The Red Vest

"Nah, not at the moment--no one special," she laughed, shrugging her freckled shoulders. "I'm free as a bird, so to speak."

"You? How about you, Charles?" Wilma asked, taking a sip from her Bloody Mary, smacking her lips, "You ever been in love?"

Chester took a sip of his bourbon and thought a minute. "Yeah, once or twice but you know I'm so busy all the time with my business deals and traveling and all that, so I haven't found the right one to settle down with. You know what I mean." He paused and looked at Wilma.

"Yeah I know what you mean," Wilma answered, nodding. "I do."

"But I'm a real romantic," Chester continued. "You know I buy flowers, usually roses and take gals dancin' and out to dinner, you know, dates, goin' to fancy places. I like being romantic." He paused and took another sip of his bourbon, feeling his head spinning from his drink. "I like showin' a woman a good time." He paused realizing he was getting drunk. "I really like that, you know--being romantic."

"You look like a romantic kind of guy," Wilma said, glancing at his red vest. "You look like you're a real gentleman, not a bum like a lot of guys these days who only want one thing, you know what I mean."

"Well, thank you, Wilma and yeah I do know what you mean. I'm not like that at all," Chester said, clearing his throat, shaking his head, feeling dizzier. "I try to be a real gentleman. I mean I don't take advantage of women, although I have had many chances, you know, have affairs. But I'm not that kind of guy--you know what I mean. I have too much respect for ladies like you so I never take advantage, even when, you know, they come after me."

"Well, that's because you're a real gentleman. You're like a knight in shining armor, aren't you Charles? I mean, you seem like a person with real class."

"Well, thank you, Wilma. You seem like a lady with real class, too. I can tell because I know about class being in business and all," Chester said, glancing at himself in the mirror, his eyes a little blurred. "I know real class when I see it."

He picked up his glass, swirling the ice and took a big sip of his bourbon, finishing it and lifting his glass up to the bartender for another round. He turned to Wilma, "Howz about you, ready for another drink," he asked, leaning towards her.

"Sure, why not?" she said, nodding, finishing her drink. "Yesh, I think I could go for one more," she said, trying not to slur her words. "Thank you, Charles."

Chester pointed to Wilma's glass so that the bartender would bring her another Bloody Mary along with his second bourbon.

When the drinks came, Chester picked up his glass and raised it, clicking it against Wilma's glass. "Here's to you getting a record deal."

Wilma smiled. "And here's to you and all your deals," she said, clicking their glasses then both took big sips of their drinks.

Chester noticed it was getting dark out and wondered where this afternoon would end. "It's getting dark already, Wilma," he said, looking towards the small window at the front of the bar. "Time sure goes fast."

"It does. But that's cause we're having such a good time getting to know each other," Wilma said, nodding, holding her glass to her lips.

"You're right, I'm having a good time gettin' to know you," Chester said.

"Thanks," Wilma said, touching Chester's hand. "That's so sweet of you to say."

Chester looked at her freckled hand on his, the red nail polish. "This is something," he thought putting his hand on top of hers.

"So where do you live?" Chester asked.

"Not too far. I got an apartment about two blocks from here," she said. "It's small but its home."

"Nice. So you live around here," Chester responded, nodding. "That's nice living close by." He took another sip of his bourbon glancing at himself in the mirror wondering if she would invite him over, imagining being in her apartment and listening to Frank Sinatra and candles and a big brass bed.

Wilma gave Chester's hand a squeeze. "You're quite a guy, Charles," she said, looking into Chester's eyes.

"And you're quite a lady, yourself," Chester said, looking at Wilma, liking how their eyes met.

"So, you got plans for later?" Wilma asked, taking another drink.

"You mush be busy or something," she added, her words slurring. She smiled, waving her hand back and forth in front of her face like a fan, "Hey, I'm getting a little woozy." she added, chuckling.

"Plans?" Chester repeated. "Nothing I can't cancel," he answered, looking into Wilma's eyes.

"That's good," Wilma said.

"Why?" Chester asked, bringing his drink to his mouth, tilting his head back, finishing his drink with a gulp then slamming the glass heavily on the bar.

"Well, like I said, I live two blocks from here. Would you like to come over for some coffee? I got some Danish too."

"Now that shounds good," Chester said wishing he wouldn't slur. "I think I'd like that," he added, feeling this might end up like he hoped, even though Wilma didn't look like Venessa in his Playboy magazine.

"Let's get out of here," Wilma said. "I'll make us some coffee and we can talk more, you know, get to know each other better."

"Yeah, I like that idea," Chester said, standing up, wobbling but managed to put his hand on the stool and faced Wilma. "Let me help you off the shtool," he slurred, reaching for her hand.

"Well, thank you kind sir," Wilma said, taking his hand. "You are quite a gentleman," she said as she slid off the stool and fell against Chester's chest. "Opps! Sorry about that," she said, stepping back and smoothing Chester's red vest. "That's such a nice vest you have there, Charles."

"Thanks, Wilma," he said, as he put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw thirty dollars down next to his glass and saluted the bartender. He realized he only had five dollars left and his ticket back to Bayonne.

As they left the dimly lighted bar, Wilma put her purse under her arm and held onto Chester's other arm. He glanced at himself in the mirror just as they stepped away from the bar, staggering slightly towards the door. He liked how it felt to have Wilma's arm around his arm, how she leaned into him.

Chester opened the door for Wilma and noticed it was pouring rain outside. "Uh-oh," Chester said. "It must have just started raining--probably just a shower."

"Maybe we should call a cab," Wilma suggested.

"Nah," Chester said, knowing he didn't have enough money for a cab. "A little rain won't hurt us," he said, closing the black door and stood under the entrance, looking out at the rain. "Let's make a run for it."

"It's comin' down pretty hard," Wilma said, sticking her hand out, feeling the heavy drops.

"Come on, a little rain won't hurt us," Chester repeated, wishing he had money for a cab but anxious to get to Wilma's apartment.

"Okay," Wilma said. "I guess a little rain won't hurt us."

"Come on," Chester said, stepping out into the rain and started running.

Wilma followed right behind him, running the best she could in her heels then stopped, bending down to take off her high heels, "Hey wait a sec."

Chester turned as Wilma held up her shoes, "Okay," she yelled--her hair and dress soaked.

Thunder rumbled over head, the rain rolling down Chester's face, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. He saw Wilma holding up her shoes, her hair wet, her dress clinging. "Come on, we can make it," Chester yelled, noticing people standing in doorways and under awnings looking at the two of them running, stepping around puddles in the pouring rain. "Maybe this was a dumb idea," he thought seeing how soaked they were. Wilma caught up with him then pointed down the street with her shoe, dangling from her fingers, "This way," she shouted. "Not much further."

Puffing heavily, rain drops dripping from the tip of his nose, he nodded and continued running, noticing more people standing under awnings and door ways looking at them--the only ones on the sidewalk dashing, stepping around puddles, drenched.

"Here we are," Wilma said, pointing to a doorway in between a tattoo parlor and a small market with fruit and vegetables in the window. Chester noticed a tiny oriental man looking at them out the window behind the words Korean Market written in red letters.

Wilma shifted her two shoes from one hand to the other, opening the front door just as it stopped raining. "Looks like it's stopping," she said as they entered the building. They stood in the entrance way, under the glare of a light bulb above their heads, both of them soaked, dripping water and creating a puddle on the dirty tiled floor.

"I'm freezing but here we are," Wilma said, her orange hair hanging like wet pasta coming out of a pasta maker.

"Yeah, we made it," Chester said, looking down at his drenched red vest and khaki's now brown from the wetness, his hair sticking to his forehead. "Nothing like an adventure," he said, looking at Wilma, holding her wet shoes, her soaked dress clinging to her, dark mascara dripping down her smeared rouged cheeks.

"Right," Wilma responded, "but look at us, we're soaked. She reached to touch his vest, "Lets get upstairs and dry off," she said, opening another door. She glanced at the row of mailboxes on the wall. "I'll get my mail later."

Wilma took out a key from her small wet pocket book and opened the other door. Chester followed. "I'm on the second floor, just follow me," she said, holding her wet shoes and walking barefooted up the steps, the seam of her nylons crooked. Chester noticed how the black dress clung to her ass as she climbed the stairs. "This is great," Chester said to himself excited to be going to a woman's apartment in New York. "This is a dream come true," he thought, following her down the hall to her apartment. "This is so romantic," he thought watching her opening the door, ignoring how wet they were, glancing at his soaked red vest, her black dress tight against her breasts, the smudged dark lines around her eyes, the smeared rouge.

"I'll get you a towel," Wilma said, closing the door then rushed down a narrow hall to the bathroom.

"Thanks, guess we gotta little wet out there," Chester said, his hair matted to his forehead just above his eyes. He stood in front of the closed door, looking around the tiny apartment, noticing a small white Formica table with three wooden chairs covered with red plastic seats. The table sat between two windows, one with an exhaust fan in it, the other with its shades down to the sill, a small couch with a green wooly cover draped over it, a black and white checkered recliner chair in the corner faced a TV, a small kitchen with a counter dividing it from the living room, a bookshelf on one wall with lots of seashells and small plaster animals--a rabbit, a dog, two ducks with tiny ducklings following. He walked over to a photograph on the wall of a little girl standing between a tall man wearing a fedora hat and a short woman. "I wonder if that's her with her parents," Chester thought, moving his face closer.

Just then, Wilma came in wearing a pale green robe and pink fluffy slippers with little bows, drying her hair with maroon towel, handing another grey towel to Chester. "Here Charles, dry yourself off--I might have another robe and you can get out of your wet clothes. Don't want you catching cold, you know."

"Thanks, Wilma. I am kind of wet," Chester said, pulling his wet vest away from his wet flannel shirt.

"I'll put up some hot water for coffee then see if I can find that other robe," she said, wrapping the towel around her wet hair as if she had just come out of the shower, her green robe loosely tied, the pink slippers flopping as she walked into the small kitchen. "Then we can make ourselves comfortable--howz that sound," she said, turning on the flame under the tea pot.

"Sounds good," Chester said. "Hey, nice place you got here."

"It's home. Been here two years now but once I get a record deal, I'll get a better place--this will do for now, though."

"I got a pretty big place in the country," Chester said. "I used to live up on Riverside Drive but the neighborhood's gone down hill so I got out while the getting was good. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do know what you mean. It's getting pretty bad around here," Wilma said coming out of the kitchen. "Now let me see if I can find you a robe or something."

"Take your time, Wilma. I won't shrink," Chester said, chuckling at his joke, watching her go down the narrow hall to a room across from the bathroom.

"Good, we wouldn't want you to shrink would we?" she shouted back at him. "Stay right there and I'll see if I can find that other robe I'm pretty sure I still have. Be back in a sec."

"I bet that's her bedroom," Chester thought, wondering if they would eventually end up in her bed.

Chester unbuttoned the wet red vest, taking it off, feeling it clinging to his wet flannel shirt, then dangling it from one finger, looking at it hanging limply, glancing at the gold buttons then draped it over the back of one of the chairs as if it was a shoulder. He then bent down to untie his wet laces and took off his soaked sneakers and wet white socks, then standing up unbuttoned his flannel shirt, pulling it out of his pants just as Wilma came back carrying a white terry clothed robe over her arm, the maroon towel around her head looking like a turban.

"Look what I found--hope it fits. My sister, Jeannie left it here," she smiled, holding the robe and handed it to Chester. "Take the rest of your wet clothes off and put this on and we'll have some coffee and get nice and comfy."

"Great," Chester said, reaching for the robe then putting it down on the couch while he took off the wet flannel shirt revealing his white undershirt before slipping on the robe, realizing it was too small, pulling at his shoulders, the sleeves high above his wrists and above his knees. "It's a little small but it'll do," Chester said, looking at Wilma then down at the robe, holding his arms straight out, the robe sliding higher on his arm.

"Sorry," Wilma said, nodding, "Well at least you're getting out of the wet clothes."

After tying the belt in a loose bow over his belly, Chester turned his back to Wilma, pulling down the zipper of his wet khaki pants, lifting one foot, wobbling, trying to hold his balance while he pulled down the other leg then dropped his soaked pants to the floor next to his sneakers, his wet white socks looking like two dead fish washed ashore. Standing barefooted, he turned to face Wilma, the robe just above his knees and hairy calves, realizing he was naked underneath except for his white jockey shorts.

"Thanks for the robe, Wilma," Chester said looking at her standing in her green robe, pink slippers and maroon towel covering her hair.

"Hey, that robe doesn't look too bad on you Charles, a little small maybe," she said, looking him up and down, noticing his bare feet and thin hairy legs. She tightened the loose belt on her robe then went into the kitchen just as the tea pot whistled. "Sorry, all I got is instant," she said.

"That's okay. No problem, Wilma. I like instant coffee," he said, picking up his wet pants from the floor.

She poured the hot water into two mugs, added the instant coffee and stirred. "You want milk with your coffee," she called from the kitchen area.

"Yeah milk and some sugar."

"Hey Charles...mind if I call you Charlie," she asked, pouring the milk.

"Sure, lots of my friends call me Charlie. Charlie's okay."

"Come on and take a seat Charlie and I'll bring us some doughnuts," she said. "I know I said Danish but this is all I have."

"No problem, Wilma. I like doughnuts," he said, sitting down on the red plastic seat. "I often treat my secretaries to doughnuts when we're working on a real estate deal or something like that."

"I bet you're a good boss," Wilma said, carrying two coffee mugs and balancing a small blue dish with two doughnuts on one of them. "Bet you didn't know I used to be a waitress, did you?"

"Wow! A waitress, really?" Chester responded, nodding.

"Yeah, in a diner--did it for years before I started singing in night clubs." She put the coffee mug in front of him. "Here you are, sir--that's what I'd always say when I was a waitress...sir." She sat down at the table, crossing her legs, the robe opening slightly revealing her thigh. "Bet you're a good boss," she repeated, looking at him.

"I try to be. I want all of my employees to be loyal so I treat them good, you know what I mean," Chester said, glancing at Wilma's thigh as the robe opened.

"Yeah, I do," she said, kicking her crossed leg back forth, the pink slipper touching Chester's leg. "You look like a good boss. I like a man who takes charge," she said looking playfully into Chester's eyes over the rim of her coffee mug.

The touch of her slipper on his leg, the way she smiled, looking at him over her mug, excited Chester. "I think she's flirting with me," he thought, the words, "I like a man who takes charge," reverberating.

"It's been awhile since I've had a man in my apartment," she said.

"Really," Chester said, nodding, sipping his coffee.

"Well then thanks for inviting me--this is a nice little apartment."

"Have a doughnut," she said, sliding the plate towards him, leaning forward, the loose robe falling open, revealing part of one breast.

Chester swallowed, staring at her breast then at her brown eyes looking into his, knowing where he was looking.

"Thanks, Wilma."

"This is nice, Charlie," she said, leaning back in her chair, her crossed legs moving back and forth, the robe higher on her thigh. "It's really nice having a handsome man like you in my apartment."

"I like being here," he said, trying not to look at her thigh, but feeling an erection growing in his jockey shorts.

"Here we are just wearing robes," she said. "I guess it was good we both got so wet."

"Yeah, I guess," Chester said, looking away then back at her thigh. "We sure got wet, didn't we?"

"Do you think it was fate that we met and here we are with no clothes on except our robes."

"I do, who would have known we would get caught in the rain like that and have to take off our clothes and put on these robes," Chester answered nodding at Wilma, then glancing over at his wet red vest draped over the other chair, enjoying how Wilma was talking to him.

"It's kind of sexy just being in these robes," she said, touching his leg with her slipper.

"Yeah, it is--sexy and romantic." Chester said, suddenly feeling his hard erection bulging in his jockey shorts.

"Say I have an idea," Wilma said, smiling, "a real good idea."

"What?" Chester asked feeling his arousal, remembering Venessa in his Playboy magazine and how he jerked off looking at her picture. Suddenly, a bolt of panic shot through him as he remembered he was a virgin then asked, "What's your idea?"

"Let's put on some music--I got Frank and a nice Mel Torme CD. We can dance and wouldn't that be romantic. Isn't that a good idea?"

"Yeah--that does sound romantic," Chester answered, realizing the last time he danced with a woman was at his friend, Eddie's wedding and that was with Mrs. Kozinski, Eddie's mother. "Yes, let's finish up our coffee and put on that Sinatra record you have. Did you know he was from Hoboken--not far from where I used to live in Bayonne."

"Yeah, I think I knew that. Well, I'll put some Frank on," she said, getting up, touching his shoulder as she walked past him to the black plastic radio and CD player. Her touching his shoulder and brushing his neck with her fingers sent a jolt through him. He took a quick sip of his coffee, watching her walk, her slippers flopping, noticing the slight swaying of her hips in the green robe then the roundness of her ass when she bent down to get the CD from a lower shelf. "Man, she's sexy," he muttered to himself, his hard erection straining his jockey shorts.