I should have been telling her,No, please,don’t stand. Have a seat. But I was so transfixed with our fingers touching, with her natural scent—neither stale nor perfumed, but fresh—affecting me. So I stood there for a heartbeat too long, simply holding her hand as I enjoyed the moment.
Her head tilted a bit to the side as she studied me, silently asking with her eyes why she was here. She was obviously not entertained or the slightest bit excited by my dinner request, let alone with my inability to release her hand.
When I finally let go, her arm dropped back to her side, and she gazed down at the tiny pulse beating in her wrist. Perhaps she felt it too? Then she sat back down.
Sitting down across from the woman of my obsessions, I leaned in and spoke. “Bess, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m sure you’re curious as to why I invited you here.”
This was where I meant to tell her the truth. At the very least, the part that related to her. Not everything; not even the most well-equipped, overly trained shrink was prepared to handle that news.
I should know. I had one of those back home.
After finally being in the obviously confused girl’s presence for a few moments, I gathered she’d become a private, self-contained person. No longer the wild coed reeking of booze and all-night partying, this was a young lady who would not appreciate me bringing up the sordid details of the past.
Clearing my throat, I continued. “Well, Bess, I run a fairly large hotel management company. We provide software that monitors and graphs all functions of the hotel from occupancy to profit to soaps used, and then my staff interprets that information in a million different ways for management. The WildFlower would like to do business with me, and I want to really get to know their operations and staff first.”
“Oh.” She relaxed slightly, sitting back more comfortably in her chair as she out let a sigh of what appeared to be relief. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wrigley,” she said, her hands still clasped in her lap.
I leaned forward in my chair, keeping eye contact as I added, “Lane, please. I hope it’s okay I call you Bess?”
“Yes. That’s fine. So, what can I tell you about the WildFlower?”
My pulse rate ramped up at the idea of her wanting to get right down to business and hurry up with our dinner. Wanting to slow things down a bit, I changed tactics.
“How about we order a drink?” I suggested. “Something to eat? And then we can get to the nitty-gritty? Sound good?”
She nodded her head but made no move to pick up a menu. I waved for the server, who rushed over and gave Bess a big smile and quick greeting before asking what he could bring us.
“Water with lemon, please,” Bess answered.
“I’ll take a beer on draft, whatever you have that’s local. And how about something to eat?” I said to the waiter and then turned to face Bess. “Do you like fried pickles? I have to admit, they’re a weakness of mine,” I asked her with a wink.
“Sounds great,” she answered with a small smile, and our server rushed off to pound our order into the computer.
“You know, it feels good to be back around here. I went to U of Pitt and from time to time, my fraternity would come up to the country and cause havoc. Hayrides and bonfires ... Crap, it feels like forever ago,” I said, spewing off shit I never really discussed. Sitting up straight, I apologized for my walk down memory lane.
Bess sat there quietly, not offering much. She definitely didn’t mention going to Pitt herself.
“Well, there isn’t much to do around here,” she finally said softly. “So I can only imagine what a bunch of bored college guys could get into.”
“It is quiet. Do you like that?” I asked her while leaning in.
She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the arrival of our drinks.
I watched as she thanked our server, gifting him a big smile of gratitude, and I wasn’t sure if it was for bringing the drinks or for interrupting our conversation.
As the waiter turned to leave, I said to Bess, “Go on, you were going to say something.”
Focused on squeezing her lemon into her water, she kept her eyes on the glass when she said, “Yeah, I guess I kind of like it now. Actually, I took some classes at Pitt too. But I think this area suits me better.” She kept her gaze trained on the table, watching her own hand lift her water before taking a drink.
I took a long swig of my beer before answering. We were heading into the twilight zone, only Bess didn’t know it. I knew she went to Pitt and what happened when she lived on the college campus, but she didn’t know I knew, and that made me uncomfortable. My insides began to burn with anxiety, causing heat to travel up my throat, and I nearly sighed aloud with relief as the beer cooled the flames of embarrassment inching up my neck.
“Really?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Uh-huh,” she said with a nod.
“What a coincidence. Small world,” was what I said next. Why? I had no fucking idea. Maybe because I liked feeling uncomfortable and shitty? After all, that was my norm—feeling crappy.
I decided to move the conversation along and carry us out of dangerous territory. “Well, I have to say, I was dreading being here in the damp weather, but the good news is that it’s grounded me to my room. I’m getting a ton of work done without the distractions of living on the beach.”
