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COURTING BATHSHEBA
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COURTING BATHSHEBA
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COURTING BATHSHEBA
On a sunny spring day Ann MacLeod celebrated her fiftieth birthday by getting divorced, going shopping, and getting laid.
The last hadn't been on the agenda when she left the house and drove into town for a day of self-indulgence and some maudlin reminiscence. Her son had sat at the breakfast table as she readied to leave, picking at his scrambled eggs and eyeing her with grave concern.
"Jason, stop it,” she said and tossed her keys in her purse. “You've been doing that since yesterday."
His wide-eyed, innocent expression was less than convincing. “Doing what? I'm just sitting here eating.” He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth for emphasis.
Ann stared at him over the rim of her sunglasses. “Please. You know what I'm talking about. You're drilling holes into my back every time I walk in the room and looking at me as if I'll drop dead any minute. I'm divorced, sweetie, not dying."
He put his fork down and sighed. “Yeah, I know. It's just weird. Even when I've had months to get used to it, it's still weird. I can't believe Dad wanted out."
She shrugged and walked to the table. “Well, he did, and to be honest, so did I.” She kissed the top of his blond head. “I know it's tough. There are moments when I think it's strange, too. If it makes you feel any better, your dad and I are probably better friends now than when we lived together."
Ann didn't lie. For the past eight years of their marriage, she and Peter had shared a house, the bills, and nothing else. At first, it hurt and confused her. Peter had never been a passionate nor demonstrative type, even in the first few years of their relationship. Time, children, and a growing distance too wide to bridge at the end had led to an atmosphere of quiet resentment and barely civil conversation. When he'd asked for a separation, Ann had been almost relieved. With the divorce, she found closure.
Her stomach turned a little when she received the divorce degree the day before her birthday. Somehow, making it official made it unavoidably real. Still, she had no regrets. Twenty-six years of a life with someone you once loved wasn't wasted in her opinion. They were just part of life's lessons, and she planned to put them to good use in her new single status.
"Want me to go with you today? It is your birthday. We can do whatever you want.” Jason raised his set of keys and jingled them.
Ann laughed. “Aren't you and Kim supposed to spend the weekend together? I thought there was some big gathering on campus."
He shrugged. “The main stuff takes place tomorrow. I can be with you today."
She wanted to hug him. Of her three children, Jason had always been the one closest to her, the most protective. Ann enjoyed his company, but today was her day-time for her to just breathe, loiter in the stores, and do what she wanted without regard to someone else's wishes and desires. Time to consider a new phase in her life.
"I'll take a rain check. You two have been talking about this for a couple of weeks now.” She kissed his cheek. “See you later. Have fun, and tell Kim I said hi."
An hour later found her parked on a quaint side street just off one of the city's most popular shopping districts. Ann spent the day browsing the stores, enjoying the sunshine, and treating herself to a couple of books from an independent bookstore that specialized in rare editions and was monitored by a huge cat the owner affectionately called Smedley. As a last indulgence, she bought herself a small box of expensive chocolates.
"A measly box of chocolate shouldn't cost this much,” she murmured under her breath as she fished the box out of her shopping bag. Obviously a savvy someone in a corporate marketing department had a handle on the consumer mentality. Stick a picture of a naked woman riding a horse on a piece of chocolate, wrap it in a shiny gold box with a fancy ribbon, and people paid small fortunes for the chance to enjoy one of life's guiltier, high-calorie pleasures.
She turned the small box over in her hand repeatedly as she made her leisurely way down the sidewalk. The chocolate was a frivolous purchase, but today was her fiftieth birthday, and some days deserved a little more frivolity than others. An ornate clock showcased in a shop window caught her attention. It was almost 5:00 P.M. The hours had flown by. It had been fun, but it was time to get home.
Ann was less than a block from her car when the sound of music drifted to her ears from one of the Victorian-style buildings lining the walk. She paused and glanced up at the sign. O'Malley's Irish Pub. But the music pouring out the doors into the street was distinctly Latin. Someone in there played Spanish guitar with his soul on the strings. The flamenco tune pulled her toward the door like a sleepwalker.
Before she realized it, she was standing in the entrance, blinking rapidly to adjust to the pub's dim interior. It was a tastefully decorated place, paneled in burled walnut, with soft ambient lighting casting amber shadows across the walls. Tables shared space with intimate booths tucked into alcoves for privacy. The clientele was a mix of weekend shoppers and college students. Half the tables were full, and Ann suspected that by nine or ten, the place would be packed with patrons.
She gazed at the stage where the guitar's seductive strains originated. A man sat relaxed in a chair, surrounded by instruments and sound equipment. He was lost in the music he made, head bent as his fingers fluttered across the guitar strings, caressing and dancing with delicate skill. Ann wondered if he pictured a passionate Spanish dancer behind his lids as the music spun a hypnotic web throughout the pub, entrapping the visitors who listened and clapped in time to the rhythm.
It would be nice to stay and hear more of the beautiful music. After all, a birthday was a time to indulge. A box of expensive chocolate, a glass of wine, and a few minutes of listening to the strains of flamenco were not going to bring the world to an end. Besides, there would be no one at home when she got there except the pets, and they wouldn't begrudge her another hour. Ann stepped inside.
The bar was deserted, patrons preferring tables close to the stage. She found a seat and set her small package down with her bag. The bartender approached with a smile, a tea towel slung casually over one shoulder. Before she could call her drink, he tapped a finger on the chocolate box.
"I have just the thing to go with that chocolate. My wife swears it's a combination almost as good as sex. You a wine drinker?"
Ann laughed, surprised. “Yes. What do you suggest?"
He held up a hand and went to the far end of the bar where a wine refrigerator stood recessed into a back wall. He returned carrying a chilled bottle and a single glass. She watched as he expertly popped the cork and poured a tawny colored wine into the glass, swirling it around before handing it to her with a flourish.
"Take a whiff, and tell me what you think."
She brought the glass to her nose and breathed in the wine's cool bouquet—fruity, with a hint of vanilla and sugar. “This is lovely. What is it?"
"Lagrima. A sweet white port. An excellent dessert wine that goes well with chocolate. Try it out with some of yours, and I swear you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."
A tentative sip and her eyebrows rose. The port tasted as good as it smelled. Ann grinned at the bartender. “Thanks for the recommendation. I bet this would go well with birthday cake, too."
"Your birthday, today?” Ann nodded, and he gestured to the glass. “Then it's on the house. Enjoy.” He waved away her thanks and left to take another drink order.
Decadent as the chocolate, the port was cold, sweet and heavy on the tongue. She could see why the man's wife liked it so much. Ah well, no time like the present. The rich scent of chocolate drifted to her nose as she opened the small box and eyed the four pieces of candy nestled in their wrappers. Of course, it would have to be the truffle.
The first bite of chocolate followed by the sip of wine, and she understood why some thought chocolate and port equaled great sex. Her taste buds were in the midst of an oral orgasm. The flamenco music continued to thrum in her ears as she sinned against every dietary god ever created.
Ann finished her truffle and turned to watch the guitarist play. He surveyed the small crowd in the pub, smiling briefly at some of the patrons who sat near the stage. He was a handsome man, somewhere in his thirties she guessed, with long legs and a slim physique. Auburn hair hung in casual waves to his shoulders, and he sported a close-clipped beard the same shade as his hair.
Dressed in jeans and a cotton pullover, he cut an attractive figure. Judging by the flirtatious smiles he received from a table of young twenty-something women, Ann wasn't the only one who thought so. She mentally shrugged. Who could blame them? A musician—bohemian, with a sensitive face, wide smile and graceful hands. That type had a certain appeal no starched up business suit with a fist full of money could ever match.
He caught her gaze and winked. She shook her head and turned back to the bar, smiling into her wineglass as she took another sip. What a flirt.
The guitarist played a few minutes more before the music faded to silence. A round of applause from the growing crowd of visitors followed, along with calls for more music. With the strains of the flamenco replaced by a more contemporary recorded tune, there was no longer any reason to linger. Ann considered downing the port in a last gulp before leaving the bar and making the trek home.
Wine splashed against the glass as a low, smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hello. Mind if I take this seat?"
She stared at the guitarist in open surprise for a moment before glancing down the length of the bar. There were several empty chairs for him to choose from besides the one right next to her.
He followed her gaze. “I don't want to bother you. I can sit somewhere else."
She had no doubt he'd be enthusiastically welcomed at any of the occupied tables if he chose. Why on earth he asked to sit by her was beyond her, but she didn't want to be rude and planned to leave soon. What could it hurt?
"No, no. Please sit. You're not bothering me. I have to go soon anyway.” A faint shadow of disappointment crossing his features.
He gestured to her glass. “What are you drinking?"
"Port. The bartender recommended it for the chocolate."
Her new companion smiled. “Mike has a sweet tooth a mile wide and is a real connoisseur of dessert wines and candy. Knows his stuff.” He pointed to the opened box of chocolate with its missing piece. “I see you took his advice. What did you think?"
He must be a regular. On first name basis with the bartender and familiar with the man's particular gastronomic tastes. She gave him a tentative smile. “Wonderful stuff. Almost too sinful to consume, but I've shoved away the guilt for a minute or two."
Mike interrupted their conversation and slid a tumbler of amber liquid to the guitarist. “Hey, Dave. Nice practice. You gonna play any of that next Saturday, or are the guys not including it in the set?"
"Not in the set. I doubt the usual Saturday night crowd would go for that kind of thing."
Ann thought that a shame. The music was what drew her into O'Malley's, and she told him so. “I thought the flamenco was beautiful. I heard it when I was outside and had to come in. I understand Spanish guitar is hard to master."
He smiled, the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes deepening. “You like flamenco?"
She nodded. “Yes, I do. It's not something I listen to often, but I heard you play and couldn't resist coming in to hear more."
Mike tapped the bar's edge with his hand. “See? I know a good thing when I hear it, dude. You draw in customers on your own. If the band won't agree to play it, why not try a few sets on an off night? Wednesdays maybe? The crowd's not bad at happy hour and most come in during the week to blow off some steam and relax before heading home. They're not up for a lot of guitar riffs, just some good tunes. Something a little different from the usual fare. Think about it. And with it just being you, you'd have a hundred percent of the take."
Her new companion shrugged. “I'll think about it. But it won't be regular until summer when school's out, and I have the time off."
The statement caught her interest. “Are you a teacher?"
"Yeah. High school. World History.” He held out his hand. “I'm David, David Abrams. I go by either Dave or David.” He had long fingers and short, well-manicured nails.
She shook his hand, feeling the rough slide of a palm and callused fingertips against hers. “I like David more than Dave. I'm Ann."
"Ann what?"
Handsome yes, but still a stranger. She was wary of saying too much. “Just Ann."
David raised an eyebrow. “Well, Just Ann, are you in town shopping the district today?"
She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to engage this man in conversation. Situations like these were very much out of her comfort zone, especially now that she was officially unattached. Still, they were in a public place, and his question was nothing more than an effort to make friendly conversation. Ann could imagine her son's comment.
"Loosen up, Mom. You're not on trial."
He was right. Today was the perfect day for relaxing and enjoying the moment, and who wouldn't enjoy the company of a handsome man with a winsome smile and a soul for music?
They spent the next few minutes in casual conversation as she finished her port, and he asked her questions. Ann enjoyed listening to him. He was soft-spoken, with a deep, articulated cadence to his voice. A constant thread of humor ran through his comments—nothing mocking, just natural, as if he laughed easily.
She told him of her reason for visiting the city. “I turned fifty today.” She waited for him to stiffen in his seat before making some polite excuse to leave and find company with others closer to his age.
Ann had no reason to hide her years from him. She was here for a drink, not a date. Besides, if the silver running through her shoulder-length hair and the shallow crows feet at the corner of her eyes didn't give him a clue to her age, he needed to see an optometrist.
She was proud of this particular birthday. At fifty she'd accomplished many of the things she'd dreamed of, both academically and emotionally. The woman she was at thirty and forty was a shadow compared to the one she was now.
She wasn't, however, used to attracting the attention of a man at least a decade younger than her. Call it new to the singles scene, but she found it odd that he made a point to seek her out and strike up conversation.
A pleasant warmth settled in the pit of her stomach when David waved Mike over and ordered another round for them both. Ann refused. “That's very nice of you, but I can't. I need to get home."
His lovely, whiskey-smooth voice dropped an octave. “One glass. A toast to your birthday. You don't have to drink it all, although it would be a waste of goo
d Lagrima if you don't."
He probably employed that coaxing voice often, convincing others, especially women, to go along with any plan or suggestion he might conceive. A high school teacher, eh? She'd bet good money the estrogen levels could be read on the Richter scale at staff meetings.
She smiled faintly. “You are a charming flirt.” He flashed her an answering smile. “All right. A quick toast and then I have to go."
Mike brought two new glasses, and David made the toast. “To Ann, a lovely woman with a fine taste for chocolate.” He tilted his tumbler toward her open box of chocolate. “Happy birthday."
Their glasses clinked together, and she sipped the port before sliding the gold box toward him. “I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Would you like a piece?"
"No thanks. While good with a port wine, it won't go so well with single malt."
They shared another toast. “So, what are your big plans for celebrating your birthday?"
Big plans? Ann shrugged. There weren't any. She and the kids would get together tomorrow night, go out to a nearby restaurant, come home, and have cake her eldest daughter bought at Ann's favorite bakery. After that, TV and bed. Not exactly the life of a socialite.
"Ann?” His question drew her out of her inward musings. He was gazing at her, still smiling, but with an intensity that made her wonder if her thoughts played out in her expressions. She answered him before he could read any more into her momentary silence.
"Probably just a family get-together. You know, cake, some cards. Loved ones singing off-key. The usual. Trust me, the more of these birthdays you accumulate, the less you want to celebrate them."
He laughed. “You can't look at it that way, you know. It's always good to celebrate a birthday. You made it through another year. You're not doing time in prison, in a trench fighting a war, homeless under a bridge, or attending a funeral. It's not celebrating getting older. It's celebrating being alive and well."
She eyed him, astounded. Awfully wise for one his age, and she liked his perspective. Overly optimistic maybe, but was that such a bad thing? “You know, I never thought of it that way, but I probably will from now on. Thank you for that. It's a good philosophy."