Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor

Beth watched as her father turned to leave, talking over his shoulder, "Alright, alright, but I'm not going to let you come in and mess up a well-run organization."

Rather than say anything that would renew the argument, Beth remained silent as her father left. She cringed when the front door slammed, thankful the argument had been of short duration. As she cleaned up the drink glasses and carried the snack tray to the kitchen, Beth considered what she had to look forward to during the next few months.

She had problems with her father for what he had done to "pick out" her husband. Her husband was growing more blatant about his extra-marital affairs as if he thought he was still a single playboy. Instead of doing a good job, Brent merely responded to the tight leash her father held, and in doing so, kept Beth on that same tight leash. Now that she wanted to be involved in fighting her own battles, she feared her father would still be running interference in her personal life.

* * * *

THREE WEEKS LATER:

Beth left her attorney's office and parked her car two blocks from home, knowing the walk would give her a few minutes to build up her courage. She closed the front door and was not surprised to hear, "Where the hell have you been?"

She clenched her jaw for a moment then answered, "You've given up the right to ask me that question, Brent." Beth walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Standing over the sink she looked at the rear driveway and craned her head to see as much of the driveway as possible, searching for his vehicle, feeling one more detail of her plan fall in place. Brent lowered his chin and looked over the top of his glasses, surprised at the strength of Beth's voice. Instead of a comment on her veiled accusation, he asked, "Where's your car?"

"None of your business. Where's the car I bought for your use?"

Brent frowned, gritted his teeth and kept his temper under control, "Beth, what's going on? I told you this morning I'd need a ride to the dealership. I'm meeting friends later and I left MY CAR for an oil change."

"It's not your car, Brent. I bought it. If you need a ride, call a taxi." Beth said the last word as she took the first step up the stairs. She didn't wait to hear anything else he cared to say, knowing the comment about a taxi would get to him. He thought he was still entitled to all the frills of his former notoriety.

Brent sat for a full minute, thinking about the way Beth had spoken to him, anger simmering just beneath the surface of his calm façade. He shook his newspaper and tried to continue reading the article he'd started before she walked in the front door. Finally, he folded the newspaper, laid it on the table beside his chair, and went upstairs.

Halfway down the hall, he ducked a pair of shoes tossed out of the bedroom doorway. "What the hell ..."

He stormed into the bedroom and saw the light on in his dressing room. Beth stood holding Brent's favorite leather jacket. "You know," she commented. "I can't recall if you had this when we married, or if I bought it."

"Beth?" He yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

"You'd better find some luggage if you want to pack your clothes."

Brent stomped across the bedroom, his fists clenched at his side as if he was ready to raise them to defend himself, "What on earth ..."

Beth tossed the jacket at Brent and asked, "Did you call for a taxi?"

"No!" he exclaimed, disgusted that she would expect him to ride in a nasty taxi, for god's sake. There were several limousine services in town he could call if he needed to go anywhere.

"No taxi? Then I guess you'll want your newest slut to pick you up."

"Slut?" Color drained from his face as he asked, "Beth, what are you talking about?"

"Slut. That is the right word, isn't it? You know, a woman who fucks a married man. That is where you go the nights you don't come home until three o'clock in the morning, right?"

"Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?" Brent seethed, barely able to hold his temper in check, "I may stay out a little later than usual with friends, but I'm certainly not seeing another woman."

Turning to Brent, Beth put her hands on her hips, "Brent, just how stupid do you think I am?"

He leaned forward, his voice menacing in its intensity, "I don't think you're stupid."

"Blind?"

"No!" The disgusted voice was back.

Deaf?" She didn't wait for a response, before asking, "Dumb?" She paused a moment then added, "Oh, I'm rich. Is that the reason you think you can do anything you like and I'll accept it or ignore it? Hum-m-m, is that it, Brent?"

Without waiting for his response, Beth walked around the end of the bed, and opened the drawer on her night stand to remove a large brown envelope. Brent watched as she opened the clasp and removed a stack of photos then tossed them on the bed. Holding the bottom corners of the envelope, Beth allowed the remaining contents to fall to the bed. Brent watched the cassettes and CDs tumble on top of the damning photos.

Beth tossed the empty envelope on top of the mess on the bed, looked at her watch and said, "Two hours, Brent. You have two hours to pack and get out of my house. You'd better hire a good lawyer, 'cause I'm going to make sure you never see another penny of my money."

She walked past him then turned back, holding out her hand. "Keys, Brent. I'll take your keys, too. You won't need them after tonight."

Stunned speechless, Brent pulled his keys from his pocket and dropped them in her palm. He returned his attention to the photos on the bed.

She took another step then stopped. "Oh, by the way, you have two hours and the bank account has two thousand dollars in it. Use them wisely, you won't get any more."

Shaking worse than she thought she would, Beth walked downstairs, closed and locked the study door behind her. Brent had never hit her, but the way she had confronted him upstairs was not conducive to him keeping his temper in check. She picked up the telephone to make her first call. Although she had left his office less than an hour earlier, she knew he was waiting for her call. Beth was still faintly disappointed a recording device answered the call. "Gerald, I've just told Brent he has two hours and two thousand dollars. I guess I'm ready for you to file the divorce. If you think it's advisable, I'll agree to your suggestion that I have a restraining order. If there's no other way and you need to name a co-respondent, you'll have to call the Kitty Kat Club. The private detective said her stage name is Tami."

The second call wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. It might put a strain on their relationship, but he was as much to blame as Brent. "Dad?"

"Hi baby."

"Can you listen to me for a minute?"

"Sure darlin'."

"Brent won't be in the office tomorrow. He won't be there anymore, I mean, forever. I've given him two hours to be out of my house and told him he has two thousand dollars to tide him over until I can divorce his ass."

"Beth, what the hell ..."

"Listen to me, Dad." Her voice was much stronger than she had ever used with her father. "You pushed me at him and I fell for his slick lines. He has fucked around on me since the day we returned from our honeymoon and you know it. You've just covered up for him to keep me happy. Well, I wasn't happy."

"I'm sorry honey. You're right. I thought he would settle down and realize what he had to lose. I told him over a year ago that if you didn't do something soon, I'd do it myself."

"Okay, I've done it. I guess I'll take the offer, if it still stands. I'll be in the office on Monday morning. I can't do any worse than Brent did, and I'll work every day without a hangover."

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes, sir. I think you and I have a few fences to mend. Can you come to lunch on Sunday?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

"See you then. Bye-bye."

Pulling out the desk lap drawer, Beth reached to the back left corner for her address book. When she didn't find it, she frantically extended the drawer and took a deep breath when she had the small book in her hand. She opened the back of the book and turned a few pages until she found the business card she had carefully taped inside the book. As she had done several times during the past three weeks, her fingers brushed lightly across the card. Like a talisman, the card was her good luck piece, the charm that had convinced her she could make herself strong enough to take a risk without a safety net in case she failed.

The words were still in the forefront of her mind, "Call me when you can have what YOU want." As badly as she wanted to make that call, it was not yet time to do so.

* * * *

Beth asked, but never discovered if someone threatened Brent or paid him off. Nor could she determine who supported him through the divorce proceedings. The seven years of their marriage had taught him how to live in luxury. In addition to the married women he had been seen with, he must have had a lot of friends, or maybe his various girl friends made more in tips than she thought they did. If her father had helped, Beth would not complain. It was a situation he instigated; he could help with the resolution.

Brent signed documents prepared by her attorney and provided the requested list of personal possessions he wanted from the house. Beth was not surprised that her husband elected not to appear at the divorce hearing. Shortly after the judge's signature made the divorce final, Brent left the city.

He would need to look elsewhere for green pastures and another woman to support him. The newspaper photo of Brent and a scantily clad stripper being led to a police van would not gain him admittance to any of the local country clubs.

Despite Beth's requests to her attorney and her father that she did not need to be protected from him, if Brent provided a forwarding address, she did not learn of it. After he left her house, he did not contact her. If he went into hiding, she wouldn't blame him. Several husbands did not appreciate the copies of photos and videos they received.

It took another two weeks to receive her official copy of the signed divorce decree. It was almost a month after that when she signed the papers to sell the house. Content that she had escaped a failed marriage without losing her dignity, Beth settled into an apartment. For the first time in her life, she was really on her own, away from a house that had never felt like her home and without a husband who tried to manage her life. She and her father were learning they actually liked each other.

* * * *

The sun had moved farther across the horizon but still reflected off a car windshield. It was brighter than it had been earlier in the year. It added more light to the inside of the darkened bar when the door was opened. As he had done each visit for the previous few months, Tinker almost turned to look behind him to see who walked in the door. The mirror behind the bar gave him a pretty good view of the woman, at least good enough that he put one foot on the floor, prepared to stand as she entered.

Her steps were hesitant, slower than her normal pace, as she walked to one end of the rectangular bar. She ignored all but one of the men scattered on barstools on the long side of the bar and the empty stools on the short side opposite her. She lifted her hip and slid onto a barstool, leaving the corner stool vacant.

Although Beth had approached the small neighborhood bar with trepidation, the last few months of being in a business environment had given her some confidence she had not felt for many years. If she was being aggressive with a man she had only kissed a couple of times in a bar and hadn't had contact with for those months, it did not seem to bother her.

The bartender left his quiet conversation with two men at the bar to place a coaster in front of the woman. He nodded giving her a half smile in greeting as if he thought he might have seen her before, but wasn't sure. He raised an eyebrow, his soundless invitation to state her preferred drink.

"Black Jack and water with a little ice, please."

The bartender took a bottle from one of the shelves behind him and selected a glass for her drink. The man sitting on the second stool nearest her corner held up a ten dollar bill and nodded his head toward the woman when the bartender walked in front of him to place the drink before her.

She smiled at the man, her way of telling him thanks for buying her drink. The bartender stopped before the man, speaking quietly, "You ready for a refill, Tinker?"

Tinker picked up his beer, nodded at the bartender, and offered the woman a brief salute with his raised bottle, then drank the last of the beer. He placed his empty on the bare bar instead of on his coaster. She lifted her glass and gave him the same salute before taking her first sip of the diluted Tennessee Whiskey.

This woman had changed from the one he'd seen months earlier. She was wearing heels and a business suit. Her hair and make-up were stylish and professional. Gone was the casual woman he had danced with earlier. In her place was someone he could never have approached for that first dance.

Loud enough for the next few men down the edge of the bar to hear, she said, "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor."

He chuckled, nudged the man next to him, and added the next line, "Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief."

Beth laughed, telling him more of the children's fortune telling game:

"Who shall I marry? Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief. What shall I wear? Silk, Satin, Cotton, Rags. Where shall I live? Big House, Little House, Pigsty, Barn."

Tinker nodded at her and tilted his head toward the dance floor, stood and turned Beth's stool. "Come dance with me, Beth." His words were full of his smile and his hand was warm on her as he led her to the dance floor. With a twirl, he turned her into his arms and held her close.

"Don't talk, Tinker, just hold me," she asked and put her head on his shoulder.

He rested his face against her for a moment, breathing in a fragrance he had not forgotten. "What took you so damn long?"

"You haven't been here for almost a month," she responded and felt him nod his head against her.

"Yeah, but I thought you'd call me."

"I wanted to see you."

He released her hand for a moment and put his fingers under her chin to lift her face for a kiss.

"I had to make a few changes in my life," she admitted. "A major one took a little extra time."

"Oh yeah? Do you need to talk about it?"

"Maybe. Later. You told me to call you when I could have what I wanted."

"Okay, what do you want?"

"I've been trying to be a different person from the one I was when we had our first dance."

"And ..." Tinker waited for her to finish telling him what she wanted. He was taking his time, just as she had taken some time to be ready for her next step toward independence.

"I need a little help."

"What kind of help?"

"You know that "Tinker, Tailor ... Rich Man, Poor Man" ... thing?"

"Okay ..." He wasn't sure where this was going, but he was enjoying the expressions going across her face.

"Can you help me with that?"

"Beth ..."

"Wait, can we go ... can I take you to dinner?" Her blush was attractive enough to make Tinker wait for her to finish asking him for a date.

"Tomorrow?" He offered.

"Oh, well, I guess so. I sort of thought maybe tonight."

"Tomorrow," Tinker said with confidence. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"I moved. I mean, I sold the house. That was part of ..."

"Okay, but I want to see the other woman, not this one. I don't think I know this one."

"Yeah, I just left the office. That's part of ... "

"Tomorrow," Tinker repeated. "Tonight I have a game."

"A game?"

"Yeah, baseball."

"Baseball," Beth echoed, perhaps not understanding what he was saying. Yet, she was interested enough to ask, "Can I watch?"

Tinker chuckled, "Not dressed like that," he responded dropping his arms and walking away from her. Beth playfully pounded his shoulder as he turned to walk back to his bar stool. She watched him sit down before he spoke to the man sitting beside him.

"Butch, the lady says she wants to go to the game with us. Shall we let her watch?"

Butch leaned back to look at Beth, starting at her high heels and ending up at the top of her head, slowly shaking his head, "Come on, Tinker. Don't do this, man."

"If she buys the beer?"

Butch looked at the man seated on his other side and spoke low enough to prevent his words from being heard all along the bar, but Beth listened eagerly. "How 'bout you, Craig. You think she can say, 'Swing batter, swing?'"

Craig looked at Beth, glanced at Tinker, and then turned his attention back to Beth. He shook his head as he spoke, "Marcie would kill me."

"Hey guys, if I send her home to change clothes and if she buys the beer?"

Beth watched and listened to a conversation between Butch and Craig who seemed to be debating whether they really needed Tinker's fielding glove, or batting skills in exchange for allowing his guest to attend their game. They consulted two men farther down the bar who offered their own opinions. It took her a few minutes longer to discover the men were just having a little fun.

Finally, in a voice that carried down the length of the bar, Beth addressed her remarks to Tinker, "Do you think if I asked Toby Magill to drive me to the game, those guys would let me sit on their side?"

Tinker leaned back, "You ... you know Coach Magill?"

Beth nodded, pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and touched one of her speed dial numbers. "Daddy, can you take me to a ballgame. I have to bring the beer, too."

"Holy Cow."

"No Shit?"

"Hot damn," and a look of amazement on the faces of five men answered Tinker's question, while Beth promised to call her dad back as soon as she knew which field and what time the game started.

Beth stood, planted her hand on her cocked hip, and asked, "Well?"

The men competed to inform Beth which field they would play on that evening, along with the starting time for their game. Each of them, in one way or another, assuring themselves that she was actually going to bring the baseball coach they revered to watch them play.

As a group, they turned to watch the sway of her hips when she left them sitting at the bar.

* * * *

Beth didn't actually get to sit with her father for the ballgame. Somehow, Tinker convinced Toby Magill to join them in their dugout where he was encouraged to talk to a dozen men -- who, it turned out, were more interested in listening to the tough decisions Coach Magill had made during his career than the help he could offer them for their own game.

The last of the field lights were being turned off when Tinker told Coach Magill he would see Beth safely inside her apartment, saving the Coach from the drive across town.

* * * *

As Beth slid her key from the lock on her front door, Tinker put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around, "Beth?" He paused a moment then said, "Thank you. I'm not sure if you know how much the guys appreciated meeting your father."

Beth blushed and looked up at Tinker, "If you were watching, he was having as much fun as they were."

"Are we still going to dinner?"

"Can you ...?"

"I'd like nothing better," Tinker answered while he debated with himself if he was going to kiss her goodnight.

Beth put her hand behind her waist and twisted the doorknob, taking one step backwards into her apartment as Tinker advanced a step thinking to get near enough to kiss her.

She stopped, waiting for him to advance a little nearer and then took another step backward slowly drawing him inside.

"Beth," he warned, "this isn't a good idea."