I know, I said it would be just once. But I didn't know it would be so good or that I would remember it so well. Williamson was never much in bed. The rare times he turned me on I was drunk. Williamson was the only man I had ever been with, you understand. Not sure if giving my brother's Tulane friend a blow job back when I was in the eighth grade counts. And I did my share of fooling around in backseats but never too, too far. Then that Jack Strange came along last year, and everything changed.
Anyway, when Williamson died - I've been a widow now for what, 15 years? - I decided to devote myself to the paper. I had my one-fourth share in the cane farm and the lease property, so it wasn't a matter of making a living, and the Loros' tiny share of the Daily News was more of a civic duty than an investment. But, you don't want to hear about family finances.
Anyway, a couple of summers ago, the roofers working next door - two young Cajun guys - took their shirts off. Muscles like I'd never seen. I got excited right away. A feeling I had forgotten. That night, as I took care of my urges thinking about the workers, I decided I was ready to try it again. It just had to be the right man. No one I knew in this town, of course. I certainly wasn't going to go Baton Rouge or Lafayette to get picked up and fucked. Maybe a divorced advertising guy or widower in Dallas. Of course, no one who was married. Maybe. I'd just wait for the right oilman or lawyer or whomever.
Then, Jack Strange bought me that martini at Tony's.
Through dessert that night - I was the odd woman out as usual - I kept trying to figure out what to do. I was flattered, of course, to know that this boy/man was interested in landing in my bed: Why else would he send me that martini? I had heard about his bet with Elliot but like everyone else I assumed neither of them was serious. Why was someone so young interested in a woman not quite twice his age? After a few minutes, I stopped worrying about the why, and began thinking the how. I know I am still an attractive woman, and that night I remember I was wearing my stilettos, which are supposed to make my legs stand out and my legs are my best feature. I unbuttoned another button on my dress, but I didn't think that would make much of a difference.
I remember watching him through the plastic palms that separated the bar from the dining room. Maybe I was hooked even before the martini. But, of course, that was more curiosity than anticipation. He was short, skinny and not very sexy. He looked like he was 14-years-old. He never combed his curly hair, his glasses didn't fit and his suits were old and thread bare, though I presumed they were good - Brooks or Porter-Stevens, I'd guess. And, of course, that scar on his face.
Back to the martini.
We were the last to leave the dining room. The judge and his wife walked me to the door, where I excused myself and went to the powder room. Then I walked into the bar, which I could see was getting ready to close, too. Jack was sitting at the bar, drunk. Of course, I was not exactly cold sober myself. So I bought us both a drink while we exchanged small talk. Despite the obvious clues where the evening was headed, I don't think he realized that I was as interested in landing him in my bed as he was. I tried to let him carry the conversation and the evening, but he was too tongue tied or too shy or too drunk. When that plan didn't work, I went with my instincts and talked him up a bit and touched his arm and chest, and brushed the back of my hand against his leg. I considered putting my hand on his leg, but that was probably a bit too forward, at least in public. I felt pretty confident and more than a little in command of the situation. However, I had to let him think he was doing the seducing. . . at least a little.
He tentatively suggested without suggesting that we go to his apartment, but I wasn't so sure that was a good idea. I got the impression he was having second thoughts. At that moment, I'm not sure he believed I really intended to "do" him.
I got tired of dropping hints, so when it became apparent the staff was closing everything up, I invited him to my house. I told him to be there in an hour. But I could have said half an hour or less, as long as we didn't arrive together.
When I got home I took a valium and began putting things in place: Cognac on the bar, pillows on the floor and sofa, jazz on the stereo, lights out everywhere, save a lamp in the living room and a night light in the hallway. I washed my face to remove the rouge and eye. And I removed my bra. I put my silk dress back on so Jack could take it off. A fire in the hearth and soft Sinatra in the air.
Then came the knock on the door. Suddenly I was nervous. Jack was the one who was supposed to be nervous. I waited a few moments to compose myself before opening the door.
