Christmas Past, Christmas Present Ch. 02

She sat down on the side of the bed and patted it, indicating for him to sit next to her. Turning back toward him, she said, "You're an ideas-man, first and foremost, Bruce, but you've made the new products development department what it is by also having the great ability to follow through. If you give yourself half a chance, I believe in my heart that you'll come up with something."

Bruce bowed his head and rubbed his forehead with both his palms. "I just don't know, sweetheart. I don't know what I want," he whispered. When he looked up at her, hoping for reassurance, he saw she was gone.

***

On Tuesday morning, Bruce arrived at the office very early. He tried to prepare for a team meeting later in the morning, but he found that between what he'd already done and Mei's research, there was little new preparation required. After going through his notes, he confirmed the new assignments and then closed the folder in frustration.

A black binder on his shelf attracted his attention so he pulled it out and started reading. A couple of minutes later, he closed it, too, before picking it up and walking out of his office. He wandered the halls for a few minutes before finding himself outside a cubicle. Looking at the nameplate on the side, he hesitated for just a moment before giving a light tap.

Paula Levesque jumped at the noise, looking up from her monitor and the binder beside her as if she was caught in something illicit rather than being hard at work.

"Mr. Garner!" she yelped, her eyes wide. She looked at him, but then glanced down, as if fearful, at the black HR binder he clutched in front of him.

"Hi, Paula, sorry to bother you so early, but I wanted to apologize about yesterday afternoon and to explain something."

She waved her hands as she told him there was no need, that she understood, but he shook his head in reply. He fumbled, trying to explain for a few seconds, but felt as if he was digging his hole deeper as the sides caved in on him. He finally held up a hand in front of his forehead, his palm toward her, as he said, "Hold on. Please, can we go off the clock and just be Paula and Bruce for a few minutes?"

Her look was one of great doubt, as if she should have a baseball bat at the ready in case he tried to pull anything, but with great hesitation, she finally said, "Okay. Bruce."

He smiled, his nerves finally relaxing for the first time since they started speaking. It was time for the pitch, something at which he'd long excelled, so he started. "Paula, you're new to the firm..." He went on about the good and the bad characteristics of the company, for a moment, and how this wasn't a good time for her to come aboard in his admittedly high-risk department.

She gave a complacent smile and a little nod. "I think that's what Mrs. Juarez was telling me."

"Yes, she understood that part," he said, before pausing, giving himself one last chance to walk away before he said too much, but for only a moment. As if an unseen hand in the center of his back was pushing him, he continued. "The second part, though, has to do with me and the Human Resources manual. I've been, well, on my own for a long time—"

Thoughts of Angela, her passing, and the years since flooded through his mind, along with the strange events of the night before. There was no time to dwell on that; he pushed himself on.

"—and I've been very comfortable with that. You can basically say I'm set in my ways and I'm not looking to change. But then I see someone that attracts my attention, someone I don't even know but who makes me question whether I'm missing something, something important."

She was still giving him that questioning look, as if wondering why he was telling her that. Fearful he was losing her attention, he made the turn like he'd done in so many business meetings over the years. "It makes me wonder if I need to take a chance on meeting her, getting to know her, and seeing if there might be something there, something worth pursuing."

He stepped forward and placed the binder he was holding on her desk and flipped it open to a tabbed page. "This subparagraph right here's the important one."

She looked at the page but then looked back up at him. "I'm sorry, Bruce; I understand what it says but I'm not sure I understand why you're pointing it out to me."

Now, he knew, it was time for the pitch, that make-or-break moment where interest causes the listener to ask for more or everything comes to a screeching halt. He pressed his hands against his body to keep them from shaking and he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to calm himself before he spoke again. "Paula, as long as I'm not your supervisor and as long as I have a legitimate reason not to be, the company has no reason to interfere or threaten to discipline either of us if I were to, say, ask you out."

Her eyes were wide in surprise and he knew he was on the verge of losing her completely, seeing his risk come to naught. She was about to shake her head, to say no, so he went into damage control, still trying to sell his pitch.

"Of course, if you were to say no, I'd have to take it at face value and couldn't pressure you to change your mind beyond giving you a pouty, puppy-dog expression and maybe saying 'Pretty please?'"

There. It was done. It was in her court and he was at her mercy, her look giving him no confidence at all in the impending outcome.

Quietly, she asked, "Bruce, are you asking me to go out with you?"

When she didn't say no, he felt as if he'd been thrown a lifeline, a second chance. With a nervous nod and a hint of a smile, he replied. "Yes. Yes, I am. Paula, will you go out with me?" He almost stopped, but for some reason, he added what he'd just said. "Pretty please?"

She appeared to be searching his face for an ulterior motive, maybe for a trick, but on seeing his look of genuine concern, her expression gradually changed to a smile. With a nod, she said, "Yes, Bruce, I think I'd like that."

A near-crushing weight felt as if it was being lifted from his chest but he had no time to respond for two others—Vince Fordham and Kristy, Tanner, he believed—entered the area, chatting.

"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Garner," said a surprised Kristy as she walked by Paula's cubicle.

"Morning!" called Vince, already sitting down in his own space without even noticing Bruce.

"Good morning," Bruce replied, looking up at both of them as Paula said the same. Looking back to her, he added at a whisper, "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Paula, with pen in hand, gave him her business card. When he looked at it, not quite understanding, she gently touched his hand, turning the card over. On the back was her personal phone number.

***

Bruce looked at the number on the card more times than he would have wanted to admit that afternoon, despite having memorized the number on the very first viewing. The hastily-written cursive of the word "Cell" was feminine and delicate, as were the numbers themselves. He stared at them time after time, trying to see if they held some deeper, hidden meaning, but each time he finally looked away only seeing them as a tenuous connection to allow him to take a step forward with Paula.

It was the thought of the uncertainty of that step that bothered him throughout the afternoon and even more so as the night fell and the evening progressed. Each time he picked up his phone, he hesitated, his doubts about whether he was doing the right thing overcoming his will to take the risk. Never a nervous man or one to seriously doubt himself or his abilities, it was a strange, almost unsettling, feeling.

Bruce poured himself three fingers of Evan Williams eggnog in a whisky tumbler before looking at the phone once more. It was just after 8 PM, but he delayed once more; instead, he picked up his book and retreated to his favorite recliner to read a few pages before committing to a specific course of action.

Taking a sip of the nog, he opened the book to Stave 5—The End of It, and started reading. Scrooge's excitement and uncertainty warmed him even more than the drink.

"'I don't know what to do,' cried Scrooge," Bruce read aloud. Sighing, he added, "I'm right there with you, Ebenezer." He turned back to the book but a voice startled him.

"You're drinking on a weeknight?" asked Angela, sitting across from him on the edge of the couch. "Want to talk about it?"

Bruce eyed her uncertainly. "I thought I might have dreamed our little encounter last night, but here you are again."

"Who's to say you didn't?" she asked with a crooked smile. "If, that is, you want to actually risk telling anyone about it. Of course, since I'm trying to look out for your best interests, I'm back to check on your progress. If there is any?"

"I spoke with her today...and even made it so far as to ask her out..."

"But?" she asked, filling in the obvious for him as she had from time to time during their long marriage.

With a hint of frustration, he answered. "But I haven't called her tonight to set up the actual date."

"Oh, Bruce! She agreed to go out with you but you haven't capitalized on it? What's wrong with you, my love? This is worse than I'd feared; your usual business acumen—you know, closing the deal?—is failing you right when it really counts."

The look of disappointment on her face touched him. "Angela, why does it matter to you? It's just a chance at a date, nothing more. It's not like we're going to go out, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after."

She gave a little nod. "True, neither of us know if any of that will happen...but...I can practically guarantee you that none of the good things that might possibly happen ever will if you don't take that first step. You may take it once, twice, or maybe even a hundred times—oh, I tend to doubt that it would take that long, though I must admit that, having been married to you for long, I might be a little biased about that—but you have to take that first step the first time to get the ball rolling."

He frowned determinedly. "What if I don't want to? What if I'm content to stay here and have debates with you about my love life, or lack thereof, every night? What if..."

He looked around with a jerk but Angela was gone without answering once again. Knowing the truth, he closed the book on his lap, set it to the side, and dialed the phone.

"Hello, Paula? Hi, it's Bruce Garner. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

***

Bruce pulled up in front of the modest home that Friday evening and gave a sigh as he turned off the engine. This was it, he knew, that step that Angela had pushed him to take.

With a bit of reluctance, he got out of the car and stepped around to the sidewalk before looking closely at the house. A bungalow with a wide front porch and a couple of dormer windows up top, it looked much like many of the other homes in the neighborhood. It was the person inside, not the house, he reminded himself, that was of interest. Still, there was that hesitation that had plagued him so much in recent days, so he paused, looking at the home for several seconds before he felt a hand in the small of his back giving him a slight push forward.

Or maybe it was the wind, for Bruce jerked around but saw no one behind him or even anywhere nearby. Shaking his head, he whispered to himself, "Let's do this," as he started up the steps to the short walk to the door.

His knock was answered by a pretty young lady, taller by several inches and with darker hair than Paula but with somewhat similar facial features and the same bright-blue eyes.

"Hi, I'm Bruce Garner, here to pick up Paula Levesque."

The girl—probably in high school or maybe even college, he guessed—didn't introduce herself. Instead, she did all she could to control a huge smile, even biting her lower lip, before replying. "I'll let her know you're here."

Turning, she ran up the stairs in a flash, causing him to try to control his own grin when he heard her call, "Mom! He's here!"

Paula came down a couple of minutes later, her face glowing red when she saw him still standing there in the living room by the front door. "Bruce! Judy didn't offer you a seat!"

He grinned. "No, I think she may have had more butterflies about this than even I've been feeling."

"I'm so sorry. She's studying for her final on Monday and is more than a bit excited that I'm doing this. It's been a long time..."

They chatted about their respective weeks in the car on the short drive to the restaurant. It wasn't too far from Paula's home, but she'd told him that she'd never been there, so he'd arranged for a reservation. They were escorted to their table on arrival and Paula looked around taking in the decor and its ambiance, as the busboy stopped by to fill their glasses and tell them their server would be with them momentarily.

"Bruce, I, ah, I haven't been to a fancy place like this in a long time. It's so...so lovely."

"I'm glad you like it, but I'm with you. This is my first visit. To be honest, I haven't been out much of anywhere in a long while—or had butterflies—with anyone."

"I hope you don't think it's gossip but Mrs. Juarez told me you're a widower. Does that have anything to do with it?"

"Barb's correct, and yes, it does," he replied, quietly, not sure how much to say. After a brief pause, he decided to be perfectly truthful, hoping it wouldn't be too much information. "My wife died and I had a hard time dealing with it. You know the so-called 'steps of grief?' Denial and anger? I had those in particular abundance. It's been four years, but the later feelings in the process, not so much, and acceptance, the last stage where you come to terms and move on? That one, I'm afraid, has been in very short supply and I'm still dealing with it. What about you? Not meaning to be part of the gossip mill either, but Barb told Mei, my PA, that you lost your husband a while back, too?"

"I'm sorry," she said as she reached across the table to pat his hand before retreating back to her own side. "And yes, they're correct, too. I lost Jean-Louis seven years ago, and I think I know what you mean. I was pretty heavy into the depression stage for a long time, blaming myself for his death, and I've only reached the level of acceptance where I can think about moving on just recently, despite trying for the past few years." She took a sip of water before looking at him, looking deep into his eyes.

He didn't waver, looking back into her twin blues before they both glanced away.

"Paula, I'm sorry it took you so long. If you don't mind me asking, how'd you reach that point? If you tell me, maybe it would help me get there, too."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that," she said, shaking her head repeatedly. "Bruce, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let's just say, I'm thinking of picking up writing—you know, fiction—again because I've discovered that I must have a surprisingly fertile imagination."

He nodded in reply as he looked down at his water. "Yeah, that sounds familiar, but I suspect my story would land me in a psychiatric ward if I were to tell a shrink."

The mood was broken when the server arrived at their table. "Hi, I'm Charité, welcome to Rancho Luminoso. I'll be your server this evening. Would you like to start with drinks and an appetizer? In addition to those on the menu, Chef Claud has created a delightful batch of baked artichoke hearts with a light coating of olive oil, a blend of..."

After Charité finished her recitation, took their drink order, and moved away, they took a moment to turn to the menu, discussing a couple of options each before making their decisions. The artichoke hearts with their topping of garlic and cheeses were a hit and both agreed that the chardonnay was excellent, though each sipped their glass carefully, as if trying to make it last all evening.

Their discussion ranged from family to education, from career to hobbies. Each probed gently, finding common interests without digging too deep or straying into potential danger zones such as politics or religion, and the evening passed pleasantly, allowing them to become more familiar but not too much so.

When Bruce pulled up in front of Paula's home as their date wound down, he came around his car, opened her door, and walked arm-in-arm with her up the steps and walkway to her front door. Stopping, they separated and looked at each other.

"Bruce, thank you for dinner and for a lovely evening. I enjoyed spending the time with you," she said, trying to hit the right balance between saying too little and being too effusive.

He smiled and nodded. "And, Paula, thank you for joining me. I thought it was a lovely evening, too, and enjoyed getting to know you a little. Perhaps we can do it again soon," he said, more as a statement than as a question, to which she nodded with a smile of her own.

He saw her breath catch, as if she was waiting for something, perhaps even for him to step forward, take her in his arms, and kiss her, but he hesitated, reaching out to take her hand before giving it a gentle squeeze and saying, "Goodnight and pleasant dreams."

He turned and walked away, not believing how lame that sounded or that he'd failed to follow through and give her at least a little kiss. As he started the car and put it in Drive, he glanced across her little lawn to see her still standing in the doorway, watching him go.

***

On seeing his car disappear down the street, Paula turned and went inside with tears in her eyes. Bruce was a nice man and she saw him as having potential, but she felt as if, somehow, she'd lost his interest. No kiss, no hug, and a hand squeeze that lasted barely longer than the bat of an eye? She felt her anger rising, not at Bruce, for there was no accounting for his taste or desire, but at herself for becoming too interested too quickly. Perhaps it was her encounter of the weekend before, whether real or imagined, but after such a long drought, the fire within her kindled instantly and ferociously, leading her to want more of whatever it had been, regardless of its length of time frame.

Judy met her inside. "Did you have a good time, Mom?" she asked. "He was pretty handsome and seemed very nice."

Paula nodded, trying to hide her desire. "It was a very nice time," she replied, "and he really was nice. A perfect gentleman. Now, I'm going up to take a long, hot bath, and then go to bed. Don't stay up too late, dear, okay?"

Giving her daughter a big hug, she went upstairs, lost in her thoughts and frustrations.

Yes, Bruce was a perfect gentleman, she thought as she drew the bathwater, as warm as she could stand it. Too perfect, in this case, she decided as she tied her hair up high to try to keep it dry. Easing into the tub, she sunk down into its soothing warm, and relaxed, closing her eyes and imagining what it might be like to be his arms engulfing her rather than the water. Reaching down, she touched herself, running her fingers over her mound and around, zeroing in on her clitoris far faster than she intended but not as quickly as she wished. Over and over, around and around, she swirled around her little nub, feeling the desire increasing by the moment as she imagined Bruce taking her to new heights.

For the second weekend in a row, Paula gasped Bruce's name as her orgasm swept through her, but this time, instead of having Jean-Louis' face, the face in her imagination was that of Bruce Garner.

***

After a restless sleep, Bruce awoke around 3 AM and flipped on his bedside lamp before making a trip to the bathroom. When he returned, Angela sat cross-legged in her flannel pajamas atop the white duvet on her side of the bed as if it was no particular night years earlier, before the cancer had swept through her and ultimately taken her away.

"She seemed like a nice woman," she declared. "Are you going to see her again?"