* * *
It had started in the afternoon at work when Owen Wilson called him into the office about the Bodacker account. Jim and his team had worked hard on that one, and it had seemed to him that this was a particularly good advertising campaign. But not, apparently, to the Bodackers. They needed major changes right away. He made the changes they wanted, working furiously, and was surprised to find that he had missed his usual train. He tried to call Janet, but his cell was dead.
“Damn it!” he exploded. “I must have forgotten to charge it last night.” Using the office phone, he tried their house but there was no answer. Probably, Janet had already left to meet the train, and the answering machine wasn’t on.
Jim ran to the station, just in time to miss the six-thirty-four. Oh, boy! He walked into the station bar with bitterness in his heart. Sometimes things just piled up.
Two martinis made him feel a little better, and he got on the seven-oh-five train in a calmer mood, basking in the pleasant thought of how nice it would be to spend a quiet evening alone with Janet. She’d understand about missing the train. Besides, there was a good ballgame on television.
It stunned him a little when he opened the door and found the Carsons and the Blakes and that raven-haired man-eater there. He had completely forgotten that Janet had told him they were coming.
He had tried to be super gracious to everyone, hopefully making up to Janet for his tardiness. He had even been nice to the phony femme fatale the Carsons had dragged along.
It hadn’t been his fault the lights had gone out, but he had been ashamed that he had forgotten just where the breaker box was hidden, cleverly it turned out, in the basement. Janet hadn’t been much help either. She just bawled him out. Fortunately, he’d kept his temper, telling her, “Don’t worry darling. I’ll have everything shipshape in a moment” …or something like that.
When Trixie started playing music from her ipod, that had been the crusher. He was dead on his feet after a brutal day, and all he wanted to do was go to bed, talk to Janet, and tell her about the mess at the office. But no, that would never do! He had to dance with what’s-her-name. Of course, she was a good dancer, but ….
He had noticed Janet blinking her eyes, and he asked her solicitously, “Tired, baby?” She gave him some short, enigmatic reply that he was too tired to attempt to figure out. Then, on top of everything else, he had to take the Carsons home. Janie Carson had had one too many, that was sure, and he was unable to defend himself from her slobbery smacker when she got out of the car.
Then the man-eater’s car wouldn’t start and he had to take her home too. Miss What’s-Her-Name hadn’t had enough to drink. She had strongly invited him in, but he had excused himself because of the hour. Then the flat tire. Oh, boy!
Janet certainly had been in a fine mood when he got home, all those biting comments of hers that were anything but subtle. She dramatically pointed at the lipstick and shouted, “Look at the lipstick on your face! Where have you been for the last four hours, you wolf?”
Jim knew he had carefully explained about the kiss and the flat tire, but Janet hadn’t listened. Instead, she screamed something like, “That’s a lie, Jim! You were with that Todd woman in her condo, drinking and …and…”
“Darling,” he began soothingly, “you know you are being a bit silly. I’d like to apologize for being late this evening, hon. It was one of those things that couldn’t be helped. I….”
“Don’t sweet talk me, you bastard,” she screamed.
He held up his hand placatingly and smiled, as he recalled, trying to calm her down, “Please darling, the neighbors.”
Her voice had been shrill. “Jim Johnston, you beast, I’m going to Mother’s in the morning. And, I’m going to call our attorney and….” At least, he thought she had said something like that.
He had known then that could be no understanding between them. “Darling, you’re upset. I’m sure you had a hard day, and I know it was mainly my fault. Now, go to sleep, and I’ll use the guest room so I won’t disturb you.”
And he had taken his pillow and gone to sleep on that hard mattress in the guest room. He was always solicitous that way.
Jim shrugged and opened the paper again. Maybe she’d feel better today. Maybe, if he sent some flowers….
* * *
Jim got off the five-fifty-seven feeling better. The Beamer, with its freshly crumpled fender, was in its customary place and Janet was in it.
“Hi, baby.” Jim hesitated, wondering whether or not he should take a chance and kiss her. He took it.
The result was amazing. Her arms went around his neck, and she murmured, “Jim, darling, I’m so glad your home! Have a good day?”
He took a deep breath and grinned. “I wanted to tell you last night. I was late because I had to make big changes in the Bodaker layout, you know, the one my team and I have been working on for days. Today, Owen called me into his office to tell me the Bodakers loved the changes I made and they bought the whole campaign. Owen told me I would be in charge of the project and that there would be a significant bonus in it when the job is finished.” Jim finished with another grin, “Nice, huh?”
He wasn’t quite sure Janet had really heard him. “Yes, Jim, that’s nice,” she said in a dreamy voice. He stared at her. “Jim, the flowers. That was sweet. I never dreamed that you’d remember.” She finished with another kiss.
Oh, God, he thought. Remember…remember what? Jim smiled modestly, and said, “Well, I…” He let his voice trail off and held his breath.
“The anniversary of the day we got engaged! It was at that party of the Powells and…you….” Her voice trailed off too. Jim breathed again.
Her arm was linked with his now. “And I stopped at Moran’s today for gas, and he told me all about the trouble you had last night. You poor lamb, why didn’t you tell me?”
He knew enough to kill the smirk starting to form on his face.
“About last night, I was tired and grumpy. I’m sorry,” said Jim.
“Jim,” Janet said. “Let’s forget all about last night.”
“That suits me fine.” He looked at his image in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows. Sometimes, you just don’t know what the hell was going on in a woman’s mind.
* * *
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