Matchmaker 04: April

I saw his face harden. "What should I have done? Pulled him out of his chair and beaten the shit out of him? It wouldn't have changed his opinion. In fact, it would have probably only reinforced what he already thought about me. Get in his face? Same thing. So, I ignore him because he's not worth my notice."

"Yeah, but..." I felt a little deflated by his rational thinking.

"But what?"

My anger was impotent. "I don't know. I suppose you'd be fine with the idea of him not serving me because it's beneath your notice."

"He's not in a position to do anything like that, but even if he were, there are a lot of other places to eat. If he didn't want to serve blacks, he would lose a lot of customers. You couldn't eat there, and I wouldn't. Nobody I know would either. It probably wouldn't be long before he'd go out of business." He paused and took my hands. "As I said, there are idiot everywhere. I don't have time to go around being pissed off every time some asshole makes a stupid remark."

I glared at him. "The fact you don't care makes you as bad as him."

He dropped my hands. "Fine. Believe what you want. It's interesting that you're condemning not only me, but an entire group, for the actions of one person."

He turned and walked away, heading for his truck. He still opened the door for me, but the life and humor had gone out of his eyes. We rode back to the villa in silence, all the fun gone from the day.

It had been two days since the prick in the sandwich shop showed his ass. Tara and I were polite to each other, but I was sleeping in my room, she was sleeping in hers, and we were studiously ignoring each other when we were awake.

I didn't understand Tara's problem. She was mad and giving me the cold shoulder because I didn't confront the dipstick? As I pointed out to her, if I got upset every time someone said something I didn't agree with, I'd be mad all the time. Life was too short for that. I thought she and I had made some progress over the past couple of weeks, but obviously we hadn't. I'd give it a couple more days, but if she continued to hold me responsible for other people's actions, I'd pack my bags and return to Houston.

I trotted down the steps to the kitchen. She was still in bed as I began to prepare breakfast. She hadn't joined me the last two mornings, even though I'd prepared the same amount of food. I'd left it on the stove in case she came down later and wanted it, but by the time she arrived downstairs, it was closer to lunch than breakfast, and I'd scraped it into the trash.

I decided I'd make enough food for her the next two mornings, but if she continued to act the bitch, after that, she could fix her own damned breakfast because I wouldn't be around anymore. I was cracking eggs when she appeared at the bottom of the steps.

"Want some breakfast?" I asked.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure." I didn't pause in my breakfast preparation and I didn't look at her.

"Want to come to bed?"

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On what we have to talk about."

She shuffled her feet. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For what I said."

I paused, holding her gaze. "Which part?"

"All of it."

I waited to see if she continued. She didn't. "Okay. Apology accepted." I turned back to my task. I could tell it wasn't the reaction she was expecting. She still didn't get it.

"Can you forgive me?" she prompted.

I was going to have to help her out. "For what you said? Sure."

She was quiet a moment. "What else is there?" she asked softly.

I set the eggs aside and faced her. "Tara, the problem isn't so much what you said, it's what you believe."

She looked down a moment before she met my gaze again. "I don't understand."

"So I see. Think about what you said a minute. Have I ever implied that I'm better than you?"

"No."

"Yet you condemned me for another person's words, a person I specifically said I don't agree with. And why? Because you didn't agree with how I reacted. You know what that tells me? If I don't agree with you and your beliefs one hundred percent, then I'm wrong." I made sure my voice remained calm and steady. "I guess you don't feel I'm entitled to my own set of beliefs, even if we agree in the main. You don't like being judged by the color of your skin? Well, I don't like being judged by the actions of others. Worse, it wasn't some stranger who did it, it was someone I like and whose company I enjoy."

"So you think people being judged by how they look is okay. I should just ignore it?"

"I don't think it's okay, and I choose not to associate with people who believe that way. But this is America, and people have the right to be wrong. I'm not going to try to force my beliefs on someone else. I don't believe you can change what anyone believes by force anyway. All you can do is prevent them from expressing how they feel. Because I can't make people change how they believe, I'd rather set a good example and let them come to the realization they are wrong on their own."

She sighed heavily and sat down at the table. "I understand what you're saying, but you don't know what it's like."

"No? I got a pretty good taste of it a couple of days ago."

"And you didn't like it, did you?"

"Nope. But did I get in your face, claim you were wrong, and try to change your mind?"

"No," she said softly.

"If I had, if I'd gotten all pissy and belligerent, do you think you would have changed your mind about me?"

"No, probably not," she said to the table.

"So why do you think it would have worked on that closed-minded asshole?"

She brought her gaze to mine. "It probably wouldn't have."

"So, we were left with a choice. We could ignore him and show him his words didn't affect us or react exactly the way he wanted us to. You know as well as I do he timed that comment so we'd hear it. He was trying to get a rise out of us. I chose to not let him. Personally, I'd much rather ignore him and go do something fun with you than waste a second of time on him. You know the old saying, 'When you wrestle with pigs, you both get muddy but only the pig enjoys it.'" I'd been pretty hard on her and decided to ease up a little. "Personally, I'd much rather wrestle with you."

She looked at me for a long time, her face unreadable. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said, and I'm especially sorry for doing to you exactly what I was bitching about."

I smiled, glad we were finally putting this behind us. "Apology accepted. We okay?"

A ghost of a smile caressed her lips. "I don't know. I hope so. Are we?"

"I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are, but I have an idea. Why don't we judge each other by our actions, not the beliefs, actions, and words of others?"

She nodded. "How can you be so patient about this stuff?"

I shrugged. "I keep telling you, I don't have time to be pissed off with everyone who doesn't agree with me."

"You weren't mad at what I said? What I did? You acted mad."

"I didn't say that."

"So I did make you mad?"

"Not mad as much as hurt. I guess a combination of both."

"So you do care what other people think?"

"I care what other people think if I care about the person's opinion, but not some dude on the street I don't even know."

"You care what I think?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You've only known me for, what, two and a half weeks?"

"So? I know enough about you to respect your opinion. That's why it upset me when you said what you did."

She looked down again and traced a design on the table with her finger. "Sorry."

I walked over to her, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet. She glanced up but lowered her eyes again. I tipped her chin back up. "Look at me." She did. "It's behind us, okay? As long as you judge me for what I do, we'll be okay."

"I promise."

I smiled down at her and brushed her lips with my own. "Want to wrestle?" I asked softly, my lips only a hairsbreadth from hers.

"Oh, God, yes."

"Naked?" I breathed.

"Is there any other way?" she whispered.

I stood in the shower, the water pouring over me as Tara slept in the destroyed bed. We'd wrestled all right. We'd gone a full fifteen rounds in naked combat, and I think our contest of passion had ended in a draw as we'd collapsed into exhausted sleep at the same time.

The last two days of stress and pent up frustrations had exploded into fiery passion, and we'd wrecked each other. I'd come twice, and though Tara had calmed her vocal exhortations, the second time I climaxed I was the one crying out as I shuddered through a mind shredding orgasm.

We'd had each other for breakfast, and now it was after lunch. As I washed my hair, I tried to decide what to do. The eggs I'd started were obviously ruined and would have to be thrown out, but I couldn't decide if I should prepare a light late lunch or wait and have an early dinner. I was still debating with myself as I finished scrubbing off the sweat of passion, stepped from the shower, and dried myself.

I returned to the bedroom. Light was streaming into the room through the large southern facing windows, making Tara seem to glow with an internal light. She was so incredibly beautiful, sexy, and talented. I was going to be sorry when our time together was up. I stood, watching her a moment as she slept, her face relaxed, her lips slightly parted, begging to be kissed.

I smiled to myself. I'd liked this new, quieter, Tara. The first couple of times we'd made love, having her begging me to fuck her, telling me to 'stick your big fat cock in my tight little pussy' and all but screaming in passion had been fun and incredibly exciting, but after a few times it'd lost its appeal, and then had quickly become tiresome. She wasn't a porn star, and I didn't want her to think she had to act like one for me.

This morning, however, had been different. Her cries of passion were much less frequent, and far softer, but they seemed much more genuine, which had made them erotic as hell. I crossed the room and pulled out clean pants, shirt, and underwear. I pulled on my underwear and sat on the edge of the bed to put on my socks.

"Where do you think you're going?" Tara murmured as she rolled over, pressing herself against my back as she reached around to slowly caress my manhood.

"It's almost one. Don't you think it's time to get up?" I asked as I twisted around and brought my lips to hers for a long, deep kiss.

She sighed out of the kiss and swallowed hard, her eyes closed as a smile touched her lips. "Only one of us needs to be up, and you already are."

I smiled as I twisted around even more and draped myself over her, kissing her more fully as she continued to caress my hardness. I kissed her again as she reached inside my boxers and gripped my hard shaft. It looked like it was going to be an early dinner.

I had my hand on Tara's back as I escorted her into what was reported to be the finest restaurant in South Padre Island. After another intense round of love making, we'd napped, then showered together before we dressed to kill.

Well, she had. She was wearing a dress of deep red with lacy long sleeves. It sported a choker collar with a small opening below that formed a diamond to show off the swell of her breasts. It wasn't daringly short, stopping just above her knees, but there was a slit that played peek-a-boo with her thigh when she walked. Between the collar and the bottom hem, it hugged her curves in a way that left little to the imagination yet was still sophisticated and classy. I didn't know anything about women's clothing, but it looked expensive.

I'd dressed in a medium grey sport coat over dark blue pants with a pale blue shirt. I'd put on a tie but ditched it because it only made it look like I was trying too hard, and nothing I had in my closet, either here or at home, could come close to competing with Tara, so why try?

I hadn't forgotten what she'd said, but I believed she was truly remorseful for her actions, and that made forgiving and forgetting easier. If she kept fucking me like she had today, the memories of the bliss on her face and how she writhed as we made love would soon push the less pleasant memories aside.

There was a thirty-minute wait a Lobella's, and while I normally hated waiting at restaurants, today I didn't mind. As we stood around waiting for our turn, a girl of about fifteen slowly approached. I knew from the pen in her hand where this was headed.

"Are you Tara?" the girl asked, a tremble of nervousness in her voice.

Tara smiled at the girl. "Yes I am."

The girl looked down shyly. "I love your music. Could I please have your autograph, please?"

Tara smiled and took the pen and the scrap of paper. "Who should I make it out to?"

"Emily," the girl murmured.

I handed Tara my phone so she'd have something to write on. She quickly scribbled on the paper and handed it and the pen back to the girl. "There you go. You have a phone?"

The girl handed her phone over and Tara posed, smiling with the girl as they took a selfie together.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Emily said, her words coming out in a jumbled rush of excitement.

Emily's appearance started a whisper campaign and by the time we were seated, she'd signed a dozen autographs and taken several pictures with admiring fans. Our waitress was also a fan, and she'd beamed as she had her picture taken with Tara. Several more members of the staff stopped by for pictures, and Tara accommodated each of them.

"Whew," she said when everyone who wanted a photo had one.

"You're not fooling me. You love that stuff."

She smiled. "Actually, not as much as you think, but I feel like I owe it to my fans to be nice. After all, they're the ones who made me."

I nodded. "I understand, but they don't own you. You have a right to a life too."

She smiled. "This isn't too bad. There have been times when I've been mobbed to the point that I had a hard time doing whatever I was supposed to be doing."

Dinner was excellent, our steaks tender and juicy, the crab cakes spiced just right, and we weren't bothered again. The love making this morning had refreshed our relationship, and quiet conversation was strengthening it.

"You want dessert?" I asked as our plates disappeared.

She smiled. "Yes, but not here."

"At home?" She nodded. "In the bedroom?" Her smile grew as she nodded again. "Good plan."

"But before dessert, I want to do something else first."

"What?"

"I want you to take me for on a walk on the beach."

"It's going to be dark soon."

"I know, but it's a full moon. I checked."

"Okay, we can do that."

I paid for our meal and we drove home. I suggested we change, but she wanted to go dressed as we were, her sole concession being she kicked off her heels. We walked in the sun warmed sand barefoot, Tara leaning into my side.

We strolled a long way, talking little, enjoying the silence of each other's company. With the bright moon, it was easy to see our way, and I was willing to walk as far as she wanted. When we were well away from any sign of habitation, she pulled me to a stop. Standing at the edge of the gulf, dressed as she was, the moon giving her an ethereal glow, she was the most achingly beautiful woman in the universe. I slowly bent to kiss her, and she opened her mouth to me. Our kiss was long, slow, and deep, a perfect combination of anticipation and desire. As our lips slowly parted, she looked into my eyes, holding my gaze before her lips pulled into an unhurried smile.

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"It's Dalmer, Charles Dalmer," I corrected in my best Bond imitation.

She smiled but became serious. "I know, but it still applies."

I started to give her a smartass reply, considering what she'd said a couple of days ago, but there was something about her tone and the way she was holding my gaze, that caused me to hold my tongue. "That means a lot to me, hearing you say it."

She nodded slowly, her gaze never wavering. "It's true."

I brought my lips to hers and she sighed into the kiss, pressing herself into me. "Are you ready for dessert?" I whispered as our lips slowly parted.

She continued to hold my gaze as another slow smile painted her lips. "Yes. Maybe more than one serving."

I watched the range safety video as my stomach fluttered like it was full of butterflies. After our heartfelt discussion about my assumptions and prejudices, I was trying to be more open minded, but I still didn't like guns. They scared me even though Chuck insisted they were nothing but a tool, like a hammer, and once I learned to handle one, I wouldn't be so intimidated by them... like a hammer. The argument that had finally won me over was the fact that most gun deaths were the result of suicide and not person on person violence.

Our discussion about his gun was only one of the topics we'd talked about. We'd had several really deep and thoughtful conversations in the past week, and though he hadn't tried to change my mind, he'd caused me to reexamine some of my beliefs. Upon closer inspection, I'd found some of them less than clearly thought out. My dislike for guns was one example. I didn't mind having armed security at my side, but it had bothered me that Chuck carried a pistol. His pistol didn't bother me anymore because I'd come to trust him like I trusted few people, but I couldn't articulate a good argument why I should be allowed to have guns to protect me, but nobody else should have the same right.

That was one thing I was coming to admire about him. He was so rational and logical in his arguments. Chuck had given me a lot to think about, and I admired his quiet but unwavering self-confidence. He knew who he was, who he wasn't, and he never seemed to get upset or rattled. Even when he did, he didn't lash out at anyone, even the person who hurt him. I was striving to be more like him, to think before I spoke, and to base my arguments in rational thought rather than emotion.

We'd had a run of three days of good weather, but it was raining again. Because of all the rain, we'd run out of new inside things to do in South Padre Island, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't fuck all the time. Unlike Chuck, I occasionally needed some time to recover. Because I needed a short break, and it was too rainy to walk on the beach, he'd suggested we go to a gun range in Brownsville so he could teach me to shoot a pistol. I was scared shitless, but he assured me the most dangerous part of the trip was the drive to the range.

Our time together was growing short. In five days we'd go our separate ways. I'd return to Los Angeles and Chuck would return to Houston. I dreaded the day because I was starting to see Chuck in ways I'd never looked at a man before. He was like the better half of me, and being around his steady, unflappable presence made me feel like I was a better person. I'd seen people wearing the WWJD—What Would Jesus Do—bracelets. I wasn't a very good Christian, but I'd taken the idea and modified it for my own use. When I was confronted with a situation or argument where I was unsure, I'd started referring to my personal motto, WWCD—What Would Chuck Do—for guidance.

As I strived to be more like Chuck, I'd finally had to admit not all Texans were ignorant rednecks. Except for the one asshole, everyone had been unfailingly polite, more so than most people in L.A. were. Chuck might build houses, but he was damned smart, and during our discussions it was clear he had a much better grasp of current events than I did. He looked at issues from all sides and could clearly articulate why he believed or felt as he did. That was something I couldn't always do. I also like the fact when he didn't know the answer to something, he wasn't ashamed to admit he didn't know or try to bullshit his way through. Even more admirable to me was when I scored a point in a discussion, he admitted it, and sometimes modified his view to account for the new information.