Jennifer Too

I am always amazed at the way that seemingly minor unrelated events shape our lives. Years ago, hung-over, I had not waited for my scheduled lunch to go to the cafeteria and had instead gone early to get breakfast. In the cafeteria at an odd hour I met Jennifer, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I married her some months later thanks to an unexpected need for biscuits and gravy.

The rat that scampered across our back patio one night while Jennifer was smoking was no different than my hangover. It led me to call an exterminator who suggested I trim the fichus in the side yard. I called a tree service who trimmed it until it barely looked like a tree anymore. The next morning, sitting at the desk in my home office the sun entered the window in a new way making my computer screen un-readable. I turned the desk and in its new position found myself starting out the window.

It was around eight in the morning that she walked by. She was my age, more or less, mid-forties. She had short dark hair. She wore yoga pants the way all women these days seem to but topped them with a sports bra and an open backed loose fitting tank. The Golden Retriever she walked was a gorgeous animal with that exuberant smile common to the breed. He paused outside my window to do what dogs do. It was yet another innocuous event in life. As she waited on the animal she raised her right hand in a wave. Perhaps all she intended to do was to demonstrate she had a little plastic bag with which to clean up after the dog but she smiled as she waved and I smiled back. Despite my being inside of my office and she being outside on the sidewalk, we were not far away from each other.

Hers was not the only dog to use that spot that morning. I came to learn it was a popular location for the animals to take care of their business. I had the pleasure of seeing at least five other animals leave their mark there. As the day wore on I did not take note of any of the other canines or their owners but I did think of her, her yoga pants, and the taught muscles in her shoulders.

The next morning she was in a more typical T-shirt. It was a bright pink. She had however forsaken the long figure shaping Lycra pants for a short pair of jogging shorts in a bright pattern that revealed long, thin, tan legs and this time when she waved she shrugged, after all what could she do, it was where the animal wanted to take his crap. I again smiled at her. She cleaned up his mess and walked on.

I didn't see her Thursday morning but I also hadn't been at my desk all morning. I had been busy with other things. I resolved I wouldn't be distracted the next day.

Friday mornings start with an early call to update senior management on the East Coast. Jennifer was out the door before seven kissing me quickly on the crown of the head as she left. I finished my call and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Myself, I prefer cheap strong coffee, nothing fancy. I buy it in the large plastic tubs. That said I also have a selection of fancier grounds that I make on occasion. I chose one, the house brew of that large and overly popular chain and set the machine to do its work. At ten to eight I had dressed. I was entirely casual, nicer shorts and one of the T-shirts I would wear when I wanted to look fit. It was cut slimmer than my other shirts. It was actually tight around my arms. Jennifer liked it.

It's odd that I am telling you about my growing fondness for a strange woman while still affectionately mentioning my wife. I understand the contradiction. I am entirely happy with my wife. My life is good. I make an unbelievable amount of money considering the effort I put into my work. I have great kids and a very attractive wife. The idea that this woman turned my head because of something my life was lacking would be false. It was simply an attraction. I did not set out to sleep with her. I was simply taking a nice person a cup of coffee.

She arrived just about on time. It was a warm morning; it would be almost 100 degrees by the time afternoon set in. She wore the short running shorts again, the same ones with a geometric pattern of pink, blue, and yellow. She had skipped the shirt entirely and was wearing only the sports bra. It was impossible to make any sort of judgment about her breasts tied down as they were but her belly was firm and tan and I had already approved of her shoulders. It is a difficult balance to be fit as a forty-something woman without becoming skeletal or muscular in an unattractive way but she had managed to achieve it.

"Good morning," I greeted her.

"Hello," she answered. There was a sing-song tone to her voice. "I am so sorry!" she said, nodding down towards her dog. He was relieving himself in his usual spot.

"Coffee?" I offered. "You don't have to be sorry... unless you trained him to take care of his business right here every day."

"Thank you! That's nice..." she said, taking a sip. "I shouldn't. I already had my cup of coffee for this morning."

"I wish I had that kind of restraint. I am on my second pot." I smiled.

"It's bad for your heart." She didn't have that preachy tone of the overly fitness minded. She said it far more casually. Such it was with our conversation. I learned her pooch was named Roscoe and she had lived in our neighborhood for four years. Her daughter was in school out of state. She did sales consulting work and we discussed the art of the sale briefly acknowledging we did the same thing in a very general manner. We didn't talk long, the dog grew bored and decided he needed to finish his patrol of the neighborhood. She handed me back my coffee mug after drinking down the end of it. I took it to mean she had honestly enjoyed the cup of coffee and had not just sipped at it out of politeness. She bade me a good afternoon and I wished her a pleasant walk. She made it to the curb before I called out to her.

"A group of us go to happy hour on Fridays. If you and your husband are free, it would be nice if you joined us."

"Nope. No husband to bring along. I'm sorry."

"Oh no. I'm the sorry one. I just assumed."

"Don't think twice of it. We divorced some time ago," she said. I was in fact very sorry. I had really hoped to talk with her more. It had been more than just nice it had been pleasant. There is so little pleasantness to be found anymore.

"Have a nice walk. Perhaps I will find myself standing outside with a cup of coffee next week." I said, letting her on her way. I suddenly felt obtrusive.

"Where?"

"Where?"

"Where do you go for happy hour? I go to the Italian place from time to time."

"40th Street Pub." I offered. "$5 wines. They have a nice selection." I was confused but later when I looked back on it, she hadn't ever declined, she had just pointed out she was divorced.

"Maybe. I will have to see how my afternoon goes."

"Excellent." I smiled too broadly as she waved and crossed the street. It was only as I watched the muscles in her legs move off down the sidewalk that I realized I had not mentioned my wife at all and that she might very well assume I had just asked her out on a date.

"I talked to a neighbor today." I told my wife.

Jennifer had gotten home from work and slipped out of the blouse and jeans she had worn all day. It was warm, even in the house. There was still a chance that the kids could wander through at any moment so she had wrapped herself in the satin robe she favored in the hotter parts of the year. It was perhaps even more enticing than her nakedness would have been. It was like the wrapping on a Christmas present and I found myself anxious to untie the ribbon and enjoy her. She was as shocked that I had spoken with a stranger, as I was impressed with myself for having done it. The extroversion I exhibit professionally is an affectation. I seldom if ever interact with strangers, neighbors, or even acquaintances unless necessary.

"You did not!"

"I did! I carried on a whole conversation."

"Is she pretty?" she teased me. I supposed she had a fair point. If I was going to talk to a stranger, it was going to be a woman.

"I suppose. She's older. Her dog is beautiful."

"Uh huh."

"I invited her to happy hour. Actually, I invited her and her husband to happy hour, turns out she doesn't have a husband. It was awkward."

"So you have a date for this evening." Happily, Jennifer was still smiling at me although I understood it would be a tenuous peace until I made some gesture demonstrating I was still hers and hers alone.

"Ugh. I told you. She is older. She had that overly fit thing women in their fifties get. You really have nothing to worry about." I considered that I was overdoing it and that if the woman did appear later at the bar her very appearance would undo my story.

"Sure." She wandered back to the bedroom. "You do these things just to force me into the Marilyn dress, don't you?"

"Not at all." I had to smile. It was never my intent but anything that put her in the short white halter-top sundress was marked in my book as a success.

I had put on a white linen shirt and dark blue jeans. It was my go-to look in the summer. I would, on occasion, switch it up and sport a Tommy Bahama print and khakis but today I stuck with my classic tropical rogue ensemble. I probably should have made use of one or even two more buttons but I was raised in the era of Magnum PI and so were the ladies I found the most interesting. It seemed to work for me. I had dropped some weight this year alternating trips to the gym with hikes up the nearby mountain preserve. I thought I looked good. Jennifer looked better. She did indeed look like Marilyn Monroe in search of a subway grate. She was never entirely comfortable with the dress. The cut precluded the wearing of any sort of bra and she felt her chest appeared saggy and was overly self conscience of the small rises in the fabric her nipples would create but she was aware of the effect she had on men when she wore it and was getting better at appreciating the attention. We were early to the bar and ordered glasses of the Pinot Noir. It was a little heavy for such a hot day but it was our favorite. We scouted out a place on the patio that would seat six, possibly, hopefully, seven. We sat and watched the ducks on the man-made pond that passes for a lake here.

"Your new friend. Tall gorgeous brunette with short hair?"

"I suppose."

Jennifer nodded toward the bar on the other side of the darkly tinted glass doors. I had to look.

"I don't think I would say gorgeous," I lied.

"What's her name?"

"I... I don't know." I had to admit.

"I would worry about you if you weren't so awful at it."

"Awful at what."

"Picking up women, stupid."

She was still teasing me so she wasn't mad. I stood to go inside and fetch my new friend.

"My goodness, you clean up nice." I said when I approached her. It was the best I could think of on short notice. She wore a sundress of similar length to Jennifer's but it was sleeveless and strapless, her breasts, more pleasingly abundant than expected, were held in place by the tailored cut of the bright floral garment. I suppose Jennifer had a point. Gorgeous was quite possibly the most appropriate term. Her hair, typically flat when she strolled by in the mornings was curled or blown dry and although short was pretty. It framed her thin face nicely. Her makeup was understated and elegant. She utilized eyeliner and eye shadow to draw attention to bright blue eyes that seemed to sparkle, even in the dimly lit wine bar and pub.

"Peter." I greeted her.

"Jenny."

"Really?"

"Yes. Jennifer. Is that an odd name where you come from?" Oh how I delighted in the fact that she was willing to tease me.

"No, I'm just stupid. Come. We are sitting outside. Let me introduce you to my Jennifer."

I stepped behind her ever so slightly to guide her to the doors to the patio when suddenly she grabbed my arm. "Wait. Stop." She said quickly.

"Yes?"

"This is so stupid. I have been thinking about it all day and even walked by your house and was going to ring the bell. You asked me to happy hour along with my husband who you didn't know didn't exist and I don't know why but as the day went on I started to think of tonight more as a date but when I thought about how you asked me to drinks as part of a couple I had to suspect that you, yourself were married and that it wasn't a date at all. You said we too. You said 'We get happy hour,' and I suddenly didn't know if we referred to you and a spouse or a whole group of people and before I get myself into trouble I should probably ask, oh my god, I am so rambling. I should probably just go."

I just smiled at her. Her girlish panic contrasted by the formality of the language she used had me smitten.

"Yes," I admitted. "I am married. So are our friends. They will wander in soon. My wife, also Jennifer, is the attractive lady eyeing us suspiciously from the patio. I'm so sorry I gave you the wrong impression. Just friendly neighborly drinks."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be."

"You sure its okay. Oh my god, I don't want to cause a problem."

"If there is any sort of a problem, I guarantee you I will be the one to cause it."

"I should go."

"You can't now. THAT would cause a problem."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Come on. I promise I wont even hit on you."

"Bummer," she said. The panic subsiding her smile returned.

"You're bad."

"You have no idea," she teased. She had raised an eyebrow at me. I could never do that. I found it adorable.

Whether things had been innocent or not thus far is debatable but there is no disputing the direction things were moving. As I walked her to the patio, I used one hand to open the glass door and the other, placed gently on her lower back, to escort her out. It was an old move. I had first used it in high school. A woman's reaction to this so slight a gesture told far more about what she was thinking and feeling than anything they would ever let themsleves say. It's a horribly sexist thing to say because men are not much better but I woman's lips lie as easily as they tell the truth - their bodies speak only truth. She did not react awkwardly to the gentle hand on her back. She didn't step rapidly forward or aside, she simply slowed her pace enough that the gentle touch increased in pressure just slightly and, just as a woman can take your lead on the dance floor she allowed my hand to guide her, the sway of her hips taking its direction from the tactile presence of my fingers.

I relished the excitement that had so quickly ignited between the woman and myself and not unlike an ancient commander on the field of battle I charged ahead, damn the consequences.

My wife smiled at me in that way that is more a question than a statement. She was not accusing me of wrongdoing as much as she was asking me my degree of guilt, giving me the opportunity to lighten my sentence with a full and complete confession.

"Jennifer - Jenny - Jenny - Jennifer. I leave that to the two of you to agree on how best I can differentiate between the two of you." Fuck. That was a bad thing to say. I had stepped in a pile much larger than the ones good Roscoe liked to leave in my side yard.

"Did you see our waiter?" my wife asked. "Who do you have to blow around here to get a glass of wine?"

"That would be me." I said.

"Oh!" said Jennifer two. "Me too, please!"

As the three of us realized the possible implication created by my wife's crude question and our new friends request I ran away. The ladies giggled as I struggled to free myself from my chair.

"You better hurry, blow jobs have crazy early expiration dates." My wife teased too loudly, knowing it would embarrass me.

I returned in short order with three glasses of dark purple wine and our friends Kevin and Cindy. Tommy was parking and he and his wife would join us shortly. The Jennifers were in quiet conversation and jumped slightly when we descended on them. I was happy to see both of them smiling radiantly. As I took a seat across the wide round table I caught my new friend smiling at me. I returned her look with a small smile of my own and then did my best to look away. The chemistry was palpable, frustratingly so. Were I a man prone to carnal infidelity I would be in trouble. Happily, I am not, and although the temptation had never felt so strong as it did now I still did not see myself giving in to the baser feelings that were tugging at me. I was not a pious soul however. The thrill and excitement of those looks, of the simple almost imperceptible touches, those were my weaknesses. As my friends and I relaxed and drank and made quick work of various appetizers and other culinary treats I found myself excitedly looking forward to those few minutes each morning she would pass by in the coming week. I was in trouble.

At one point, late in the evening, I discovered my wife looking at me. She was not angry or suspicious. She was simply smiling, almost contentedly. It was an odd moment. We allowed our eyes to fix on one another and our smiles broadened.

The winebar knew we would need rides home and when we paid our tab, they called cars for us. Jennifer two, who had come to be known as Jenny, as opposed to my wife's preference to be called Jen, offered to contribute toward the tab but was told by Tommy, Kevin and I simultaneously that we wouldn't allow it. The drinks after all were cheap.

Cindy had not more than half a glass and poured Kevin into their car to take him home. It was still early but we had enjoyed ourselves. Tommy was the most lecherous of our group and as we stood waiting for the car he was rather forward with my wife. He had studied her breasts thoroughly most of the evening and when the first car arrived he moved to kiss her goodnight. My wife, a devious flirt herself returned his kiss in a most inappropriate way allowing his hand to fully enclose her breast. Tommy's wife pulled him away before anything interesting happened and pushed him into the car. She was used to it. I was left holding my Jennifer. The night was warm and she felt nice in my arm.

"I'm sorry I brought a date."

"I should be mad," she said.

"You guy's seemed to hit it off." I suggested, hoping to distract her from actually getting upset with me.

"That's the only thing that is getting you off the hook. She is fucking awesome. We are going to Zumba in the morning."

"See. You needed a girlfriend in the neighborhood."

"I know! So I will know if you get out of hand, mister, so be careful."

"You know me. I don't have that kind of game."

"Don't lie. You like her." She was looking up at me now and I had my hands wrapped around her waist.

"Sure. She is nice. I don't "like her" like her, but yeah. She is nice."

My wife kissed me in that same devilish way she had just kissed our friend and my excitement was evident despite wearing jeans. "You think she is hot. You can just admit it. I can feel it on my hip."

"That's for you." I told her. I was actually telling the truth. She looked marvelous, she felt marvelous in my arms. I kissed her again.

"You didn't even think about it a little?" she taunted me.

"Yes, she's attractive," I admitted. I couldn't imagine admitting more than that. It was a trap. "But she's not you."

"Oh, he is good," said a voice from behind me. I felt as if I had been caught sneaking the sacramental wine and was going to have my knuckles cracked with a ruler.

"He's chicken." My wife teased then kissed me. "Where's the car? I need another drink before I get a headache and you lose out on your blow job."

Lucky for me, the car was waiting; it was just in front of the Thai place next door. I waved and it pulled up.

"Come on. We can drop you, you are right around the corner," encouraged my wife. Jenny consented and slipped into the back seat beside her.