Her Whip Hand Ch. 02

I drove to the Derby Cafe engulfed in a jumble of unanswered and disturbing questions. The first of them was 'What the hell am I doing?' Cars behind me honked as I stood still at a green light.

I parked and walked toward the entrance of the cafe. Looking through the window as I approached, it seemed to not be terribly busy. As I opened the door, I saw her seated at a table against the wall. She was facing into the room.

I wondered how I looked as I walked over. I'm not a flashy dresser, but I'm always neat, if somewhat conservative. Anyway, there I was: button-down shirt, v-neck sweater, corduroy pants (with cuffs!), and brown lace-up shoes.

She sat with her hands folded on the table. There was no beverage in front of her.

"Hi!" I said, trying to convey off-handed cheerfulness in the midst of my case of nerves. My hands were sweating, and my stomach felt as though it were tying a square knot all on its own. Lesley looked up and nodded.

"What would you like?" I said, gesturing to the menu board behind the counter.

"Double macchiato." she said. No whipped cream and drizzled caramel for her, I thought, placing the order.

I brought our drinks over. I also brought sugar packets, napkins, iced water, and a slab of carrot cake.

"I guess they're using the kitchen sink and couldn't spare it." she said as I distributed these items on the table. I laughed at this, which relaxed me some.

"Just one fork?" she said, scanning the table.

"It's for you." I said.

"I'll have few bites. Are you going to sit down?"

I realized I'd been standing the whole time. Someone struggling past with a pot of tea was scowling at me.

"Oh... right, of course. Just wanted to make sure everything's here." I said, then slid into the chair. I put my hands in my lap and looked up. She was licking a bit of milk foam from her upper lip.

"Not bad espresso." she said, picking up her fork. "There are places in this town that should be shuttered for the crap they serve. This is good, though."

"So, getting back to our chat at the gym, you like me, you think I'm nice." she said with a bit of a smirk.

"I do. That's just a feeling I get."

"And just how do you define 'nice'? We're not talking sugar and spice here, are we? And what's your name, by the way?"

I told her it was Charles. She reached a hand across the table.

"Lesley." she said.

I held her hand gently for that small moment.

"I have to confess something." I said, looking down into my lap.

"Confess away, by all means." she said, withdrawing the fork from her mouth. There was a light coating of cream cheese frosting on the fork, and I felt a desire to reverently lick it clean.

"I've watched you at the gym." I said.

"Oh? How come?" she said. "Admiring my form, were you?"

"Not exactly. I... I felt something. When I looked at you, that is." I said, struggling for words.

"And what was that? That feeling?" Lesley asked, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms.

"I wanted to please you. I wanted to, I don't know,... to treat you to something, so you'd know how much I admired you."

I sat there for a moment wondering if I was coming across as kind of crazy. It could, I thought, be seen that way.

"Like shower me with gifts?"

"Well,... yeah! Kind of like that." I said, thinking she might be playing me a bit.

She pushed her empty cup towards me.

"I could go for another one of these. Other than that, I've already got too much shit."

I jumped up from my seat.

"Be right back." I said, then headed to the counter.

When I returned, she was putting her phone back into her bag, and I wondered who she might have been talking to. Without reason to believe it so, I thought I might have been a topic of her conversation. But, then, she may have been checking to see if her dry cleaning was ready for pickup. Who could say?

Lesley put a sugar into her macchiato and stirred.

"Look, I've got a few things to do today, so I want to get right to it." she said, laying the spoon on the saucer.

"Let's get back to my original question, from way back when we were at the gym: What - do - you - want?"

The look she gave me as she said this made something inside me shrivel. She was giving me an ultimatum.

"I want to serve you." I said. "I want to do things for you. Things that please you."

"Okay, then." she said. "How about if we run this on a trial basis. It just so happens I like being served. By a man, that is. And I like being pleased. so, ... hey, we're on the same page."

"Does that mean... I mean, would you like to spend some time ... "

This smooth overture was interrupted by me knocking over one of the glasses of water. I bent down to pick up the glass from the floor, knocking my head on the table edge in the process.

"Sorry! sorry! I didn't get any on you, did I?" I stammered. Meanwhile a busboy was approaching with a kitchen towel to put things back in order.

While I was apologizing to the busboy, Lesley got up from the table, handed me a slip of pape.

"Call me tonight between eight and nine. Oh, by the way," she said, giving me a sideways glance, "you've got a red line running across your forehead".

I watched her leave, then unfolded the paper.

When I left the Derby Cafe, it was about four-thirty. I made sure the paper with the phone number was pushed well down into my pants pocket, protecting it as if it were a winning lottery ticket. I sat in my car and arrayed the afternoon's events in my mind. It was all rather hard to believe. A woman I'd secretly worshiped had invited me to call her. I'd been navigating the waterways of pure fantasy for so long that something as real as this seemed, well... surreal. I took out the paper and examined the numerals, written with apparent aplomb. Their lines raced across the page, trailing off to sharp points.

I felt wound up and excited to the extent that my primary objective was to get a couple of stiff drinks into me. I didn't feel like going home. I wasn't hungry. I just wanted to sit in the corner of a bar, look at the numbers on that paper, and imagine where, if anywhere, this could lead.

At eight o'clock sharp, I phoned. She answered after two rings.

"Hello, Charles."

"Hi. Not too early to call, I hope." I said, wondering if I was seeming too eager.

"Not at all. Where are you?"

"I'm just a few blocks away from the cafe. Rudy's. It's a bar."

"You're not far from where I live. Why don't you come over."

She told me her address, and I was afraid I might forget it, since I had nothing to write it down with. I kept running it over and over through my mind like some hysterical mantra. I was still running it on a loop when I pulled into her driveway.

As I walked along the flagstone path to the house, the door opened. Lesley stood there with a curious little smile on her face.

"Come in." she said.