The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 04

His friend's face held equal parts of agreement and distress. "I know. Believe me. But if it's okay with you, I'll just keep my mouth shut and avoid a fight with Kim while you prove her wrong." The two men tapped beer bottles.

"I cannot believe we're standing here trying to hit a golf ball through a freakin' windmill." Mallory was laughing non-stop at Jim's battle with the rotating vane that was tirelessly rejecting his efforts.

"I know, but we've got the loopty-loop next. Does it get any better than that?" He tapped again and broke into a victory dance, knees kicking high, club in both hands above his head, hips swaying side to side.

"Oh my God! I can't unsee that. Please tell me that wasn't your touchdown dance in high school."

"Of course not," he explained patiently. "There are no putters in football, Mallory."

That earned him a middle finger scratching a nose.

A half an hour later she looked at him sadly. "I'm so sorry. You didn't break par. That means you don't get any alcohol with dinner. And you didn't beat me, so no dessert either."

"I'm driving so I wasn't going to be drinking anyway. And you'd have found a reason for no dessert no matter what happened."

"Moi?" That called for a dramatic hand-on-chest, eyes opened wide, and a tone that implied utter desolation. "Do you think I'm that unfair? Don't answer that!"

Two hours later, edges softened by wine, she turned from sliding a key into her building's door. Jim was down one stair on the little stoop, and they were almost face to face. "No, you can't come up"--he hadn't asked, but she figured he was about to--"but I had so much fun today. I hope you will next weekend. And ..." She stepped closer and set her forearms on his shoulders. "It's not our first date."

She cupped the back of his neck and leaned in for a kiss. This time it was on the lips. She let it linger for a second longer than she had at the gym. She pulled slightly back, then placed another one, equally soft, very brief on his lips before straightening. "See you tomorrow morning, six thirty sharp."

"Let me guess. Vegan?" Jim looked around the commercial kitchen, having received a cheery "Welcome to Eat Healthy with Helen!" and a name tag at the door, and seeing the piles of produce at the workstations.

"Nope." Mallory's smile was puckish. "This class is called Healthy Cooking Fundamentals."

They shared their worktable with another couple. The husband turned out to be somewhat grumpy about being newly retired and newly ordered to eat better by his doctor. His wife turned out to be somewhat grumpy at having her husband newly underfoot all the time. Therefore, he viewed the class as "this is so unnecessary" while she viewed it as "thank God we're out of the house."

Later, as they pulled out of the parking lot, Jim and Mallory found themselves laughing over their tablemates' antics.

"When he said, 'I'm not eating that asparagus. It makes my pee stink,' and she turned red, I about lost it."

"She muttered to me, 'If he thinks his breath doesn't stink when he eats his tuna fish sandwiches all the time ... at least his pee's in the bathroom.'" They chuckled. "Did you like the food?"

Jim considered. "I loved the sesame garlic asparagus, pee or no pee. The chickpea quinoa salad was good. The poached rhubarb with yogurt was nothing special. The salmon ... I'm not much of a salmon guy."

"I love it. I eat it every week."

"Don't worry. I'll still kiss you even if you have salmon breath."

"Assuming that's important to me, of course." She said it matter-of-factly, but he could see a faint smile tug at her mouth. She pulled up in front of his building.

"Will you come up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not this time."

She looked kissable, so he did. "You have salmon breath."

"You said that wasn't a problem," as she leaned across the center console for another one, and then a third. And then an "I have to go. This is a Pajama Weekend and I'm playing hooky from Robin." At his surprised expression, "She ordered me out. Otherwise, I couldn't possibly have made time for you. And no, you can't come because we lie around in nothing but ratty old T-shirts and gym shorts with our hair a mess, stuffing our faces with hummus, and talking about men while watching Gilmore Girls."

His mind pictured ratty old T-shirts ... well, the "nothing but" part that went with it. He kept that off his face, leaned over for another brief kiss, and let her go. "Have fun talking about me."

"We will."

It had been a fun afternoon, but he wasn't looking forward to what he had left to do.

"Hi, Addison ..."

There was dead silence on the other end for a long second. Then, "Hello, Jim. I'm guessing from the sound of your voice, that this is the phone call, right?"

It was Jim's turn to be silent. All his carefully prepared sentences had flown out of his mind. Amazing how easy it is to break up with a wife and how hard with someone you like.

She rescued him. "It's okay. I thought it likely this would happen, although I--" She broke off, then started again. "This is going to sound like a psycho bitch, but I was hoping I could string you along for five years or so. Sex might be intermittent but as regular as I could make it. I was scheming how to do that with mileage points, and reworking my schedules, and tempting you with my sales award trips to the Caribbean."

"Why would you want to string me along?" Jim was honestly puzzled and a little hurt. She caught that.

"Not to jerk you around, you sweet idiot! If down the road my career wasn't going where I wanted it, I was going to switch to Plan B, and you've turned out to be exactly what I wanted for that. If I could keep you happy until then ..."

Her voice turned wistful. "We had some good times."

"We did."

She sighed. "Oh well. It was a longshot that you wouldn't meet someone more right for you, and I had my suspicions about Mallory-- Oh! It is Mallory, right?"

"Yeah."

"I wish you the best, Jim. Truly. My only real regret is that I missed one room in your condo."

"Huh?"

"The kitchen. We never did it in the kitchen." She laughed. "Take care. If it doesn't work out, make sure you call me. I can't promise not to Facebook-stalk you in a few years to see what your status is."

That conversation, more than anything that had gone before--her pursuit of him, her acceptance of how he looked, the unfettered enjoyment of sex--restored the last little bit of what Lori had taken from him.

Monday, he told Mallory. "I called Addison this weekend. I told her I wouldn't be seeing her anymore."

He noticed the flicker of what looked like pleasure that belied the nonchalant "Whatever works for you." He called her on it.

"Are you implying you couldn't care less if I'm seeing someone else at the same time as you?"

The power dynamic in their relationship had been somewhat in Mallory's favor up until then. He was the one who was attracted to her first ... or, at least, admitted it first. He was the one who didn't measure up when it came to the other's standards of physical attractiveness. That meant he was pleased to catch her off-balance.

"Well, I--"

He pressed his advantage. "Are you seeing other men?"

He could see her momentary conflict about being vulnerable. "No, I'm not. And no, I wouldn't be happy if you were seeing other women."

He met her halfway. "Perfect. We feel the same."

That Friday, he reported, "Thirteen, not counting the four."

"Forget the four. I don't want to hear about them again."

As they were saying goodbye in the alley after dinner--Jim was going to stay and help Tom--she glanced around to make sure it was deserted and moved in for a clinch.

The next night, after a pleasant dinner out, she let him walk her up to her apartment. "You didn't drink at dinner. Would you like a glass of wine?"

Wine turned to a kiss, turned to several more, turned to tongues exploring each other's mouth. She felt his hand at her waist slide upward slightly and gently disengaged her lips and leaned back to meet his eyes.

"Jim." She kept her one hand cupping the side of his neck, the other slid down to caress his arm. "Let's keep things slow for a bit." She paused to see if he'd get defensive or even irritated.

Is that a poker face or is he okay with that? She'd encountered both types of guys. "Every time I've moved more quickly, I've kinda regretted it later. You know about one of them."

"Brandon?"

"Oh. Oh! Um, no. I meant Michael." She thought a second. "But you're right. I did move too quickly with Brandon also. It had been so long since--" She blushed a little with embarrassment at blurting that out and broke eye contact. "And, yeah, I regretted him too."

"Okay."

"Do you think I'm a tease?"

"Yes."

Horrified and with just a trifle of outrage rising, she snapped her eyes back to his.

"I mean. It's bad enough when I can't take my eyes off the woman in the track suit, but then you deliberately go and wear a dress sometimes, with makeup and--"

She realized--fortunately before she could say something she regretted--exactly who was doing the teasing.

"Ow!" He rubbed the spot she'd just pinched.

"You deserved it."

"Now you have to kiss it and make it better."

Laughing, she gave the spot a quick peck. "Is it okay?"

He didn't pretend to think she was talking about the pinch. "Is it okay that you decide your limits? That's not even a question. Beyond that? There's nothing that seems unreasonable to me so far." He went back to exploring her lips.

Later that evening, she was curled up in bed with her phone on speaker beside her.

"So what do you make of that 'so far'?" she asked Robin.

"I make it that you're over-analyzing this just the way you do everything a guy says to make sure he's not trying to control you."

Mallory's silence conveyed volumes.

"Okay, I think it means that he's a normal person and knows that a month or two is not super unusual. I think it means he's not just looking for a quick lay, despite the fact that all of us are pretty sure that he and Addison were banging from day one. I think it also means that he's not a pushover, and you won't lead him around by the ... nose ... like some guys."

Mallory's snort was a combination of amusement at the innuendo and touchiness at the implication. "What are you trying to say?"

The sigh was loud. "The last time I told you the blunt truth about this you were mad at me for days."

"Do it anyway."

"You always make sure you're in control. Mostly because you pick guys you can walk away from without getting hurt. They want the cookies and will do pretty much what you want hoping to get them." She paused. "Go ahead. Take my head off again."

"Just go on."

"Jim's different. Both because I think you would get hurt, which isn't my point, and because he's not willing to play junior partner. Lori made him question his confidence; I'll give you that. But it didn't change his ... I don't know ... his ability to stand up for himself. I mean, you've been on the receiving end a couple of times. Hell! Look at him dealing with his ex. If that wasn't a poster for taking decisive action, I don't know what is."

The two women were silent for a while: Mallory thinking, Robin content to let her do so.

"So, you're saying I should sleep with him?"

"How the hell did you get that from what I said? You asked me what I thought 'so far' meant and I told you: he thinks things are fine at the moment. When he doesn't, he'll probably say something, and if you don't agree, cross that bridge when you get there."

Another pause, then an oblique shift by Mallory.

"I was hurt when Tom and I split."

"I don't think two weeks of endlessly asking me if you did the right thing and then answering your own questions with 'I did' counts as hurt."

"If you were here, I'd punch you."

"Do you regret breaking up with Tom?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Not now. I did once or twice. Mostly when I noticed Shannon getting interested." That admission brought a snort from both women. "But no, not really. It was the right thing to do."

"Tell me why."

"Tom was comfortable, sort of cozy. We got along well and had a good time when we went out. You know I had the hots for his bod."

"It's yummy," her friend agreed, "but don't tell DH I said that."

"I'm sure DH has caught you sneaking a look once or twice." At Robin's sound of dismay, "Oh come on! If there's one guy on the planet who knows his wife wants him, it's DH. Jesus! I try to FaceTime you at three in the afternoon the day after he gets home, and you won't turn the video on. That means you're still naked and so's he." Mallory ignored the sputtering. "Or worse."

"Byotch!"

"Pot."

"Kettle." Their standard ending to an argument. "Anyway ...?"

"Anyway ..." Mallory struggled for the words. "It's like Tom and I had a great time doing certain things together. But it was the things, not just the other person. Which sounds kind of weird when sex is one of those things."

"Not necessarily. And Jim?"

"Being with him is just fun, even when all we're doing is hanging and people-watching. I mean, half the time I can't remember exactly why I was having such a good time; I just was. But I don't have the ..." Robin could fill in the missing part of that sentence. "It's like he's the mirror-image of Tom."

"Do you like making out with Jim?"

"Yeah. He's a good kisser."

"Does he know how to use his hands?"

Mallory flushed a little even though Robin couldn't see it. "I haven't let him ... well ... he has this tingly way of running his fingers under my jaw and along my neck."

"Do you have the slightest reason to suspect his dick doesn't work?"

"What the fuck, Robin!"

"So you do doubt it works."

Mallory didn't realize until "It works!" burst out of her that she'd been deliberately goaded into admitting she'd noticed during making out. She could almost hear the unspoken "Yeah, I know you peeked" and see the knowing look.

"I so hate you right now! And I'm not even kidding."

"Then why on earth do you think you aren't going to have a boatload of orgasms with that guy whenever you get around to it?"

Dead silence.

"Maybe stop letting your eyes do all the work and use your brain instead."

More silence.

"Well, I predicted you'd get mad at me again."

No denial.

"Toodles." Robin hung up.

"Fifteen pounds."

Mallory glanced around the gym at the Friday regulars. She leaned up and laid a smooch on his lips. She ignored a couple of hoots. "Down payment because we're in public."

Their goodbyes had gotten a bit more intimate. Not a lot. In a moment of silent honesty with herself, Mallory had admitted that she was worried that if Jim--as Robin put it--got the cookies, he might lose incentive.

"Five more," he said.

We'll see.

And then came the week where things started to slip sideways.

"Twenty-one!" Jim crowed. He gave Mallory a sly glance. "If that seems like an odd number to be celebrating, it's because of things I'm not allowed to talk about."

"Your goal was twenty-five?"

"As if you didn't know."

"Then only four more." Go beyond your old clothes fitting. She didn't say that; she hoped he just went along with the program.

"My goal was, past tense, twenty-five. Sometime back a month or two ago, it became twenty-one because of someone's edict. Now my goal is Shannon's pie."

Mallory was in a quandary. How to be genuine in celebrating his achievement, without acceding to it being the only achievement on the horizon?

"I'm proud of you that you've stuck it out this far. I think a piece of pie would be a perfect celebration. I'll have one too ... though that means an extra push tomorrow. Hey, wanna come running with me tomorrow?"

Jim held open the door of Mickey's for her to go in first. "I don't think so."

"Come on! You know how much I like it, and it could be another thing we do together."

She pushed a bit more as they wended their way to the back, finally stopping when they reached the others.

She made one more try as everyone pushed their plates away.

"I still think you should come running tomorrow."

"I can't keep up with you."

"I'll slow down."

"No. You slowing down for me isn't going to make you happy with either your run ... or with me." The acuity of that last caught her off guard. Everyone at the table felt the charged moment, and the silence stretched on.

Jim was the one who broke it. "I'm going to head out. Want to walk me out?" he said to her. He ignored the glances the others exchanged and stood.

Outside, he turned to Mallory. "I had a goal. It was to lose the spare tire. I wanted to be able to go for a walk and not have it be a stress test. I wanted to be able to get back to playing tennis, and I'm going to start doing that. Now, I know you like-- Let me finish."

She quieted.

"Now, I know you like a certain look in a guy. At least, that's what it seemed like with your dates."

She felt a sympathetic pang at the thought of him watching, wishing it were he. I wanted to rip Addison's eyes out. I bet he felt the same. She refocused.

"... look like that. In fact, almost certainly. I'm not going to go back to what I was. I'll keep up going to the gym and walking and, as I said, I'll start playing a little tennis. But I don't enjoy working out for the sake of working out. I'm also going to enjoy my food and a drink now and then. What that means is entirely up to you."

She could hear the-- No, it wasn't an ultimatum. She could hear the fatalistic "this is the way it is whether we like it or not."

Her quandary became a struggle. On one side was the affection she felt for this man and the genuine attraction. On the other side were four years of operant conditioning by an absolute master that had left her a changed person. Not to mention three years of giving in to a different kind of attraction, one that was visual ... and very rarely, if she allowed things to get to the unwrapping-a-present stage, tactile too.

She could also hear the apprehension in Jim's voice. She forced her mind to quiet down and reached up to pull his head down. "Jim, I like going out with you." She kissed him, trying to let none of the turmoil in her thoughts manifest itself in her lips or her expression.

Robin set down the half of a BLT she was consuming. Some paperwork had pulled Jim down to the courthouse where he'd run into her again. It was a Monday, no lunch with Mallory, so Robin and he found themselves at the luncheonette across the street.

"Look, Jim. You know I don't want to be anywhere near the middle of this. I--"

"And yet," he interrupted. The two words, delivered with heavy sarcasm saved from being nasty by the good-humored grin on his face, stopped her.

She had the grace to flush a little about being caught in an untruth. "She's my best friend and she's an idiot. What do you expect me to do?"

"She's not an idiot." His tone was gentle.

She nodded in agreement. "No. She's not. She's ..." They shared a look of understanding; they both knew about Michael.

She debated with herself. Finally, "No, you're not fighting a battle you're destined to lose. It's the opposite. But she moved faster than's her nature with a couple of guys, and they turned out to be assholes, one even a stalker." She glanced up at him. "I think you met that one." Jim nodded. "Let her feel she's making a well-considered choice this time. Trust me, Jim, that woman wants you. She's just trying to get out of her own way."

Figuring she was in the middle whether she liked it or not, Robin decided she better do a middle's job. She jumped on Mallory's first sign of grumpiness.