Another Chance at LIfe

Another Chance at Life

As I sat at the Toast House, (no shit, that's the name of the little diner) I watched Beatrice walk toward me, a tall slender gal. Tall by women's standards at 5' 9", a well proportioned figure, silky brown hair, long and nearly always in a pony tail, tits that matched her body, I figured a solid B cup, narrow hips, a little meat on her ass but not pudgy, and of course, long slender legs. To me there's a difference between slender and skinny, slender has some meat on the bones, skinny typically doesn't. Soft facial features, bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle when she smiled and always lipstick of some shade.

"Evenin Clyde."

"Evenin Beatrice. You look good. New hair?"

"It's Berty. Nobody calls me Beatrice except my ma, and you. Yeah I had some highlights added, it's the rage you know, not sure if I like it or not."

"I like the new hair, and the new lipstick. What's the special tonight?"

"You don't miss a thing do you Clyde, flattery will get you everywhere in my world. Oh yeah, special is meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a veg. I already put your order in, you're as predictable as the clock."

Of course it was meatloaf, today was Thursday and it's meatloaf every Thursday, tomorrow it'll be fish fry, Saturday it's a mushroom burger, Sunday it's oven roasted chicken. Considering I eat my evening meal here every day, I guess I should know the menu by now. Over the past year since arriving in town I'd been to Denny's, Perkins, I-Hop, KFC banquet, Olive Garden, and all the rest, never feeling like anything more than table number whatever.

I stumbled into the Toast House quite by accident after looking for faucet repair parts at Lowes. I'd not been to this part of town before and as I was leaving the parking lot, I noticed the sign in a little strip mall. Being mid-day on a Saturday I thought what the hell, I have nothing to lose. As I sat the waitress was there immediately, all the greetings, water and niceties you're supposed to get when you enter a diner. The gal was mid-twenties, short and chubby, hair in a bun, sweet personality and a cute face, I noticed the wedding ring and figured she was a mommy doing her part to keep the home fires burning. I reminded myself to be sure and tip her well.

As I checked out I mentioned to the lady that in the past I had listened to an NPR program on Saturday evenings called the Prairie Home Companion, and one of the spoof advertisements was a place called the Toast House, next to the Sidetrack Tap. Down the street from Bobs bank and Ralphs pretty good groceries. The older gal laughed telling me that had been the impetus for the name when she and her husband opened the diner 26 years ago.

"Is your husband the cook?" I asked.

"He was, he went to the big toast house in the sky a little over three years ago. Beatrice runs the front and our oldest son runs the kitchen now. You have a great day sir and please come back."

It was a mile or two out of my way, but I made it my go to place for supper every day. I ate breakfast at home and seldom ate more than a few Ritz crackers for lunch, so by the time I rolled in there a bit after five I was usually quite hungry. The first time I stopped in for supper I met Berty and instantly liked her. She had a bubbly personality, never wrote an order down but always had it right when the plate hit the table. Unlike most southern waitresses where everyone is hon, shug,(short for sugar), darlin, or baby, her first time greeting was, "Hi, I'm Berty, how you like me so far?" I damned near fell off the chair I was laughing so hard.

"I guess I like you just fine Beatrice."

"Never mind the nametag, everybody calls me Berty. And you, what does your mama call you?"

"When she was alive, she called me Clyde."

She winced and made a face, "Oowee, and I thought my mama was cruel naming me Beatrice, your mama must have been pissed when she named you that."

"Well, it was my great grandfathers name, so I can't bitch about it can I."

Over the months following it was the same almost every night except Saturdays and Sundays when Berty wasn't there. I learned over time that she was the oldest daughter of the owners, lost her husband in Iraq and had no children. I thought her to be in her late 30's but had never asked. On an extremely slow Tuesday the place was nearly dead due to nasty weather, I have a 4-wheel drive pickup, having been raised in the north where we had lots of ice and snow I wasn't all that concerned. When Berty brought my supper, she sat across from me with a cup of coffee.

With a chuckle she said, "So Clyde,..... God I can't get over that name,..... what brought to Clarkesville? Aint much here but the Army base with lots of horny young GI's. Nashville's 40 minutes away so we get some of the bedroom community stuff, but that don't amount to much."

With no other customers she sent the chubby gal home to beat the weather and we simply talked. Once my meal was done, she refilled our coffee and settled back like she had nothing else in the world to do.

"Are you sure you want to hear my sordid mess of a life story? It aint pretty." She nodded as she smiled.

I began explaining all the details of how a two-time loser ended up in Clarkesville. I'd married my high school sweetheart upon our graduating, quickly realizing that married life is in a different universe than high school dating. We didn't last two years before calling it quits, parting amicably and to this day talk politely to one another at high school reunions. Ironically neither of us considered it a marriage, more like a huge mistake. I decided to enter college getting a BS in accounting, and as if that wasn't enough, I went on to get an MS, (more of the same). Being an absolute glutton for punishment I eventually acquired my PHD, better known as piled higher and deeper.

After attaining my bachelor's, I remarried and had two kids. With student loans to pay on top of everything else life brings I found myself working unrealistic hours, telling myself that all the time I was away from my family it was for them. I missed all my kid's functions, I don't think my wife and I made love more once a week if that, my business and attaining wealth had blinded me to the needs of my family. I equated having money in the bank and being able to buy whatever they wanted as showing my love for them.

It all came to a screeching halt when my wife told me that with the kids in college, she wasn't going to do this anymore. She was filing for divorce and that I'd be served within a few days, I ask that she have it done at our home and I'd make sure I was there, which I was. She wasn't interested in counseling and I knew I couldn't fault her, it had been me who neglected she and our kids to the point I nearly missed our daughters high school graduation.

When we parted, we tried being as civil as possible, the house was paid for, she would keep that, we'd split everything we had in savings and checking, I'd be able to keep the business and all my retirement. Both the vehicles were paid for and we put enough money into a separate education account to pay the kids tuition for the remainder of their studies, if they dropped out the money left over would be split between us.

Within a year she'd met and had moved in with a guy, very nice man, I'd met him at a birthday party for our son. I watched as he paid attention to Clarice and doted over her, the things I had failed to do, vowing if the opportunity for love ever came around again, I wouldn't make the same mistake. When she decided to sell the house, she came to me for input. Her boyfriend was financially secure, I suggested she set up a separate account in her name only, then if for some unknown reason it didn't work out, she was still financially stable. That's also when I told her I was going to sell the business and move somewhere warmer, wasn't sure where yet, but it was going to happen as soon as I could sell.

Having one of the largest financial firms in the town it didn't take long to have an offer from another finance company in the next city, the only thing that had prevented them from opening an office in our city was my firm. I didn't walk away a multi-millionaire, by the time the state and feds got through stealing their share of the money they'd never worked for and I'd already paid taxes on I was left with 1.1 mil. It sounds like a ton of money, but in todays business climate it doesn't amount to much or last very long. You might say, well I was a finance guy, why didn't I find a way to hide it? If it's a small enough amount you can, if it's bigger they want their cut and will hunt you down like a rabid dog. I wanted to walk away clean, not be dodging the IRS for decades.

I looked at franchises, hoping to find something I could be active in, make a profit, and not have to work 14 hours a day six days a week. I finally settled on a Mail Box business, the next thing to do was find a city without one. I lucked out with this location, the previous store hadn't lasted two years and shut down. When I researched it, I came to realize it was something a guy bought for his wife, it was making money, so the market was there, except she didn't want to work, she only wanted to manage. It didn't take long for the overhead of four employees to sink their boat.

I bought the building, the franchise, and named the place Mailbox Plus, I'm also a drop off for FedEx and UPS as well as boxing and shipping along with normal mailing functions. The store has sixty mailboxes accessible 24 hours a day in a locked lobby apart from the store entrance. I work eight hours a day most of the time and have three part time employees, all college kids. The business is showing a profit and I still have the greater portion of my 1.1 mil in the bank.

After bending her ear for over an hour she shook her head and grinned.

"And I thought my life was screwed up. Nothing I've ever done can top that, or even come close."

With no business and the weather getting worse she decided to close early ushering me out the door, I told her I'd see her tomorrow as we parted. Traveling home I found myself thinking she was not only a pretty nice lady, she was a pretty lady. Kudos to her for sitting and listening to me rant for over an hour. If she didn't work weekends, maybe she'd be available for a date, I'd have to tread lightly, I didn't want to mess up a friendship.

Unlike so many mailbox stores and the post office who generally open at nine, I opened at eight. From opening until one o'clock was our busiest time of day, and with the business came the drama. I hear people in business talk all the time about going out and getting more customers, without taking into account the more customers you have the more drama there is.

My dad had been the pastor of a church about 100 strong for over thirty years, when traveling ministers would be in our church, they would ask why he wasn't advertising and seeking more people. My dad had a heart for people who wanted to be helped, but not for those who only want to take up your time and not change for the better, suffering fools was not in his forte. He would look at those traveling minsters and answer with one phrase, "The more sheep you have, the more manure you have."

There was seldom anymore conversation regarding that subject.

This morning the drama began immediately as I approached the door at 7:45. A rather rotund lady gave me a nasty look chastising me for not being open yet. I simply pointed to the sign on the door informing everyone we opened at 8. I know I was being a prick but as she tried following me in, I held up my hand and told her we opened at 8 as I locked the door. She was fuming, but I'd put up with insolent demanding people like her most of my life, people who think the rules are for everyone else. Quite frankly, I didn't care if she was pissed, I dug in my heels as a matter of principal, had she been polite I'd have opened the door for her.

At precisely eight I opened the door to a string of vulgarity I haven't ever heard from a woman's mouth. Standing behind the counter with my mouth shut I pointed to a large sign behind me which stated we reserve the right to not serve those who are rude and inconsiderate. I then asked.

"Have you read that sign ma'am? It applies to you, so you can be polite, or you can go elsewhere."

Other people had entered and were wondering what her problem was. When I asked how I could help her she told me she wanted a sheet of twenty stamps.

"That's it lady? You called me every filthy name under the sun and kept these people from doing what they need to do for twenty stamps?"

I gave her the stamps and change, then asked her not to ever come back, the rest of the day was similar. We boxed and shipped a lot of stuff for military personnel who never gave us any crap at all, it was the busy body wives and lazy husbands who always found something to bitch about. After having been open almost a year I was used to it, but I sure felt sorry for the kids working part time, I couldn't afford to pay them enough money to put up with shit like that every day. Which is why they typically took care of, all the packing and I worked the counter.

Wednesday night at the café was still quiet, though the roads had been cleared and salted people were still afraid to venture out. Berty and I sat talking again, she told me about how she'd lost her husband, her sweetheart since third grade and had not remarried. She'd dated a few guys, but they were so damned immature and controlling she couldn't tolerate being with them. She asked my age, I replied 46, she said she was a few months away from 40. When her late husband Todd left for Iraq she moved in with her folks, going to work for them and that's where she'd been ever since. Her mom counted on she and her brother a lot, grooming them to take over the diner in three or four years.

I asked what she did weekends, before she answered she studied my face looking for clues as to where my conversation was headed.

"On Saturdays I do laundry, Sunday is church, brunch with mom and Aunt Minnie, then I veg the rest of the day. Did you have something in mind?"

"I'm tired of living in my cramped apartment, now that the business is solidly in the black, I thought I might start looking at houses. Wanna ride along? I could use a woman's perspective and I wouldn't mind the company."

"Are you going to take me out for dinner if I do? I mean somewhere nice, not the Toast House."

"Name it, we'll go there."

She told me she'd do her laundry Thursday and Friday morning before she came in at ten, leaving Saturday open. She gave me her address and cell number telling me no earlier than 8, to text when I was on the way. As I left the diner on Friday she waved and told me she'd see me in the morning. I was aware she lived with her mom and wasn't surprised when her mother opened the door.

"Come on in Clyde, she'll be out in a minute. I asked why she was getting so dressed up to go look at houses, she told me to mind my own business. Kids are so sassy these days."

From the hall I heard, "Mother, I'm a month away from 40, I'm hardly a kid any longer. Besides, you're nosy."

"Well you're still sassy, always have been. Now you take good care of my baby Clyde. Curfew is 9 o'clock."

With a stunned look on my face she burst out laughing.

Berty piped up, "I'm forty, your oldest child and I'm still your baby, when does this end mother?"

"When I die, now go have fun."

Berty was in snug but not tight jeans, a western cut red and white checkered shirt, a Titans cap with her ponytail sticking out the back and a pair of sandals. Neither of us had eaten breakfast, we stopped at the I-Hop and had the all you can eat pancake special, I stopped at three and she at two commenting we didn't do that all you can eat special justice.

As the day progressed and the quality of the houses diminished, we chose to pull the plug and call it a day at 4:30. She wanted to go to an Italian place on the base side of Hwy 24, but it was nicer than casual. I offered to take her home to freshen up and change while I did the same thing. She called as we drove to her place and got reservations for seven. I put on black slacks, a dress shirt, tie and brown suede blazer. My shoes were a brown leather basket weave loafer. Nothing special from my point of view.

I'm 5'11" and not what I consider more than the every day looking guy. I've been blessed with a high metabolism, weight has never been an issue if I eat responsibly. The crow's feet have arrived, otherwise my facial features are still intact, I have my own hair and teeth, I can dress up or down as the occasion demands, but I prefer jeans and good pocket tee's when I can get away with it.

She on the other hand rocked what she wore. A light blue dress with a scoop neckline, the hem line ending about 4" above the knee, stockings and short blue heels. I could only imagine what was under that dress. Her hair had been done up in a style I'd never seen her wear and I liked it. Dinner was enjoyable, I don't drink wine and told her to order whatever she wanted, which ended up being the house wine. I figured it was something they served all the time, I'd have a Miller Lite.

We went through the appetizer and then our main meal without a lot of conversation, but a lot of watching the other and smiling. At one point she put her hand on top of mine for about 30 seconds then put it back in her lap. She asked if we could do dessert at an out of the way diner who had excellent pies, a glass of milk and a piece of pie sounded good to me. She had the apple with a crumb crust while I made my way through a piece of banana cream after battling in my mind between it and blueberry.

She wasn't ready to go home and asked if I would show her my apartment. I explained that it was quite small, the complex had lots of amenities and bigger units, but I'd chosen a small one. She didn't care, she simply wasn't ready to go home and have her mother ask a hundred questions, she found my apartment to be "quaint" as she put it. She mentioned she was very impressed that I had blossoming violets and other greenery on my window sills.

I showed her the large bedroom with an attached bath, she complimented me on having made my bed. I let her know it was something I did every day, my mom was no longer with us, but I still heard her tell me every morning to make my bed. I took her through the decent sized living room, a kitchen and small laundry area, other than the patio that's all there was.

Sharing a beer on the couch she boldly took the initiative to break the proverbial ice.

"I see you watching me at the diner all the time, and today wherever I was, you were, then at dinner you didn't take your eyes off me. I'm just wondering if something you aren't telling me."

Like a silly school boy I blurted, "I think you're gorgeous, head to toe." She chuckled and thanked me.

"I would imagine a handsome fella like you has lots of girlfriends and lovers."

"Nope, none of either. You're the first woman I've been out with in over two years."

"Well Clyde, you're the first guy I've gone out with in almost three years. Aren't we a pair?"

"Berty, I have an overwhelming desire to kiss you, would you mind?"

No words, she leaned to me, grabbed my neck and pulled me in for a sweet lingering kiss, sucking my lower lip as we pulled apart. Looking at each other we said nothing more, focusing on our kissing. She finally pulled back, putting her hand on my chest. We were both a bit apprehensive, not sure exactly where or how far we wanted this to go. We necked for a while and then I suggested I take her home before midnight. She asked if I'd go to church with she and her mom, then to brunch afterward. I told her only if I was allowed to pay for everything. With a smile and another soft lingering kiss, she thought that would be okay. I'd pick she and her mom up at 8:45.