'Deanne's Revenge'

26 November, 2017rodster385Comments (0)


Continued from last week's story 

  An early spring breeze drew goosebumps on my arms as my eyes strayed toward a group of youngsters playing on the swings on the other side of the tiny park. I exhaled a deep sigh. Enough small talk and idle chitter-chatter. It was time to do what must be done.
I cleared my throat and spoke, unable to look her in the eye, "Deanne, I don't think we should see each other anymore."
"I figured this was what the spontaneous meeting was about," she turned her head away from me, brushing her flowing hair with her fingertips, "It's because we didn't go all the way Saturday night, isn't it?"
"Oh, I uh..."
I'd wager all I have that had we tangled in sweat-soaked sheets until the sun rose, we'd not be having this talk. Am I right?"
I pondered her question and silently admitted I didn't have an answer readily available.
"Truthfully, I'm relieved it didn't happen," I replied, suddenly finding the words that had escaped me, "Deanne, I just can't continue to see a married woman."
She shook her head, still looking away, "Well, he's not coming back. I can guarantee you that. Rusty, you and I are on opposite sides of the fence. I think we should move in together and start a new life. You don't realize it but I am the wife you are searching for. Make some sort of commitment to me."
I exhaled a sigh, "We've barely known each other a month. People don't move in together so soon. Especially when one is still married. I know you are stressing over your current situation...no job, and soon no place to live. Honestly, from my point of view, you are setting me up to be taken advantage of. You need to concentrate on getting your life put back together. Get a job and a place to live. Get a divorce! Then call me in six months or so. I think you are an awesome woman, but you are moving way too fast. I've done some things I'm not proud of in the past but I won't date a married woman."
Deanne jumped up from her spot on the picnic table, unbuttoning her pants, dropping them to her knees.
"Come on, right now, right here on this picnic table. I'll give what you want and we can move on with our relationship!"
I stared briefly into her eyes and turned and walked away.
I had spent the next two Saturday nights staring at a TV that I'd not bothered to turn on, but by that third weekend, I found the neon lights calling my name. It was just before midnight that I found myself sitting shoulder to shoulder with a tall redheaded nurse who had slipped her hand in mine. I'd admit, we had clicked and she had the prettiest smile. I decided I wouldn't mind knowing her better.
"What do you say we leave this noisy place and find somewhere we can talk. How about I buy you breakfast at IHOP?"
Her eyes locked on mine for a moment as she weighed my offer.
"Sure, I'm hungry enough to eat a horse. Just let me run to the restroom real quick and we'll be on our way!"
Forty-five minutes later I finally convinced myself that she wasn't coming back.
By the next Saturday, my wounded ego had mended and I found myself intrigued by a short little Italian girl. I felt the chemistry radiate from her body as I took her in my arms and led her to the dance floor. She turned out to be a superb dancer and at four foot- eight, she was a pleasure to dance with. Her head never blocked my view and I found her exactly the perfect height to allow me to rest my chin on the top of her head as we spun around the dance floor. I couldn't remember what she had said her name was so I just called her half-pint, which made her giggle every time I spoke it. As the night wore on, we rested more frequently. me sipping on a Coors Light and her on white wine. My heart would melt every time she stared at me with her big brown eyes and I found myself captivated by how tiny she was.
"You know, I think I could pick you up and slip you in my shirt pocket." I grinned, reaching for her hand.
"The good thing about us small girls is that you can put us anywhere you want us!" she grinned and winked at me.
Undaunted by last week's failure, I squeezed her hand and tried again.
"What do you say we leave this noisy place and find somewhere we can talk. How about I buy you breakfast at IHOP?"
"Hey, that'd be great! Let me run to the ladies room first. I am literally about to pop!"
And it was about forty-five minutes later that I decided she wasn't coming back.
As I stepped into the bar on that third Saturday night, I set my jaw in determination. I'd not, no way in hell, get myself hooked up with anyone. I'd dance with every woman who'd dance with me and move on to the next one. But somehow I ended up with a twenty-something-year-old bank teller parked at my table. She was broke but wanted to drink and she was pretty, I had told myself. Annoying but pretty. She had chattered incessantly about her boss and how he wanted to get in her britches. Me, I kept my eyes on the door, searching for a woman more my type, not that I could get rid of this girl, I thought. It crossed my mind that I could excuse myself to the restroom and just disappear. It seemed to be the new way of ditching someone.
The bank teller patted my hand, "Okay, I have to go pee. I'll be right back!"
"Sure you will," I said as I shook my head and returned my attention to the front door.
But in a matter of minutes, she returned, seating herself beside me and leaning over to speak into my ear above the loud music.
"Okay...I'm not married. I've never been married. So, you have the wrong girl. Sorry!"
I drew back and stared at her, "What?"
"That woman in the restroom said that you're a private investigator and divorce attorneys hire you to coax women going through a divorce into compromising positions. You take pictures and videos and present them as evidence in court. Sounds like a cool job...but you got the wrong girl."
My mouth gaped open as I listened to the teller, "What woman? Show me this woman!"
"Um, okay," she peered at the crowded tables in the dimly lit bar.
"That one sitting alone over by the DJ booth. That's her."
My eyes focused on a silhouette in the darkest corner of the bar. My eyes squinted to make out her features. The figure pointed her finger at me as if she held an imaginary gun...and she fired straight at me.

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