Perfectly Charming

Welcome. A version of this story was published a few years ago, then withdrawn when I found the memories too difficult to share. We make choices and do the best we can at every fork in the twisting road of life. Time has passed. I'm ready to try again to share the choices made at this particular fork.

You are about to read about a night out by a couple in love. The charming part will make it's appearance in the form of Jake, a most interesting alpha male. The consequences of his natural charm will turn a typical night dancing into, well, you have to read the story to learn the rest.

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Perfectly Charming

"Guess who called today?" Mia asked, kicking off her heels and slipping beside me on the sofa. She put her feet near my lap, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

I understood. I lifted one foot into my lap. Mia loved foot massages. Her feet always hurt from the high heels she wore to the law office where she worked as a paralegal. No amount of coaxing could get her to wear flats. She said the trade-off was worth the self esteem she got from looking good. Affecting a ridiculous accent, she would laugh and say, "Eeet eees more eeemportant to look goot, than to feeeel goot."

Forcing my wandering thoughts back to her question, I answered, "No idea." I ran my palm up her toned calf, squeezed and slid it slowly back down to her foot.

My thirty-year-old wife of five years moaned, "Ooh, that feels nice. Uh, Courtney Barnes. You remember her, don't you? We met her and her husband, Jake, at the dance class at the rec center."

Oh yeah, I thought. Our famous one and done dance class. Mia and I thought learning to dance would be fun. We had talked about it forever. Then, last month, we discovered our local recreation center offered inexpensive classes. We signed up, went to the introductory class, had a blast, and sadly, never went back. The schedule for the followup classes conflicted with our work schedules and caring for our two small children. Not a total loss. We had fun, learned a couple of steps and met a few other couples, including Jake and Courtney. "Sure, I remember them. What'd she want?"

"They want us to go dancing with them this Friday night."

"Us? Really? I'm surprised they even remember us." I frowned, then grinned. "Of course, how silly of me. I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why they remember us." I paused to let Mia stew. "It's because I'm so ruggedly handsome."

Mia rolled her eyes. I was joking but there was a kernel of truth in my answer. They probably did remember us because of looks, just not mine. Mia had a tall, trim figure, gorgeous face, piercing brown eyes, long black hair and constant tan complexion, courtesy of her Mediterranean heritage. The total package turned heads and got husbands slapped for staring. She stood out in any room. Then again, maybe it was my rugged good looks. I chuckled. No, it was definitely Mia.

She continued. "I told her I would ask you and let them know. What do you think?"

"They seemed nice enough. And we're never gonna get any better if we don't practice."

Mia smiled. We had talked about going dancing for weeks after that class. "Courtney said they like to go dancing in Oaklawn. There are three different dance clubs on one block. You can walk from one to another. And the largest one is huge, three stories high with two dance floors and different music for each dance area. It covers like half the block. It sounds fun."

"Oaklawn? That's a gay neighborhood."

"I asked her about that. She said the main club, the big one with two dance areas, is for everyone. Well, technically all three clubs are for everyone, but one of the clubs caters mainly to gay guys and one caters mainly to lesbians. She said it's fun to go to the gay clubs to people watch. But she promised we will spend most of our time at the big club."

"I've never been to a gay club. Might be interesting to spend a few minutes inside and say I've been to one. Okay, I'm in. But don't blame me if one of the guys tries to steal me away from you. I'm quite a catch you know." I winked. She gave another eye roll then placed her other foot in my lap. I smiled and massaged the second foot to moans of appreciation.

Over the next few days of back and forth phone calls and texts, our Friday dancing plan morphed into dinner first, then dancing. We would meet at an Italian restaurant in lower Greenville, after which we would follow them to the Oaklawn dance clubs. As always, Mia fretted all week about what to wear.

On Friday, Mia came home from work two hours earlier than usual to allow extra time for showering and doing her hair and finger and toe nails. I watched her prepare and primp herself with an odd mix of arousal tempered by jealousy. Arousal because my beautiful wife was primping to look her best, but jealousy because she was not primping for me alone. We would no doubt trade partners when we danced. A moment of unease snaked into my mind, a sense of foreboding. I tried to shake the thought. I'd never felt jealous before. Why should tonight feel any different? My mind tried to rationalize an irrational thought. Maybe it was because we seldom went dancing. Maybe because we were meeting another couple who were virtual strangers. Weird. I shook my head to clear away the unwanted concern.

Knowing Mia was primping to look good, in part at least, for another man, put a competitive spirit into me. I was in reasonable shape, for a guy with a desk job. But with a wife like Mia, I never wanted to become complacent. I studied myself in the bathroom mirror.

At six feet one, I wasn't small. I sucked in my stomach and told myself that two hundred and ten pounds didn't look bad on a man my height. Still, maybe I should hit the gym more often to harden up my abs, strengthen my biceps and pecs. Maybe I should take up jogging.

Mia glanced over and saw me studying myself. She teased, "Stop staring. Hasn't that mirror been through enough?"

I grinned. "Somebody's feeling frisky."

She returned the grin and resumed her grooming. I retreated to the bedroom and quickly finished my preparations with the four s's—shirt, slacks, socks and shoes. Afterwards, I amused myself with games on my phone until she emerged wrapped in a towel. Then I amused myself watching her decide what to wear.

She had deliberated all week, yet, with an hour to go, remained undecided. The first decision, of course, is lingerie. For something unseen, the selection required a ridiculous amount of thought. She explained the reason to me, after I questioned the protracted decision. "Pretty underwear makes me feel sexy whether anyone can see it or not. And I have to match the spirit of the occasion and the type of clothes I'm wearing." Women. Oh well. I leaned back and watched with that curious yet clueless expression on my face, worn from time to time by all husbands everywhere.

She settled on a diaphanous, black lace, front clasp bra paired with a matching black lace thong, both sheer and see-through. She slipped them on, adjusted the bra and walked over to the chair where I idly watched. She twirled around in front of me. Damn she was hot.

Winking coyly she asked, "What do you think, big boy?"

"I love it." I answered enthusiastically.

She leaned close, smiled and patted my knee in a gentle, patronizing manner, the diaphanous fabric of the lace bra inches from my eyes, her perfume intoxicating. "Oh, honey, I didn't ask if you love it, I asked what do you think."

I blinked in confusion. She leaned even closer and whispered in my ear, "I'm asking, what do you think, will Jake love it?" She giggled and pranced back into her closet.

"Very funny," I yelled after her. Yep, definitely frisky.

Later, she emerged in a satin-silver western blouse tucked into her skintight Wranglers. Perfect for kicker dancing. I noticed the top three buttons of the loose blouse were undone. When she bent over to slip on her colorful cowboy boots, the loose fabric draped open, gracing anyone nearby with a clear view of her cleavage all the way to her nipples, clearly visible through the sheer lace bra. Seeing how loosely her blouse fit, I couldn't help myself. "Honey, maybe you should button a couple more buttons. That blouse flops wide open when you bend over."

She laughed. "Babe, I'm aware. We spent what, six thousand dollars getting me this cleavage? I'm not letting that money go to waste." The buttons remained undone. I re-considered her earlier joke. Maybe Jake will love it, I pondered uncomfortably.

I watched her apply a glossy pink lipstick to her luscious full lips. The color perfectly matched her freshly painted pink fingernails and toenails. For the final touches to her sexy "goin' dancing clothes", she wore the diamond stud earrings and matching diamond necklace I bought her for our recent anniversary. "I'm ready," she announced.

We got to the restaurant early and secured a table, letting the maitre d' know we expected friends. We placed our coats over the backs of the two unused chairs on our table, lest other diners try to borrow them. We enjoyed our drinks and the packed restaurant atmosphere for ten minutes until they arrived. I'd forgotten how stunning Courtney was until she walked in. Long blond hair, blue eyes and a svelte five foot six. Quite the contrast from my curvy, brown-eyed, dark-haired, five foot four Italian wife. Jake wasn't hard to look at either. Also fair complected, at five eleven or so, he was shorter than me, slim and fit. They were about our age, early thirties. They made a good looking couple. "Don't gawk," Mia admonished, seeing my eyes glued on Courtney.

They sat. We exchanged greetings. Jake took charge, as he would all evening. "Great to see you guys. Shame you couldn't finish the dance classes."

"Scheduling conflicts," I mentioned, with a shrug.

"Courtney and I really wanted to get better acquainted with you guys. But I guess, that's what tonight's about." He smiled. "So, Marc, you work at Texas Instruments, right?"

"Yeah. Software programming, mostly guidance control systems for missiles, classified stuff. I could tell you more but, then I'd have to kill you." It was a commonly used joke, but in my case, it was sorta true.

Everyone chuckled. I returned his question. "What about you, Jake?"

"Umm, well, recently I bought a used car dealership. It's located on I-30 in Mesquite."

"Oh really? My uncle's a used car dealer. I sometimes go with him to the wholesale auction in South Dallas. He registered me as a driver to chauffeur cars back to his lot. I love it. I'm a car guy. Man, those auctions are crazy."

Jake laughed. "First time I went to one I was scared to move. If I had an itch, I stood still and let it itch, too afraid that if I scratched, I would end up the proud owner of a wrecked station wagon."

I glanced at Mia. She looked pleased the conversation was flowing. She took a sip of her wine and smiled at me. I looked back at Jake. "You said you recently bought the dealership. Before that?"

Courtney burst out laughing and glanced from me to Mia. "You'll never guess."

What is it with women and guessing games? "I give up, what?" I answered with a smile.

Courtney laughed again, waited a moment for the suspense to build, then blurted, "He was a Baptist minister."

My jaw dropped. The surprise showed all over my face. On Mia's too. Jake's personality, in the short time we had known him, was anything but spiritual.

"It's crazy, right?" Courtney said, laughing. "I mean, he's not even religious. Neither of us are. But it was an easy living."

I looked at Jake. He shrugged, grinned and admitted, "Like she said, it was a way to make a buck. I needed a job and saw an ad for a minister for a small evangelical church. I thought, 'I bet I could do that'. I walked in, told them I was an ordained minister and got the job. Fake it 'till you make it. That's my motto. I knew it would be short term, but for a while it was so..." He and Courtney looked at each other and burst out laughing again.

Courtney explained. "Jake's a natural show off, charming as hell. That's one of the things that attracted me to him." She touched his arm. "He preached the shit out of that place." She paused to let the irony of her words sink in. "He would pound on his bible, jump down from the pulpit, walk out into the pews and stare into the parishioners face to face. He warned them not to blaspheme, threatening them with everlasting fire and brimstone, the wrath of God Almighty. Then he would smile and softly promise sweet salvation to those who showed their love of Jesus, measured of course by their gifts to the church. He's a born showman and loved the theatrics. He can be sooo charming. It's his superpower. Charming and disarming. He can get people to say yes before they hear the question." She looked into his eyes lovingly. He winked. She concluded, "He uses that charm to sell cars now."

Quietly, I wondered about the character of a non-religious used car salesman who didn't mind pretending to be a man of god to make a buck. Apparently, he held no qualms with saying or doing anything to get what he wanted. I decided I would buy my used cars somewhere else.

Courtney seemed devoted, almost reverent, to continue the religious theme, toward her spouse. She gazed at Jake, happy for him be the center of attention while she played the role of number one fan. Her gaze finally turned back to us. "I work at the dealership as a bookkeeper," she added, taking a sip of her drink.

We learned they were both Dallas natives and married right out of high school. We told them about my West Texas origins, how I met Mia four years ago in Lubbock at a regional toastmasters convention. "Mia and I both struggle with public speaking," I explained. Clearly not a problem for Jake, I mused, imagining him wandering into church pews shouting Proverbs to a packed house of congregants woefully unaware of his apocryphal beliefs and behavior.

We explained that Mia was a native of Plano, where we lived now. That she had lots of family in the area who were all close to one another. Italian families. Gotta love it.

Mia mostly listened. Of the four of us, she was the most reserved—when sober. Sober is a key point. She had an almost split personality, quiet and conservative when sober, dancing on the tabletops wild after one too many drinks. She always regretted losing control. She had apologized to me several times over the years for uninhibited escapades, most of which were, to me, more amusing than embarrassing. She tried to moderate her drinking. Unfortunately, some part of her loved drinking, despite what it did to her. A deeply social creature, she loved going out, getting relaxed from the alcohol, listening and laughing along, being at the party, or, if drunk, the life of it. Once in a while, her acerbic wit would show itself via some hilarious comment, interjected seemingly at random, reminding everyone that no matter how reserved she appeared, the girl in the corner remained very much attuned to the festivities.

The conversation ebbed and flowed. For a while Mia and Courtney talked to each other while Jake and I held our own side conversation. All in all, a pretty normal get to know you session for two couples. At least, I thought so at the time.

After dinner, we walked across the street to the restaurant parking lot. I whistled when I saw the car Jake was driving. "Holy shit," I exclaimed. Is that a Plymouth Barracuda?"

Jake beamed. "Fully restored 1971 'Cuda. The paint job alone cost $14,000. That's genuine Plum Crazy, the most popular color it came in. Six clear coats on top of it to get that deep shine. She's my pride and joy. I fucking love this car."

Courtney piped in. "Don't ask Jake to choose between me or this car. I wouldn't want to know the answer," she said, laughing.

"I park it on the display podium in front of the dealership all day. Brings in lots of lookers. But it's not for sale. I'm the only one who gets to drive this baby."

After that little introduction to the other love of his life, Mia and I took our car and followed Jake and Courtney to a parking lot a block from the clubs. After putting cash into the parking lot collection box, we started the short walk down the street. We went only a few feet before Jake stopped us. "I got this new security system that I sell at the dealership and of course, I put it in my 'Cuda. Watch this." We watched until a couple walked near his car. Jake pressed a button. A deep male voice, connected to large, after-market speakers, blasted, 'Stay away from the vehicle.' The couple jumped back. Jake cracked up laughing. He insisted we wait until another couple neared the car. He pressed the button twice and the voice blasted out, 'Back away from the vehicle. Police will be notified.' Again the couple jumped back. Again Jake cracked up.

"Does it actually call the police?" I asked.

"It's a '71 muscle car, not a Tesla. There's no computer or anything, just some motion sensors that activate the taped message. It's not that sophisticated."

Courtney laughed. "It's like the fancy security system Jake installed at the dealership. A bunch of used cameras he bought at a second hand store, not hooked up to anything."

"Hey, people see the cameras. That's all you need. Wiring them all in to a central computer with a monitor and recording system would cost too much. Don't need it. Like this car. Watch, here comes another couple. I recorded two more phrases."

"Show us later," I replied, rubbing my hands together. "It's cold out here." Jake seemed disappointed that I didn't want to wait around in a brisk January wind to watch more innocent pedestrians startled by his car. Courtney gave him a look ten degrees colder than the north breeze. He got the message, reluctantly put away his key fob, and we headed down the street.

As we walked, Jake entertained us with stories about life at a used car dealership. He mentioned that earlier in the week, his lot boy took a customer's car in for a courtesy wash. Coming out of the car wash, the windshield drenched in water, the lot boy proceeded to ram the customer's car into a light pole. "No monopoly on incompetence," he said laughing. "We're still arguing about whose insurance pays for what." I instantly thought, Your employee wrecked a customer's car and you're arguing about who pays for it?

We passed the two gay clubs before we got to the place we were going. They had not oversold it. The place was even more massive than I expected. We took a brief tour to see both dance areas, each of which had a second story balcony looking down on the dancers. In addition to the two main two-story dance areas, there was a more private lounge on the third floor. The second floor areas around the balcony were mainly for viewing and had small tables along the walls. The second floor also held a DJ booth for each dance floor where the DJ's could watch the dancers, read the room and adjust the music to the taste of the crowd.

Jake told us they'd been to this club several times and made friends with one of the DJ's. The first floor was populated mainly by those who planned a lot of dancing. We selected a booth on the first floor in the room where the DJ was playing mostly crossover country western and slow pop, easy to dance to. The crowd filled the tables near the dance floor, relegating us to sitting some distance around the corner and down a hall. We could hear the music, but not see the actual dance floor.

We removed our coats and slid into the cozy booth. The waitress appeared. Jake insisted on ordering a magnum of Champagne, on him, to celebrate new friends. After he ordered the champagne, we chatted, mainly about dancing. "We were sorry you guys dropped out of the class," Courtney told us.