4/21/2008

Reanna J. Titwilliger

With Hesitant Stride

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter One

His stride first caught my eye. He prowled to the bar, never hesitating, never dodging or weaving around the other patrons. It was as if they unconsciously withdrew from his desired path. His motion riveted my attention; I felt compelled to watch his progress to the bar. As I watched, he reached his destination, drew the bartender's attention with a casual wave of his hand and leaned possessively against the rail.

"He's definitely easy on the eyes, don't you think?" Jimmie's comment crashed through my concentration, whipping my head away from the scene and back towards my friend.

"Ummm… Yes," I stammered. "I mean, no. I really didn't notice. I was just thinking about something."

"Riiiight. You keep practicing on Mamma Jimmie; one day you might just be convincing when you tell a lie," he said. "Here you sat, telling me all about how beastly you've been treated at work and you just stop talking, your eyes go all 'focused' and you track on him like you're a starving lioness and you've just spotted your next meal. " Jimmy turned and gazed back at the bar. "I think I'm jealous."

"Jealous? You? Mr. Seven-Dates-Per-Week, jealous? Of me? I haven't dated for the last two years, much less had a serious relationship and you're jealous because I look at someone. Get real, Jimmie," I said, staring at Jimmie's head. "Besides, I don't know him and he doesn't know me. It's not as if he's going to just waltz on over here, sit down and strike up a conversation because he's enthralled by my beauty," I muttered into the glass holding my Black Russian.

"You better put that down; you wouldn't want to spill it. He's headed this way." I coughed and spit out the meager swallow I had just taken. For the second time in less than 5 minutes Jimmie managed to surprise me. A shadow fell across the booth just as I set down my glass and fumbled for a napkin.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting?" Deep, velvety, smooth, his voice stroked my ears the way cashmere did my skin. I couldn't help but look up.

Eventually, after hours of contemplating his eyes, his beautiful, Yogo Sapphire eyes, I noticed the rest of his face. An eternity later, it occurred to me he had a look of questioning concern. At this rate, I might find my voice minutes before the heat death of the universe.

"Don't mind her, she's got the hots for you and it'll take her a while to re-engage her brain." Once again, Jimmie scored against me. It truly was not my day. "I'm Stanley Torres, but you can call me Jimmie. My brain-dead friend is Stephanie Hardesty, but she responds best to Elaine. If you want to sit down and join us, I'm sure she'll re-boot shortly."

I exploded. "Stanley James Torres, if you don't shut up right now you'll find yourself sleeping in your car tonight!" A few heads turned at my outburst, marking those who were not regular denizens of Harry's Bar. The usual crowd were never surprised when Jimmie's button-pushing drove me to raise my voice. No doubt some were flashing knowing smiles at each other. Turning to the stranger, I said, "You are more than welcome here. Sit down and introduce yourself. But ignore Jimmie; he's barely house-trained, much less ready for company," I smiled as, under the table, I kicked Jimmie in the shin.

As he slid into the booth, forcing Jimmie to move and give him room, I took the time to examine him more closely. His sandy brown hair was cut long enough to appear full, yet it had been trimmed off the ears and neck. It shone with a lustrous depth that spoke to me of expensive shampoos and conditioners. His skin was just smooth enough to make me want to run my fingertips along his jaw, yet clearly exuded a manliness so at odds with the baby-faced androgynous look favored by so many metro-sexuals these days. For a wonder, his teeth, while clean and straight, were not the dazzling bright white from porcelain caps or daily application of tooth brightening strips. Yet one more check for the "Plus" side of my internal checklist.

"I'm Richard Leonard, but I feel most comfortable with Rich. I saw you, Elaine, when I was over at the main County of Sacramento building," he stated. "I've just recently been hired to do some consulting work to train workers in the new intra-net email software Sac County bought."

"I wish City would update their email programs. We're constantly running into storage issues. But we're using the email software that came with the computers so no luck there."

"If they ever switch to Opera, let me know. We'll bid to train you," Richard replied. "Oh. Elaine. I forgot to give you this. I asked the bartender what you liked." He slid a Black Russian my way.

"Thanks, but I'm not done with my first one yet." I held up the glass for inspection, realizing as I did so that my glass was, indeed, empty. "Or maybe I am. It's been a rough day. Were you part of the that group wandering through the cube farm around 10 this morning?"

"Sure was." And I saw you prairie-dogging with the rest of the office. God. I love not living in a cubicle all day. I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow at work. After the intense meetings we had today discussing the training schedule and the goals for the contract, I decided to wander in here to relax and unwind." Looking around Harry's, he continued, "This is a rather nice place. Quiet, not too dark, cozy and private. A guy could feel almost at home here."

"A lot of City and County workers come here. In fact, I met Jimmie here one day, what, about 4 years ago wasn't it, Jimmie?"

As the silence drew out, I looked over at my friend, only to meet a sulking glare. "What," he asked? "You were drooling over him. And we met September 17, 2002. It was a Wednesday, if I remember correctly. I had an extremely bad day teaching my new supervisor how to do his job."

"Yes, and you were quite expressive in detailing every single one of his shortcomings. Even those you had no knowledge of." I giggled. "Do you remember how you described him?"

"Of course I remember. I'm the one who described him to you. He still looks like a walrus in a tweed suit. He even wears a vest, for crying out loud." Thawing a bit, a wry smile graced his lips. "Do you know what he did today?"

"No, please tell us."

"He harrumphed! I kid you not. He harrumphed! At our weekly status meeting, Sanjay was trying to explain why we couldn't use the reports from the temporary contracting services agencies as the basis for verifying the hours reported by those agencies for the temp workers. And Elmore Jackson, his royal majesty of City of Sacramento, Department of Finances, Temporary Services Division, harrumphed and said any competent IS worker would be able to do so. Sanjay tried to explain that comparing a report to itself would not catch timecard errors and that we needed to either compare the reports against our copies of the temp workers' timecards or create a spreadsheet of them to compare against the agencies' reports, but Jackson was having none of 'that nonsense' as he called it."

"Is he the one with the large, bristly mustache and almost no hair," Richard asked?

"You've met him," Jimmie replied. "It's a small world after all. When did he inflict himself upon you? I've never seen you down at City Hall."

"I met him when he worked for the California State Legislature. He was one of their budget analysts. He didn't impress me. It's one thing to be detail-oriented; it's quite another to be so obsessed with following each step with such nit-picking precision as to preclude any possible change to account for changing situations." Richard said. "Yes, I've met Elmore Warburger Jackson. Met him and experienced my fill of him."

As Richard and Jimmie traded war stories, I watched the interplay between them, making occasional noises of interest and sipping my drink. Jimmie finds it easy to get along with just about everyone so it didn't surprise me in the least to see him behaving so chummy. Which left me plenty of time to pay attention to Richard. Pay attention? More like devour his every move, commit each word to memory, imprint his scent and appearance. Who was I fooling? Richard was hot! And I wanted him.

Which was crazy. I'd ended a relationship just last year; I couldn't possibly be ready for a new one. Obviously, I was suffering from rebound syndrome. Still, I didn't have to try for a long-term relationship. I could just go for friendship. As if any man this gorgeous would settle for being just friends. Nope, better to plan on having a torrid affair with plenty of sex. I've already got a man friend in Jimmie.

"Girlfriend, we've been sitting here swapping tall tales and leaving you completely alone over there," Jimmie said, bringing me back into the conversation. "Seems Rich and I have worked for several of the same bosses, just not at the same time."

"Whereas I've been working at County since I graduated college. You know me, I'm just a Sacramento home girl. How about you, Richard, are you from Sacramento," I asked.

"No, I'm an Angeleno, born and raised. But I did go to UCDavis for my Bachelor's. I liked it up here, found a job and stayed. Sac's grown lately, but it's still not the madhouse you see in LA. My parents and my older brother still live down there so I go down to see them over Thanksgiving and Christmas if I'm not too tied up at work. But, for the right friends, I could be tempted to stay here," he smiled.

"Very interesting," said Jimmie. "Elaine has been threatening to stuff me full of poisoned turkey this year. Maybe if you come, I'll be safe."

"We'll have to talk about this again because it sounds very tempting. However, I've got to go. I have much work to do before tomorrow's meeting. I look forward, Elaine, to seeing you at work."

"I hope to see you there," I replied.

Richard got up, leaving Jimmie and I in the booth. After he went out the door, I said, "Did you just invite Richard to Thanksgiving Dinner? And what's all this nonsense about me threatening to poison you? I thought we'd agree to celebrate Thanksgiving with your parents this year?"

"Calm down, girlfriend. It's obvious you're attracted to him and you know as well as I do, we hadn't confirmed with Mom and Dad. Let's go home and discuss this later."

***

Jimmie dragged me through the door, barely giving me time to close it behind us. I had just enough time to scoop up the mail and drop it onto the hallway table before he pulled me into the living room and onto the sofa.

"So. What do you think about Rich? Isn't he a cutey? I just wish he was gay. I'd snatch him up fast enough to make your head spin."

"Slow down, stud. What makes you say he's not gay? It sure seemed he was more interested in you than in me. You spent, what, about ten minutes deep into swapping stories about your past bosses saying nary a word to me."

"Yes, we did, but he didn't give a single c'mon during the entire time. And he specifically made it a point to tell you he'd see you tomorrow. That despite the fact you sat like a bump on a log, not talking. And I noticed that he glanced over at you several times while we were chatting." He bounced out of the sofa. "Anyway, enough lazing around the house. I'm tired of being in this suit and I'm hungry. So we can continue this conversation after I change and rustle us up some grub."

As he flounced to his room, I pondered again what it was that led Jimmie to behave so much like a drag queen at home when he was always 'oh so straight' anywhere else. I put that thought aside as I went to change into something less damageable. Jimmie loved to cook, but his rambunctious playfulness meant the food didn't always stay in the pot.

"What has The Great Jimmie, Chef Extraordinaire, decided he will serve to his adoring fans?" I asked as I entered the kitchen. "Perhaps a marvelous bouillabaisse or a Caesar's salad with bacon-wrapped filet mignon? No doubt, you plan to wow us with a simple, yet decadent chocolate soufflé?"

"Don't you wish! Today I'm going peasant-rustic. You have a choice of Linguini with Bolognese Sauce and a Salad of Fresh Garden Greens or you can have Tomato Bisque a la Campbell's." he said, crumbling some sausage into a pot which looked to already contain hamburger. "But I warn you that if you choose the latter, you'll have to fix it yourself. As a side note, we need to go grocery shopping; the cupboard is beginning to run to the dogs."

"Dogs?" I asked. "What do you mean 'run to the dogs'?"

"You know, 'Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to give her dog a bone. But when she got there the cupboard was bare… Our cupboard is quite bare," as he spoke he pulled containers of cremini and button mushrooms to him. He dumped about half of each onto a cutting board and made quick work of roughly dicing them. He tossed them into the pot with the meat, which had begun to brown, and turned down the heat.

Noticing bits of orange, green and white mixed in with the meat, I asked, "What's that green and orange stuff you added?"

"Just some mirepoix."

"Mereapowah?"

"No. Mirepoix. M-i-r-e-p-o-i-x. It's named after the town in France where it was first noted in a recipe. Basically, you dice up, finely, two parts onion, one part celery and one part carrots and saute them in some oil or butter until they start to get soft. They add aroma to sauces, stocks and such." The entire time he was talking he kept busy stirring the mixture, checking the larger pot, scooting back to the cutting board to chop some Roma tomatoes - which he set aside. "I've got to first drain off the excess fat from the sausage and hamburger before I add in the milk and white wine; could you get out the large strainer and put it in the sink?"

"Sure," I said. "There you go. Fat's okay, but I prefer to not eat food that's swimming in the stuff. Wait a minute. Did you just say 'milk'?"

"Yep. As the water in it evaporates, it'll thicken without having to add cornstarch or a roux. I haven't quite mastered making a roux, and I've always felt cornstarch tastes to floury in a tomato-based sauce." He transferred the contents back into the pot and added the tomatoes, wine and milk. "Okay, this is going to have to boil for a while to get the tomatoes cooked and let the rest of the liquids reduce. That'll concentrate the flavors nicely. I should have used beef cut into small stew chunks as well as panchetta instead of sausage, but hamburger and sausage cook faster." He turned the heat down on the larger pot. "We're not ready to cook the pasta, so I'll just let this simmer while we wait."

"Getting back to our discussion of Richard, what makes you think he's all that interested in me and why do you think I should be interested in him? I'll admit that I could have serious erotic fantasies about him, but we've only just met. And you did all the talking."

"You did plenty of looking. He noticed, and he didn't seem all that upset or worried by it, either."

"I was that obvious?" Perhaps I needed to take a personal day tomorrow and let Richard have time to forget.

"Yes. You were that obvious. But I'm trying to tell you, girl, he didn't seem to mind the attention. I'm thinking he's kinda feeling a little spark your way, as well."

"Look, I'm just not ready for a relationship right now. It's too soon. My God, it's not even been a year since I broke up with Alan…"

"And you and Alan hadn't been sleeping together for almost three months prior to that. Plus, he's the one who chose to start screwing around on you. So why are you punishing yourself for his failure?"

"Don't you see? What if it was my fault? What if I didn't have what it took to keep Alan interested or I was being too bitchy or needy and I drove him away? How do I know I won't do the same to the next guy I date?"

"Sweetie, we've been over this before," he turned back to the stove and stirred the pot containing the bolognese sauce, then he turned the heat up on the pasta pot. "As I told you the first time I met Alan, he was a complete jerk. I could tell he was a user the very first time we talked." Jimmie retrieved the linguini and dumped it in the larger pot, stirring it to keep it from clumping. "When you went to the little girl's room, Alan scoped out at least five other women at Harry's. I tried telling you, but you wouldn't listen."

"So what if Richard's the same kind of person?"

"He might be, but I didn't see him scanning the other women at Harry's tonight, and he wasn't scoping out the guys, either." He turned the heat down under the sauce. "And he looked at you at least twenty times while he was talking to me. Look, I'm not telling you to throw yourself at him. All I'm saying is you should think about taking him out to lunch, maybe do a dinner and a movie… see how it goes with him."

I could tell dinner was almost ready so I started setting the table. "Yes, I can do that. I will do that. It is time for me to start meeting guys again."

"That's my girl." He drained the pasta, put it in a serving bowl and poured the sauce over it. A few quick tosses and it looked as good as it smelled. I took the bowl from him and he went to the refrigerator and got out a small bowl of mixed salad greens. "But enough speculation about Richard and your sex life. I've created an Italian masterpiece you simply must try."

With that we tucked into his 'peasant-rustic' dinner. Since he had gotten on this 'cooking' kick, I'd eaten more and better than I had any right to expect. Each time he tossed together one of his experiments, I thanked my lucky stars and that cooking channel on cable.

"So," I said after taking several luscious bites of the meal, "you've pretty much guaranteed we're going to be cooking dinner for Thanksgiving this year. Do you have any ideas how to cook a turkey?" I was fairly sure he'd mutter something about 'needing to research it on the Internet', but he surprised me.

"Yeah. I recently read about something called 'Garbage Can Turkey' and I think we can do that."

"Garbage Can Turkey? That doesn't sound all that appetizing. Do they call it that because that's where most of it ends up?"

"No, smarty-pants. They call it 'Garbage Can Turkey' because you're supposed to use a small galvanized garbage can as the 'oven'. I'll e-mail you the URL for the website." He got a thoughtful look. "Ummm… Since the turkey hangs upright from a rod inside the can, we can't stuff the bird. We'll have to cook the stuffing in a pan in the oven. That's okay though as I've been meaning to try one or another of the more exotic stuffings I've seen on TV."

"If you can make it all work, I'm willing to experiment. You'll have to find a metal garbage can; maybe at one of the home improvement stores."

We finished the meal and cleaned up while chatting about the trivial happenings of our work days. Of course, Jimmie whipped up a small bowl of popcorn for us to enjoy as we watched the latest episodes of our favorite shows. It was Wednesday which meant Jimmie got to decide the series we watched. By 10:30 I was ready to hit the sack. There's nothing like a stressful day and a tasty meal to make me sleepy.

As I got ready for bed, I thought about how important Jimmie was to me and how glad I was to have him as a housemate and a friend. I'd had a rocky first couple of months after Alan and I broke up. Moving Jimmie into the other bedroom had made the transition from 'couple' to 'single' much more bearable.

Which got me thinking what would happen to our friendship if I started dating Richard. He wouldn't feel threatened by the relationship, but if things got serious, either he or I would have to move out to make room for Richard. That would be hard on both of us. Unless, if things got serious, we moved into a bigger place. Pondering those questions, I dropped off to sleep.

Chapter Two

Waking was both easier and harder the next morning. What made it easier was the skin-tightening, electric thrill of anticipation coruscating through me. However, harder because I had to wake up from a series of very romantic dreams of Richard and I. Wow! On the one hand I haven't had dreams that good in over a year, but on the other, I was somewhat afraid the reality couldn't possibly live up to my fantasies.

"Ugh! Not looking like that they won't," I muttered. With all the advances we've made I was amazed someone hadn't yet invented a 'show me as I want to be' mirror. It would net a fortune. Of course, it would take a woman to invent it. Just as it would take a woman to invent technology to prevent bed hair. I didn't even bother sniffing; instead I headed straight for the shower.

***

As I entered the kitchen, Jimmie greeted me with, "Morning sleepyhead. How do want your eggs?"

"Sleepyhead? I'm up and ready almost a half-hour earlier than usual. And I'll take a breakfast shake and a granola bar."

"Oh, right. There's a new man in your life so you have to starve yourself. Besides, I've fixed far more than I can eat all by myself."

"All right," I said, sitting down, "Go ahead and stuff me today, but tomorrow just cook enough for yourself. I love your cooking, but I'm not always ready to be a guinea pig this early in the day. And this has nothing to do with seeing Rich." The aroma of his country egg scramble had seduced me, yet again.

"He's already gone from Richard to Rich, I see. You must have had some rather good dreams last night."

"Jimmie! Can't a girl keep her fantasy life to herself for just one night?"

"You did dream about him. I knew it. Elaine's got a boyfriend."

"I do not." I said, feeling very much as I had when other girls had taunted me in third grade. All it would take would be for Jimmie to come back with…

"Do too!"

Blushing a deep crimson, I replied, "Do Not!"

"Do too, do too, do too!"

He sounded so like those little girls from my past I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, you win. You are better at being a pain in the butt than I am." I glanced at the clock on the stove. "And I'll be running late if we don't get a move on."

"We're fine."

"Not after I drop you off at City Hall. By then, all the good parking spots will be taken and I'll have to waste time finding one. Let's go, lazy bones."

***

Traffic was light for a Thursday. That meant I was running just early enough to snag a parking spot close to the building's entrance. I know, I've got all the right ID to park there, but it's a pain to have to walk an extra block, that being the size of the parking garage, on those days when I got there too late. I did a 'happy dance' over my good fortune and dashed inside and onto the first elevator. I was at my desk a good five minutes before the official start of the work day.

Which was a good thing as I saw Richard and the other consultants leaving the elevator, headed for the conference room just as I pulled out my chair. He saw me too and flashed a smile and a small wave my direction. I smiled at him. Then I plunged into the daily grind of doing my part to keep the County of Sacramento afloat on the required sea of paperwork.

Many people assume county government is fully automated, with every single piece of data stored in some vast computer database which each and every government employee can access via an extremely simple program. Almost half my voice messages and e-mail are from county residents seeking information or services available only in other departments. I've yet to figure out why, but I have heard from employees in other departments that they face the same problem. And, for some reason, this was most likely to happen on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

By the time I had cleaned off all the messages not specific to my desk, it was approaching the morning break time. I planned to work through the break to get caught up enough to take a full lunch break. Silly me.

"Hi," he spoke from behind me, "Are you at a point where you can stop?"

"Eep! Don't do that," I exclaimed, jerking around to face him. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to not sneak up on a person?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He paused. "So, are you able to take a break?"

"I suppose. I'd rather keep working and do lunch with you, if that's okay?"

"If you won't mind doing lunch with the whole team, sure. However, I was hoping we could avoid all that 'team spirit'."

"In that case, I accept. Would you prefer coffee in the break room or head down to the corner for an herbal tea from one of the street vendors?"

"I didn't know the pushcarts sold herbal tea. But I'm feeling adventurous if you are."

Grabbing my sweater I said, "Let's do it."

It didn't take long for the elevator to reach street level and we were crowded in with a half-dozen others. Not a good environment for any attempt at romantic chit-chat. And I didn't know yet whether romance was on his mind or if he wanted to pump me for input about the office. Fortunately, as we left the building, we separated from the crowd. By the time the vendor was ready to take our orders, most of the other workers had scattered away.

"Ginseng Morning Blend, Camomille, Pedro's Special Pick-Me-Up, they all look so confusing. What do you recommend?"

"It's obvious you're not an herbal tea conniseur. Camomille is designed to soothe and relax, I wouldn't recommend that if you're heading for more meetings. If you feel the need to perk up because the meetings are dull, I'd recommend Pedro's."

"And you?"

"I could use a cup of Pedro's."

"Then that's what we'll have. Two Pedro's Special Pick-Me-Ups, please." he told the vendor. "How much do I owe you?"

"Wait a minute. You don't have to buy mine."

"But I want to."

"All right."

He paid the vendor for our teas and we found a spot out of the way, where we could enjoy the morning Sun.

"I'm glad I saw you today," he said. "I would have liked to have had more time with you last evening. It just wasn't in the cards."

"That's all right. I've had friends who worked as consultants. I know how hurried the first days can be. Can I ask how they're going? Or is it too early to tell?"

"Actually, things are going quite smooth. If it keeps up I'm going to start to worry. In my experience, the worst disasters always happen on the projects which start well. However, we've done this kind of training fairly often and we've had time to get all the kinks out."

"How long do you expect to be on this contract?"

"Oh, about three months for on-site training and another three months for post-training support. By then, County should have enough people, in-house, capable of training the new hires." He sighed. "This is just a filler contract; we've got a bigger project coming up with the State of California to do some major database development. That's going to be a two or more year job."

"You don't sound all that thrilled. Isn't this what you chose to do?"

"Yes and no. It's what I've done for the last four years, but that's while I've been working on my Masters in Political Science. I'm hoping to become a political analyst or campaign consultant. I'm just two courses from my degree."

"Sound's fascinating. I'd like to learn more about it."

"I shall not disappoint you. All you have to do is agree to do lunch or have dinner with me this weekend."

"Are you, by any chance, asking me on a date?"

Richard turned his head just enough to look straight into my eyes. "Yes, I am."

My knees didn't quite turn to jelly and I managed, I hope, to give the appearance of thoughtful consideration. "In that case, I accept. Saturday's good for me."

"Saturday it is. Shall we say, seven o'clock?"

"Of course." Noticing my fellow County employees streaming back into the building I said, "But for now, we'd better get back inside. Come back to my desk and I'll give you my phone number."

***

I found myself far less ruffled by the problems of work for the rest of the day. Issues cleared up, confusion became order, errors disappeared from my path, clutter organized. By the end of the day, I was happy, excited and eager to share my thoughts, feelings and fantasies with Jimmie. I sailed through the door at Harry's blind to the hubbub generated by almost two dozen Harry's regulars. With the crowding, I had to search a bit before I spotted my friend tucked into the booth far to the rear.

"What's up?" I asked as I slid in opposite him. "You're usually three booths closer to the door. Did you get hung up at work?"

"Yes. All I can figure is everyone wanted to head somewhere to discuss the news we got today. I almost joined in, but I decided to wait for you."

"Must be big news if it's got everyone so stirred up," I said, noticing for the first time the intensity and hostility emanating from the surrounding tables. "What'd they do down at City Hall, make budget cuts?"

"Who told you? And how did they know?"

"Hunh? You mean to tell me they are cutting the budget? Why? And how is this going to affect you?" I realized, rather late, that Jimmie was not the happy housemate I had expected to find.

"We all got told today that due to the State's finance problems, the second phase of it's cuts for aid to the cities is being enforced. Remember, the plan was that the cities would only have to endure these cuts for the first year - unless the Governor couldn't get the Legislature to pass all those 'austerity' measures. The last ones were voted down late last night. State notified us of the change in plans this morning."

"Okay. That still doesn't explain why City decided to announce budget cuts today. I mean, they just got notice of the problem; how did they decide what their course of action would be so fast?"

"As the managers explained in the meetings, these contingency plans were set up when they first learned of the Governor's proposal to implement a phased cutback of funding. We weren't told about them because everyone assumed the Legislature would get behind the Governor's State-level tax ideas and budget cuts," he said. "Now that we know these measures aren't going to be implemented, the Mayor and City Council have to make up for the additional lost revenue. They've decided to enforce a staggered-shift, four-day work week. We'll all be taking a 20% pay cut for the remainder of the year."

"Whoa!" I was stunned. "If I remember correctly, the County Commissioners made some sort of contingency plans back then, as well. City usually moves faster than County. So that means…"

"You'll probably be facing a similar cutback in hours and pay. There's no way we can reduce the benefits and direct services provided to city and county residents, so we'll be expected to make up the reduction by reducing administrative costs. And both you and I work in admin."

"Oh crud. And to think I was happy when I came in."

"Really? What had you feeling happy? Oh wait. Let me guess. The cause is spelled 'R-i-c-h-a-r-d'." He laughed. "Does this mean my little girl has finally found 'true love'?"

"You snot! I'm willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that you have never grown up! You're the pesky little brother I never had!" I tilted my nose up and sniffed. "I refuse to lower myself to your level. I am above such petty tomfoolery."

"Give me a break. You're wallowing in hormonal fever and the only thing that keeps you even relatively sane is my logic and rationality."

"This is what I so love about you, Jimmie, your commitment and stubborn inability to stop being an Egyptian."

"What," he huffed! "Are you trying to insinuate that I'm living in denial! I'll have you know that, today, and every other Thursday, I resemble that remark."

"And you do it so well, I'll treat you to another of whatever you're swilling and a snack. What'll you have?"

"In that case, I'll forego this cheap stuff and have a glass of Maker's Mark - and a fresh bowl of peanuts."

"Philistine. Everyone knows you eat pickled eggs with Maker's Mark. That way your taste buds are stunned enough to gag it down." As I flagged down the waitress and gave our order, I vaguely remembered having this discussion a very long time ago, I think it was just last week.

Once again I marveled at our friendship. First at how easy it had been for us to become friends. Then the speed with which we became housemates. Finally at our connection, which allowed us to co-exist so closely without constantly irritating each other. Living with Jimmie was a joy I treasured; so unlike my time with Alan. I realized part of the problem with the relationship between Alan and I was his need to dominate, but part of it was also the tension arising from his desire to have sex, every day, whether I was in the mood or not, and his unwillingness to make more than the barest effort to 'get me in the mood' as he was wont to describe the emotional side. As Jimmie was not interested in having sex with me, he was willing to spend more energy on simply being a friend. I wondered again whether only gay men could be 'just friends' with women.

"Getting back to the problem at hand…"

I turned my attention back to Jimmie. "What do you mean, problem at hand? City forcing you to work fewer hours or County probably planning the same for me."

"Not at all, those are mere inconveniences. I'm talking about getting you and Richard together. Did you see him today? Did you have a chance to get him alone; pounce on him?"

"Jimmie! I don't pounce. And yes I did manage to spend some time with Richard. We couldn't do lunch because he was tied up having lunch with the managers. We managed to sneak away during the morning break and have a cup of tea outside."

"You didn't force him to drink any of that herbal garbage, did you? How anyone can drink a soaking of mint, chamomille and ginger and call it tea, much less feel alert and refreshed after swilling it, is beyond my comprehension."

"Yes, well, we can't all be hard-core caffeine addicts such as yourself. What are you down to these days, a mere thirty cups of coffee per day, do I have that right?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. At least he had the pleasure of your company to distract him. Your presence did distract him, or is he, even now, being rushed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped?"

"Why James dear, one might believe you felt threatened by herbal tea. Surely you are not intimidated by a silly little beverage, now are you? I must, simply must teach you the error of your ways."

"Yes'm Miss Hardesty, I shorely do feel intimidated by such a Yankee concoction as herbal tea," he replied. "I do believe your tone suggests you and Richard had a good break together. Give! All the details."

"There's not much to tell, but yes, we did explore the possibility of he and I having a 'date' on Saturday evening. And I gave him my phone number." I smiled at the thought. "He's taking me to dinner."

"Dinner? On the first date? I am impressed. Did he mention where he's taking you, or are you going to lounge around half-dressed on Saturday, with several different outfits waiting for a clue."

"For a first date? I doubt it's going to be anywhere too expensive or fancy. After all, we don't know if we'll really like each other. He might decide to wow me with an expensive and refined restaurant, but I'll guess it will be mid-range. Tony Roma's rather than Balducci's or some equivalent."

"You might be right. However, I noticed he wears a Rolex. Men who wear Rolex aren't, in my experience, the kind to settle for Red Lobster or Denny's. Then again, he could surprise us both and take you out for a brat at a King's game."

Which, in my opinion, would be a stretch. I hoped Richard wasn't the kind of guy who build all of his 'romantic' assignations around sporting events. I'd had my fill of that with Alan.

"Maybe," I said, "but it has been a while since I've dated, so I could live with that as a 'first date'. I would hope if there are further dates, he will choose another type of eating experience." By now I'd finished my drink and we'd just about demolished the peanuts. "You want another or should we blow this joint?"

When we got home I checked the answering machine, not expecting Richard would have called, but hoping he had. My wish was fulfilled; the message indicator showed one message. With Jimmie crowding close to hear, I played the message. "Elaine, if you get this before 11, could you give me a call back?" Jimmie tapped me on the shoulder and made small shooing motions with one hand, so I dialed the number Richard had left.

"This is Richard Leonard, I'm not where I can reach the…" the message stopped and I heard, "Hello? I'm here…"

"Richard. Hi, it's Elaine; I just got home and caught your message. What's up?"

"Great! I was hoping it was you. Say, I know I promised a dinner date Saturday evening and I want to know if we could change it."

"Sure," I said, ignoring the prodding from my peanut gallery, "I understand, things come up. We can reschedule to Sunday or next week."

"Oh no, I wasn't trying to put it off, I just wanted to know if you had plans for Saturday morning. We'd have to get an early start, say around 7 AM. Would you be up for that?"

"Sounds intriguing. That would be fine. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Yes, dress comfortable and you might want to bring a sweater. Oh, and I need to know how to get to your place."

"I live on 'S', just east of 26th, 2517 'S'. Can I know where we're going?"

"Nope. It's a surprise. But I think you'll enjoy yourself. Gotta go, I've got food on the stove."

"Bye," I said, hanging up the phone.

"That was interesting," Jimmie said as we headed to the kitchen. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for this date."

"Thank goodness you won't be. I do believe I'm in for an adventure Saturday morning, so I'll be feeling very sorry for you, stuck here, all alone, pining away for your friend."

"Sure, you say that now, but I bet you won't waste a single minute on poor little me when you're out there having fun. Never mind," he said, tossing his head, "I'll be fine. No need to worry about me. I can handle the rejection. I'm not the drama queen in this household."

Which was a good line, but Jimmie was all drama queen when it suited him - usually when he was trolling for lovers. He loved to play the role. I laughed at him and pitched in to get dinner.

Chapter Three

Friday went by in a blur, one part eager anticipation, another hurry to get the last of the week's work done so I wouldn't feel guilty over the weekend, a third spent discussing with my co-workers the increasing likelihood of County forcing cuts in work hours to keep the budget under control. I saw Richard, twice, both times we waved and smiled, but I could see he was as busy as I. Getting done and heading to Harry's put a punctuation on the day.

Later, at home, Jimmie and I mulled over the changes on our jobs and spent the rest of the evening deciding upon an outfit for my date.

***

Saturday morning, I woke up at my usual time, took a shower and dressed in my nice comfortable outfit, which included a muted, but pleasant pair of sneakers, a new pair of J Crew slacks and long-sleeved, silk shell. Both my shoes and slacks were dark charcoal gray and my shell was a gentle, deep mauve. I was just reaching for my charcoal gray button-front sweater when the doorbell rang.

Jimmie helpfully notified me of this by bellowing, "Elaine! Doorbell! I think your date's here!" just as I opened my door, almost running him over.

"Oof! I could hear it just fine. No doubt this is part of your insidious plan to turn me deaf before I reach 40."

"Well, don't let me slow you down," he said, scooting to the side of the hallway. "Go. Go have fun. I'll hold the fort."

"Thanks." I reached the front door, paused, took a deep breath and opened it. "Hi. You're right on time." I said to Richard.

"Well, hello. Are you ready for an adventure?"

"Just let me grab my purse." I stretched and snagged it from the hall table. Richard turned and preceded me down the steps to the street. I was curious which of the cars he would head towards and was surprised to see he drove a BMW sedan. I had assumed he would have gone for a flashier car. "Somehow I pictured you in a Hummer or Corvette."

"I wouldn't mind driving a Corvette or Porsche, but I need a respectable sedan for those times when I have to haul clients around. A Cadillac, Lexus or Lincoln would be too ostentatious and an Accord, Elantra or Camry would be too plain. This 750i is roomy and comfortable to drive in the city and on the freeway." He opened the passenger door for me and I slid into pure luxury.

"I'm very curious where we're headed" I said as he got in. "Any chance you'll tell me?"

"It's a surprise. But I think you'll like it. You haven't eaten yet, have you?" We pulled away from the curb.

"No. But I'll be hungry and ready to eat in about an hour."

"That's great. Because we should be eating around then."

"In other words, it should take an hour to get there?" Which meant we were either headed up towards Tahoe or down to the San Francisco Bay area. I couldn't really tell at this point as we had just gotten onto the Capitol City Freeway and we could be heading to I-5, Highway 50 East or I-80 at this point.

Things became more clear after we turned onto Highway 50 West and then cruised past I-5 and merged with I-80. We were definitely heading for the Bay Area.

"So tell me," I asked, breaking the silence, "what led you to study politic science?" The Yolo Bypass disappeared beneath us; it was early enough that it was still dry. But the weather people had predicted serious rain this Fall, which would turn all the fields into a giant lake. I'd always thought it was rather pretty.

"I've always had an interest, but what drove me to commit to trying has been all the crud I've seen while consulting for the various government agencies. I believe there's got to be a better way to get things done. One that isn't so bound up in bureaucracy. Yes, there's always going to be some inefficiency built into government. However, I think the inertia can be reduced and the services it provides can be maintained."

"Sounds like you've found a life mission. You realize making government more efficient is, to most government workers, just another way of saying 'cutting jobs while demanding more work from those left behind'. I looked over at him. "I agree with you to a certain point, but I work for one of those bureaucratic nightmares. And I'd rather not have to lose my job just to provide you with a test case."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those 'slash and burn' types we get demanding each department cut staff by 15 percent while increasing productivity by 20 percent. But even streamlining the way data is gathered, stored and examined is far less efficient than it can be and to change the processes used requires political clout. And I hope to do my changing in those areas. Just look at your own department, you have access to two main, county-wide databases, one of recent design and one dating back to before Microsoft developed Windows. The gulf in equipment and software makes it difficult to share data between the two and that totally ignores the three or four other databases local to your department. None of the latter have any formal documentation, nor do all workers have the ability to access them and the data is constantly being corrupted because procedures are not in place to verify the data gathered from outside sources. How much of your time is spent cleaning up these small databases?"

"Hmmm… About two hours per week, on a good week. More like three, normally. And sometimes it can take five or more hours if we get incorrect figures from outside sources such as time sheets from contract service agencies. And that's not counting the time to get the incorrect data entered. I see your point."

"And have you tried to get the process changed?"

"Too many times to count. I've never had any luck. I'm always told it would be too costly to fix."

"Okay, so you earn, what, about $20 to $25 per hour? Let's take $25. That means, in an average year, you spend, just correcting database errors, about 150 hours. This costs County $3,750 each year. If you've been doing this for four years, say, that totals to $15,000. Guessing at 4 persons per department who has been doing so in 20 departments over the last four years, we're now guessing that dealing with these errors by cleaning up afterwards has cost Sacramento County $1,200,000."

"Wow! I guess I never took the time to calculate it that way."

By this time we were well past Davis, just entering Dixon. The tomatoes and sunflowers had been harvested, leaving the fields bare. Even so, the sky was clear and blue and I let my eyes enjoy the scenery. I hadn't been this way in almost two years. It had grown more populous.

"From the look of things, it won't be but a few years until Davis and Dixon have grown together," I said.

"I wonder how the residents of Davis will handle that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Davis is rather liberal and Dixon residents are very conservative. In Davis you find the government installing driving circles and banning cigarette smoking on public sidewalks, while there are still plenty of places in Dixon where it's okay to smoke in bars and restaurants."

"That's true. And I doubt you'd see Dixon voting to enforce the construction of 'village commons' housing areas that are designed to force people out of their cars. Is this more of what you're studying at school?"

"Oh, I'm not getting too involved in community planning, but yes, I'll have to know some of this to be an effective political consultant. Heck, I'll need to be able to understand it even if I get sucked into being a politician."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"I'm sure being a politician is a great job, but being the political consultant means you can concentrate on just one task, one arena, one specialty. Also, as a politician, once you're elected, your power drops to that of one vote on a given issue. I'm not sure that's the right direction for me." He looked thoughtful. "I suppose I'd rather be the 'power behind the throne' than the voice on the throne."

What is it with men and wanting to be in control? "What is it with you men wanting to control everything?"

"To be honest, I guess it's as much what I was taught as hard-wired instinct. But it's also more fun being able to shape your own life than having your life shaped by others. And being a politician is all about being controlled by others, the consultants, lobbyists, campaign managers, news reporters, contributors, even the voters to a small degree."

"To a small degree?" I was somewhat shocked. "Isn't that showing a fair degree of cynicism? I'd think the voters have much more control. After all, they can vote the politician out of office."

"With the way most states set up voting districts, the amount of emotion-pumping advertising and the 'you-wash-my-hands-and-I'll-wash-yours' favor trading, you'd not be surprised to see how little real power the average voter has to influence who gets the job. It's one of those things you try to change, but you have to partially accept if you want to get any of your ideas into use."

"And here I thought I knew how the system worked." I was shocked. Here I worked as a government employee and I had always assumed people went to work in government to help the people to improve the quality of their lives. Well, I guess part of government was focused on that task.

We had passed Vacaville, were, in fact, in Fairfield. Richard began to move to the right. "Ummm… Are we stopping for a break?"

"Do you need one?" he asked. "If so, I'll pull off."

"No, I just noticed you changing lanes."

"Yes, we're getting off onto Highway 12 in a few minutes."

"Ahhh… Then we're not going to San Francisco. A clue."

"Yep. A clue. I'll even toss you a bone. We're headed to Napa, John F. Kennedy Memorial Park, to be exact."

"Never heard of it until just now. What's there?"

"You'll see," he smiled.

"Come to think of it, I could stand to stretch my legs, take a potty break, maybe get a bottle of water."

Richard pulled off at the next exit. "Your wish is my command. However," he said, flipping up the center arm console and revealing a small compartment holding two water bottles, "I can assuage your thirst immediately. As I said, this car is luxury."

***

Properly refreshed, we got back on I-80, drove a few more miles and exited onto Highway 12. Even brown and dry, the country was quite pretty. I sank deeper into my seat, sipped from my water and watched the scenery drift past.

"I haven't been this way in years. Yet I remember the first trip I made to the Napa wine country. My friends and I stopped at several of the local wineries. At one, 'S. Vittui' I think, we bought some sandwiches made using cheese and bread made right there. We sipped wine from their latest stock."

"They're still in business. I was down here just last year and happened to stop in after a business meeting. Perhaps we'll remember on the way home to stop in at their gift shop."

"That would be nice." It dawned on me that I felt comfortable around Richard. He was an easy man to get to know. Although I did feel somewhat dismayed by his views on politics, politicians and government. Still, he made me feel cherished; Alan would never have thought to ask if I needed to get out and stretch, much less to stock a few bottles of water for the trip. All in all, this 'date' was going rather well.

And Richard talked. Not on and on about baseball this, basketball that and football the other, but about real issues and how he looked at life. I had to almost grab Alan's tongue and wag it to get him to say three non-sports words together in a sentence; unless he wanted to point out how I didn't do 'enough' for him or 'appreciate' what he 'gave' me. Once again Richard struck me as being far more self-confident than Alan.

We continued north heading for the surprise Richard had planned for us. Much of the route wound through vinyards. Still, I saw more houses than I remembered from my previous trips. "Is it just me, or is Napa undergoing the same development as Sacramento?" I asked.

"No, you're not imagining things. Just as with other rural counties, more of Napa is being re-zoned to allow single- and multi-family residence construction. As the population increases, more housing has to be built and there really isn't any way to increase housing in the cities. And people like the idea of being able to relocate to quite towns. It has the added bonus, to those towns, of increasing the tax base."

"But doesn't that mean we have fewer farms? That can't be good for food prices or for the canneries that depend upon the farms."

"It's one of the trade-offs. I've been studying some of this in my class on community planning and development. People want nice homes, good schools and jobs; they want the government to provide more and better services, which means that the State, cities and counties have to increase their tax revenue. And no one wants to raise the tax rates, so the easiest way to generate more revenue is to increase the number of homes."

"Fine, but if you're right, most of the area around Napa is going to lose its charm. Just like what's happening between Dixon and Davis. And that makes me sad." I looked around at the homes we were passing as we entered the outskirts of Napa. "You can see these homes anywhere in the Central Valley; there's no character; it all looks the same as any bedroom community between Auburn and Oakland." We finally plunged into the heart of Napa, with it's beautiful small Gold-Rush era shops and neo-victorian homes. "See, now this part has character."

I could visualize myself living in this town. Far less stress, good neighbors, plenty of social events. This would be a place to raise a child, I thought, if I ever have one. Well, this date might be the first step towards reaching that goal.

"Hey, you awake there?" Richard startled me out of my daydream. "You look like you're about a million miles away. We're here." He pulled the car into a spot right in front of a vast lawn.

"No. I was just thinking feminine thoughts." I said as I got out. "What is this place again? It looks like a big park. I hope you brought food, because I'm almost hungry."

"We should have some shortly," he said, looking around. "Oh yes. It's over this way," heading to our left.

I skipped along, catching up just as we rounded a small stand of Black Oak trees. Unfolding before us was a veritable circus of frenzied, colorful activity. Fans bellowed; cloth snapped as hands grabbed and pulled; ropes pulled taut. Finally, my eyes made sense of the scene.

"Balloons! These are hot-air balloons!" I flung around in amazement towards Richard. "We're going up in a balloon?"

"Yes. I'd seen these floating around one time and stopped to admire them. I got to talking with the ground crews and discovered they run adventure flights over the vineyards every day during good weather; which around here is most of the year. They even serve a picnic brunch during the flight."

"Wonderful! I've always wanted to go up in a balloon."

A woman emerged from the cluster of inflating balloons and approached us. "You must be the Leonard party. Our other guests have already arrived. Welcome to Napa Valley Balloon Adventures. I'm Leesa and I'll be your pilot today," she said, leading us on a wending trip to one of the balloons. "I see you both brought some warm clothing. That's good as it promises to retain some chill this morning. Since there are just the two of you, we'll be going up in "Purple Harvest" which is a 60 foot diameter balloon. I consider it to be one of the most beautiful balloons we own."

We stopped to watch as the people around it, the ground crew if I understood Richard correctly, inflated the balloon. Slowly the bag puffed before our eyes. As I took it all in, I had to agree with Leesa, it was a gorgeous balloon. The main color was a light, almost robin's egg blue. However, it was clear where "Purple Harvest" got it's name. A huge bunch of royal purple grapes, limned in gold and surmounted by a crown of green leaves, complete with umber 'veins', adorned opposite sides. A hissing, somewhat muted, roar accompanied a burst of pale blue and purple flame directed into the cavity of the balloon. Slowly, reminding me of a dancer sweeping up from the floor of a stage, the massive ball rose. Within a minute, it towered overhead, joining its sisters to form a forest above us. Already, several of the participants had clambered into their chariots, which were straining at the hold-down ropes. "Mighty steeds, eager to race," I said.

"Why, yes. They do appear to be champing at the bit, don't they?" Richard replied.

"You do have a way with words, Miss… " our pilot said.

"Elaine. Elaine Hardesty," I replied. "I'm so looking forward to this. Richard doesn't know this, but I've always had a fantasy of soaring over drowsy countryside in a balloon."

"Then by all means, your chariot awaits. Let's get you two aboard and start this adventure."

"How do we climb into the basket?" I asked.

"I like to use the term, 'gondola', and we have a set of steps right around here," she replied as she led us to the other side of the balloon.

Richard and one of the ground crew helped me into the gondola. Thank goodness I wore slacks. I would not have been able to maintain my dignity in the shorter dress I had planned to wear. Then Richard clambered in, followed by our pilot. I was surprised just how crowded the basket was; it appeared larger from outside. "It sure is cozy in here," I remarked.

"Well, yes." she replied, "But that's because on the other side of this divider we have a rack holding the three fuel tanks we'll be using during this flight." Sure enough, the basket had been divided into two sections, and the tanks filled the other section from side to side.

"That seems to be a rather large amount of fuel," Richard commented.

"Again, yes. However, we most likely won't use it all. Still, there's always a chance we'll run into a colder-than-normal stretch of air and we'd end up having to roost in someone's yard. And that would be exciting."

"I imagine it would get costly, too. What with any damages." he said.

"No, if we had to set down on a small property, we'd most likely damage the envelope, but not do all that much to the house. However, if we lose altitude and come down in the middle of a vineyard, there's no telling how many grapevines we'd damage or destroy. That would be expensive. Heads up, we're about to lift off." The entire time we'd been in the basket, she'd been firing off the burners. Now, the basket 'gave' as we shuffled around. The ground and crew, with the slow grace of thick maple syrup, sank below the rim. We were aloft!

"I expected more of a rush; we could be riding in one of those old, open cage, brass gate elevators you see from time to time." I said. Then silence descended as Leesa cut the burners. "It's so quiet. And I don't feel any wind."

"You won't feel that much. Remember, we don't fly in heavy wind conditions and once we're in the air, we tend to drift along at close to the wind speed for whatever height we're at. And we can try to shift directions or speed by gaining or lowering altitude, where the wind conditions may be different." She smiled, "Of course, there's no guarantee the exact direction we travel nor how cold or hot the air is, so there's no way to predict exactly where we'll set down. Thus, if you look over the side, you'll see that our ground crews are packing up and getting ready to follow."

I looked to one side as Richard peered over the other. The ground was a long way down. But I spotted the support SUVs moving out. Looking down reminded me of where I was and what I could do. For the first time in my life, I could scan the panorama of the horizon, taking in homes, countryside and distant mountains just by turning around. The land spread out before me, rich greens and solid browns bathed in the glow of the early morning sun, washed with a warm yellow so reminiscent of an amber 81B matched to Fuji Velvia film.

"Would you look at this view," Richard asked. "It's beautiful. And everything's so clear. I can see the vineyard workers amongst the vines. Are they harvesting?" I shifted over to his side and gazed upon the fields below. "Just like a picture," he said.

Which reminded me… I had, at the last minute, decided to bring my digital camera. I pulled it from my purse and composed a shot, keeping the angle of view wide to capture part of the rim of the gondola along the bottom of the frame to establish scale. As the Sun appeared in one corner of the image, I set it to take several shots, bracketing to capture the full range of light and dark within the scene.

"Miss Hardesty, You might want to bracket your exposure. You're facing into the Sun."

"Thank you, Leesa. My camera can be set to automatically snap several bracketed images with one press of the shutter." I flashed a smile at her, "And since we're going to be so close for this trip, feel free to call me Elaine."

"Will do, Mi… Elaine." She grinned. "I always try to start formal, because I never know until we get up here."

"I've never been one to stand on proper manners and formality when being open and friendly can be so much more comfortable."

"Yes, that's one of the things I think I like about her." Richard said. "That and she's very interesting to have a conversation with." Once again, Richard expressed feelings and validations I'd never received from Alan. One more checkmark for the I think I'll keep him column. "Of course, since this is just our first date, I look forward to getting to know her better."

"First date? You'd be surprised how many of our couples customers are on their first date." We floated on our random path, drifting as effortless as a cloud over the Earth. My camera's memory card soon filled and I was forced to change out for an empty one. One image that struck a chord of joy within me was that of two of the other balloons drifting lower over a pond, rimmed by the Sun backlighting it, causing the colors of the envelopes to glow with a translucent energy. I framed and shot it eight ways, hoping I'd get enough to allow me to create a panoramic vista.

Leesa waited for me to complete that series and said, "Along with the views and my scintillating conversation, you also get a picnic brunch. If you're at all hungry, we can eat when you're ready. We've got about 30 to 40 minutes of flight left at the rate we're traveling."

"Richard, are you ready to eat?" I asked, realizing that for all the stillness of our trip, I had worked up quite an appetite.

"Sounds fine. What are we having?" he asked our pilot.

"For your dining pleasure, we have prepared a selection of fruit, sliced cheese and meats as well as various rolls and condiments. All of these items are made or grown right here in the Napa region. The breads were baked fresh just this morning using Old World artisan recipes - I believe the bakery even uses a wood-fired brick oven," she said. "And, to complement the food, we have a selection of wines produced by the local vineyards, specifically Chenin Blanc, White Zinfandel and Reisling for white and in the red we have Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Zinfandel. Richard, if you could shift to your left a bit, I'll pull the picnic chest out."

Upon opening the chest, we discovered plates and silverware tucked into the lid, flat containers of cheese, meat and fruit on one side, while the warm, buttery, yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread arose from the insulated pouch in the other partition. After pulling up a second, smaller chest, clearly a cooler, she showed us how to flip down the seats mounted along the sides of the gondola. The larger chest, once we had removed the food, filled the function of a small table. Leesa remained standing.

"Aren't you going to join us?" I asked. "After all, there's plenty of food."

"Thank you, but no. I need to keep watch on our altitude and it's just not easy to reach the controls while sitting down. Besides, I already ate."

"Would you like some of this wine," Richard asked as he selected a Frog's Leap Chardonnay. "And I can't imagine you not having a roll with some of this cheese and sausage - I insist."

"Oh well, if you insist, then I'll be happy to take a bite of food. But no wine. Not while we're in the air. I have some bottled water stored in the wine cooler."

For a time, we sat, munched on grapes, oranges, apples, and crusty bread we filled with cheddar, summer sausage and monterey jack cheese. I was reminded of the time my family had taken a trip through southern Europe. We had elected to rent a car, which freed us from the time constraints inherent in joining a packaged tour. As we wended our way from Paris, down to Spain and then back up and over to Italy, our family lunched on fresh bread and cheese purchased at the open air markets in the villages we passed through. That trip, when I was only nine years old, had been the first time I had been allowed to drink alcohol. As we could never be sure if milk would be available and we had already gotten sick once from either food or water, my father decided to buy wine for us. At first my mother had been upset, but as she saw the French and Spanish families giving wine to their children, she relented.

"This brings back so many memories," I said. "Eating simple food and drinking wine made such an impression on me as a little girl. I think doing so, helped to fix in my mind the other experiences we had traveling through Europe."

"You traveled through Europe?" Richard asked. "What part? And how old were you?"

"I was nine. Dad had earned a big bonus at work that year and he'd made a promise to Mom, on their wedding day, that one day he'd take us on vacation to Europe. We meandered all over and through France, Spain, Monaco and Italy. I mostly remember the castles and the cheese. Dad chose to rent a Volkswagen and early on in the trip, after we found out how much more expensive it was to find 'American' food - and difficult - one of the first things he did was buy this enormous wheel of swiss cheese. I sat in back, of course, but half the seat was taken up by that wheel. I remember picking at it trying to make it shrink faster so I could have more room."

"What made you remember the castles?"

"The dry, dusty, cool smell. Whenever I go into an older basement, where dust has collected, I flash back to the tours through all those castles."

During this, our pilot had twice given bursts on the burner. Now she turned to us and said, "We're going over a river and I think you might enjoy the view."

Carefully re-packing the picnic chest, we got up and folded away our seats. Turning to look in the direction she pointed, my breath caught. Just in front of us, past the edge of the river, a small bank of fog had managed to survive the early morning sun. The sunlight had turned the water into a shimmer of gold and the fog bank had taken on the appearance of a fluffy, pale amber blanket of cotton batting. Rising up through, several willows grasped for the sunlight, casting diaphanous shadows reaching out to us. Beyond lay a field holding only the stubble of it's original crop, dusty cream with hints of a deeper yellow. Finally, I remembered to inhale and, taking my trusty camera in hand, I composed several images, both vertical, capturing the Sierras rising in the distance and horizontal, making a closer, more personal view.

As we drifted overhead, I turned to watch it draw past us. There, I gained a vision of the coastal range, with Mount Diablo clearly visible to the south, flaring orange and brown in the distance. I took my time capturing views both narrow and sweeping panorama. One such image snagged two fishermen casting their hopes and lines out into the now black river below.

"Truly a view worthwhile," Richard whispered in my ear. "And that you chose to keep me company makes it all the more treasure to me."

I gazed back at him. In his eyes I saw contentment and interest, confidence not overshadowed by rampant, self-serving desire. At that point, I knew I wanted more of him.

"Yes, likewise. I would have considered this worth it merely for the adventure itself." I leaned into him, whispering back, "Let's make plans for more."

"If you want any further images," Leesa's voice broke through, although not loud, "take them now. We're about to descend. This field is close to the road and it's not crowded by buildings and wires."

"I'm good," I replied. Snuggling deeper into his shoulder, I put away my camera.

Landing reversed the sequence of events we experienced upon take-off - with the added thrill of having the basket nearly tip over as we bumped to a stop. During this process Richard and I managed to stay upright by bracing ourselves together, each of us, wrapping one arm around the other and grabbing the rim of the gondola with our free hands.

"Woo-hoo!" Richard shouted, vaulting over the rim once we came to rest. "That was a…"

As he left the basket, we lurched upward, leaving him scrambling after one of the hold-down ropes. Leesa pulled a cord and we dropped back to ground. This time, the balloon's envelope continued to collapse down and away from us.

"And that, Mr. Leonard, is why we wait until the balloon has fully settled before springing out," she said in what I thought was a rather prim tone.

"Sorry, just got a bit carried away with that landing. Won't happen again."

"Why do I find it so hard to believe you?" I asked, smiling to make it a joke. Turning to our pilot, I said, "Not having known him for very long, I can't be sure, but I think my friend has few problems with keeping in touch with his Inner Child. And I like that."

I let Richard help me out of the basket. By this time our ground crew had made it through the gate onto the field and were fast approaching. Richard and I watched as our balloon metamorphosed from a vast blue cone decorated with vivid grapes to a rather rumpled and odd carpet over the remains of the field in which we stood. I suppose I should have taken pictures, yet I chose to not include this in either my pictures or my memory, yielding instead to my desire to consider my adventure still ongoing.

Instead, I leaned against him, pressed into his side, snuggled into his warmth. He responded by wrapping his arm around me, enfolding me with his presence. Chills of anticipation warred across me with his heat. At that point, I chose to plan how the rest of our day would go. One opening, that's what I looked forward to. We would go to San Francisco, first to Golden Gate Bridge. Following that, we would work our way to a quiet, secluded restaurant, far from Fisherman's Wharf and thus less crowded. Finally, should everything be right, we would take a room at the St. Regis.

The crew busied itself with the task of folding the envelope, loading the basket onto it's transport trailer. Leesa walked over to us, carrying a small basket. "Here's the rest of the meal and the two bottles of wine you opened. You might like them for a picnic lunch before you leave for home. Let's get you in and we'll head back to the park."

The trip back to our car took far less time than our flight. Inside of twenty minutes we had arrived.

"Thank you for flying with Napa Balloon Adventures," Leesa told us as she walked us to our car. "Please, feel free to come back for another flight. As we never know exactly where the winds will take us or the weather, each trip is unique."

"I believe I speak for both of us that it was a grand trip," Richard replied.

"And I won't hesitate to recommend your trips to my friends," I said.

"It's always a pleasure to hear that. Have a great rest of the day." With that, she got back into her vehicle and drove away.

"Would you…"

"Do you think we…"

"You first," he said. "After all, I arranged this for you." He stopped at the trunk and proceeded to place our 'lunch' within.

"Then, I'd like to head over to the Golden Gate Bridge. This is such a beautiful day and it would be a great place to finish our picnic."

"Your wish is my comm…" At that point, his cell phone chirped. And chirped again. "Hold on," he said, glancing at the number displayed, "I have to answer this. Yes? Are you sure? Well, have you tried… I see." Yet again I felt a disconnect listening to just one half of a phone conversation. "Couldn't Howard handle this? He's where? No, if his son had to go to the hospital, we can't expect him to come in. I'll be there, but I'm down in Napa so I'll be a while getting there. I'll see you in about two hours. Goodbye." He looked back to me, exasperation and disappointment writ large across it, with a hint of… disgust, I thought.

"It's okay," I said, "While I can't say I've had similar situations working for County, my friends have complained often enough about such derailments to their plans."

"Thank you. Perhaps you would find time tomorrow or next week when we could follow through with a visit to the Bay?" He held the my door open for me and then paused, waiting for my response.

"Not tomorrow. I've chores to do. However, I see no reason we cannot just pick right up where we're leaving off next Saturday, assuming of course your problem is tamed by then."

"Saturday it is."

With that, we struck out for home. I was frustrated enough by the interruption that I only managed to make small talk during the journey. I wasn't sure when it had happened, but I knew that sometime during the morning, Richard and I had begun to form a bond. The attraction I felt had deepened beyond mere desire to be close to his looks, his voice, his scent. Planned or not, I wanted, needed, more from him than just an occasional 'Hello', casual wave or friendly meeting for a drink after work.

Thus, little of our conversation during the trip home stayed with me. Only as we pulled in front of my home and he walked me to my door did it sink in what Richard was saying.

"Again, I apologize for cutting our date short. I want you to know, I had hoped we would have been able to spend the entire day together." I could hear the wistful regret in his voice. "You are an enchanting woman, Elaine. I believe we are well on the way to being friends and I hope it isn't too forward of me to tell you I would like for us to be more than friends." With those words, my funk disappeared and I felt the flush of pleasure mixed with embarrassment rise.

"Richard," I replied, leaning into him, "you echo only what I want."

"Good," he breathed. With that, he wrapped me in his arms and pressed his warm lips to mine.

I'm sure no more than a few seconds passed, yet when we broke apart, I was out of breath and none too steady on my feet. Thankfully, he still held me close. He heaved a sigh, redolent with regret, yet, in some inescapable way, singing with eager anticipation. I quivered against his chest.

"You should be going," I said, quite sure he shouldn't. "You promised them you'd be there in two hours."

"Yes, I did. Strange how easy it was, just now, to forget that minor detail." He did not release me, and I did not regret his inaction. "Perhaps…" Leaving the rest unsaid, he responded to my desire and, once again, drank deep from the well of my desire.

This time, I deigned to believe myself ready. Maybe I was. I remembered tasting the remnants of the wine on his lips, the savor of his mouth. I heard, or rather, felt a deepening rhythm. Almost it seemed to course through me. After unmeasured minutes I realized I was feeling his hearts. No, our hearts, beating in time. He shifted the slightest bit, presenting more of himself to me and I gladly molded myself tighter.

"Ahem!" Jimmie's voice sounded in my ear. We sprang apart, I blushed deep. "Not wanting to interrupt such delicate negotiations, but I just received a call from your office, wondering if you might be here." One eyebrow askew, his glance queried Richard.

"Ummm… Yes. I did leave your number where they might reach me. But I can't figure out why they didn't just call me?" He pulled out his cell, looked at it and grimaced. "That's why. I must have turned it off before getting in the car. I better go."

"Do you have to?" I widened my eyes and gave him both my best 'come hither' and 'sad puppy' looks.

"Yes, I must. If I don't I won't be able to complete our date next Saturday. Unless you are willing to support me as a 'kept man' after I lose my job?"

"No, that wouldn't do. I'm a very traditional girl. I expect the man to keep me. So, I guess you'd better go," I said. Richard glanced toward Jimmie, with clear intent to say something further.

"Don't look at me for help. I already caught an earful from you co-workers. You'd think the sky was falling or something. But don't worry, I’m sure Elaine will be perfectly happy to mope, dope and grump around all week until you next grace our happy home. When she's not busy chatterboxing about your date. Shoo! Shoo! The sooner you go and pull their chestnuts from the fire, the sooner you both shall meet again."

Richard guffawed. "All right. I can't ask for more than that. But don't believe but half of what she tells you." With that, he bounded down the steps and out to his car. He waved just before he climbed in and drove off.

Jimmie dragged me inside as if I were nothing more than an extra-large Raggedy-Ann doll. Closing the door behind us, he pulled me to the living room and plopped down on our sofa. I had no choice but to collapse beside him.

"C'mon. Spill girl!" he said. "Gimme details! Where did you go? What did you do? Was it fun? Did he kiss you? No, wait, I already saw he kissed you. What did you talk about?"

Sometimes it was quite easy for me to see Jimmie as a gay person. None of my straight male friends would ever be so willing to share such personal details. Alan would have chewed off his hand to escape this kind of conversation. And yet, I did not feel Richard would have been turned off by it. Jimmie, on the other hand, lived for such activity. It helped cement our friendship.

"Napa. Balloon. Yes. Yes, but not 'til later. Everything and nothing." I replied. "There you have it in all it's gory detail. May I go now and put away this food?" I pointed to the basket they had given us after our flight. Somehow, I had managed to hang onto it when Jimmie raced us inside.

"What food? Where'd you get it? What kind of food? And just what do you mean by 'Napa' and 'Balloon'? Surely you're not trying to tell me you took a balloon trip in Napa?" He scowled at me. "And stop with the monosyllable answers. Give details or Mama Jimmie's not gonna help you put away the food."

With that, he bounced off the sofa, grabbed the basket from my hand and flounced to the kitchen.

"EEK!" erupted from the kitchen before I could get there. "Frog's Leap wine? Artisnal bread? And is this some California Bleu Cheese? Just what kind of balloon trip did you go on, anyway!" he demanded.

By this time I was in the kitchen and could appreciate his stance, feet spread slightly, head cocked to the left, one fist resting on his hip while the other wagged a finger at me. "Didn't I warn you about accepting drinks from strange men? Do I need to ground you, young missy?"

"No, for by that time he was no stranger," I said, serene in the truth. "And he was a perfect gentleman. Erudite, well-mannered and well-spoken, interesting, quite willing to please. Gawd, Jimmie. I sound just like a romance novel!" I laughed.

"You know, I believe you do. So tell me miss 'I am such a hussy I'll kiss strange men on my doorstep', is this the 'real thing'?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Jimmie. I really don't know. But I do know I like what I've seen of him so far. He is quite charming and it was fun spending time with him. I was so mad when he got called back to work."

"Was it 'let's do lunch' fun or 'let's take in a movie and dinner' fun."

"More like, 'let's take in dinner and a room at the St. Regis' fun."

"No way! No wonder you were mad about him being called in to work. I think I would have pulled out all the stops, kisses and more, to keep that level of fun going."

With that, my barriers burst and I launched into recounting my entire morning. It was a relief, Jimmie had so much more experience at starting and nurturing relationships than I. What I was feeling and the signals I thought I was getting from Richard appeared to be real, but I wasn't sure. After all, I'd hooked up with Alan. Thank God I hadn't married him.

By evening we had hashed over every word he'd said and analyzed every move he had taken. Jimmie and I had evolved a plan guaranteed, or so Jimmie promised, to woo Richard into my arms, and if I wished, into bed. As I drifted to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what my parents would have thought for they had done their best to teach me to be proper and reserved, to save myself for my 'one true love'.

Sunday, I awoke long before the Sun could sneak into my room. Feeling extra-special, I gave myself permission to take a long soak bath, complete with my favorite coconut-scented bath beads and four cinnamon candles, one on each corner of the tub. While I've always preferred to be clean before slipping into bed, I reserved lazing away in a comfortable, blood-warm bath, letting myself be soothed by the scented oils, plying soft bubbles along my skin for those times I most wanted to be pampered. After almost a half hour of playing, relaxing and soaking, I pulled myself away to dress for the day. Yes, we had chores scheduled, but after yesterday, I felt compelled to toss off every chore which could wait a few days. Time for a 'girls day out'.

And that meant shopping which called for simple, easy-to-remove clothing. There's no hassle quite as great as struggling to put on and remove too many layers of tight clothing every time we changed stores. I had the perfect outfit, classic black jeans and a short, short tank top with a men's cut chambray shirt, which I tied off, leaving my midriff exposed. Damn. I looked fine. I almost finished with my favorite pair of boots, then I remembered where I was going, so I grabbed my black pair of buckle-strap step-ins. Perfect.

Strolling down the hall to our kitchen, I rapped on Jimmie's door. "Shake a leg, sleepyhead. The day's a-wastin'," I said.

"What? Are you already up? Why so…" For once I'd caught him slow on the uptake. He had almost finished three complete sentences before he noticed what I was wearing. Life was good, today. "Okay. We're obviously not going to do all our chores today," he said to my receding backside. "Guess not."

By the time I had polished off a granola bar and a breakfast energy drink, he'd finished dressing and arrived in the kitchen. I tossed one each over to him as he sat down. "Here's the plan…" I started to say.

"Wait a sec." He sniffed, then broke into a grin. "Do I smell coconut? And cinnamon? Oh, girl, you have been up a while. Wish I'd thought to get me a soak."

"We can't all be sparkly morning people. Some of us need our beauty sleep and have to play slug-a-bed."

"Girl, you are cruisin'. Who taught you to mouth off like that?"

"You did. Anyway, wrap your head around a 'girls day out'. Sound good?"

"It sounds fantabulous. We could get our nails done, drool all over the latest fashions, maybe even take in a movie."

"Maybe. However, to make this work, we'll have to at least get the bills paid and shove some clothes through the washer. But we can pay bills tonight and split the clothes between before and after."

"I like that plan. Let's do it."

With that we headed back to sort out between do first and do last clothes. Jimmie's the one man I know who gets that some colors need cold and others can take warm washing. And he's always washed underwear last. Still, as we met by the washer I checked over his load. For all his care, he has missed, putting red socks in with several blue items. How anyone can not see red in an armload of blue is beyond me.

"No reds?" I asked. He shook his head. "What about creams?" I could see most were some shade of blue, black or dark gray, although he had a forest green jogging outfit in his load. We were good to go.

Chapter Four

What with the several loads of laundry and checking over yesterday's mail, we didn't leave until almost noon. Primed for fun, we piled out of Jimmie's car and into the mall.

I quite preferred shopping at Downtown Plaza. Macy's was the main anchor store and it had plenty of fashions for the average office girl, in other words, me. Plus it stocked some very nice dress-up outfits. And for those times when Macy's didn't have what I wanted, there were eighteen other stores specializing in women's fashions, from American Eagle Outfitters - yes, I have a cozy pair of Fireside Flannel PJ Pants which are perfect for lounging around in front of the television on a cold winter night - to Wilson's Leather - Okay, so PETA doesn't believe in wearing leather, I do and I have two jackets, a gorgeous, black Belted Lamb Coat which set me back $379 and a chic Suede Riding Blazer in burnt orange I picked up for the bargain-basement price of $79. And don't even think about dissing the shoe shores. This is one mama who loves Jimmie like a sister, but even he's not crazy enough to get between me and a comfortable pair of shoes. Plus, both The Body Shop and Bath and Body Works have stores there.

Assuming we didn't get side-tracked, we'd eventually end up at the movie theater to catch one of the latest flicks. Jimmie and I had similar taste and that meant I wouldn't have to be scared out of my wits by some blood-and-guts horror show or have my brain traumatized by the fluid ethics and extreme body count of a stupid action movie. Jimmie was as much in favor of relaxing in those comfy loge chairs as I and the best movies for that were romantic eye-drenchers. Passion, love, denial, rejection, redemption and commitment; pack all those in with driven, yet caring personalities and the film studios would grab our entertainment dollars every single time.

But first we had shopping to do. "C'mon," I said. "Let's head over to J. Crew. I'd like to see what they have in sweaters and tops." We plunged inside. I made a beeline for the outerwear section. If Richard and I managed to get to San Francisco, I had several ideas for dresses to wear. Any of them would leave me chilled if we left the hotel in the evening and I'd need a jacket to stay warm.

As we passed the tops, Jimmie remarked, "Hey! I thought you wanted to look at tops?"

"I do. I want to see what's new in coats. My best one isn't all that new and I'd like to keep warm while out on the town."

"Oh. Gotcha. San Francisco's somewhat chilly this time of year."

I had a basic idea of what I wanted and I worked down the four-ways, seeking that style. Sometimes serendipity strikes; it did today. Halfway down, against the wall to my left was a duster-length wool-cashmere, belt-tied coat, in a lustrous charcoal gray. They had one in size 12. I pulled it on and headed straight for the three-way mirror. Twirling, I watched how it moved. The bottom edge flared out slightly, and tied closed it became quite warm. Only one thing left, I found the tag - $275, marked down from $360. Within my range and it felt right.

"What do you think," I asked. "Would this work for both a cocktail and an evening dress?"

"It depends upon the dress, but knowing your tastes, yes," he said. He caught the tag. "And the price is decent. This is a keeper."

"Good, I didn't want to spend much time here. I found what I was looking for here. Let me pay and we'll head to Macy's." Which had to be the shortest time I've spent in a store looking at clothing. However, this was just the warm-up. I hadn't come in expecting to buy this coat, yet it called to me and, assuming I could find what I was looking for, the duster would be perfect for the dress I hoped to find at Macy's.

Macy's was… Macy's. It's possible to find about anything a person could want or need in the way of clothing, furniture or appliances - a true department store. Yet much of the time, I purchased most of my daily outfits for office wear at JCPenny's or Sears. But then, why buy smashing outfits when no one's going to see them except the same co-workers who've seen you day in and day out for ten years? However, I'd rather drop dead than buy a cocktail dress or gown at JCPenny's. And I went whole hog, got the Macy's credit card and bought enough to keep it active. I kept my fingers crossed as we threaded our way to the women's clothing department.

If Richard and I managed to get to San Francisco for the upcoming weekend, I wanted to be ready for a classic night out on the town. That meant wearing clothes which would fit an upscale restaurant, the theatre or the dance floor; maybe all three. I had a couple of such dresses, but why wear last season's fashions?

"Oooh… This looks cute," Jimmie said, spotting a very sleek London Times black Strapless Jumpsuit. It was, and no doubt I'd look good in it. Yet a jumpsuit did not give the message I was trying to send, 'flirty' and 'fun', and the London Times outfit struck me as sending the message, 'sexy', yet 'hard'. Not me at all, at least, not with Richard.

"Hmmm… Yes, but doesn't it strike you as somewhat Euro-severe? I'm not sure I want to give the message I'm into bondage and discipline."

"You know, looking at it, I believe you're right. It is rather 'whip me', isn't it? Do you think I could find one in silk or leather, for a man?"

"Oh, please," I scowled. "As if you'd ever let yourself get whipped."

"How would you know? Have you been spying on me? If you're that interested, perhaps I can get an invite for you. Try it, you might find you like it." He grinned. "And if things go well with Richard, you can add a whole new dimension to your relationship."

"You snot! You are so bad. I can just imagine what trouble you were for your older sister. I'm going to ignore you until you act mature." I had heard several 'war' stories from his sister confirming his tendency to be outrageous over her love life. As I had no brothers or sisters, I'd never experienced such joy. Oh darn. I had continued to browse the Maggie London collection, pulling out lovely chocolate Velvet Halter Dress. "What do you think of this one," holding it up for him to see.

"It could do, but velvet just screams 'demure' and 'virgin' to me." He reached around me to pull out a black halter shimmering with the silver patterns that ran through it. "Now this is what I call an 'I want it' dress."

"That could work. Set it aside and I'll try it on as well. Oh. Now this one screams 'flirty', or maybe 'provocatively shy'." I laid a black silk slip across his arm.

"Not really. But the wine-colored one does." He put the black one back and snagged the other.

"That's enough for a first run. Let's head to the dressing rooms."

As we snaked our way through the maze of three-ways, four-ways and round displays, one more dress begged for attention. I did not usually buy Nine West designs, but this halter top gave a whole new meaning to 'bare shoulders'. The color, a muted hazelnut, also matched well against my skin. I had to search, but I found one in my size.

"There. Now I'm ready to put on a show," I said, once again heading for the dressing rooms. As we approached, I took the dresses from him and shooed him to the waiting chairs. "Any preference which one I model first?"

"I want to see the wine one."

"Deal."

Having prepared for this, it didn't take long for me to shuck my clothes and seal myself into the slip dress; the hardest part turned out to be getting the shrug draped correctly over my shoulders. It kept snagging on one or the other spaghetti strap. Finally ready, I strolled out to where Jimmie waited. He'd been quiet, but his face betrayed his impatience.

"So. What do you think," I asked, walking past, twirling and walking back.

"Hmmm… Now that I see it on you, girlfriend, I don't think this shade of wine is your color. Still, maybe in black. Let me see you walk again." One more time I walked away from him, swirled around and strode back, stopping to face him, my eyebrows raised in question. "No. It would be fine if you were looking to play 'just out to have a fun time', but it doesn't scream 'I'm really attracted to you'."

"If it doesn't, it doesn't. I'll go try on the velvet one."

Getting out of the dress was far easier than getting into it. Never one to leave a mess, I placed it back on it's hanger before pulling the velvet halter dress on. I loved it already. Smooth and soft, it stroked my skin with a gentle lover's touch. For all it's demure appearance, I rather doubted I'd be able to maintain my composure in the face of alcohol, his charm and this dress. Only thing left was to see what Jimmie thought of it.

I did my boardwalk for him, and I could tell from the way he fidgeted, he didn't care for it. "Okay," I said, "what's wrong with it?"

"It's just not you. I like the dress, but it's not you. You're just a bit too slender for it; the drape's all wrong."

"What do you mean?" I went to the three-way mirror and tried to set aside how the dress made me feel. Looking at myself, I sighed. Yes, he was right. This dress made me look like I wanted to out-starve Kate Moss. "Fine. You're right. On to dress number three."

"Which one?"

"I'll surprise you." I went back and changed into the shimmer halter dress. And once I had it on, I could tell the dress wasn't for me. As with the velvet one, it draped wrong. Nor did it have the virtue of tingling my skin with every move. Still, Jimmie would want to see it for himself, so I went out.

"Gawd. And I thought the velvet halter was bad. Take it off. Take it off."

"I can't fault your judgment on this one, Jimmie. I only came out to see your face." And it was worth the walk. Jimmie had screwed up his mouth, smashed down his eyebrows and just about twisted his nose right off his face with disgust. "You know, you could become a character actor. You've got the facial expressions down cold. Almost made me want to see your face freeze that way."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk to the hand, girl. Talk to the hand." He dismissed me back to the dressing room with a casual flip. I changed into the Nine West halter dress. I had to admit I liked the color. I've never been one to wear brown, but the hazelnut had the tone of rich coffee, with just a touch of cream, just the way I liked. Instead of the halter going straight up and around to tie off in back, this dress pulled into a single point that met with a neck collar. Another plus was the blouson gather at the waist, which gave me a more full-bodied look. Not bad I thought as I headed back out.

"So, what do you think? Less of the starved waif and more of the sexy lady? It shows my shoulders off quite nicely, don't you think?" I twirled around and let the asymmetric-cut hem flare around my knees. "Or should I look further?"

Jimmie stood up and moved closer. He waggled his finger in a signal for me to walk out for him; I complied. Then, as he examined me, he signaled for me to spin around more slowly. "No need to look further. Elaine, you wear this dress and I guarantee you he'll be interested." Just what I wanted to hear as I rather enjoyed both the feel and the look of this dress.

"Are you sure, or are you just saying this to get us on our way to the food court," I teased. Jimmie loved the food court here as they had a place that served an authentic gyro; one of his weaknesses was Greek cuisine.

"One time," he groaned. "One time I overate and you're never going to let me forget, are you?"

"Nope. But then, I'm not the one who consumed five gyros at one sitting. And I think the manager still hopes to hook you up with her daughter. She's Greek, she cooks, what more could you want?"

"Don't you think both of them might get somewhat upset when they found out I don't care for having sex with a woman?"

"I think I remember you telling me you've never been with a woman, so you're really not qualified to make that statement. But I forgive you, I have the same feeling."

"Which is exactly why we get along so well. We both prefer men. So… do you want to look at a few more outfits?"

"Um… no. I just thought I'd have to do more shopping before I found one I liked. This will do just fine."

After paying for it, we strolled back out and made our way toward the theater; the food court was right next to it. We planned to eat before we hit the hair stylists. As we were walking, one of the window displays caught Jimmie's eye. He pointed. "Now there's what you should be buying." I looked to where he was pointing and blushed.

"Jimmie! I'm not trying to rape Richard; I'm trying to woo him." There, in the window, a mannequin displayed an all too revealing gartered lace chemise, complete with sheer black stockings. "Besides, I wouldn't know what a man would want to see me wear."

Dragging me into the store, Frederick's of Hollywood to my embarrassment, he said, "That for starters. Although, enough of my bi and straight friends have expressed their opinions to give me a basic idea. C'mon. Just think of these as the maraschino cherries for the dessert you have planned." Inside we were confronted by a kaleidoscope of colors and styles.

"Not much in the way of greens, yellows or oranges. But that's all right. I've never been that partial to orange or yellow." Still, I felt we'd fallen down the pustulent throat of a diseased whale, the reds, blacks and purples vibrated behind my eyes. I liked red, just not in such massive doses. "Do all of these have to be so bright?"

"I think there's some sort of rule about that. You know, I'm lost here. Perhaps we should get some help." He waved over one of the sales staff.

"Welcome to Frederick's. May I help you find something?"

"Yes,' I said, "Which of these do men find… attractive, stimulating, interesting?"

She glanced aside at Jimmie, "If your friend has a preference…"

"He's no help. It's not for him, anyway."

"She's right. I like leather, lot's of leather, filled by a man's tight butt. This is a new experience for me, as well," he grinned at her.

"Oh! I gather this is a new experience for you as well? Do you know whether the gentleman prefers black, red, white or maybe purple?"

"His car has black leather seats and I've only seen him in blue, navy, black or gray clothes. But his ties have more often contained red, as opposed to yellow or green highlights. Does that help? I mean, I haven't known him all that long so most of his tastes are new to me."

"A very important clue. I take it you want to be sexy, but not too aggressive. If you feel comfortable answering, would this be your first time with him?"

"Yes. And I want to look hot, but not wanton, if you catch my drift. I saw the… whatever it is you have on display in the window and, to me, that's too hot. Maybe later, but not the first night."

"Okay, Gartered Lace Chemise and Stockings are out." she beckoned us to follow her. "You could go with a pair of our Luxe Satin PJs - they come in a very nice purple - or an Illusion Gown - daring, yet demure. Here we are, these are the PJs." We found ourselves looking at a shining, smooth and quite tempting set of purple pajamas. I could imagine myself lounging around in them - during the summer months. They weren't substantial enough for winter wear. In my mind I played a scenario where I strolled from the bathroom into the bedroom wearing these. Yes, these pajamas had potential. "Or," she said, seeing my hesitation, "you could go with this." She directed us a bit further to a gown, half solid black, half sheer. "It's called Illusion."

Again, I envisioned myself strutting into Richard's view, this time tantalizing him with glimpses of my naked body peeking through the nightgown. Better still.

"This one has definite possibility," I said. "What do you think?" I asked Jimmie

"I can imagine the effect. Straining to see past the panels, to catch whatever sight I could of the body beneath, yeah, that would be a turn-on. However, from every discussion I've ever overheard, what you really want is that, over there." He pointed over our heads to a section full of chemises.

"Which one?" I asked, as we moved into that section. He reached out and pointed to a lace trim chemise. Unlike the gown, it had no peek-a-boo panels but it came to a daring halt just mid-thigh. Over it was a sheer mesh shorty robe. Yes, I could imagine Richard's reaction upon seeing me walk in wearing this. And it would be perfect. "Okay. That one, with the robe. But I think I want it in the bordeaux."

"The chemise we can do in bordeaux, but the robe only comes in black, this year."

"Um… Okay, both in black. But I also want to pick up that Illusion gown."

***

Finally, done shopping, we continued on our way to lunch. After that we hit the stylist and took in a movie, one of those indie films with lots of character interaction, all staged without any obvious special effects. It even had the obligatory 'small town funeral procession' subplot. We both had a good cry over the heroine's main love interest dying, leaving her to find the strength to carry on.

On the way home we stopped by Pick Up Stix takeout. I love their Szechwan shrimp, while Jimmie prefers their Spicy Sweet and Sour chicken and both of us can devour their house-blend fried rice. By ten o'clock I was well-fed and sleepy; quite happy to lay my head down for a good night's rest.

Chapter Five

Work, what else could I possibly say. I've always been content with my job. There have been times that were frustrating or tedious, but who hasn't had work days like that? However, the next week dragged. My supervisor wanted report after report breaking down what my and my co-workers' jobs entailed, complete with detailed descriptions of each task as well as the average time spent each day on each task. After I got the reports designed and tabulated, she asked for style changes 'to make them more comprehensible'. When I asked who would see them, she muttered something about only needing them for the purpose of setting up the training schedules. Once delivered, including each specific design change she had requested, she complained they weren't clear and needed to be re-formulated to include different calculations with, naturally, more style changes.

Of course, this entire process took up most of the first three days in the work week. Never mind that, we were all lectured, said lecture delivered in a severe tone, in a three hour 'productivity issues' meeting, for not getting our work done in a timely fashion. Several of the office assistants felt so put out they took personal time off. Which threw more work onto those of us who did not.

I managed to see Richard for all of 15 minutes during a lunch break on Thursday. Three things happened: he expressed sympathy for our suffering; apologized that the supervisor was being so demanding - and I discovered his people didn't need half the information included in the reports; and we set a date for Saturday. We were going to San Francisco for fun at Fisherman's Wharf, dinner and theater. Not just theater; he had bought tickets for "The Mikado". I had never seen "The Mikado" and one of the playhouses chose to stage it as their 'Gilbert and Sullivan' piece. Hooray! I'd seen both "Ruddigore" and "The Pirates of Penzance" years before while I was in college and thoroughly enjoyed both. By the end of the week I needed a break, and the date, more than my paycheck; my sanity was on the line.

Saturday dawned too early; my mind still encompassed the frustration and anger I had stored up through the week. Jimmie sensed this - probably because I snapped at him over the quality of the bagel he had toasted - and suggested we go for a brisk walk. It was exactly what I needed. I power-walked my way through the anger, several times walking circles around him as I vented all my tension through a lovingly detailed description of my supervisor's every fault. I had just enough time to freshen up and pack a small bag before Richard pulled up. Jimmie hustled me out the door and made me promise to tell him all about it when I got back. By then, Richard had placed my bag right next to his in the trunk.

It was clear to me that Richard had been as overworked during the week as I had. The trip down, both of us worked hard to keep from commenting too harshly about the week's mix-ups and conflict. Instead, we concentrated upon discussing our favorite Gilbert and Sullivan scenes. By the time we passed over Golden Gate Bridge and into downtown San Francisco, we had each shed the last vestige of tension.

Even this late in the year, Fisherman's Wharf was crowded. We had to park almost two blocks away. Still, there's an energy in the district, part the huckstering of the street performers, part the enthusiasm of the tourists, part the exuberance of the seals crowding onto the docks below. The salt sting and essence of crab added to the heady perfume, raising my spirit and overflowing my desire to have fun.

"Where should we go first," he asked. "I haven't been here for in at least two years and I don't remember what we can find."

"I thought we would stroll down Embarcadero until we came across something. Or, we could catch a tour of the Bay."

"I've never done one of the boat tours. Are they interesting? We should have time as it's only 9:30."

"Let's head over to their office, it's right over there," I said as I pointed to our right. We watched the street mimes, ate hot, fresh sourdough from Boudin Bakery, stuffed with fresh-caught crab, caught a trip around the Bay on one of the Red and White Fleet tour ships, had our faces painted by one of the artists on Pier 39 and window-shopped at all the kitschey tourist gift shops. I had my picture taken with a giant boa constrictor draped over my shoulders and both of us smashed a penny into a Fisherman's Wharf medallion. By early evening, we were looking forward to dinner.

Richard had taken me at my word and had left it to me to find a place for us to change. As I directed him down Embarcadero to Harrison and then to 3rd, he glanced over at me but kept quiet. My directing him to pull into the driveway at the St. Regis Hotel came as much a surprise to him as I had planned.

"In here?" he asked. "You booked us a room here?"

"Sure. It's convenient to the theater we're attending and the restaurant you selected. As late as we could be out, I decided we should have a place to crash at rather than try to make the drive home. I hope you don't mind."

"Well… no." He seemed flustered. "I hadn't thought quite that far along. I mean… I realize we needed a place to change before this evening… It's just that…"

"I'm not trying to corner you into anything, Richard. We're checking in here because it's convenient and I've always wanted an excuse to stay at the St. Regis." He still had concern and apprehension scrawled upon his features. "Besides, it's my treat. You're paying for our entertainment, after all."

"Okay. Still, I'm not used to my 'date' paying, especially on the first date."

"But this is the second date," I said as we walked to the check-in desk. "Hi, I'm Elaine Hardesty. I have a reservation for tonight."

"Yes, Ma'am. We have you in 804," the desk clerk replied. "Do you plan to stay longer, perhaps for the weekend? If so, we can give you an attractive rate." As I shook my head no, he handed me the key and waved a bellhop over who collected our bags. "Danny here will show you to your room. Please enjoy your stay here at the St. Regis."

While no suite, the room had every possible amenity, including the complimentary chocolate mints on the pillows. But we didn't spend much time there. I grabbed my bag and plunged into the bathroom to change; Richard just long enough to see where I was headed before grabbing his own bag, bringing it to the bed. By the time I had gone to the potty, changed into my dinner clothes and freshened my makeup, he had put on a very dapper black single-breasted suit over an exquisite, shimmery white shirt and navy tie, which held a pattern of delicate maroon fleur-de-lis.

"Wow! You look… stunning. Makes me glad I chose this suit." His words fed my happiness, as did his slow, approving scan. Having a man notice how I look always made me feel appreciated and desired.

"My, you look handsome, too. Care to swap rooms?"

"Certainly, my chin could use a bit of a touch-up," he said, hoisting an electric razor from the bowels of his bag. Soon I heard it's hum emanating from underneath the bathroom door.

He exited just as I picked up my cashmere duster; he lifted it from my hands, opened it for me to insert my arms and settled it upon my shoulders. Turning towards him I caught a glimmer of… anticipation, eagerness? I wasn't sure, but whatever it was appeared to echo the feelings mumbling in me, quivering deep inside my belly. I hadn't felt these in some time, and I wasn't sure I was ready to follow through on them. "Are you ready?" I asked, deflecting my nervous train of thought, placing the choice in his hands.

He coughed. "Um… Yes. Let me just grab our tickets and we'll be on our way. Here they are."

"Where exactly are we headed," I asked as we headed to the lobby.

"I believe you mentioned you'd never seen The Mikado and so I found that the Lamplighters Theater happens to be showing it this year. From what I gathered at their website, they specialize in Gilbert and Sullivan productions." After we got into his car, he punched Lamplighters' address into his GPS system. It popped up a display of the route and we pulled away from the drive. "Hmmm… It's only about six blocks from here. Shouldn't take too long to get there."

"I've heard about these. Aren't you supposed to be able to have it talk you through each and every turn?"

"Yes," he said, punching a button on it's panel. As we approached the next intersection, we heard the locator tell us to turn right. He punched the button again which made a three-dimensional image of the street appear instead of the street map. "But I prefer to watch the screen and follow the flashing prompts. I've got the latest version and it has maps for every major US city and most of the smaller towns, as well. I only get lost when I want to."

Within minutes, he had navigated to the theater. We found a parking spot nearby and went inside. The interior wasn't as rococo as I had imagined, but the seats were comfortable and we had a good view of the stage. We had arrived early enough we were able to get to our seats without having to stumble over other patrons' feet, yet not so early we had a long wait for the musical to start. Within just a few minutes the musicians began to warm up.

"Have you seen the Mikado," I asked him.

"I have, but it's been such a long time I can't really remember much about it." He turned slightly towards me. "I do remember there are plenty of mix-ups, plot twists and hidden identities - and plenty of laughs. You'll enjoy it, as will I." The lights dimmed and we sat back to watch the play unfold.

***

Bursting through the theater doors, I giggled and sang "Three little girls from seminary… That was so fun! Richard, thank you for taking me to the Mikado. Where are we going next?"

"In honor of the musical we just heard, I thought we would head over to Little Tokyo and have some Japanese cuisine. Or, if you like, we could experiment with Malaysian or even Vietnamese."

"Malaysian?" I pondered while Richard opened the car door for me. "I've never had Malaysian. But I thought you had already made reservations?"

"I did. We're goin to Ponzu. It's a new place I heard about from a friend of a friend of one of our clients. It serves Japanese, Chinese, Malaysian and Vietnamese."

"Sounds like fun. I'm up for it, and if we can't find anything appealing from the Malaysian selection, there are several Vietnamese dishes I like." With a casual wave and a snooty voice, I directed him forward. "Carry on, Mr. Leonard. Carry on," I managed to get out before I giggled. Laughing with me, he drove us off.

***

Ponzu, we discovered, was decorated in modern style, with good lighting and an open air about it. I was surprised to see customers in both dressy and semi-casual fashions. Our waiter placed us where we could experience the view of the three large aquariums set against the rear wall. Richard ordered a bottle of the house sake and the waiter left us to make our selections. Ponzu's menu did not include pictures of all the dishes, but we saw several being served to other customers which looked good. One such that caught my eye appeared to be fried chicken and another some form of stewed meat in a quite rich, dark sauce, served with rice. The third looked similar to shish kebabs, but the skewers had no vegetables. Also, a beef and vegetable medley on a base of thin white noodles wafted past us. We made note of each and were ready when the waiter returned.

"My name is Brian and I'll be your waiter this evening. Are you ready to order or would you like some more time," he asked.

"We have some questions," replied Richard. "We just saw a meal that looked like thin-sliced beef with various vegetables, including carrots and broccoli over a white noodle and we'd like to know what it is."

"That's Mi Xao. It's Beef and Vegetable Medley served over rice-flour vermicelli noodles and it's one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes."

"How about the one which had a meat sauce over rice and smelled of coconuts? That one over there," I said, as I pointed.

"That would be Rendang and is a Malaysian dish. It's very popular, but I must warn you it is somewhat spicy. You'd find it served at most social gatherings. That one is beef, but we also serve a chicken version. It comes with Roti Jala, a rice flour pancake to scoop with."

"What about that one?" I pointed again. "It looks like fried chicken."

"Another popular Malaysian dish; it's called Ayam Goreng. We first marinate the chicken in a bath that includes tumeric and curry powder before deep-frying it."

"How about the all-meat shish-kebabs?"

"Those are Satay, which we serve with a spicy peanut dipping sauce. We have both chicken and beef and I like them as an appetizer. Might I also suggest you consider either Akak Berlauk which makes a fine, savory, appetizer of dough filled with beef, or the Akak Manis which is a sweet dessert finger food. Except for the Me Xao, all these dishes are Malaysian and would fit a theme."

I glanced at Richard and asked, "How about we order one Ayam Goreng, the chicken, and one Rendang, beef? And do an appetizer of Satay and those, what are they called, Akak… the sweet one." He nodded approval and I turned back to the waiter. "Yes, that's what we'll have. And could you bring an extra plate with the main course so we can split them between us?"

"Sure thing." Brian said. He left with our order.

"Did you like the play?" Richard asked as he re-filled our sake cups. I was just beginning to get a tingle in my nose from the first drink, which was pleasant, but I scolded myself to take this drink slow, stretch it out until I had a chance to get some food in me.

"It was everything I hoped. They did an excellent job on the songs and their costumes and props tied it all together nicely. They brought their characters to life." I paused, remembering. "Do you ever find yourself matching the personalities and actions of the various characters to people you've met in real life?"

"Oh, definitely. Ko-Ko reminds me of one of my college teachers, right down to his confusion and unwillingness to take bold action."

"For me, Katisha echoes my great-aunt. She's constantly bossing us around, demanding we accede to her every whim. She remembers favors owed and hurts done to her quite well. And is willing to insist we follow every jot and tittle of every rule - as long as it benefits her."

"She sounds quite the dragon. Which one is she, should I ever meet your relatives?"

"Katherine. Although, Mom always calls her Kate."

"Hmmm… Kate, Katisha, they sound so much alike. Perhaps her parents gave her that name for a reason." he joked.

"You know, you could be right." Just then, Brian arrived with our appetizer.

"Here you go. An appetizer of beef and chicken Satay. And here's the peanut dipping sauce for it. Your Rendang and Ayam Goreng will be ready shortly. Can I get you a re-fill on the sake?"

"No, not just yet," Richard replied. "Could you bring us a pot of tea?"

"Certainly." And he left us.

"Well. If they are as quick in preparing our main course as they were with this, I supposed we'd better dig in," I said, selecting one of the chicken skewers. "Are we supposed to dunk them into the sauce?"

"Absolutely. I've had chicken Satay before, but not beef." He grabbed one, dipped it into the sauce and took a bite of it. "Mmm… Quite good. Try one of these," he said reaching over to place one of the beef skewers on my plate.

I took a nibble on the chicken. The savory saltiness of the marinated meat exploded into battle with the sweet and spicy peanut dipping sauce; each taste sensation striving to dominate my taste buds. An underlying hint of coconut milk allied itself with the peanuts, forcing a wedge into the ramparts of the meat, but was driven back by a counter-thrust from the bitterness of limes. Seeking to cut back on the heat engaging my tongue, I took a healthy swallow of the house red wine I'd settled on. I had never been an oenophile; I enjoyed red over white wine, but I really didn't understand the subtleties of port versus sauvignon. People had tried to explain terms such as 'dry', 'fruity', 'woody' and so forth, but I just didn't get it - until thatis moment.

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Date:

4/21/2008