Chapter Twenty-Nine
On the way home from work Richard drove past the house without slowing. He did not wish for another argument that had become all too common of an occurrence. There would be alcohol at Buster’s, and that was all he desired. It had been the only constant in his life. Within moments of passing the house he stopped the Tahoe in front of the restaurant, engaged the left blinker and waited for oncoming traffic to clear. When it did, he turned the large truck into the parking lot. Gravel ground under the tires as he maneuvered into a spot near the front door. His head ached, craving the next drink that would numb his soul. He hurried out of the truck, imagining the smoky taste of the bourbon he was about to consume. Saliva formed in his mouth as he approached the entrance. When he reached the door he opened it and entered, moved past the hostess without a word and made his way to an empty seat at the bar. The stools had no backs and Richard plopped himself onto the chair by lifting his right leg over and around its seat. He stared at the bartender until he was noticed. “Maker’s Mark and diet,” he said.
“Comin’ right up,” the bartender replied as he grabbed a highball glass from a shelf above his head. “Are you going to be ordering food?” he asked while continuing to make the drink.
“That will do me fine,” Richard said, as he pointed to the tumbler on the bar.
“Alright, but I’ll leave a menu just in case.” The bartender grabbed one from beneath the bar and placed it in front of Richard. “The specials are on the board,” he continued while pointing at a lighted glass display at the end of the bar. The specials of the day had been scrawled on it with a yellow marker.
The stuffed flounder looked appetizing, but Richard was more interested in numbing the pain caused by his failed relationship. He could no longer ignore the deeds of his past. They bubbled into his consciousness and consumed any self-esteem that he might have been so bold to embrace. Dinner could wait. With a drink in his hand, he spun around on top of his chair and began to scan the crowd in the restaurant. He examined each table searching for Ralph. Anger and hatred welled up inside him at the thought of the man. It had been several years since he had seen him, and he was not sure he would recognize him. Regardless, he had always been an uninvited party in Richard’s marriage.
When he finished examining the room, Richard turned and leaned against the bar. He looked to his left and then to his right, examining the faces at the bar just as he had done those in the restaurant. There were two women seated to his left. Each wore an ornate ring on the third finger of their left hand. He wondered if they were married, until he noticed that the rings were of the same design. They must be lesbians. His bitterness was projected onto innocent bystanders. To his right was a handsome young couple that seemed very much caught up in themselves. The honeymoon won’t last. The thought caused him a visceral pain that swelled into his throat. He tried to drown it with a large swallow from his drink.
There were two empty chairs to his left and one to his right. Richard spent the better part of an hour get-ting stoned on booze. Talitha’s rejection of his advance further isolated him. After his fourth drink, he began to feel the affect of the alcohol on his empty stomach. He became queasy. In order to get the bartender’s atten-tion, he held his hand in the air, index finger extended. When the man noticed him he said, “You know what?” the words felt uncomfortable exiting his bourbon soaked mouth. Richard flexed his cheek muscles and wagged his numb tongue. He tried to clearly annunciate his request. “You know what? I think I would like to order some dinner.”
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, responding quickly to his request as he continued making drinks for the diners.
“Stuffed flounder,” he said, pointing to the menu board on the wall.
“You got it.” The bartender walked quickly over to his point-of-sale system and pounded his right index finger onto the screen as he entered the order.
Richard brought the highball glass to his lips, leaned back, and tilted it upward, finishing the drink. He held the empty glass up so that the bartender could see it. When he did and nodded confirmation of another drink order, Richard placed the empty on the bar in front of him and began to slide it between both hands.
He sat playing with his empty glass when a young lady approached the bar and sat on the stool to his left. Richard looked over and the two exchanged a pleasant smile. She’s pretty. He looked to the right and then to the left, past the young lady. There were several empty stools around the bar. That meant she had chosen to sit next to him. Richard sat up straight slowly so she wouldn’t notice him removing the bow from his sagging back. His mind, numbed by alcohol, began to race with possibilities. When he felt that he had gained his composure, he turned toward the young lady. “Are you from around here?”
She smiled politely, responding only with a shake of her head.
“I have a house down the beach.” He attempted, once again, to start a conversation. Then he remembered Susan. Slowly he moved his left hand under his right, pinched his wedding ring between his middle finger and thumb, and slid it off. He dropped his hand down by his side and shoved the band into his front pocket.
“That’s nice,” she said with a smile, like before.
Richard worried that he was being too forward and decided to back off. He squared his shoulders to the bar and continued to drink.
“I’m Paula,” she said as she extended her hand.
Richard turned to the girl, took her hand in his and began to serenade her. The alcohol was responsible for the bold nature of his gesture. “Heeey, heeey, Paula. I want to marry you.” Realizing from her blank stare that she was not familiar with the song, he explained. “That was a hit song many years ago, by Paul and Pau-la.”
“Ah,” she said, not overly enthused.
“You’re obviously too young to be familiar with the song. I’m sorry. It seemed like an appropriate ice-breaker.”
She nodded and smiled. “You do have a nice voice.”
“Thanks.” Richard desired to continue the conversation, but did not want to come across as being pushy. He didn’t have to say anything.
“You asked a minute ago, whether or not I lived here,” Paula started. “The answer is, I kinda do, but I don’t really.” She noticed the confused look on Richard’s face. “My grandmother has a house here, just a couple of blocks off the beach. Every now and then I’ll come and stay with her.”
“You didn’t bring her with you tonight?” he asked.
“No. Sometimes we like to have our time away from each other.”
Richard turned and faced Paula once again. His movement allowed him to appreciate what a beautiful girl sat before him. She wore jeans, an old white t-shirt and leather work-boots. A tweed coat looked as if it was meant to add a bit of dressiness to her outfit. She was thin, tan, and blonde, but something about her conveyed strength, both physical and emotional. Her hair did not have the steely tinge associated with bleaching by chemicals. The highlights looked natural. “So, where do you live when you aren’t visiting your grandmother?”
“All over the world,” she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Your business takes you around the world?”
“Yeah.”
“What is your business?” he asked.
“I’m a deck hand on a cargo ship.”
“Wow!” Although her answer had not fully registered with him, he was truly impressed. “How’d you get started doing that?”
“Out of high school I knew that there was much more to this world than my little hometown could offer. Hopping on a boat and earning my keep was the only way I could afford to see it.”
Richard was ready to declare Paula the most interesting woman he had ever met. She was impressive and had worldliness associated with an advanced age. He became jealous at the notion that someone so young could have it all together while his life crumbled around him. “You never had any emotional attachments that kept you in one place?” he asked.
Paula shook her head without saying a word.
“Where was the last place you visited?”
“I just got off a boat that traveled throughout the Pacific Rim. We went to Japan, China, New Zealand, Australia … all over that part of the world, really.”
They talked for several minutes. The more conversation there was the more Richard became impressed with her. This woman was like no other he had ever known. It may have been his imagination running amuck, but Paula’s voice began to sing to him. “Do I detect an accent?”
The look on her face conveyed shock. She hesitated before answering. “It’s a speech impediment.”
“I … I’m sorry,” he said as he quickly turned away from her and faced the bar. He had no idea what to say, other than the apology he offered.
Paula finished her drink, paid her check and got down off the stool. “It was nice talking to you,” she said just before walking away.
He could only nod in response and give a half-hearted wave as he recognized the impediment for what it was. Richard finished his drink and held the empty glass up for the bartender to see. When he had, Richard held it to his lips and shook a piece of ice from it into his mouth and began to chew nervously. He placed it back on the bar as he waited for his refill. An expeditor appeared in front of him with a plate of food, carrying it with a cloth dishtowel to avoid being burned. He had lost his appetite, but knew that if he planned on drinking more, he should eat something. Sitting quietly as he ate, he worried that those around him may have over-heard his gaff and was too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone, especially the bartender.
A little old man appeared behind the bar with a garbage can filled with ice. He dragged it along the floor until he reached a large steel bin that sat on the floor beneath the bar. It was obvious that the man’s appearance was more aged than the chronology of his years. His skin was leathery with deep wrinkles, and his hair was perfectly white, void of any trace of color. When he bent over to lift the container and pour the ice into the bin, Richard saw a pack of filter-less Camel cigarettes in his left shirt pocket. He was so engaged in observing the actions of this old man that he did not notice a young man who had taken the empty stool to his right.
“Hey Sol,” the young man said to the old bar-back.
“Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”
“I’m pissed,” the kid responded.
“Why? What happened?” the old man asked.
“Some asshole smashed out the window to my truck. He stole my wallet, my fishing pole and my iPod.”
The old man looked confused. “iPod? You deserve to have it stolen.”
“What?”
“Yeah, ain’t that one of them pot-smoking de-vices?”
Richard laughed as he held his napkin to his mouth to keep from spewing masticated flounder across the bar. The kid laughed as he looked at Richard. “It’s a device that stores music, Sol,” the kid explained.
“Oh. Well, you stay away from them drugs anyway,” Sol said as he walked back into the kitchen, carrying the empty garbage can behind him. It was clear to the two that the old man did not appreciate being the object of their laughter.
Richard finished his dinner and slid the plate across the bar to be cleared away. He sat, just as he had done the previous two hours, sipping from a drink and wiping the condensation from the glass with his thumb. A woman approached and sat on the stool that had been occupied earlier by Paula. Richard, still a bit gun-shy, looked over at her and offered only a smile, which was returned. “This seat isn’t taken … by your wife, is it?” she asked.
Richard shook his head as he held up his left hand, wiggling his third finger showing that there was not a ring on it.
“Where are you from?” she asked, as she crawled on top of the stool.
“Here. I have a house just down the beach.” Richard pointed in the direction of the house.
“Oh, how nice. I’ve always dreamed of owning a house on the beach.” She smiled. “Maybe one day.”
Her body language conveyed her desire to continue the conversation, so he turned and faced her. “My name is Richard,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’m Monica,” she replied, and took his hand in hers. He noticed that her grip was soft, not nearly as strong as Paula’s. She wore a pair of teal clam diggers, a bright orange tube-top underneath an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt whose panels were tied in a knot at her waist. Her makeup consisted of bright blue eye shadow, red blush and orange lipstick. It was hard for Richard to discern the true color of her hair. There were yellow, orange and red highlights streaked through it in a hap-hazard and unnatural manner. She does have a nice body, Richard thought. He looked her over and noticed that between the open panels of her shirt that she had a rather impressive cleavage heaving above the top that wrapped her body. “So, Monica, are you married?” he asked.
She hesitated, as she played with the rings on her left hand with the thumb of the same hand. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter tonight,” she replied while smiling.
He felt as though this relationship had been defined from the moment of its inception, and he became sure of it. His body tingled with excitement as he be-came caught up in the thrill of the chase. There was nothing about her that could deliver him from his emotional malaise, but she would fulfill his most basic of needs. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like,” Richard paused. He was going to say Raquel Welch, but felt she would be too young to know Raquel. Out of the blue, it came to him, “Christina Aguilera?” The moment the words came from his mouth he realized that he had never given Susan a compliment like that. Maybe it was because she was such a beautiful woman in her own right that her beauty didn’t need to be justified by such a comparison.
“No. That’s so sweet, though,” Monica said. “Ever since I’ve gone red, my father calls me his little Raquel Welch.”
Richard tried not to laugh. “Yeah, I can see that. They are both beautiful women.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Now let’s see … who do you look like?” She examined every inch of Richard’s face. “Yeah, that’s it. I saw this actor once on a television show. He’s older, like you, I think his name is Timothy Hutton.”
Richard once again chuckled to himself at the irony that Timothy Hutton’s career had spanned decades and yet Monica seemed to be aware of only an obscure television show. “I know exactly who you’re talking about. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant to be one,” Monica said.
The two sat for over an hour drinking and talking mundanely. Richard had quite a head start on Monica, and he drank water while she quickly drank four fruity, yet powerful drinks. She slid off her shoes, allowed them to drop to the floor and began to rub her feet along his shin, sensually caressing his leg. He took one last sip of ice water. “Monica,” he announced, “I’m a little too old to play footsie with you. Let’s cut to the chase. Would you like to take a walk on the beach with me?”
She did not respond. Instead, she slid herself from her stool, reached down and picked up her shoes and began to walk toward the door. Richard was not sure if he was supposed to follow her, but he did. The two left the restaurant, walked across the deck, and went down the stairs to the beach. Giant floodlights mounted on the roof shined onto the sand below, which made it necessary for them to walk far away in order to have the privacy they desired. They walked to the shoreline, turned and proceeded down the beach.
“I know the perfect spot,” Richard said, as he pointed toward the house. The fifteen-minute trek provided them the opportunity to playfully frolic in the surf, and to embrace. Kissing Monica was odd. He was used to holding Susan. Her back was broader than his wife’s. It didn’t matter. He ached for a physical encounter with a woman, any woman.
When they reached the house, he almost pointed it out to her, then thought better of it. He walked over to the Adirondack chairs, where there was an over-sized beach towel Susan left a couple days before, removed it and led Monica to the secluded spot in the dunes where he and Susan had made love several times. Once the towel was spread evenly on the sand, he held her hand as she lowered herself onto the makeshift bed. He knelt beside her. They kissed. Richard untied her shirttail, re-moved it from her shoulders and laid it gently on one corner of the towel. She pulled away from the kiss and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. She slid it off his shoulders and down his back, then tossed it aside carelessly. He laughed.
Richard found himself unsure of whether he should pull the tube-top over her head or slide it down her hips and off her legs. It didn’t matter. She crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom of it and in one motion pulled it over her head, then tossed it aside in the same manner that she had done his shirt. There was no bra to remove. The cleavage that burgeoned from her top was still evident. Her breasts hadn’t moved. They’re fake, Richard thought as he reached out with his right hand and placed it on her left breast. He stroked her nipple with his thumb. No matter how gently he touched it, full stimulation did not occur.
After several minutes of wrestling each other from their remaining clothes they lay side-by-side on the towel, touching and pawing each other while vigorously kissing. He held a breast in his hand, but could not seem to concentrate on making love to this woman. Instead, he found himself thinking about how he could feel the difference between her natural flesh and the silicon pouch. He did not find this stimulating. It was more of a distraction.
Finally, he rolled Monica onto her back, and positioned himself over her. He took the time to look at her naked body. His eyes scanned every curve, slowly, all the way down to her waist. He leaned back, sitting on his heels. He looked over her legs and caressed them.
She drew in her legs and allowed them to fall open, inviting him to couple with her. He leaned for-ward and supported his weight by placing his hands on the towel on each side of her head. The sense of pleasure was broken when he threw his head back in ecstasy and opened his eyes. In the window of the house, swaying from side-to-side, and illuminated by the kitchen light hung the stained-glass heart that Susan’s father had given her. In that instant, Richard realized that he had once again allowed himself to succumb to an experience that would not last. Yet again, a casual relationship undermined one that was meant to be eternal.