Mrs. Bridges

We used the next fast set to use the restrooms, she ordered a beer of which I sipped as well. As the next slow set started we were back on the floor. This time my hand went immediately to the gentle curve of her butt. She giggled.

"No one has tried to cut in Peter, are you staking your territory? It's okay, you can leave it there, but no lower."

By the third song of that set we had moved to within an inch of each other, I moved my hand off her butt and was sliding it up her side. I was hoping she'd let me feel her breast. As my hand moved above her waist I sensed her staring at me, when it was just below her breast her arm clamped down stopping my movement.

"What do you think you're doing Peter? You don't get to do that unless the lady indicates or tells you it's okay. I had you put your hand on my butt, that's a world away from feeling my boob. It's time we end this, I want to go back to the room."

The atmosphere was cold and silent as we walked back to the hotel, there was no arm through mine, no warm banter or laughter. Nothing but silence and her a step or more ahead of me. Why did I have to fuck that up I wondered to myself? It was as frigid in the room as it had been on the walk back, she didn't say a word, not even a goodnight as she slipped beneath the covers. I heard her get up in the morning, I dressed while she was in the bathroom. Following her I was in and out of the bathroom in fifteen, grabbing the bags I uttered.

"Let's go, I'm ready."

She snapped back, "It's only quarter of six."

I thought two can play this game and snapped back at her, "Suit yourself, I'll be in the lobby, you have the keys."

Ten minutes later she walked past me, I quickly fetched the bags hurrying to the car. I chucked them into the trunk and went to the passenger side only to find her seated, she handed me the keys without saying a word. Twenty minutes down the road she pointed at a truck stop.

"Pull in there, you fill up, I'm going to get a breakfast sandwich. Do you want one?"

I nodded and she was gone. She was back in the car by the time I came out after emptying my bladder. The atmosphere was once again arctic, she handed me the sandwich and then said nothing. It was a long silent ride, when we were about ten minutes from home she finally spoke.

"Peter, why did you try to feel me up? Do you see me as some cheap whore or divorcee who needs a thrill?"

I had no answer, not knowing what to say I remained silent. At home I was in my basement room and could hear her footsteps on the stairway. Unless I was dressing I typically had the door open, she stopped and knocked softly. I looked up.

"Come on in, it's your house." I said with a nasty snarl.

Sitting across from me she snapped her fingers to get my attention.

"Turn that TV off, we need to talk. I'll ask again, why did you try and feel me up last night?"

My mind was racing trying to figure out a good answer, when I decided she'd see through it anyway, I may as well tell her the truth.

"You asked me to put my hand on your butt, I thought it would be okay. Mrs. B, I'm still the only virgin in town and sometimes my hormones overwhelm good judgement."

She stared at me, not in disgust or pity, more like trying to understand what I'd just said. She let out a long sigh.

"I know for a fact you aren't the only virgin male in town, so throw that argument out the window. You want your first time to be special, not with some old worn out broad like me. The lease on your house will be up in June, I suggest you inform the current renters and let them know you'll be moving back in when their lease is up."

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling most of the night. How could I have been so stupid? This had been my second home as a small kid and later my full-time home as a teen. Teeda had poured her very soul into raising me along with her girls, how could I have been so stupid as to betray her trust? And now, now she was telling me to go away. Who would be there to greet me with a smile, or yank the slack out of my chain and tell me to straighten up and fly right? Who would I go to with questions? I was a at a loss.

At the breakfast table I tried to broach the subject. She listened but only to be polite, when I'd finished my dissertation, she spoke.

"You'll be twenty by the time the house is available. I'll give you access to the trust fund set up for you until you're 21, at that time the entire trust and all your parents worldly goods will be yours. I'll monitor your finances to make sure you aren't throwing it away, remember, you'll be responsible for utilities and all the rest once you move into the house."

I broke down and cried, "Teeda, I don't want to go. Please let me stay here another year, until I'm 21. Please. I promise nothing like that will happen again."

She looked sad as she spoke, "I have no idea where you got the notion that I wanted to have sex with you. Apparently showing you my stockings and telling you to put your hand on my butt while we danced was the wrong thing to do, it was meant as a deterrent with the other men, nothing more. I thought you were mature enough to keep things in perspective, and your right Peter, you won't be trying to touch my breast on a dance floor ever again."

I began to beg her forgiveness one more time, "But Teeda, please...." And that's as far as I got before she cut in.

"From here on my name is Mrs. Bridges or Stella, Teeda died on the dance floor. Stop sniveling and man up Peter, your lunch is made, I believe it's time you left for work."

Life became almost unbearable throughout that week. With spring upon us I dragged out the mower Saturday morning and made sure it was working fine. Her home was older and still had storm windows, I changed them out with summer screens making sure I washed the windows as I went. I'd done this every spring for years, I didn't bother to go in for lunch and drank from the old well pump in her back yard. One of the few the city hadn't capped off. By late afternoon I was a sweaty, dirty mess when I walked through the kitchen on my way to the basement stairs.

I heard Teeda, or shall I say Mrs. Bridges say, "supper will be ready in twenty minutes, get yourself cleaned up."

What conversation there was between us was minimal at best, after helping clear the table and get the dishwasher loaded I adjourned to my room in the basement, I assumed she'd gone to her room. Life was tolerable the next week, but no more. By the weekend she was at least saying good morning or good night, but gone were the hugs, the bright smiles, the loving care I'd come to know and expect after so many years. The class I wanted to take was a yearlong and began June first. I had already registered and had paid my fees when Stella brought it up one evening at supper.

When I explained I had it taken care of she nodded, and that was it. By the time my classes were to begin we were at least on a talking basis, cordial and polite, but that was it. I'd really screwed up and it was ever so plain to see. Knowing I needed to concentrate on classes I basically went about things in auto pilot mode. I was doing everything I'd done for the past 7 to 10 years, keeping up the yard, helping till and plant the garden, washing vehicles, etc, etc. As July approached, we sat at the table following breakfast on a Saturday morning when out of the blue she began.

"The Morris's have moved out and the place is cleaned. You should think about when you'll move back home."

I interjected, "This is my home, here with you."

She held up her hand, "Peter honey, you need to be on your own for a bit, I'll be right next door and I'll continue monitoring your finances until you're 21. I'm no longer angry about the thing dancing, at that moment it became obvious you are no longer a boy, you don't need me to mother you anymore. Like I said, I'll be here if you need me."

With the help of two guys from my class we moved the stuff in my room next door to my old home. It was different, and at the same time it wasn't. I would see Stella every few days and wave or stop to chat briefly. When I walked into the kitchen after school the second Friday since I'd moved I noticed a note on the counter.

"Supper at my house, six o'clock, don't be late. Stella."

That was the beginning of a ritual that lasted the next year. I had always taken care of her lawn and with mine to take care of as well I got her to release extra funds into my account to buy a zero-turn mower with the proviso that I take care of both lawns and shovel the sidewalks during winter. Though the class I took was a yearlong, you could also take a second year which dealt with business management and finances. Stella and I felt that was the best move since I wanted to one day be a contractor.

I turned 21 just before the end of my first year. Stella and I spent an entire morning at my parents' attorney's office going through all the paperwork, signing documents, transferring monies and executing the final documents of their will. Neither Stella nor I knew that they had left $50,000 dollars to her for what they called raising me. Did they somehow know they would die, or were they simply being pragmatic and prepared in case something might happen? Everything else went to me which totaled just over $400,000. I had no idea what to do with that kind of money and once again turned to Stella. With the help of a financial adviser friend of hers everything was sorted and protected.

Life seemed to change after that, it was like I was a new person, or was it she who had become a different person? Stella began to be more open and friendly, we were once again going for a meal on Friday evening if our schedules aligned. I knew she'd been seeing a guy off and on for some time and asked her about it one day after mowing both lawns.

She was rather nonchalant in her reply, "Mmmm, yeah, we've gone out a few times but there's no spark. He'd like it to be more, but I think his motive is getting me into bed. I haven't slept with anyone since the divorce, and if I do it will have to be with someone pretty special. How about you, got anybody panting in the wings?"

"Nope, nobody waiting for me. I'm still the town's only male virgin. I need to ask a question Stella. I'm going to graduate in a few months and am thinking about starting my own business right away. Any thoughts?"

She smiled, "Yes, go to work for someone else for a few years. Make your mistakes on their dime and learn as you go, employers factor the small mistakes into hiring a new person. Learn from your mistakes and from your employer. I know you have a lot of money still invested but why risk it now, you may need it to fall back on later in life."

I did as she'd suggested and went to work for a local contractor soon discovering that I enjoyed the finish work the most. Cabinets, cupboards, trim, baseboard moulding, shelving for closets and pantries. The stuff the framing crews wanted nothing to do with, too time consuming. That fall I built a shop at the back of my property where it met Stella's, I included a small shed on the side to house lawn equipment and yard tools. Stella would walk down to the shop in the evening or weekends if I was working, by spring I had a nice wood working shop set up.

I built a few small pieces for her, a true red cedar chest to store her quilts in without the worry of moth damage, a jewelry box made of curly maple and a new dresser for her bedroom set made of black ash. As her friends would see the furniture they would ask where she got it, by early summer I had work backed up three months. It was six weeks before the local fall harvest festival when she walked into the shop on a Saturday afternoon, sat in the old beat-up sawdust covered armchair and smiled. I turned off the sander to give her my undivided attention.

"It's time Peter."

I was confused, "Time for what?"

"Time to start your business. Make your focus finish work. To my knowledge there are no finish only contractors in the area, between that and the furniture you can have a good income. You have an open bay in your garage, buy a service van and keep it inside out of the weather. Give it some serious thought Peter, and by the way, you're taking me to dinner as a thank you. I'll be ready by six, dress nice."

I wasn't sure what to make of the take her to dinner thing, but the rest was crystal clear. Ironically, I had been contemplating the same thing but wasn't sure how to go about it. Now I knew, I'd pick her brain some more over dinner. I was going to wear a nice pair of slacks and dress shirt for dinner but then decided to put on a tie and sport coat as well. When I knocked on the door at 5:55 and it opened I was glad. Stella was all dolled up, not provocative or suggestive, she was simply put together and looked stunning.

Hair done nicely, light makeup, string of pearls with matching earrings, her trademark skirt and blouse and a pair of 3-inch heels. What caught my eye and drew my attention the most were the sheer black floral-patterned stockings she'd worn dancing many years ago, the night I'd screwed up to be exact. She had a big smile and waved me inside. Grabbing her wrap I helped put it over her shoulders as I had done a hundred or more times before. As we walked to the car I had my hand lightly touching the small of her back. In the car I turned to her.

"So. Where to m'lady?"

She chuckled softly before speaking, "You're still a silver-tongued devil aren't you. I made reservations at Jackson's, they have a Saturday prime rib special well worth eating."

I looked at her, "Jackson's, how'd you get reservations there? It's at least a two week wait."

She laughed softly, "Terry Jackson-Wilson and I happen to be friends from high school. I called last week, and she made it happen."

As we drove I mentioned she must have felt confident about me taking her to dinner if she'd made the reservation a week ago. Another laugh before looking at me seriously.

"As far as I know I'm still your number one girl, how could you possibly refuse me asking for a dinner date?"

Pulling into the parking lot I found myself confused one more time, my number one girl, a dinner date? That was new to me, she'd made it clear to me several years ago that we were no more than longtime friends. Yet here we were in the parking lot of the premiere steak joint for miles and she's talking to me like we've been in each other's hip pocket for years. With the car in park and the engine shut off I turned toward her.

"I have to say I'm more than a little confused right now. For the past three years you've been distant at best and downright ornery at times, but tonight you're supposed to be my girl and we're on a dinner date? What gives Stella?"

"Am I not still your number one girl Peter?" I nodded. "Then I see no reason we can't call this a dinner date. I was distant for a while because you needed to grow up and learn you can't do things like you want just because you're feeling amorous. If you'd rather not do this,...... let me know and I'll call to cancel."

I was quick to answer, "Don't cancel. Yes, I want to do this. One question though. Are you my Teeda again?"

She reached for my hand and held it as she answered, "No Peter, I'll never be your Teeda again, you don't need her in your life at this time. You need Stella, now, let's go, I'm starved."

Dinner was delicious, our conversation was pleasant and felt genuine. It was as I was paying that I felt her slip her arm through mine, not tight, just there. As we walked to the car she tugged my arm slightly and murmured.

"Starburst, you're taking me dancing at the Starburst. If we hurry we can get a table before the crowd gets there."

We danced several slow songs, I made sure my hand was on her waist and not her butt, I wasn't about to make that mistake again. Our table was located far enough away from the speakers that we could carry on a conversation during the fast sets. I'd just ordered a beer for me and a G/T for her when she leaned against my arm.

"How much furniture can you build in six weeks Peter? I have a good reason for asking. For instance, how many of those cute domed chests could you make and a few of the nightstand sets."

As it was, finishing houses was slow at the moment, I was waiting for other contractors, I figured my schedule was open from six weeks to two months. I thought about it before answering.

"Probably a half dozen of the dome chests and a few pair of nightstands. Why?"

She pushed against my arm with her hand, "Let's get out of here, it's getting louder and more crowded. We can talk at my house."

"But we just ordered drinks."

"So what, I've got beer at home. Come on, throw a twenty on the table and let's go."

At her house I had a beer in hand sitting on the couch when she returned from getting changed, nothing special, a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt with some sort of logo on the front.

"Okay, here goes." She started. "You know about the fall festival downtown, right?" I nodded. "Well I'm in charge of recruiting vendors this year and I think if you had a booth with your furniture not only would it all sell, but that you'd have orders for other pieces as well. Bring the three-ring binder with all the pictures of your work, show people what you can do. Folks are tired of paying large amounts of money for particle board and vinyl coating. I'd be willing to help sand and varnish."

I sat back, "Are you 100% sure? We'll be working in close proximity and I can't have you getting pissed if you think I'm too close or we bump into each other. I don't want a repeat of three years ago."

She scooted closer to me on the couch, took my hand in hers and answered, "There won't be a repeat of that night. Mainly because you aren't a boy any longer and secondly, we're old enough to work together in close quarters without wondering whose bumping into whom."

"In that case Mrs. Bridges, you can sign me up and be in the shop by nine Monday morning."

She gave me a goofy look before asking, "You start at nine? Isn't that kind of late?"

I chuckled, "I start at six, I said nine because I no longer have any idea what time your day starts. Feel free to begin earlier if you like, the toilet is clean, there's a Keurig with pods and I'll pick up some donuts tomorrow evening."

"Okay, I'll be there Monday morning, probably not at six, but by seven thirty for sure. And I don't mind a donut that was fresh yesterday with a cup of coffee."

For the next five and a half weeks we worked long days and some evenings as well. We had 5 domed chests done and three sets of nightstands. I had started a floor jewelry armoire before her proposal and was able to finish it in time for the festival. It stood four feet tall, had doors that opened on either side along with drawers in front and a ring compartment with a mirror at the top. On the day of the festival Stella was busy being a part of the group that oversaw the function, I saw little of her until just before it was due to close at four.

Seeing that I only had one domed chest left her face broke into a huge smile from ear to ear. Sliding both arms around my right arm she squeezed it tight and kissed me on the cheek.

"I'm so happy for you Peter. I just knew you'd do well. How about orders, did anyone order anything?"

I pulled my arm from hers and put it across her shoulders drawing her to my side. In a side hug I gave her a squeeze.

"I did, several pieces as a matter of fact. I told people it would be two to three months before they were done, no one seemed to care. So the orders won't interfere with my main business."

That weekend changed my entire world. Stella was inviting me to eat with her at least four nights a week, sometimes five or six. I noticed she was becoming more relaxed around me, small squeezes once in a while, an occasional frontal hug and then it happened. On a Friday evening after supper we were on the couch watching her favorite show, Wheel of Fortune, I personally called it the Wheel of Misfortune, but she didn't care. The person she had been rooting for won, she cheered and looked at me. I wasn't sure if the move I had been contemplating would be received well or not, but I did it anyway.