Timely Arrival

"Oh, Miss Richards is a colleague of mine," I told Marty, trying to make it clear this wasn't a date.

"Oh?" Marty said in a tone the denoted he didn't quite believe me. "Well, I'll get you both a bottle of good wine to start out with." He left the table with a wink.

"Sorry about that," I said to Rose, "he's a bit of a flirt."

"I certainly didn't mind being called beautiful," Rose said with a smile and a wink as well. I was kinda confused by that.

We drank and ate and had a good meal in all. We talked and she started doing two things she'd never before done before. One didn't surprise me and the other did. The first was that she started asking about my background and upbringing. I had committed to telling people that I had suffered from an accident years ago and that my memory was fuzzy prior to 1946. She seemed fascinated hearing my backstory and devoured it like it was a Chandler novel.

The second thing was what really threw me off. I wasn't sure at first, but by the end of the evening I was sure.

My grandmother was flirting with me.

I really didn't know how to handle it or tamp it down. Every time I tried to keep things friendly and light, she'd ask something about my love life and what I looked for in a woman. As she asked, I noticed that she was looking at me with adoring eyes and leaning over the table a bit. As this was 1956, she was dressed conservatively, but a hint of her cleavage was notable.

While I never looked at Rose in physical terms, for very obvious reasons, I did know she had a curvy physique. Not fat, not at all. Curves like Jayne Mansfield more like. Around the office, she'd always tried to dress professionally, but somethings are impossible to hide, her generous bust being one of them.

I knew intellectually that she was attractive, the subject to wolf whistles and lewd comments around the office, typical of a 1950's America that I always tried to discourage. But now, she was using feminine charms on me!

After I paid the bill, I got her outside and immediately called her a cab to get her to her friend's place. She kissed me on the cheek and told me we had to do this again sometime. I declined a cab for myself and decided to walk home.

That night, I pondered. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that she must've had too much wine and that was what caused her behavior. I figured if she remembered tomorrow, she probably apologize for being so brazen. I went to sleep contented with my conclusion.

The only problem with that was that my conclusion was completely and utterly wrong. Over the course of the next two weeks, she flirted more and harder. I also noticed that she began wearing bolder dresses. Not impropriate, just ones that seemed to show off her figure better than others. She'd flirt, wink, casually touch my hand or find an excuse to bend over near me.

Peter saw some of this too and just winked, calling me a lucky bastard. I rolled my eyes and tried to figure out what to do about this. I didn't want to lose my connection to family after all this time without them, but this couldn't go on. Finally, I decided that enough was enough and I would have to act.

It was a Friday, and we were working on a column, and she mentioned that she was staying at her friends for the weekend as her parents were going out of town for the weekend. She decided to be bold apparently.

"Say, Jim," she said after she'd finished typing something up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said, taking a sip of coffee.

"When was the last time you had a homecooked meal?"

"Uh..." was all I could get out. I thought back and realized the last homecooked meal I'd had would've been with the Avondale's. "It's been a while."

"Well, than let me cook you a meal tonight," she offered, beaming from ear to ear. I quickly tried to retreat.

"Oh, that's really not necessary," I said trying to be cordial.

"But I insist!" Rose said again. "I want to thank you for the opportunity you've given me in working for you."

"That's really not necessary," I told her. "You're hard work is all the reward necessary."

"Well, thank you, Jim," she said grinning, "but really, let me do this for you. You wouldn't be so rude as to refuse, would you?"

Fuck! She had me and she knew it. Reminiscent of my grandmother of old, she always knew how to get someone to agree to something. I needed another tactic.

"Well, I don't exactly have much in the fridge," I told her, "and even if I did, I don't really have any pots or..." was all I could get out.

"Leave it to me," she said dismissively, waiving her hand. "Seven o'clock?"

"Uhhh..." was all I could think of to get out and she quickly took that as a yes.

"Good!" she said brightly, "I'll see you then!" as she turned and left my office.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

I normally didn't drink at the office, but I poured a glass of bourbon and slammed it down. I was no fool. I knew that my grandmother was planning to make a move on me that night.

Now, contrary to modern belief of the 21^st century, people were just as horny and willing to engage in pre-marital sex in the 1950's as in the 2000's. It just wasn't talked about or acknowledged as much. I'd been to many of backrooms with plenty of men talking about affairs and what not with various women and found some of the depictions they made crude by even modern standards.

I did my best to avoid Rose for the rest of the day and went to Peter's office.

"Got a minute?" I asked Peter who quickly waved me into his office.

"What's up, Jim?" he asked, pouring us both a drink. I guess he figured I was worried about something. Good ole Pete.

"I could use some advice," I told him, taking the drink from his hand and taking a healthy sip.

"Of course, kid," he said slapping me on the back, "writer's block?"

"No," I told him, "It's a bit personal."

"Ohhhh," he said nodding his head, "that, huh?" he said taking a sip from his own drink. "Finally looking for my advice about how to lay Rose, huh? It's about time."

"NO!" I said more forcefully than I should've considering he was my boss. "No, that's not what I meant, Pete."

"Why not?" Peter said perplexed. "She's a bombshell! You got something else going on?"

"No, that's not it," I told him waiving my head.

"You're not a fruit, are ya?" he asked, derisively asking if I was gay.

"No, no," I told him waiving my hands, which made him relax.

"Then what's the problem?" Peter said, seemingly confused. "I think you're golden, personally. I see how she is around you, and I think you've got it made there."

"Pete, I'm trying to discourage her, not encourage her."

"What the hell for?" Pete said incredulously.

"Isn't there an old saying about dipping pens in company ink?" I asked him flatly. He waived his hand at me again.

"Hogwash!" he said. "That's just idiocy! Who would use their own ink when they could use the company's?"

"Pete..." I said, trying to get him to focus.

"Grow up, Jim," he said in a paternalistic way, "there's nothing wrong with a little side action at the office." He used his head to indicate toward Ginger, which surprised me. "It's good to get the edge off. What's the harm?! You're not even married, for heaven's sake."

"Yeah, but if things go south," I tried to explain to him. "I'll lose one hell of an assistant."

"Nah, I wouldn't worry," Pete said. "She's a trooper. Besides, it'll be good for you!"

I knew that Pete wouldn't be any help to me, so I dropped it. He shouted, "good luck!" to me as I left his office, chuckling.

I went home and took a cold shower, trying to figure out how to get Rose off of me. I scrubbed harder than I'd ever scrubbed in my life. I paced and paced until Rose showed up at seven o'clock.

I opened the door and there was Rose in her coat and two bags. I also noticed that she'd applied fresh makeup to herself.

"Aren't you gonna let me in or help me with the bags?" she asked, in such a way as to denote sensuality.

"Right, sorry," I said opening the door and taking one of the bags. She placed the other on the table in the kitchen.

"Oh, what a lovely place, Jim," she said looking around a bit.

"Thanks," I replied.

"Well?" she said looking at me.

"Well, what?" I replied back.

"Aren't you going to take my coat and offer me a drink?"

"Oh!" I said, "yeah, sure."

She unfastened the sash around her and removed her coat. I didn't really look at her as I took it from her and hurriedly put it on my coat rack. When I turned back, I was certainly looking.

She was wearing a skintight dress that hugged every curve she had. A strapless dress that showed off her bare shoulders and seemed to ooze sexuality.

"Uh..."

"Like my new dress?" she asked, spinning around a bit.

"It's very..." I said trying to think of the right word, "flattering."

"Why thank you, Jim," she said walking over to the kitchen.

"A little fancy to cook in, isn't it?"

"I have an apron in the bag here," she said holding up a white apron from the bag in the kitchen.

"Oh," was all I could say as she put it on. I saw her looking at me still and I realized why.

"Sorry," I said walking over to the bar, "what would you like?"

"Gin, please," she replied, "straight up."

I made our drinks while my grandmother made us dinner. Now, back in my old life, my grandmother made me dinner all the time, but now she was 25, dressed to kill, and seemed to be putting the moves on me.

I finished making the drinks and handed her one. She smiled at me as I handed her the glass and clinked our glasses together. I noticed that she looked into my eyes the whole time as she took a sip.

"Would you mind putting on a record while I get dinner ready?" she asked. I went over to my stereo and put on a Bing Crosby album, knowing it wasn't too romantic. She made a comment immediately. "Do you have a Frank Sinatra album?" she asked. I relented and put on Sinatra. "Much better," she said happily as she went back to work.

She made us a roast with baked potatoes that looked delicious. I asked her if she wanted me to get out a bottle of wine and she pulled one from her tote bag. She handed it to me to open as she started plating the food and placing it on my modest table.

"Dinner is served," she said with a smile while taking off her apron. We sat down and Rose raised her glass. "To the best columnist in the 48!" she said clinking her glass to mine.

"Best in earshot, anyway," I replied, a bit uncomfortable.

I took one bite and knew my grandmother had not acquired her cooking skills later in life. All sorts of memories came flying back to me of so many amazing family dinners. It was so moist and juicy.

"Well?" Rose asked me with a confident smile.

"It's great," I told her honestly causing her to smile wider while taking another sip of wine.

"Thank you," she said politely. "Never underestimate the power of a home-cooked meal."

"If you say so," I said focusing on the food.

"Well, just think," Rose said while taking small bites of her own food, "you could eat like this every day if you finally settle down."

I rolled my eyes a bit and tried to just keep eating, but Rose was having none of it.

"Why haven't you settled down yet?" she asked me flat out. I threw and eyebrow toward her and remembered that I was her boss and might be able to use that to get her off this kick.

"Miss Richards, do you really think that's your business?" I said in a way that denoted playfulness, but also an indication that she was stepping over some lines. Apparently, it didn't work, cause she didn't lay off.

"Well, Mr. Landry," she said, clearly putting on fake airs behind it, "I was nice enough to cook for you. It seems to me that answering a little question is a fair trade for that."

I wasn't buying it at all, but I had to think about this. If I told her I hadn't found the right girl yet, that old trope, I ran the risk of her trying to fill that role when I was trying to dissuade her. I finally chose my shot.

"I'm not sure I'll ever settle down," I said plainly. She looked like she'd just been hit by lightning.

"What do you mean never?" she said almost confused.

"I like my life and I like my freedom," I said, not entirely dishonestly, "why would I want to give that up?"

"But you don't want a house, or kids, or a wife?" she said, almost insulted that I could want to live the life of a bachelor.

"Maybe someday, we'll see," I said, trying to desperately move the subject to something else.

"Well, what if it's too late by then?" Rose said.

"Too late for what?"

"What if there was a woman that would've been a good wife for you, but you were too busy being a playboy?"

"I wouldn't exactly call myself a playboy," I told her honestly when I noticed the album had run out. I got up and flipped it over as Rose continued.

"So, you don't go out on dates with lots of women?" She was again getting back slightly into the inappropriate territory.

"Not that its really your business, but no," I told her, hoping she'd move onto another topic, any topic.

"So, what are you looking for?" Rose asked

"Who says I'm looking?" I said in a snarky manner, sitting back down and taking a sip of wine.

"Come on," she urged, "what do you look for in a girl?"

I took a deep breath and tried to figure out a way to make this an inappropriate question for her to ask her employer. The problem was it really wasn't at all.

"Smart, funny, bright, kind," I said rattling off the usual things men said. Not good enough apparently according to the look Rose was giving me.

"Do you want me to call up Miss America, sir?" she said in a smart-ass tone.

"Thanks," I replied wryly.

"Be serious now," she enjoined, "what are you looking for?"

"Salt at the moment," I said getting the saltshaker from the center of the table. Even Rose laughed.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" she asked, with what looked like a sparkle in her eyes.

"Why do you want to know?" I replied, starting to get tired of this game.

"It's just a conversation," my grandmother said, trying to defuse her intent, very badly.

"Well, then what are you looking for?" I asked, trying to turn the tables. I was very unsuccessful as she leaned over the table and looked directly into my eyes.

"I think you know exactly what I'm looking for," she said with a mix of determination, desire, and who knows what else. Now that it was in the open, however, I felt like I could tackle the issue head on.

"Rose," I said pleasantly, but with enough timber to let her know I was serious, "I don't know that that's appropriate."

"What do you mean?" she said, now resting her head on the palms of her hand, looking at me while still smiling and "trying" to be coy.

"You know what I mean," I said while eating more food.

"Do I?" she said in a flirty voice while fluttering her eyes.

"Yes," I said more firmly as she lifted up and took a sip of wine.

"Look, Jim," she said now more with determination in her voice, "you know I'm interested in you. I haven't exactly been subtle. Is it that you don't like me?" she asked with an impish grin.

"Rose, it's inappropriate," I said as if it were obvious. "You work for me."

"Which just means that I have better access to you and know you better," she said with a grin. "What's the point of having a sexy assistant if you don't use her?"

I was shocked my grandmother was saying these things. On the one hand, it was the 1950's so sexual harassment suits weren't a thing yet. But my grandmother had also always been pretty progressive for her age, especially when it came to equality and women's rights. The contradiction that was happening in my mind was distracting to say the least.

"Jim?" Rose said, getting my attention back.

"Sorry," I said more on reflex than anything.

"So, what do you think?" she asked again. "Do you like me?" she asked, refilling my wine.

"Rose, I like you very much," I told her honestly. "But again, we work together."

"Which just means we know each other very well," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. "Is it that you don't find me attractive?"

"No!" I said faster than I should've in any circumstances. Even today, I don't know what caused me to react that way so quickly. "You're a very beautiful woman." She smiled wide at that.

"Thank you," she said with adoration, "it's nice to know I can turn the eye of a world-famous writer."

"I don't think I'm world-famous," I offered back. She shook her head.

"You're published in Canada now, so yes you are," she said firmly. "What do you think is beautiful about me?"

"Rose, I don't think..." I said, trying again to show her this was inappropriate.

"Come on," she urged. "A girl likes to know what men find attractive." I hesitated but realized there was no way out.

"You have a beautiful face, kind eyes, a lovely smile," I said trying to get back to focusing on the food.

"Thank you," she said nodding at me, "what about my figure?"

"Huh?" I asked nearly dropping my fork.

"Well maybe I'm a little more gifted in certain areas than most men like," she said shifting a bit so show me angles. Now this was not an understatement. Rose, my grandmother, had very large breasts. They had to be DDD's at least and she had an ass to match. Maybe some would've found her too big, but I wasn't one of them. I then mentally slapped myself for checking out my own grandmother.

"I don't think that's true," I replied, "look at Russell and Monroe," eliciting another smile from her.

"Thank you, Jim," she said softly, she said finishing up her food. I was done too, and she took my plate in an instant. I thought this would be a good way to wrap the night up when she put a stop to that. "I'm going to brew some coffee for us. Why don't you change the record?"

Ugh, fuck!

"What would you like to hear?" I asked.

"Do you have any Nat King Cole?" Rose asked, washing up the dishes and starting up the percolator.

"Yeah," I said changing out the record and putting on Cole. His smooth voice soon filled the apartment, and the aroma of coffee also did as well. My grandmother went over to the bar to find something to add to our coffee. I sat in my easy chair, hoping I could get a bit of distance between me and my randy grandmother.

She poured out the coffee, adding some sambuca into each, and brought them over to the couch. She saw me in the easy chair and smiled.

"You won't sit with me?" she asked in a cutesy voice. Ironically, she was the one who taught me to be a good host, so I got up and sat on the couch, giving her as much distance as possible as I took up my coffee. She kept scooting closer to me. "Isn't this nice?" she said sweetly.

"It was a nice evening," I said taking a sip, "thank you for cooking."

"Oh, it was nothing," Rose said with a wave of her hand. "I'm glad I could get you that homecooked meal you needed."

"Needed may be a bit strong," I countered.

"Nonsense," she said, "a man like you needs to be looked after."

"A man like me?" I replied.

"Someone with so much talent and responsibility," she said leaning ever closer to me, "it's easy to see that they would neglect themselves."

"I do ok," I replied.

"But you could do better with a little help," she said, now sitting millimeters from me. "Someone who can support you."

"You support me just fine," I retorted.

"But I could do more," she said now putting one of her legs on me. "Much more..."

"Uhhh," was all I could get out with my grandmother's eyes bearing down on me. I was trapped and I knew it. I had two options at this point: give in or convince her this was a mistake which I'd been trying to do all evening. It's said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result. Nonetheless...

"Rose, we do make a good team," I admitted. "But don't you think if we did this, we'd hurt our working relationship?" I was desperate, I admit, but I figured if I convinced her that going further would hurt our working relationship, she'd back off.