About a week after the incredible night at Lindsey's, I got a call from Antony. He had another small job for me to do, but I was pretty sure he just wanted to get me over there so he could ask me what happened that night.
I pulled into his driveway on a crisp, sunny morning, and he greeted me on the steps.
"You've shown great patience Antony," I said with a smile. "I expected a call the next morning."
"Oh Stevie, you read me like a book. Come on . . . dish. Tell me everything," he said excitedly as he ushered me inside.
"I was up half the night looking out the window," Antony said. "Drove Donald crazy, but I could tell he was curious too. And then I saw Greta walk home at seven in the morning with her hair all matted down, and your truck was still there . . . I almost died! What a night you must have had! Tell me, tell me." He was giddy with excitement.
Before the girls and I all left that morning I had asked them what they were comfortable with me telling Antony, because I knew he'd want to know all the details. They all surprised me when they said to tell him everything, if I wanted to. So I gave him a pretty good run down of the whole night, and he was in heaven, listening like it was the best story ever told.
"Good God Stevie, good God! This old neighborhood's never seen such excitement!" he said, shaking his head in wonder after I had told him everything. "I have new respect for those women. I love Greta, but the others I always . . . they always seemed like the 'rich bitch' type, although I'm the first to admit I never got to know them properly. So have you seen any of them again?"
"No, but I hope I do," I said. "They're great girls."
Just then I got a text from Lindsey, who saw my truck in Antony's driveway. I texted back that I'd be over in two hours.
"Well, it's a good thing I've only got a small job for you," he said. "Wouldn't want to wear you out before your 'nooner'. I guess I shouldn't worry though, if you've got the energy to take on four women all night long. Good Lord almighty," he laughed, shaking his head again.
I finished up at Antony's and drove across the street to Lindsey's. She came out to greet me, dressed rather conservatively and looking a bit shy, both of which were sides of her I hadn't seen before.
"Hi Steve," she said as I walked up.
"Hi Linnie. You look lovely today," I said.
"I do not!" she said, "But thanks for saying so."
"What's the matter, you look down," I said as we walked into the kitchen.
"Oh, I'm okay, just having a bad day I guess," she said. "Seeing you helps. I've wanted to call you but couldn't make myself do it."
"I would have loved it if you'd called me," I said. "I hope it's not something I did. Are you regretting what happened here last week?"
"Oh God no!" she said. "That was the best night of my life! All the girls said that. No, you were like a breath of fresh air blowing through this quiet old neighborhood. No, that's not it at all. I just . . . sometimes I just feel old and ugly, and when I go down in that hole it's hard to crawl back out sometimes . . ."
"Old and ugly? Are you nuts? Do you know how many women would kill for your looks?" I said. I walked over and embraced her, and gave her a nice soft kiss.
"God I needed that," she said quietly, holding me tight. "Come on, let's sit." She took my hand and led me to a sitting area overlooking the massive deck and big backyard, and we sat on a long white couch.
"How old are you Steve?" she asked.
"Old enough to make love to you, young enough to make love to you, right in that sweet spot . . . same as you," I said, looking deep into her eyes.
"Oh God!" she laughed. "I've never met such a sweet talker. No, seriously, how old are you?"
"I'm thirty," I said.
"Just what I thought. I'm forty-five Steve, and . . ." I leaned in and kissed her, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"Steve! I'm trying to be serious!"
"Okay, if you don't want me to kiss you . . ."
"Of course I want you to kiss me," she said, punching me playfully. "I was just hoping you could help me sort out my thoughts."
"Okay, so you're forty-five, and . . . " I said.
"And . . . I don't feel attractive. It's as simple as that I guess," she said. "I never felt this way before my husband started wandering. And then since the divorce, except for that one night with you . . . well, it's been pretty bad. Don't get me wrong, that night was a huge positive step in the right direction, and I've been with Liz a couple of times since then. That's really loving and wonderful, but when I'm out in the world and want to feel attractive to men, I just don't feel it."
"If you don't mind me getting personal, when you go 'out in the world' do you dress like this?" I asked.
"Yeah, I guess so," she said sheepishly. "I mean I had this on before I saw you across the street. I didn't change, so yeah, this is sort of the normal stuff I wear. I don't go out in bikini outfits with lime green trim."
"Well, maybe you should. You looked incredibly hot and alluring in that, and . . . not so much in this," I said, fingering her 'middle-aged' looking chiffon top.
She grinned at me, obviously in deep thought
"I guess if I want to be attractive to men there's no one better to guide me than an attractive man. Will you go shopping with me?" she asked.
"Holy cow! I get to do a make-over on a beautiful woman! Antony will be so proud," I laughed.
"I'm serious! I want your help," she said, suddenly looking like she might burst into tears.
"I'd love to help you Linny. Lord knows there's wonderful raw material underneath this granny blouse," I said.
"You stinker! If you don't like it why don't you take it off of me and throw it in the garbage," she said, with a fire starting to burn in her eyes.
