BARE HUNTER

The rest of the afternoon crawled by with a pile of financials needing attention. I laughed while looking through a column of numbers and saw Crane Brand- units (17) – White Porcelain- Standard floor model 00871—toilets = $645.59 per unit. on a sheet from the Pentagon.

After work, I was relieved not to find Becca crying on my doorstep. Thank God she was finally gone forever. She was almost as big a pain in the ass as my ex-wife was. At least I wouldn’t have to pay her alimony, and thank God for Trojan super sperm-killing condoms, I didn’t owe her child support.

I tucked a couple of migraine pills and a Paroxetine into my pocket before leaving for this fun birthday party, just in case. Then, I grabbed my old backpack and stuffed it with a bottle of water, baby wipes, and some old running clothes, in case I needed to let off steam after the party.

Cars lined the street in front of The Closing Time Bar & Grille, where, a few nights previous, a dozen patrol cars had been parked. The sight of the bar gave me willies. I couldn’t explain why. Sharon exited her car next to me and we walked in together. Fifteen minutes into her big night, Phyllis was already drunk and dancing on a table, threatening to do a strip tease.

The bar was packed, so Sharon and I found a dinky table in a corner. I went to the bar to get our drinks. Sharon was a little older, but still in pretty good shape and not slutty, like Phyliss. I never paid much attention to her before tonight. Maybe we could get to know each other. I think she had brown eyes and red hair, but I wasn’t certain. She had nice tits and legs. I wouldn’t mind doing her.

When I returned with our drinks, the party was getting crazy, with people trying to get Phyllis off the table by clearing a space on the floor for everyone to dance. That made Phyl happy. Now, she had a line of office guys to fondle her. Sharon laughed, as she sipped her drink, looking at me from under her long, velvety eyelashes—and, yes, she had brown eyes. Very pretty brown eyes, too.

“So, come here often?” she joked.

“Only when I’m forced to.”

“When everyone gets drunk, you want to go to a nice bar and get something to eat with me?” She asked shyly.

“I would love that. Geesh, can Phyllis get any more disgusting? She tried to drag me out on the town earlier this week. I can’t keep up with her drinking,” I confessed.

“Yeah, people were talking like you two were getting married or something. I like Phyllis when she’s not drunk or horny.”

“Like, when does that happen?” I asked sarcastically, and we shared a good chuckle over imagining Phyllis sober and not on the hunt.

“You’re right. Not often. You ready to ditch this place? I doubt if anyone will notice if we leave,” she said, hitching a thumb toward Phyllis’s obscene dance party.

“Yep, you want me to follow you or ride together and I can bring you back when we’re done?”

“I’m more comfortable taking my car. Hope that doesn’t insult you. I was married to someone for over twenty years who kept me on a short leash. I like having the freedom to come and go.”

“Oh, okay. I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that. Sure. Where are we going?”

“Vince’s, over on 4th Street. They have a fantastic charcuterie and a mixologist, who can serve more than beers and screwdrivers. I hope you’ll like it.”

The place was quiet when we got there, with plenty of parking right in front. I opened Sharon’s door and helped her out of her little Toyota. She seemed surprised, as if no one had ever done that for her. When I opened the bar door for her, she wasn’t certain what to do. This woman hadn’t been treated right her whole life.

Small tables surrounded the dimly lit room, with a mahogany bar off to one side. Waitresses wore black uniforms with white aprons and shuffled around confidently, with huge cutting boards loaded with cheeses, loaves of bread, meats, and dressings, when they weren’t delivering fancy cocktails to patrons. What a change from The Closing Time. This place was warm, friendly, clean, and respectable. Sharon had good taste and I’d be coming back.

“Nice choice, Sharon. Wow, what a difference from Phyllis’s favorite spot.”

“I knew you’d like it. No loud music. No loud customers. Just good food and drinks.”

“And the best thing about it—no Phyllis!” I said as the waitress brought us a pitcher of lemon-infused ice water and asked what we’d like.”

“I’ll have the 4th Street Charcuterie Tray and a Strawberry Daiquiri, Please,” Sharon started.

“I’ll have an Old-Fashioned and a roast beef tray.”

“What kind of condiments can I bring you? Sir, what cheeses would you like on your tray?” the waitress asked.

“Wow, um, how about sharp cheddar and Swiss? Oh, can you bring some horseradish sauce and mustard?”

“Certainly,” she disappeared into the kitchen while Sharon and I continued getting to know one another.

“So, how long have you been divorced?” I asked, pouring us each a glass of water.

“God, ten great years,” she said.

“Going on two years for me,” I admitted, “unfortunately, my divorce is ending up as shitty as the marriage was.”

“I’m sorry. Some women get so angry they have to punish the guy, you know. All I wanted was my freedom. He could have the house, the boat, and the cottage. Screw that. Just let me out!” She laughed.

“Wow, it must have been bad. How did you get the nerve to leave?”

“One day, as I was sitting in a hospital bed, recuperating from one of his beatings, I realized it was okay for me to use the phone without his permission. I called a girlfriend, and she drove to Ohio with her husband and rescued me from the hospital. They lived in Syracuse, and when I had enough money saved up for a place of my own I moved here."

“I am so sorry you had to deal with all that."

“He was controlling, violent, and a great actor. Everyone thought he was wonderful, and I was the bitch,” she explained. “After I left, everyone, from his mother to his co-workers, told him I was probably having an affair, and that’s why I left.”

“Does he bother you now?” I asked, genuinely concerned for her.

“Not since I left Ohio. He doesn’t know where I ended up.”

“Thank God. What a life you must have had,” I commiserated.

“Hey, we all have our stories, don’t we? You were in the military, right? I’ll bet your stories are worse than mine.”

“Ha, not dinner conversation, that’s for sure,” I chuckled as our drinks arrived.

“Cheers to freedom!” she announced and clinked her glass to mine.

We continued getting to know each other over our meals and finished the night with one more drink, promising to do this again regularly. Sharon was an exceptional woman and I wanted to take things slowly. She was reticent and nervous about relationships, so I would have to be cautious.

I loved her laughter, soft face, that inviting smile, and those eyes. Not to mention her curves. How did I work with her all these years and not notice how beautiful she was? She was forty-nine but looked younger. Our age gap was only nine or ten years. From what I’ve read, that was perfect. I left the bar feeling hopeful and thankful I had gotten rid of Becca just in time.