Helper

"What?"

"Where'd she take you? Her roof terrace or her sister's lake house?"

"Uh...the lake house. How'd you know?"

"Oh, Stella's a tough cookie, but she's also fairly predictable. Let's see...where'd you guys do it? Couch, pool table, the bar, the swing, the hot tub, or somewhere else?" he asked slowly, counting off each in turn on his fingers.

Terry was shaking his head. "You don't mean...?" He couldn't complete the sentence as Nathan slowly nodded.

"Sorry, man. You're still pretty new so I'd have told you sooner if I'd noticed her getting her claws into you. She hooks a lot of the new guys, reels them in, and then throws them back when she's done with them. And she's not the only one. There's always a chance of something positive coming of it, of course, but several of the regular ladies are a lot like Stella: equal opportunity users."

It all made sense now and he felt like a deflating balloon as he phrased his question with the answer already fairly obvious: "So she really doesn't care about me?"

Nathan's look confirmed his thought. "Terry, that's really up to her to decide and to say, but I can just tell you her past record. For me, it was on the side of the hot tub."

He motioned to Terry to come with him and they approached Bryce, another long-time member. "Hey, Bryce, tell me: Stella did you at the lake house, right? Where'd you do the deed?"

Bryce grinned. "Pool table. Balls flyin' practically everywhere and I thought I'd found what I was searchin' for. Got burned, big time—including my knees—but learned a good lesson on that one!"

Pete, standing next to Bryce was nodding. "I got her on the deck lounge chair on the roof of her building, looking out over the city. It was the hottest fuck ever, for me anyway, but it was one and done for her. Just be careful if you—oh, shit!" he said on seeing Terry's face. "Sorry, man! I didn't realize..."

Terry's expression had told Pete his tale, so he nodded and walked away. He got to say hello to Stella later in the evening, but she basically brushed him off. After that, he attended a few more meetings of the adventure club and went on one more outing, but he found that, as the men had told him, several of the other women about their age seemed to use the group as their personal playground. Not wanting to be used and tossed away again combined with Stella's presence and her continued pattern of "out with the old and in with the new" was too much for him. He stopped attending the meetings and moved on.

Rose was very disappointed. "Terry, you can't feel down because you got used once. You had a good time, didn't you?"

"It was good, while it lasted, but I've been...I don't know, a bit depressed?...ever since. I realize now that it was stupid, that I read too much into it. It was a Valentine's Day adventure, and I guess I was caught up in it, thinking she liked me, but she really was just using me for the moment. Rose, you know me. I always liked to at least get to know a girl before we had sex—and I even thought I loved most of them—but I've never done that, had a one-night stand...until her."

"Well, that's your own damn fault, little brother," she said with a laugh, but she became more serious as she added, "but her using you like that isn't. True, you probably read too much into it too quickly, but that's your nature; always has been and probably always will be. You thought the two of you had a connection, which sort of technically negates the solely-for-pleasure part of a one-night stand. Right?"

"Well...I guess."

"Damn right it does! Now, be a little more careful, but get back out there and try again!"

***

Terry did, but his success was quite limited.

Late that spring after months of frustration and fewer than a handful of less-than-satisfying first-dates, he decided to try a dancing class at a local dance studio. He signed up for the class that featured waltzes, foxtrot, and tango, with, according to the ad, "a brief introduction to salsa." The advertisement said that singles were welcome and would be paired off with other single class members. He figured that could be an easy way to meet someone and get to know them.

Unfortunately, when the class started, Terry discovered that he must have been the only person to read that part of the ad for that session; no other singles showed up. Therefore, he did his dancing with the married 30-something instructor since she wasn't about to lose a paying customer.

The instructor was named Isabelle, she was Hispanic, and she was hot. In the twelve weeks of the course, he learned a lot about dancing from her. However, he also felt a great deal of frustration as they moved together and then said goodbye each week, unlike many of the married couples who looked like they were ready to rip each others' clothes off right on the dance floor rather than waiting to get home.

It was after the last class session in the course on a Thursday night when Terry and Isabelle looked almost as eager to make out as the other couples did with each other. They'd gotten to know each other as friends and had become quite good at dancing together, though most of that, he knew, was due to Isabelle. This time, she added an extra move at the end, coming out of a spin and ending in a hug where she was straddling his leg.

She stayed tight against him after the finale, her crotch hot as it pressed against his thigh. He suspected that she could feel the growing bulge in his pants against her leg, too. They were looking into each other's eyes when it was over, but Terry reddened with embarrassment as he realized that she could see the pure lust in his expression.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped as they separated, but Isabelle shook her head and put a finger to his lips before he could say more.

"Don't be," she whispered. "You've found the fire of dancing. Now you need to find a real partner, a partner of your own, for dancing...and maybe more? There's someone out there for you, Terry, someone who's going to be a very lucky girl." She kissed him lightly on the lips, little more than the soft brush of a butterfly's wings, before sending him on his way.

After a quick stop in the locker room to towel off, put on fresh deodorant, and throw on a clean shirt, he was on the road, thinking of that oh-so-gentle kiss and looking forward to the welcome relief he was going to experience at Isabelle's expense, perhaps multiple times, when he got home.

It was then that he ran into a traffic jam. His usual road toward home was partially blocked for repaving, so he decided to go around the long way rather than wait in line. After all, he figured he had something of a date to attend to.

A few streets down he was about to take a right when he saw the sign for Olympus Sports Bar, a little place he'd passed a number of times over the years but never ventured into. With his ardor having cooled a bit and feeling increasingly bad about the thoughts he'd been having about his beautiful but married partner/instructor, he decided to go in for a drink. That was a rare event for Terry, but something about that place seemed to be calling to him that night, so he stopped and ventured inside.

He went up to the bar and took a seat where he could see the football game on the big screen TV. The new season had started only days earlier.

"Whatcha' have?" asked the barkeeper.

"Bottle of Heineken, please." While he turned to get it, Terry sighed when he realized it was a Thursday night pro football game rather than college. He enjoyed the college game, but he had no interest in the pro game at all.

"Rough day?" asked the bartender as he set the bottle in front of Terry.

"Enough," he answered as he handed him a five, "but not too bad. Road was partially blocked for paving at Marshall, even though it looked like the workers had already gone home, so I took the long route home tonight and saw your sign out front. Don't know what it was but something seemed to draw me in here."

"Well, I'd love to tell you this is a magical place, but neither Mickey nor Harry Potter's ever visited, at least as far as I know, leading me to doubt it. Whatever it was, glad to have you stop in and hope you'll do it again soon," he said. "My name's Rick. Let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?"

"Thanks, Rick. Will do."

Terry looked up at the TV again but was bored so he looked around to see if there was another set visible with something else, anything else, on. That's when he saw her sitting a few stools away, looking directly at him. When she saw him catch her eye, she smiled and gave a little nod.

She was blonde, with straight hair that ended in a taper some inches below her shoulders, and deep blue eyes. She appeared to be relatively tall—sitting on the stool, it was a bit hard to tell for sure, but he later estimated about 5'-9 when she was standing. Her dress was white and rather form fitting, making him believe she exercised regularly and that she was probably a C or maybe even a D-cup. She had a pair of those high, strappy sandals on her feet. Terry guessed she was about 40 years of age, and didn't have to guess that she was beautiful. She smiled again before asking, "Mind if I join you?"

He was quite surprised she was speaking to him and even more surprised that she seemed to be so forward about it, but he decided to return the favor. "How about if I come to you?"

She smiled again before waving to the adjacent stool. "This one's available." There was just a hint of a European accent when she spoke.

"Thanks."

He was about to give his name when she declared, "You're new."

"Here, yes, but I'd be the first to admit that I have a few miles on me."

She gave a little nod with her smile as she appeared to be looking him over. She leaned closer and said, "Oh, maybe a few, but you look like you've still got a lot of miles left on you before you head to the scrap heap. Let's see...you're around 50 years of age, 6-foot even, maybe 180 pounds."

She paused for a moment as she leaned closer, closed her eyes, and breathed in. "Hmmm...the smell of fresh deodorant and the musk of sweat. You've been working out, and probably do so fairly regularly—I wouldn't even be surprised if you played a sport in college—and you're even a fairly handsome guy."

His eyes widened as she spoke, leading her to wink at him as his eyebrows shot up on the last part. Still, she wasn't done. "I'd guess that you're white collar rather than blue, and probably have at least a college education, if not more. You don't drink much at bars since you ordered by the bottle rather than on tap, and you definitely don't smoke since you don't smell like a chimney flue." She smiled at his expression on that one. "So...what brings you to this little stomping ground?"

Terry looked at her, surprised, unable to dispute anything she'd said other than that the part about the college sport, and even that was correct if she was counting his intramural rugby team, so he let that pass and answered instead. "No big mystery. I was on my way home to Sylvester, my cat, and decided he wouldn't miss me for a little longer."

"You're not wearing a ring. Divorced?"

He nodded and looked down at his bottle. "Not by choice. I thought sure Cupid's arrows had found true love for us but it wasn't meant to be."

Her eyes widened, for just a moment, and she stared at him in silence for several seconds until his look became questioning. Still, she sat, unmoving, looking at him closely for a few more moments before she finally spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice. "Damn little imps. Who ever heard of trusting bows and arrows to flying babies, and then having people put any kind of faith in the result?" She grinned, finally drawing a smile from him before she continued in her normal voice. "Really, it's her loss, I'm guessing. You seem nervous, though."

He looked down at the bottle again, staring at it this time. "A bit, I guess. I actually haven't had much luck with women since the divorce, especially those who are equally observant and beautiful."

She smiled primly, taking her time to look down for a second as if embarrassed, which surprised him. She didn't seem the type to be embarrassed by a compliment. Or anything else, for that matter.

She looked back up at him, her smile warming. "Thank you. I don't receive many really genuine compliments such as that. But, please, don't be nervous on my account."

"Thank you, but I don't believe that for a moment. I suspect you get compliments by the bucketful."

She laughed. "Compliments, true, and sometimes in quantity. Really genuine ones from guys who aren't trying to take me to bed, or worse, back to a bathroom stall? Those are quite valuable but are also in very short supply."

Terry looked at her for several seconds before figuring out what to say. "Well, the compliment really was genuine, so please take it to heart." He paused for a few more seconds before adding, in little more than a whisper, "And I must admit, I've never been into bathroom stall action and have never intentionally tried to sleep with a girl until at least the third date."

"Hmmm. Two words jump out at me. Intentionally?"

"Remember Hall and Oates, Maneater? I ran into one a few months ago. I was stupid and read way too much into it, thinking she liked me." He paused, volunteering no more.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Women like that give us all a bad name. And speaking of women, that brings us to the second word. You said 'Girl.'"

"Guess it's my turn to say, 'sorry.' The last time I went on a third date was with a college girl."

"What happened?"

"She turned me down on the third, fourth, and fifth dates before finally telling me she was falling in love with me and screwing me silly on the sixth. It took a little while but we ended up married for 25 years."

She grinned. "Okay, I'll let the 'girl' pass on that one, but you might want to be careful with that in the future. In this modern day, some women are touchy about such things."

"Thanks. So noted."

She gave a funny little smile and looked into his eyes for a few seconds before asking, "So...tell me, do you still live by an antiquated code where you don't intentionally sleep with a woman until the third date?"

There was something about the way she continued looking at him after asking that question. Rather than blurting out "No, I'll take you home right now," it was all he could do to look back at her and say, "I really don't know."

She smiled as if she'd won some great truth out of him before nodding. Reaching into her purse, she drew out a black business card with slightly-raised white letters that she handed to him. "My name's Gwen. Call me sometime."

In addition to her full name, Gwendipha Amorini, her number, her e-mail address, and the word Professional Liaison were all that was printed on the card, with an embossing around the perimeter to give it character.

Terry gave her his name and wished her good night before heading home.

***

Chapter 5

Terry debated it for the next few days as Gwen's card seemed to stare back at him from under the magnet every time he started to open the refrigerator door. It was beautifully embossed with an intricate pattern that went all the way around the printing in the center of the card. The embossing looked like it was a river flowing around the card; sometimes, when the lighting was right, the reflections on it made it appear to be moving.

Terry's friend Carl came over to Terry's house on Saturday and they watched their college alma mater get slaughtered by the usual conference champion. As the score got more and more lop-sided, the conversation turned to women. Carl and his girlfriend of recent months had broken up and he was already working on getting a date with a new acquaintance. On learning of Gwen, he proceeded to give Terry a hard time.

"So why haven't you called her? You're one of my oldest friends, Terry, and the nicest guy I know, but nobody else will know that unless you get to know them. Lacey screwed you over almost as bad as Joanne did me—without the actual fucking her boss part, repeatedly, of course—but you've got to move past that."

"Carl! I've told you, I have."

"Yeah, I know. You keep saying you have enough, maybe you'll convince yourself of it eventually, but I've known you long enough to know when you're lying, to me and to yourself. Well, now's your chance to do something about it! If she's as nice, and as hot, as you say she is, you need to get together with this Gwen-lady and get to know her or else shut up and forget about it."

"I'll think about it, Carl. Just drop it, okay?"

"Okay, I will. Not another word."

They went back to watching the game for all of one play before Carl spoke up again. "Of course, if you wait too long, someone else will snap her up and you'll be pissed at me for not staying after you about it—"

"Carl!"

***

Between the card on the refrigerator, Carl's "Have you called her yet?" text messages, and Rose's encouragement, by Monday night, Terry had finally had enough. "What the hell. Sylvester, I'm calling her."

The big cat gave him that perturbed look of "What took you so long?" or perhaps "Why should I care?"

Terry dialed her number slowly, unsure if he really wanted to do it, but he hadn't been able to get her off his mind. In fact, it was the first time he could remember since the divorce that he'd gone more than a day without wondering where Lacey was and what she was doing. Though it took a while to connect, the phone rang just once before immediately being picked up.

"Amorini Liaison Services. This is Gwen. How can I help make your day more productive, run more smoothly, or just be better?"

"Hi, Gwen. This is Terry Foster. We met the other night at the Olympus bar. You gave me your card."

"Hel-lo, Terry! How nice of you to call! I assume you're calling me in my personal capacity rather than in my corporate mode, right?"

"Definitely," he agreed. "But I guess I'll ask, what type of liaison service do you provide?"

"I use my network to link entities to get the job done, whatever that job is. That runs the gamut from those needing the right people with the right qualities or skills to finding the right partners so both sides benefit."

"Sort of like a corporate recruiter?"

"Yes...something like that, though it's often broader than that. It all depends on the need."

"Sounds...complicated," he said.

She laughed. "Sometimes, yes, but you might be surprised at some of the things I've pulled over the years."

"So where do you go to find all this?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. I've successfully united clients and whatever it is they're seeking all over the world, though mostly Europe and North America. I work very closely with a network of firms offering similar services around the world. Needless to say, I travel. A lot. In fact, you'll never guess where I am now."

"Wow," he said, impressed, but playing her game, he decided on something ridiculously outrageous. "Oh, I'd say...Paris."

She chuckled before saying, "You're actually fairly close in the big scheme of things. Rotterdam."

"Rotterdam? Really? It's got to be what? 1 AM there? I'm so sorry if I woke you up."

"Two, but no matter, and no, I wasn't sleeping. Now, enough of that; you said you were calling about a personal matter?"

"Ah, yeah. I, ah, was wondering if you'd have dinner with me sometime?"

There was a pause on the line. Gwen seemed to be thinking before she replied, "Dinner on our first date? You do know what the modern thoughts are on what's appropriate for first dates, right?"

"Well, I figured we did the initial drink-slash-coffee thing the other night."

She laughed again. "True, I guess, but then that means this must be our second date. Interesting. Only one to go."