What the Facel is a Fucking Vega

She was also having her house remodeled to accommodate her handicapped status and Bobby was designing the remodel. Christine would bring her sister to town, they would pick up Bobby, have lunch and discuss the changes to Marlene's house.

Connie told me that before I got there that either Christine or Marlene would call Bobby when they were downstairs and he would come down, but recently, Christine chose to come up and get him. While there, she would spend time just hanging around and chatting for a few minutes before they left.

Maybe she wasn't dating Bobby, but she was dating ... the pseudo cowboy, or the lawyer type, or one of the other guys I had seen her at the Obit with. She didn't seem to have anyone special or a particular type but I found myself, for no reason, being jealous of whoever she was with and wondered if she was sleeping with any, or some, or all, of them.

During our conversations, neither she nor I had given any indication that we had any desire to see each other socially and I had heard over the years that you shouldn't play around 'too close to the flagpole.' In other words, don't mess with other employees or the boss's daughter.

That didn't keep me from thinking about what it would be like to spend time with her, however.

Before I got there, Bradburg and Cummins had spent lots of both time and money on a design for a proposed office building. They had submitted their plans and bid on the job. If they won, Tarver construction would build it.

Since I started working there, my job had been to go over the plans to see if anything had been missed. It was like my new set of eyes might see something missed by those used to looking at the plans. It worked because I found several small errors and we were able to correct them. Small errors on a big building could be very problematic if not found and corrected.

It was a Wednesday morning when it was announced that we had won the bid.

There was a celebration at the main offices of Tarver Construction and we were all invited. I had a glass of champagne in my hand and was listening to J. Paul Tarver, tell about how he drove his Mercedes Benz 300SL Gullwing onto the 18th Green of one of the most famous golf courses in America.

I stood, listened, and laughed at the appropriate places. Then I smelled her. She was standing beside me and her perfume filled my nostrils.

She grabbed my arm and led me away while the others surrounding her father were laughing at another of his stories.

"May I buy you a drink?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Let's go." She started for the door.

"Whoa there. I can't leave."

She stopped trying to drag me out. "Spoilsport." We went back in and her father saw me. "Ryan, Ryan, come over here."

The crowd parted and allowed me access to him. He put his arm around my shoulder and led me away. "This is the biggest deal I've ever had, Ryan. I've worked on it for a long time and it has to go without a hitch. Effective today, this is the only project you have. You live and breathe this building. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now this is probably the last easy day you're going to have for the next couple of years, so relax and enjoy it." He patted my back and went back to his group.

He hadn't gone far when I smelled her again. "You've done your duty. Can we leave now?"

What had my boss just told me? That I should enjoy the day? The most beautiful woman in a whole state of beautiful women had just asked me to leave with her. The whole 'not too close to the flagpole' thing disappeared from my mind completely. The green eyes, perfect ass, and intoxicating aroma ... not to mention the flat out, drop dead, beauty of this woman, had me.

In the parking garage, I started toward my car, but she grabbed my hand and led me toward the reserved parking area and her car. Well, actually, it wasn't her car. It was another of her father's cars. This one, she told me, was one of his favorites. A 1959 Alfa Romeo 2000. She climbed behind the wheel and we headed out.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"How about the Obit? We both like it there and their hamburgers are pretty good."

"Let's go."

I'm not much of a drinker and up until I first walked into the Obit and saw 'the natives' drinking beer from the bottles, my drink of choice was gin and tonic. Two beers became my limit. I drank even less that evening because I spent most of my time enjoying Christine's company.

It was midnight before I remembered that I had to be at work the next morning. I reminded Christine of that little fact and asked her if she could drop me off so I could pick up my car.

When we got there, I started to get out. She touched my arm, pulled me to her, leaned in and we kissed. Softly and gently. Once.

"Thank you," we both said at the same time.

I was in the shower less than an hour later and it dawned on me that not one time during the course of the evening had I given any thought to having sex with her. I had too much fun talking, listening, and just generally enjoying her company.

I liked her.

The next day every time I heard someone in the hall, I looked up from the plan I was studying. Okay, studying may be too strong of a word; let's just say the plan I had on my drawing board at the time.

I kept hoping it was her in the hall.

Just before lunch on Thursday, I called her.

"Hello, Ryan. What's up?"

"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go back to the Obit for a drink or two tomorrow night."

"I'm sorry, Ryan, but I have plans."

"Oh. Okay. How about Saturday?"

"Uh."

"Never mind."

"Why don't you give me a call next week."

"Yeah ... sure." I hung up. Well, there goes my balloon. She burst that bastard wide open. She's too involved to spend any real time with me.

On Friday, I was sitting on my regular stool at the bar when I smelled her float by. I looked and she had just walked by holding the hand of the pseudo-cowboy.

A wave of jealousy struck me, but left quickly. It occurred to me that having spent one evening with her did not give me exclusive rights. I returned to my beer.

On either side of me sat gentlemen with whom I had been discussing ...uh ... we had been discussing ... shit! What had we been discussing?

"God, what a smell." Said the one on my left.

"It's always the same with her, isn't it?" added the one on my right. Christine's pseudo-cowboy was handsome, but his skin was as white as a sheet like he had never been outside in the sun, his boots looked new and polished, and his Stetson also looked new. The guy on my right, on the other hand, looked like a real working cowboy. Tanned, leather tough skin, worn jeans and boots, and an old Stetson that looked like it had seen more than one rodeo. "Always with the dudes and phonies. But good god almighty, she's a looker, and, you're right, she sure smells good. I've been coming in here off and on for a couple of years and it seems like she goes through men like shit through a goose."

As happens in bar discussions, Christine was forgotten as the three of us went on to discuss and solve all of the world's problems. I had just ordered my fourth, which was a record, beer, and the three of us had just saved the endangered African northern white rhino from extinction when 'the smell' was back. Both of my companions stopped talking as we all took deep breaths at the same time. Then she spoke.

"Hi, Ryan."

I spun on my stool to face her. So did my two companions. She stood there alone. "Evening." I looked around. "Where's your date?"

"He had to make a stop. I was just talking to my father. We are having a little get together at the house on Saturday afternoon and he would like you to come."

"Give him my regrets, please."

"Of course. Well, here's Michael," she said as her cowboy approached. "It was good to see you. Good night."

All three of us took another deep breath as they walked away. We all held that breath trying to retain the aroma. Finally, together, we exhaled and took long drinks of our beers.

"You know her?" They asked together.

"I work for her father," I replied.

"Uh, I don't mean to be nosy, but why aren't you going to her daddy's party?"

"I have no idea. It just seemed like the thing to say at the time."

"I know why," said the other man. "She said 'WE are having a party' and then said 'HE would like for you to come.'"

"You might be right. That plus the fact that she has too many men for me. Too much competition. I don't need that kind of hassle," I said as I took another drink. The next hour was spent debating the pros and cons of socializing with the boss and dating his (or her) daughter. We barroom philosophers are pretty smart; at least when we have a few beers in us.

I spent Friday evening at the Obit. I danced a lot and almost got drunk. My Saturday was spent recovering from Friday night. My Sunday was spent trying to figure out my feelings for Christine. We had spent one, really enjoyable evening together. That was it. We'd shared one kiss. A very nice kiss to be sure and I felt something. But all those men! I have no idea how many of them she had slept with ... it was none of my business ...but still ... so many different men; she had to have slept with a lot of them. Didn't she? The thought occurred to me that if we got serious about each other, I would hate to be out sometime in the future, meet some guy she had dated before, and have him say, "Yeah, I dated her. I even fucked her a few times ... so did thirty, or forty, or fifty other guys I know."

I don't know if I'm capable of enough love to live with that. I was beginning to recognize some serious insecurity problems in myself.

Monday morning I had a meeting with Dennis Bradburg, the principal architect for the new building. The meeting lasted all week, and the next. We were together 12 hours a day, six days a week. We took Sundays off. After two weeks of constant discussion and consultation, he declared that we both needed some time off. It was ordained that we should take Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday off.

I hadn't seen Christine and I hadn't been to the Obit in that time.

My father was doing much better and had even started giving some of my mother's things away. A huge step for him. My house in Pennsylvania had sold and I was considering moving into my own place.

I had a nice weekend.

Around noon on Monday, my phone rang. "Hello."

"Hi, Ryan. It's Christine. How are you?"

"Fine. And you?"

"Fine." There was a pause. "You've been busy the last couple of weeks."

"Uh, yeah, I have."

"How's it coming?"

"Pretty good. Dennis has designed a nice building. He will be proud of it."

"Dennis?" She laughed. "It seems you've arrived if you call him by his first name. Not many people do."

I chuckled. "Yeah, maybe I have." Another pause. "What can I do for you?"

"I went by your office and they told me you were off so I was wondering if you might like to have lunch ... or something."

"I don't think so, Christine, but thanks for asking."

"How about tomorrow?"

"I won't be able to, but thank you, again."

Pause. "Well." It was her turn to chuckle. "One date. That was probably the shortest relationship I've ever had."

"Me, too. Thanks for calling. I'll see you around."

I ended the call and just looked at my phone. I had just told every man's dream woman that I didn't want to go out with her. I spent the rest of the day debating myself; and I lost ...

Tuesday afternoon, I called Cam.

"Hello, stranger." She said.

"Hi. Would you be interested in some afternoon delight?"

She laughed. "What's wrong, Ryan?"

I leveled with her.

"Is this the one I saw you with a few weeks ago at Obit's?"

"It must be. You and she are the only two I've seen since I've been here." Which wasn't really true. I had danced with a few others before I met Cam; but it was close enough.

"Wow. You need to get out more."

"So what about it? Interested?'

"Sorry, Ryan. I'm seeing someone and I really like him."

"I'm happy for you, Cam."

"Thank you. Listen, if you're desperate, I know someone who might be available."

I laughed. "No, thank you. Not today ... but I might take you up on it if things don't change soon."

We chatted for a couple of minutes and hung up.

Around five in the afternoon, I went to my father. "Dad, how about we go out to dinner?"

We had done that on occasion, so it wasn't a shock. "Sure. Let's go."

We were in my mother's Toyota Avalon and I had just opened the garage door and had started to back out of the garage. I looked and a familiar ugly little blue car pulled into the driveway. "Who's that?" my father asked.

"Christine."

"Oh. OH! I'll wait in the house." He got out of the car and went back inside.

I got out and went to her. She sat there.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I don't know," she responded not looking at me.

"So the Facel is fixed." I said, stating the obvious.

"Yeah." Still not looking at me.

"And your father let you drive it again?"

"She half laughed. "I'm spoiled. He gives me anything I want."

"Don't you have your own car?"

"Yes, but I really like driving daddy's. It makes him nervous, but he lets me."

Pause

"What do you want, Christine?"

"Can we talk?"

"Okay. Would you like to come in?"

"Can we walk?"

"Sure." I opened her door and she turned in her seat to get out. As she slid out, her skirt rode up her legs and I couldn't help but look at them. We started down the driveway and up the street before she spoke.

"Did you really have plans for yesterday or today or were you just blowing me off?"

"I was blowing you off."

We walked in silence.

"The night we went out was one of the best times I have had," she said.

"Me too. But I have two problems. The first is I have always heard that dating the boss's daughter was a bad idea. She gets pissed at you or you at her and the next thing you know you're unemployed because you were either fired or you quit. And, second, you seem to date a lot of guys and I have no intention of being on a long list of men you threw away."

"The men I've dated have nothing to do with my relationship with you; just like the women you've dated have nothing to do with me."

"They shouldn't ... but they do. Does that make me a hypocrite? Probably. I've had two serious long-term relationships in my life and I've dated eight other women. I've slept with four of them. That's over a period of years. I've seen you with at least five different men in the last couple of months alone and a lot of conclusions could be drawn from that."

"What conclusion have you drawn? That I'm a slut?"

"The truth?

"Yes, please."

"The truth is that I've concluded that I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid I'll get serious about you. I'm afraid that you've slept with a lot of men and that I will be reminded of that every time I see you talk to another man or another man talks to you. I'm afraid that you will find me inadequate compared to any of the men you've had. I'm afraid that I will be sneered at for dating the boss's daughter to advance myself. I'm afraid that every time I see one of the guys you've dated that he will look at me and know that he was with you first." God, I thought to myself. You really are insecure.

By this time she had stopped walking and just stared at me. "Jesus, Ryan. You've really thought about this, haven't you? Maybe I should thank you for blowing me off." There was more than a bit of sarcasm in her last remark.

"Maybe you should. Come on, I'll walk you back to your car."

Neither of us said a word on the walk back. I opened the door for her, she got in, and drove off and still no word was spoken.

Dinner with my father was a miserable experience. I was not good company.

The next week was also miserable. My body was in my office, but my heart and mind were elsewhere. At noon on Thursday, I'd had enough. I was working with Both Dennis Bradburg and Martin Cummins on the new building. I stopped and leaned back in my chair. Dennis looked at me and spoke. "Okay, Ryan, out with it. What's wrong? You've been here all week, but your mind is somewhere else."

"I'm thinking about giving you my notice and going back to Pennsylvania." Both men were speechless for a long time.

Then Dennis looked at Mr. Cummins first, then at me. "Mind telling us why?"

"Of course not. Being hit by Christine Tarver was both the best thing that could happen to me, and the worst. The best, of course, was this job."

"And the worst?" Asked Mr. Cummins.

"Christine Tarver."

"God damn it. I knew it. I fucking knew it." Said Dennis very calmly and slowly.

"I told you." Mr. Cummins said to him.

"You told him what?" I asked Mr. Cummins.

"We've known her most of her life. Her father loaned us the money to start up. He's been our partner since. We've seen her men come and go over the years and knew this would happen someday. We knew that we would get someone who was worth a shit and she would ruin him. Up till now we've been lucky. But now it's happened. She has her hooks in you and both of us, this company and you, are being fucked without getting laid."

"Ryan," said Dennis. "Why don't you take the rest of today and tomorrow off and talk to us on Monday. Needless to say, we don't want you to leave for a couple of purely selfish reasons. First, from what we have seen you show a lot of promise; second, you know more about Spenser (which was the name of the new building) than anyone but me and we would prefer not to have to train someone else."

So I left. I was just pulling in to Obit's parking lot when my phone rang. "Hello."

"Ryan, this is Tarver. I'd like to talk with you. When would be a good time?"

"Uh, I'm just getting ready to grab a sandwich for lunch."

"Good. I'll join you. Where are you."

"Obit's on Gordon."

"Okay. See you in five minutes. Do they have Reuben's there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Order me one and a beer."

I had ordered our food when he sat in my booth almost 15 minutes later. "Okay, what's going on?"

I assumed, of course, that either Dennis or Mr. Cummins would call him, but I had no idea that it would be that quickly or that he would react so fast ... if at all. I also assumed that they would have told him my reason, so there was no sense in my trying to tell him anything but the truth. "I don't know if I love your daughter or hate her. I haven't known her long enough to do either, but she's driving me crazy ... maybe I should say she's driven me crazy. I spent the best evening of my life with her and now I'm considering giving up the best job I've ever had. That's not the action of a sane man. I watch her walking, talking, sitting, standing, drinking, or dancing with another man and I get so jealous I can't stand it. That's not rational. I've never held her hand, never danced with her or even held her but that's all I want to do. I'm telling you, Mr. Tarver, there's something seriously wrong with me so you don't want me near your billion dollar building."

When I finished, I looked up to see our server holding our food in her hands. She was staring at me with her mouth wide open. She came out of her trance long enough to set our food on the table and speak. "God, I wish my boyfriend talked like that."

Mr. Tarver and I both looked at her. She walked away.

"Bullshit, Ryan. You're no different than half the men in Texas. Most men who see her want to jump in bed with her." My eyes went wide open when I heard her own father talk like that. "Don't look at me like that. It's the truth. I know it. You know it. And believe me, she knows it. I've lived with it since she was a girl. You have no idea how many times I've stayed up waiting for her to come home wanting to shoot the asshole she was with."

He chuckled and picked up half of his Reuben and took a bite. I did likewise with my brisket sandwich. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes. He looked around. "Nice place. Early afternoon and it's pretty busy. I wonder if it's for sale?" I took a sip of my beer. "Is this where you young people hang out?" I nodded. "Does Christine come here?" I nodded again. "Often?" I shrugged. "She hasn't this week though." I shrugged again. "That's not a question. It's a comment. She's been at home every night for over a week. Her mother and I kept thinking there was something she wanted to tell us but was afraid to." He leaned as far across the table as he could and motioned for me to come closer. "At first we thought she was going to tell us she was pregnant. That would have killed her mother. But it wasn't that. Her mother overheard her talking to her sister. She has a sister. Did you know that?" Again, I nodded. "Anyway, her mother heard enough of her side of the conversation to deduce that she was having 'man' trouble."