, and her hair was pulled back, leaving just her bangs up front. "Thank you for the drink," she said meekly. "That was nice of you."

"You're welcome. Would you like to join me?" I invited.

She seemed to weigh this, then said, "It's probably best that I don't. No offense ..."

"None taken," I said with a polite smile. "If you change your mind, though ..."

"Thank you," she said with a demure smile. That's the first word that popped into my mind. Demure. I can't remember a single time ever using it to describe a woman's smile before, and I can't remember a time since, but right then, right there, it was demure, and it was beautiful. As she walked back to her table, I saw that her blonde hair was held in place with a black barrette and that it ran straight down to the small of her back. I also noticed that she filled out her jeans very nicely.

I was never much a fan of country music, but there were a couple of songs I recognized and didn't mind sitting through as I drank my Double Tom. I was a bit surprised to see the blonde make her way back to my table. She asked if she could sit. I stood and held a chair for her. She took a sip of her drink, then said, "Life's crazy, isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Are we victims of fate, or forgers of destiny?" she asked. I didn't answer as I believed the question to be rhetorical. She finally offered, "I'm in a position where I'm expected to do the right thing, but is the right thing to please all those around me, or to please myself?"

"You can't live your life based upon the expectations of others," I told her. "If you do, then you'll never know a moment of true happiness."

She sighed. "I know. If I did as everyone wants me to, I could be happy. Eventually. It's just ... I don't know. I feel like I'd be giving up a whole lot by doing so."

"I certainly don't mean to pry," I said, "but without me knowing what you're talking about, it's a bit difficult to give any kind of profound advice."

She looked at her watch. "11:55. Come dance with me." She grabbed my hand and stood, but I remained seated. "Is something wrong?"

I laughed. "I don't know how to dance."

She smiled. "It's easy. Come on. I'll show you."

There was just enough liquor and just enough desire for her within me to make me stand. She led me to the dance floor and said, "You're going to make a box. Lead with your right foot, then step left, then backwards, then right. Got it?"

"Yeah," I said with an uneasy smile.

"Seven Year Ache" by Roseanne Cash was playing. It was slow enough that I didn't feel rushed. I started, she followed suit, and we danced without incident. Cash was soon bled over by Juice Newton's "Angel of the Morning." The blonde and I continued our slow, easy pace. "I don't even know your name," I said to her.

"It's Laura. Laura Rowart."

The DJ came over the PA and said with lackluster enthusiasm, "It's midnight, ladies and gentlemen. It's officially Valentine's Day. If you're not with the one you love, then love the one you're with."

I bent my 6'1" frame down and moved in to kiss Laura. She tilted her head slightly, but just as our lips grazed one another's she pulled back. "No. I can't. I'm sorry."

She turned to walk away, but I held onto her wrist. Not hard at all. I mean, one pound of pressure could have broken my grip. "Please don't go," I asked of her. "I won't do that again. I promise."

She returned to me and placed her head against my chest. We continued to dance until the song ended, then it was back to the table. She drained her glass dry. I did the same, then ordered us another each and asked for the bill. We sat in silence until they arrived. As I placed twenty-five dollars on the waitress's tray and told her to keep the change, Laura took another gulp before saying, "I'm flying out tomorrow—well, today—to Texas. I'm supposed to be getting married."

"Is that what has you conflicted?" I asked.

"He has money. My future is assured."

"But you don't love him," I offered.

She laughed. "Right now, I feel more for you than I do for him."

"Then don't go," I suggested.

"I wish it were that easy," she replied, "but it's not."

"Laura, you posed something earlier about fate versus destiny. All I can tell you about that is that I don't believe in fate. I believe that we all control what good and bad falls our way based upon the decisions we make, and if you are basing your decision to marry on anything other than love, it will not last. That, or you'll become one of those trophy wives who takes valium with wine all day to dull her pain over such a dreadful decision."

She began to weep. "I'm just so scared. I come from nothing, and he has given me everything I could ever hope for."

"Except love," I reminded her.

"Perhaps that's my fault, not his," she responded. "Perhaps I've been hurt so many times that I'm incapable of such things as true gratitude and pure love."

As I signaled for the waitress, I said, "I wish I had an easy answer for you, Laura, but I don't. Forget about fate, though. Forge your destiny. Do what you feel is right for you." Just then Tina had made her way to the table. I borrowed her pen and wrote on a napkin, then handed it back to her with a, "Thank you." To Laura, I said as I passed the napkin to her, "This is my name and phone number. I'm not due in to work until nine. If you change your mind and decide to stay, call and let me know because I'd really like to see you again."

She looked at the napkin and smiled. "Scott." I downed my drink as she sipped from hers. "I can't promise that I'll call you, but thanks for the alternative option."

I took her right hand and kissed it. She leaned forward and kissed my right cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"To you, as well," I told her, "and whatever you decide, just make sure you're doing it for yourself." I bid her good evening, then headed home.

Later that morning I was awakened by the ringing of my phone. I looked at the clock to see it was five a.m. "Yeah?" I said sleepily.

"Hey, it's Don," meaning my boss, Don Akindele. I was employed with the city's Public Works division. "If you want a couple of hours overtime, you can work the water treatment plant today, but you need to get there pronto."

"Yeah-yeah," I said a bit irritably. "Be there in a little." I got up, did my dailies, and was out the door in fifteen minutes.

I didn't get home until five-thirty, and I was tired. I checked my phone for messages and saw there were three. I pressed "PLAY and heard the mechanical voice tell me that the first call came at 8:05 a.m., then, "Scott? This is Laura. My bags are packed and I'm at the airport. Even still, I've given a lot of thought to what you told me last night, and I'm choosing destiny over fate. I'm gracious enough to appreciate everything that Mark has done for me, but I simply do not love him. Please call me at 555-2171. That's the number to the phone booth I'm using. Bye."

The second message came at 8:15 a.m. "Scott, I really hope that what we experienced last night wasn't just the alcohol and two lonely hearts finding one another by chance. My plane leaves at nine-thirty, and I really don't want me taking it to be my only option. Please give me a call. I'm still at 555-2171."

The third message came at 8:45 a.m. "I don't know what could have happened between last night and today, but it hurts me that you haven't returned my calls. I'm about to check my luggage. Please, Scott. Call me and tell me that I don't have to."

I wept as I heard that last message. She sounded so hurt, so defeated, and I suddenly felt the same. It was a chance meeting. It was a drink, a dance, and a kiss. It was a promise that we could make the future anything we wanted it to be. I recalled the words I spoke to her last night: "I don't believe in fate. I believe that we all control what good and bad falls our way based upon the decisions we make." There was perhaps a tiny part of me that knew someone like her would never be interested in someone like me, therefore I decided that I wanted the overtime. I decided to go to work early, and in doing so I cheated myself out of what could very possibly have been the love of my life.

I have not forgotten Laura, or that night, even after thirty-three years, and yes, there are times that I still cry over what could have been.