Her Mom & I Share a Birthday Pt. 01

"Charlotte, I understand, but that was three years ago. Let it go." he pleaded.

"Oh, I have; it's not that. Good riddance to both of them. They divorced last year. Dumb shit called the house looking for me a couple of months ago. Dad told him if he came within 50 miles, he'd kill him. Nice gesture, but both of them are long dead to me anyway. I told him not to waste the bullet," she said.

"You're right, you know. A different day, a different time. He's sweeter than anyone I've ever met. If the right girl can get past his---you know----she'd get a good catch. But not now; it can't happen. Especially not him--capiche," again yelling.

A pause. "Please, just steer him away," she sounded sad.

"Look, we've only got him until January; then he gets transferred,"

"Do it, please," she asked softly.

"OK, OK," Victor said. "Is he still here?"

"Yeah, cleaning up the place like the good little Boy Scout he is," she replied.

"Go ahead and split, I'll take care of it. Viewership was way up again, I'm going to boost his cut."

I fade. Quietly. I'm puttering downstairs when he calls down asking me to stop by.

I knock and enter. He looks pained.

"What's up, sir?" I ask. "You laying me off? You look kinda grim." I'm thinking 'Nothing like intelligence to give you a leg up.'

"Let's do the good news," he says tossing a check at me. It's $5,000.

"You sure you want to go into logistics? This is pretty good money," he says.

I look at the check, gathering my thoughts.

"First, thanks. This is very generous. Second, my Grandmommy had a plaque in her kitchen that said 'Kissing don't last; Cooking do'," I replied.

He looked up at the ceiling, "That actually makes sense."

"Yep," I replied. I stood up, holding out my hand. "This is way too generous, but thank you."

"Hold on for a second; let's talk," he requested.

And I'm thinking, 'OK buddy, how are you going to do this?'

He coughs, "I'm not sure how to put this."

"You've fallen in love with me?" I interrupt.

He looks like he bit into a sour pickle. "You and your quips; you're gonna slip up one day in front of the wrong person," he admonishes.

"Yeah, true, sorry. What's up?" I ease into it.

He pauses.

"I'm not sure how to broach this, but are you trying to put a move on Charlotte?"

Well, that's not the gambit I expected, but take what they give you.

"Huh?" I say. "She barely says two words to me when I'm here. Where did that come from?"

"I don't know, she just expressed concern the other day," he offered.

"Is this a speak for yourself John Alden conversation? Or fourth-graders passing notes about who likes whom?"

He glared.

"No, Jackass," came the retort. "But I'll be kind. She's concerned you may have misread something. To be direct, she has no interest in a relationship with anyone right now."

I relent, a little.

"Well, that much was clear; she could have said something to me you know. But whatever. I'm only here for a few more months. But let her know I wasn't trying to put a move on her. Remember our first meeting? My being a Lothario is not possible in this space-time continuum--physically or personality.-wise OK, so she's bright, cute, sharp, and, for lack of a better word----terribly cute. (I insert a sigh.) OK, [pause] OK, let her know message received without issue. See you Wednesday, friend."

I stood and shook his hand.

OF ALL SAD WORDS OF TONGUE OR PEN, THE SADDEST ARE THESE, 'IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN'.

Out on the deck, two scotches put away, I start trying to figure out Charlotte, but am getting nowhere. I understand women like I understand nuclear physics -- push this button, bomb go boom. So her fiancé blew it (I chuckle at the inverse pun--and then feel bad, really bad). But I'm not in the same universe as those bozos who try to get laid anywhere anytime. I'm a nice guy, I think. No, I know. I just don't have skills, that's all.

But, and it's a big but, considering what I'm doing with her and Victor, how is being collegial and offering to walk her to her car an HR violation?

I have no answers. Just do your job I tell myself; you're out of debt and getting ahead, work is going good, Denver is a nice town, be in the moment.

And so other than holding the door for her if we happened to be there at the same time, I stayed low-key, did my job, cleaned up afterwards, was polite, and left quietly.

Still, I found myself staring at her when she was not aware and wondering what gives. What if, what's going on, what's bothering her, etc. It was prominent in my thoughts on my commutes, runs and rides, and especially the quiet time before sleep.

I had a crush. A serious one. A real serious one. And it wasn't going away.

And I had no chance or hope of moving it off square one.

Until................... the first of November.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

I am now good and comfortable with where I am, and so, poof---we're now down to 75 days before I get re-assigned. Work is great, the modeling is still going strong, and my fan base in increasing. And of course, I still hang around longer than I should, straightening up and stealing glances at Charlotte. I'm mature enough to know what obsession is. It'll pass with time and when I move, but she's just so beautiful is all.

Anyway, today's my birthday. The weather was crisp and clear with a light wind, so I got out early and pushed 60 miles hard. Back by 11, dressed up for the party: white shirt, creased jeans, blazer, loafers, and underneath it all, a pair of Paris burgundy lace back panties and seamed thigh-highs I borrowed, sort of, from Victor. Losing my moral compass, my sexual identity, or sense of perspective? Nah, I'm turning 30, and I was in a good mood.

A very good mood, actually. I made it to 30. It was a good solid ride, nice weather, and the Gamecocks won -- hence the underwear colors. I added just a dash of friskiness to the day. Who's to know? So sue me.

I gathered up my steady date -- Ms. Kindle -- and we headed off to the Hilton for the Sunday Brunch.

Start with salmon and shrimp, next is a salmon omelet, and then back for prime rib. For fun, I add a couple of waffle segments. The South has chicken and waffles, so here in Colorado I've got prime rib and waffles. I'm walking back to the table but come to stop as a party of three is following the Hostess to their table.

At which point our Director yells 'Action!!' as the second act of the Lifetime Movie of the Week gets underway.

The Hostess seats the lady first and then moves aside to pull the chair out for the gentleman as he steps up.

OhhhhKaaaayyyy. What do you know?

It's the Senior VP of Ops at the Company. I mean THE, not A, but THE guy in charge of Operations. Mr. Jordan. To be sure, we are somewhat acquainted as he hosts an hour session with the new hires every Wednesday morning, The program is his brainchild and you had to pass his interview to get in. He nods, then double takes.

"Charles, right? Charles Rone -- Air Force -- Georgia Tech -- got it. Uhmmm, how are you?" he asks.

"Good afternoon; I'm fine sir," I say. Turning to the lady, "Good afternoon ma'am."

At that moment, the third person steps out to the left moving to the other side of the table.

It's Charlotte.

I freeze.

The lady - his wife? -- is replying, "I'm fine, thank you. Robert, is this one of your people?"

Meanwhile, the events of the last 15 seconds are dawning on Charlotte -- their daughter? In slow motion, Charlotte's eyes widen, flare, and she too freezes in mid-stride with a gasp, subtle but still a gasp.

At which point the conversation jumbles as I get back to reality as fast as I can: Mr. Jordan says yes he is, one of the 2023 class; as I say yes ma'am, I joined in June; as she says how nice, is your wife nearby; as I say no ma'am, it's just me; to which she responds, oh, interesting, waffles and prime rib; as I look down and then back to her shrugging, yes, ma'am it's my birthday, I'm being extravagant; which she follows with no need to call me ma'am; and I say sorry but I'm Southern and you are Mr. Jordan's wife; at which point she dimples and the conversation pauses.

She rises and presents her hand advising it is her birthday too; to which for once I assiduously avoid over reacting as I gently shake it and wish her a very happy birthday; whereupon she switches hands as she turns toward Charlotte still holding mine and introduces her as 'our daughter'; who is now gripping the chair so hard her knuckles are white but still somehow manages to give the slightest nod and a flicker of a smile.

I occasionally got to airlift what were affectionately known as special weapons. 'Handle like eggs' did not begin to describe how careful you had to be. I knew if I did not get the hell out of there in the next three seconds, that chair was coming across the table.

I smiled, looked straight at her and said, "Oh hello." I was hoping against hope that I would not blush, which I always do. And of course, the adrenaline pump was already flowing wide open. Maybe they would pass it off to the impromptu meeting and social awkwardness of running into the Boss and his family.

Mrs. Jordan, unaware of the pending catastrophe (the chair getting airborne), released my hand and then said she'd ask me to join them but it appeared I had a head start; to which I noted I indeed had a substantial one and was on the next to last lap; to which she replied I seemed fit enough to go a couple more times at which point Mr. Jordan, sensing a conversation was about to get under way cleared his throat, and I gave him the slightest of nods, stepping back and re-wishing her a very happy birthday, then turning to Charlotte I took two giant steps out on paper thin ice, and said it was very nice to meet her, then turning to Mr. Jordan, I extended my hand and apologized for the intrusion. His grip was firm. He smiled. I faded.

There's a Grateful Dead lyric that goes:

Well, I ain't always right, but I've never been wrong / Seldom turns out the way it does in a song; Once in a while, you get shown the light / In the strangest of places, if you look at it right.

Walking back to my table, an idea flickered, then coalesced and like Frankenstein became alive. I waved to the first wait staff I saw, asked for the wine list, and then ordered champagne for their table. Second most expensive bottle. $300 bill. But as Deadpool noted when he wasted two of his bullets on the guy who shot him in a very tender place, "Worth It!!!"

I did not linger over the prime rib and then got some desserts to go being intent on disappearing before someone could no longer control her homicidal urges. There were lots of steak knives in the room. I walked around the Mall for a bit replaying the encounter over and over. Then as I headed to the car, I actually began hyperventilating while laughing out loud. Damn I thought, was that too much??? I was cool, and Charlotte did not "recognize" me. Could be I'm a suck-up; could be I'm just a well-intentioned Southern boy, But it was indeed a bold move.

The adrenaline depleted, I headed home, depressing as the rush faded.

Now I appreciated what she and Victor tried to accomplish. Don't complicate an efficient operation enjoying rising profits with a significant case of puppy love. Especially with me working, even if remotely, for her Father and time running out on my stay. My business risk professor would applaud them.

Speaking of risk, a quick calculation said she'd be perturbed but with only 10 weeks or so left in my time here, why upset the balance. If she's anything, she's a serious, CPA trained, practical business woman, with killer legs and girl-next-door looks. OK, secret's out, now let's be adults and plan the next show.

THE SECOND BILL ARRIVES

About 3:30, I got the second bill for the champagne. So I miscalculated. I'm still young and naive.

I had crashed on the couch, mindlessly watching the Broncos. A long ride, several buffet plates, and then the "encounter" and the following emotional wave meant I was moderately sedated.

The phone buzzed with an anonymous text message to "open the door right now", followed by a three-rap knock, then a couple of hard pounds.

Check the peep hole. Yep, it's her.

Deep breath. I crack the door.

She shoulders through, knocking me to the side.

"Charlotte," I exclaim in mock surprise. "How was the Brunch? Mom enjoy herself? You know she is just so very charming!" The thought crossed my mind to tell her she was very beautiful when she was angry, but then she might have a Glock in her bag.

She tossed it on the chair and let loose on me without drawing a breath. I lost count of all the profanities, but there were more m-f's and g-d's and c-s's and gay slurs than there were actual words. The screed culminated in a kick aimed at my nethers, which I blocked.

I was holding her foot in the air as she was hopping, trying to keep her balance, and gasping.

"Truce?" I asked.

She hopped a little more, but the adrenaline started draining. She nodded, I let it go, and she fell back in the chair.

"Water? A drink?" I asked. "Bourbon? Scotch? I have some of each."

"Bourbon, a double. Better yet, bring the bottle," she replied.

And so I did.

Just like the Cowboys in the old Westerns, she poured and drained two fingers, then poured one more and swallowed half of it.

"Easy Missy. It's Sunday afternoon sure, but that just means there are fewer cars on the road with the Broncos on the tube and you don't need to stand out as a DUI on the way home," I counseled.

"First don't ever call me that again, and second who said I was going home; Asshole, you work for me!!" she shot back as she drained the rest. She started to pour another but then flopped back as the three ounces landed hard in sequence.

"Seriously, your Mom have a good time?" I asked again while 90% of my brain was dissecting the reference to not going home--a bar somewhere, boyfriend, Mom's?

"Oh don't you know it Mr. Little Well Dressed Veteran Yes Ma'am Fawning Obsequious Suck-Up," she growled. Yeah ---- literally growled.

"At least we're now using our big words instead of the dirty ones," I said. "Look, it was complete happenstance. It could have gone any one of 12 ways. You arrive two minutes later, I walk a different way, we don't know each other, yada-yada-yada. But then shazam, there you were and well, I just did it."

"Yeah, goody for you. Now she wants to invite you for Thanksgiving. And Mr. BigAss SVP of course had to tell her your resume and service record and how you were the most mature, hardworking, experienced new hire they'd had in like forever. Fucking teacher's pet -- Mr. Boy Scout," she snapped.

"Now, now, there's those immature words again. Boy Scouts are generally good people," I chuckled.

She sighed and reached for the bottle. I reached over and held it.

"Are we going to sip now?" I asked.

She glared and nodded. I poured one finger. "That makes four," I said.

She scowled and then fiddled with her purse and pulled out a pack of VS 120s and a lighter. As if the bourbon was not enough of a signal, she must really be stressed. She and Victor would sometimes share one when Mia got totally unreasonable, as in every other week. And on the set they were a prop, among others that I had to use or be subjected to, when the script or requests called for it.

"Not in here please; this is your Dad's place; there are strict rules; so outside we go," I advised. I went and grabbed a dish and my 'napping on the couch' afghan -- Mom knitted it for me long ago and it's Air Force Blue -- and opened the door to the deck.

She paused, "Are your neighbors part of your group?"

"Nope," I said. "They're way over on the other side. The folks next door aren't with the company. We're safe."

Recalling the old movies from the 40's, I took the lighter from her. And of course, as these things always go, it took me four strikes to get a flame. She snickered. I shrugged.

She took two hard inhales, offered it to me, I declined noting I wasn't role playing at the moment. One more hard one and then a large sip. She settled back. I got up and put the afghan around her as the chill was coming. She actually accepted it; touching my hand as I tucked it in. "Gee," I thought. "What was that?".

Another long exhale.

"You know, the prior "actors" (she made air quotes) we hired for your role - Mia's foil if you hadn't already guessed by now - are usually not the cuddly, soft core porn Hallmark Lifetime types. What we do has just enough hardness to it to attract certain viewers but not be way out there where there is more risk and more freaks and then even more risk. Which means we go through a lot of them - - the money always ends up in their nose or veins or liver. You on the other hand, are the nice little boy from next door who happens to be flexible enough to keep the viewers increasing and takes Mia's bitchiness in stride and THEN wants to carry my books home from school. I mean damn, you're supposed to try and get me to go fuck in the supply closet or the back seat of your car. Everyone else before you has."

"Sorry, Miss," I replied. "I was indeed a Boy Scout and Mother always expected the utmost courtesy and respect towards others, especially ladies.

She snorted. "Eagle? Right?"

I shrugged, "And as I further recall, there was this clear message from HR not to look in your direction, much less carry your books. So----Naah."

She hmphed followed by another long inhale.

Suddenly, this seemed the time to come clean. "By the way, I overheard your request to Victor to encourage me to distance myself."

"What??? You knew???"

"I was outside the office. And so I played along with Victor, and then behaved accordingly."

"Oh shit, you heard everything?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Please don't get any more upset, not worth it now. I was just waiting to see him, and well, I did not mean to pry."

"Yeah," she said, "I was at wit's end. It was getting harder to ignore you, and now you know why I never even told you my last name."

"I wasn't trying to make a pass; just wanted to get to know you," I offered.

"You're sweet; dumb as a pile of rocks, but nonetheless very sweet," she observed.

"Huh?" was the best I could do.

She sighed. "Look dummy, if I let you walk me to the car a few times, then it would be a drink, and then notwithstanding your shortcomings, we'd be on your couch or my couch making out, and then and then. And Daddy being both my Daddy and your in loco parentis Daddy, well, it's not technically incest, but it's pretty damn close. Bad for me; very, very bad for you. Not quite as tragic as Romeo and Juliette, but if I caused you to get fired.......," she trailed off. "I'm a hard-ass, but not heartless."

We were silent.

"So if I had not gone to the Hilton, no one's the wiser," I mused. Then wistfully, "and then I would have gotten transferred, and we become just another Evangeline type story."

We were silent a good couple of minutes.

'Time to get this buggy out of the mud,' I thought. "But seriously, your Mom asked if Thanksgiving was a 'what if we did' -- good idea?"

"Yeah," her eyebrows raised as she shrugged. "He wasn't so sure; it was polite he said, but you were probably going back home and if word got around, teacher's pet, suck-up, you know, it had risk for you."

"Oh absolutely, and I would have not accepted for the reasons he said -- as much as I would like to," I observed.

She looked at me for a moment. She offered the cigarette to me again saying, "Indulge me, give me a nice long exhale."

I shrugged and obliged.

She chuckled, "I didn't want to be the only one with a dirty mouth." She took the final drag and stubbed it out on the dish, then pulled the afghan tighter. She looked up at the sky for a moment and then looked at me. "Are you for real? I'm drop-dead serious right now. I have more than enough relationship baggage and residual pain as you now know since you overheard me. That was a terrible, terrible time. It's well behind me now, but I have no interest in adding to it. I haven't so much as had coffee with someone in over three years. So why should I give you the time of day?"