Road to Redemption Pt. 01

"Well, I'm surprised by that, as much as I'm surprised by how well done your home is."

"Actually, I was a home designer and builder and have a knack for this stuff."

"You said that in past tense. You're not now?"

"No, that was a few years ago, in a different life."

She nodded and sipped her drink, "There is more to you than meets the eye, Nicholas. You'll have to tell me about that, perhaps over dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Dinner. I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Um, you don't have to, I mean on account of..."

"Nicholas, I'm not just inviting you to dinner because of what you did for me. I am inviting you because I find you interesting and I would like to get to know you a little better. And yes, to show my gratitude. Unless you don't want to go..."

"Oh, no. That's not it at all..."

"Is it because I'm a black woman?"

"You're black?!" I remarked, acting surprised.

She laughed, "Okay, smarty! Then do we have a date?"

"I guess I can squeeze you into my busy social schedule. When did you have in mind?"

"Tomorrow, if that fits your busy schedule? And I can pick you up in the morning to get your car," she offered.

"Sounds great, but, really, are you sure about dinner? I mean, I am a white guy."

She laughed, "Touché! Okay, I thank you for the drink. I'm going to run. How about I pick you up at eight to get your car; I need to be somewhere by ten."

"Eight is fine, thanks."

We stood and she gathered her coat. I helped her on with it, and I caught the scent of her perfume. It was intoxicating and not too flowery. I also realized just how tall she was. I guessed that she would be at least 5'-10" out of heels. I walked her to her car and thanked her again for springing me.

After she left, I was at a loss. I sat and finished the margarita mix she made, and wondered why this beautiful woman wanted to see me again. In spite of what she said, I was certain it was just because of what I had done, maybe a little 'knight in shining armor' fixation. I knew one thing for sure, she was way out of my league. For one, her attire, shoes and purse, all were very expensive designer items. I know. I became very familiar with such things. After my business took off, my ex figured out I could afford them and made it a career to keep the high-end boutiques in business.

III. BUCKET MOUTH

Celia picked me up and took me to the impound lot. They informed me I owed for the towing and the impound and gave me a hefty bill. I started to pay, but Celia stopped me, pulled out her phone and made a call. Two minutes later, the phone rang at the impound office. The clerk made a face like he'd ate a turd, got on the intercom and a flunky showed up, got my keys, then went to get my car.

"I called Tom's captain," Celia smiled, "He doesn't like Tom and he hates spouse abusers. He apologized for the police impounding your car."

"Well thanks again. And are you sure about dinner? I mean I don't want to cause you any trouble..."

"No trouble, Nicholas. Unless you're trying to get out of our date."

"No. Not at all. Um, do you really consider this a date?"

"Hey, I'm newly single. You're single. Wouldn't you call it a date?"

"Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else."

"No, I feel confident I know who you are. Anyway, isn't that what a date is for, to get to know someone better?"

"Yes, it is. In that case, what time and how should I dress?"

"How about seven, and a jacket and tie would be appropriate."

"Okay, will do," I replied, wondering what kind of joint required a tie, these days.

They pulled my car up.

She whistled, "Nice ride, a ragtop, '66 Goat," Celia exclaimed, surprising me.

"You know your cars."

"My dad collects cars and I learned from him. They're his passion, and I know he doesn't have a '66 GTO. Well, see you at seven," she said and headed to her car.

I checked my car over for damage before I got in. The impound jerk gave me a look like he'd swallowed another turd, so I took extra time, inside and out. Satisfied, I got in, started the engine and left. I ran errands, going to the store and so on, getting caught up on things that had dropped by the wayside while I was locked up.

At seven that evening, Celia pulled up and parked on the street.

I opened the door and greeted her, "You could have parked in the drive."

"I thought we could take your car," she grinned, "I'd love to go for a ride in it."

"Sure thing," I answered as she walked up.

She was dressed to the nines. Her long, suede coat was open and she had on a slinky, navy-blue dinner dress that had a plunging neckline, but was tastefully accessorized with a gold and silver scarf that hung down covering her decolletage.

I had put on a smoke-gray Zegna suit that I hadn't worn in at least four years. It still hung well on me, but I nevertheless felt underdressed.

"You do clean up nice, Nicholas," she remarked as she came up.

"Is this okay? I wasn't sure."

"Your joking, right? That's perfect, and you look handsome."

I think I blushed. "Would you like to drive?" I asked, "It's a stick."

"Really? I'd love to, and I can handle the stick."

I opened the driver's door for her and helped her off with her coat. She slid into the seat, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Four-speed Hurst shifter. What's under the hood?"

"You do know your cars. An original, rebuilt, 4OO cubic inch, High Output, Ram air V-8, with a Holley 4-barrel carb."

"Sweeet!"

I handed her the keys and got in. She started up the big V-8 and it rumbled to life.

"I love that sound. My dad would kill to get his hands on this," she said.

"Then I would be dead, because the only way I'm parting with this, is if it's pried from my cold, dead hands. It's one of the few things I managed to keep in my divorce."

She gave me an understanding look, then shot out of the driveway, slewed sideways into the street, steered into the slide and rocketed down the narrow two-lane, grinning the whole way. I hung on and hoped she didn't hit anything...and that my neighbors didn't give me shit, later.

After an 'exhilarating' drive, she pulled up in front of a restaurant which probably wouldn't let me in the front door without her. Attendants opened our doors and I pressed a twenty into the hand of my attendant, who nodded politely and eyed the car. He gave me a smile, and when Celia came around and joined me, he gave me a wink. I felt like a million bucks; then thought, "This date might cost me that much!"

I offered my arm to Celia who gracefully slipped hers in mine and we entered the restaurant.

The maître d' immediately came from behind his podium and greeted her with a slight bow, "Miss Celia." He gave me a cursory glance and a nod, "Sir," then focusing on Celia, "So nice of you to join us this evening. Your table is ready."

As he ushered us through the restaurant, I thought, "How the hell do you get reservations to a joint like this on one day's notice?" He seated us at a table next to a window overlooking the bay, and staff quickly pulled chairs out for us. I paused for Celia to sit then joined her.

After the head waiter took our order, the sommelier brought the wine list and politely handed it to me.

We had both ordered filets so I asked Celia if a Bordeaux would suit her.

"Perfect," she replied.

I handed the wine list back, "If you have a Chateau Haut-Briand or Chateau Mouton Rothschild, either would be fine."

"Yes Sir. I have a Haut-Briand 14 and a Mouton Rothschild 17..."

"The Haut-Briand will be fine."

"Excellent, Sir," the sommelier nodded and left.

Celia remarked, "You continue to surprise me, Nicholas. I didn't have you pegged as a wine connoisseur, more of a beer connoisseur," she playfully chided.

"Please, call me Nick. And when I had my business, I ended up building for some very affluent clients and had to learn how to woo them. I found that I could conduct more successful negotiations over a nice dinner than in any other way - that and I had to learn to play golf," I explained.

She remarked, "Honestly, that night in the pub, I thought you were just some tough that hung out at bars and was good with his fists. Not saying that was bad. Just, well, I'm surprised."

"Trust me," I replied, "I'm a lot closer to being that guy, than the one who knows the difference between a Chateau Mouton and a Chateau Lafite. And I didn't order a Lafite because, frankly, a little out of my range."

"Nick, this night is on me, and we're dining here because I wanted do something special for you," and then grinning, "and my father owns the restaurant, so I'm not paying either!" then she laughed, "You should have ordered the Lafite!"

The steward returned with our wine. After the obligatory sniff test, I accepted the wine and poured Celia's, then mine.

Celia picked up her glass and offered a toast, "Here's to the tough that defended my honor and rescued me, and to the gentleman that continues to impress me."

I returned the toast, "And here's to the most beautiful 'damsel in distress' I've ever had the pleasure of rescuing."

"Thank you, Nick," she nodded and smiled.

We chatted as we ate. I learned that she owned a women's clothing boutique that carried clothing and accessories for the demographic that could get in the front door of this restaurant without having to brandish a firearm. She explained about her ex-husband, too. She met him in college and fell for the 'big man on campus', sports jock and all. Her parents didn't approve of him, but she was adamant, and they respected her wishes. The marriage was not idyllic, and the wheels came off when she discovered he was screwing around on her.

After dinner, she pushed me to fill her in on my history. I was reluctant, but she pressed, and eventually I opened up. Hell, I couldn't shut up once I got going. I told her all about my marriage, my business, my whoremongering, about Andrea, everything. She listened patiently, asking questions, and was genuinely empathetic. It was actually cathartic for me, as I hadn't shared this with anyone till now.

When I finally spooled down, it was almost 9:30. I apologized, but she would have none of it.

"Nick, I want to thank you for sharing all of that with me. I know it was difficult for you to talk about it. And you know, I too understand first hand, just how damaging it can be when you're betrayed by the one you love."

After polishing off our second $500-dollar bottle of wine, we called it a night and headed back to my house.

I drove us back - Celia was feeling a bit tipsy. As I opened the door for her, I asked if she would like some coffee before driving home.

"That's a very good idea, Nick."

We went in and I fired up the Keurig. Celia went in the living room, removed her coat and kicked off her shoes. When the coffee was ready, I brought it out and sat opposite her.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, and I apologize for being such a bucket mouth," I opined

"You are most welcome, Nick. It was my pleasure, and I enjoyed the evening immensely," she replied, "and stop apologizing. I appreciate that you felt comfortable enough to share personal things with me. So often, on first dates, people talk about everything except those things that really matter to them."

When we finished our coffees, she said she was doing better and I helped her on with her coat. She placed a hand behind my head and kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, Sir Galahad," she quipped.

"Goodnight, m'lady."

I walked her to her car, and watched her drive off. I figured that would be the last time I would see her.

IV. A BAD IDEA

The next week flew by - long, busy days at work trying to get a couple projects back on track. Friday arrived before I knew it, and I went home with every intention of calling it a night and getting to sleep early. In fact, by nine o'clock, I was in bed.

At 10:30, I was still lying there, wide awake; so, I got dressed and went to the pub.

The place was busy, I couldn't get a seat at the bar, and all the tables looked to be full - Friday night, duh. I stood and waited for a seat to open up and sipped the ale the bartender had passed to me.

Lynne, one of the waitresses, came over.

"Hey, Nick. That lady over there, her name's Shelley, and she has invited you to join her."

"Hm, well, it is an open seat. Thanks, Lynne." I looked at the direction she pointed, made eye contact with Shelley and nodded.

"By the way, everything okay after you decked that cop and got arrested?" Lynne asked.

"Yeah, it all worked out okay, thanks," I replied as I headed to the offered table.

When I approached, there was something familiar about Shelley, but I couldn't place her.

"Hi, it's Shelley, right?"

"Yes, please sit. I mean, if you like?" she replied, shyly.

"Sure, thanks. Nice of you to invite me."

I scooted out a chair and sat, "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, noticing her drink was almost gone.

"Oh thanks...Nick, right."

"Yes, Nick."

"Thanks, Nick, but the waitress is bringing me one."

"Well, it's on me. And again, thank you for the invite. And I have to apologize, but have to ask, have we met?"

"Oh, well, not really. I mean, we were chatting when that fight happened and you got arrested."

"Oh, yes, I remember, you asked about my beer. Of course, I'm trying to forget that night."

"Oh, certainly, getting arrested and all. How did that work out?"

"After a few days, they released me. The guy dropped the charges."

"Oh good. You know several of us volunteered to testify against him if you needed it. He was a jerk and deserved what you did."

"Thanks, Shelley. But it all worked out."

"Was that lady alright?"

"Yes, she just got a pretty good bruise out of it, but she's fine."

"Oh, did you see her after that?"

"Yes, she got her husband to drop the charges and got me released."

"Well, thank goodness."

So, the small talk continued for a bit, and I looked Shelley over. She was attractive, more so than I remembered. Her hair was pulled up and done in kind of a French bun - giving her a bit of a Doris Day look. She had a pretty face and appeared to have a nice body, maybe a few extra pounds, but she was a buxomy woman. The sweater she was wearing did nothing to hide her ample bosom. I'm not a 'big tits' guy, but you still have to appreciate the gifts mother nature bestows, whatever the size.

At some point, Shelley remarked, "I noticed you don't wear a wedding ring..."

"No, not married."

"I was wondering...if you might like to get together sometime...do lunch or something?" she asked tentatively.

"Thank you, Shelley, that's a very nice offer, but I don't know if I'd be that good of company," I replied, trying to politely turn her down.

"Oh. Well, um, I'm enjoying your company and just thought..."

I realized I was being kind of a jerk, "You're right, Shelley, I'm sorry, I'd be happy to go to lunch with you. I apologize, I've just been kind of staying to myself lately and it's become a habit," I offered, acquiescing.

"Bad divorce, I'm betting."

"You nailed it. Look, if you'd like to do lunch this weekend, that would be nice. My weekdays are pretty busy right now."

"Sure, I'm free tomorrow," she quickly responded.

I thought of the old joke where you go up to a woman in a bar and ask, "Are you free, tonight?" And when she answers, "No" you respond, "Oh, okay, then how much are you charging?" Sophomoric, and I've never done it, but been tempted.

She continued, "If you'd like, I could make lunch for us. You probably don't get too many homecooked meals."

"That's very thoughtful, but I don't want you to go to any trouble."

"Oh, no trouble, I love to cook, and these days, I don't get much of a chance to cook for someone else. I'm divorced, too."

"Well, then, I guess I'll get a home-cooked meal. Give me your address and what time."

"Here's my address, and how about 1 o'clock?"

"Great, and thank you, Shelley."

After a couple drinks and chatting a bit, I made what I hoped was a polite exit, "I hope you don't mind, I'm going to call it a night. It's a little too crowded and noisy for me, tonight."

"You're right. I'm ready, too."

I figured getting involved with Shelley was a bad idea, but I was tired of being a hermit. Spending time with Celia had made me feel better about getting out and doing something other than my pathetic routine. And it had aroused my interest in women again.

I walked Shelley to her car and said good night. She said she was looking forward to tomorrow, and in spite of my reservations, I was looking forward to it, too.

V. A MEAL AND DESSERT

The next morning, I was having second thoughts about meeting Shelley for lunch, and wished I had gone with my gut feeling; but I told myself I would at least get good meal and some female company, which, with the exception of Celia, I'd had little of in a long time.

When I pulled into Shelley's neighborhood, I had to double check my directions. It wasn't what I was expecting, not that I was expecting anything in particular. But this was a very upscale neighborhood, exclusive, actually. I located her address and pulled into the circular drive.

As I got out of my car, Shelley came out the door and down the steps to meet me.

"Hi, Nick. I'm glad you could make it. Honestly, I wasn't a hundred per cent sure you would come."

"Of course. I wouldn't miss a chance at home cooking and your company," I said, trying to be complimentary. Shelley actually blushed a little.

"Oh, thanks, Nick," she replied, then hooked my arm to walk me into the house, which was practically a mansion. Boy did I have Shelley figured wrong. And seeing her in the light of day, she was just as pretty as I remembered. About 5'-7" and probably 145 pounds or a bit more, her curvaceous body was carrying a little extra weight, but still not bad. I had noticed she was bosomy at the pub, and the button-up blouse she was wearing was straining to contain what looked like double 'D's. Her blond hair was obviously dyed, but it was a nice shade - not too bleach-blond looking and it was long, flowing nicely over her shoulders.

"Quite a home you have here," I remarked, "quite beautiful."

"Oh, thank you," she answered as we headed into the kitchen where she was putting the finishing touches on our meal. "I traded most of my share of the business for the house and a cash-out. I still do some work for the company from time to time, and I did retain a 15% interest," she explained as she busied herself setting the table. I had arrived about ten minutes early and Shelley started to apologize for not being ready.

"No, no. I was early, and I'm glad to help," I added as I lent a hand.

Shelley said, "You know, I didn't think to ask what you liked, and I didn't get your phone number..."

"I'm pretty easy to please, and whatever you made smells wonderful."

"I made boeuf bourguignon, fresh-baked scratch rolls, and a fennel-orange salad with a citrus vinaigrette."

"Awesome."

We finished bringing the food out and settled in to eat.

Curious, I asked, "So, what kind of company did you and your husband have?" They were obviously very successful. In the current market, this house had to be in the four-million-dollar range.

"My ex and I have a tech company that primarily provides specialized programming services. We develop financial, personnel and flow management programs tailored to the specific business of mostly large companies."

"This stew is amazing and the rolls are delicious," I remarked, not just being polite. Everything was pretty awesome.

Shelley blushed again, "Thank you, Nick. I do love to cook." She continued a little shyly, "And thank you for coming. It means a lot to me. I miss this part of...well, you know."

"Yes, I do." I reached and patted her hand. She in turn, gave it a soft squeeze.