Secret, Page 3

The giggles finally won. And once they started, they wouldn't stop. Glancing at the clock, she went into the bedroom to change the soiled blouse, chuckling as she went.

  She grabbed an equivalent blouse and threw it on. She barely managed to stop giggling in time to open the front door when the doorbell finally rang.

  * * *

  "Hi," he said.

  His eyes scanned her quickly from head to toe, returning to her face.

  There was only one obvious response, "Hi."

  "You look great," he said. His eyes remained on her face.

  The compliment seemed sincere, even though it was also the obvious thing to say. She smiled and answered, "Thanks."

  "Would you--"

  "Are you--"

  "Go ahead," Ellen said.

  "Are you ready to go?"

  "Yeah. Let me grab my purse."

  He waited in the hallway as she turned and got her bag from the table near the door.

  His car was a deep red Honda Civic.

  "I don't remember seeing a Civic this color."

  "Kinda why I picked it. Most of the ones on the lot were blue, either a lighter or a darker version. This one caught my eye."

  He opened her door for her, holding it while she settled in.

  "A traditionalist," she thought to herself. She wasn't particularly surprised that he held her door based on the admittedly scanty knowledge she had of him. Like so many things in her life, she wasn't quite sure what she thought of that. In college, she had encountered a fairly steady stream of ... support for feminism. Rabid support, in many cases. Some of it she agreed with. Some she didn't. She did however like it when a guy held a door for her.

  The car was neat and clearly had been recently vacuumed. There was nothing on the floor. In fact, other than a neatly coiled wire that must have been his phone charger, there was nothing at all in sight.

  "OK. I need an honest answer here," Ellen said. Kris nodded. "Is your car always this neat?"

  "Honest, eh?"

  She nodded in turn. "Completely honest."

  "Not even close."

  "Whew!" Ellen sighed with a chuckle. "This is very nice and I do appreciate the effort, but I could never live like this."

  Kris laughed in turn and said, "Then you have no worries. I don't let fuzzy things grow under the seats, however, the rear floor was covered with empty water bottles just a few hours ago. I do occasionally grow fuzzy things in the refrigerator, however..."

  "So, what's on the agenda?"

  "I thought we would hit the theater at the Mall. Most of the mall will be closed when the movie is over, but there is a little shop that does coffee and has some awesome desserts that stays open till 11."

  "That sounds good," she responded. "They do have chocolate, don't they?"

  "In a thousand forms."

  "Sold."

  There was romantic tension in the theater. The movie had a tiny romantic sub-plot--which had nothing at all to do with her feelings. Ellen kept wondering where things might be going with Kris. Would he try to hold her hand? Should she take his? What if he put his arm around her? They had already held hands while dancing at the Christmas party, however, they had stopped as soon as it was no longer expected as part of the dance.

  He did none of the above. He would occasionally whisper a comment to the movie, most of which were rather humorous. She finally began to relax. Kris was going slowly. There seemed to be no chance that he was going to grope her in the dark, as one college boy she had dated had done. That had left an unpleasant aftertaste and had not led to a second date. She had actually not had the guts to get up and leave the theater, but she certainly never gave him an opportunity to try it again. Actually, she had not dated for some months after that.

  At last she decided he wasn't going to make a move. On one level, it was a bit disappointing. Didn't he like her? On the other hand, if he hadn't liked her, he wouldn't have asked her out. About halfway through, she leaned back and enjoyed the movie, laughing as Kris provided critical, if somewhat disrespectful, commentary.

  * * *

  The dessert place lacked "ambiance" though otherwise it was perfect. Among its many perfections was a large list of extremely chocolatey desserts.

  "You said there were a thousand forms of chocolate here," she complained with a pout. "There can't be more than a dozen."

  He laughed and retorted, "The rest were removed because they required a license from the FDA to serve. However, if you are up for something serious for dessert, try the aptly named 'Death by Chocolate.'" Ellen read the sign which claimed that 'Death by Chocolate' had four different forms of dark chocolate, while Kris added, "I don't believe the have yet called a coroner, but the ambulance has been here a few times."

  She laughed and ordered the suggested dessert and cup of mocha.

  * * *

  Dessert had been every bit as good as promised. And it was now getting stirred around in stomach by the madly flapping butterflies.

  Kris had been the perfect gentleman all evening. He had opened every door for her and paid for everything. He had laughed at her jokes. He had looked mostly at her eyes, other than a few glances down at her chest. Given that she had chosen the outfit for that very purpose she could hardly fault him for that.

  The reason for the butterflies was that they stood at her door. She was reasonably certain he would not invite himself in. He would have started much earlier in the evening if that was his intention. There was just a tinge of disappointment in that thought. Not that she actually wanted him to come in nor that she wanted to turn him down, but simply that everyone of her other dates--even first dates--since she had started college had involved sex. So tonight she was left with a sense that she must not be sufficiently desirable.

  Oddly enough, the fact that there was not going to be sex made the question of, "Would there be a kiss?" so much more important.

  "Thank you for a wonderful evening," she said.

  "You are more than welcome," he responded. "And I had a great time as well."

  "You are just saying that because I didn't make you go see the romantic movie."

  "For that, I am actually quite grateful. However, it was your company that made the evening, not the movie. Though that dessert..."

  She could not let that pass, and slugged him playfully on the shoulder, though in reality she had to agree. That dessert...

  "My father taught me to hold the door for a girl and to never kiss her on the first date. I have never forgiven him for the latter, nor have I ultimately regretted listening to him. So, good night. And I really did have a good time," he finished with a smile.

  Surprised both by what he said as much as the fact that he offered an explanation rather than a kiss, Ellen asked, "Really? Why?"

  "Why what? Why did I have a good time?" he said with a mischievious grin.

  Ellen supposed he thought he knew what she was asking. In reality, the first thought in Ellen's mind was, "Why on earth would you listen to your father?" She hated her own father with an intensity she had never completely explained to anyone--even Millie. And she had absolutely no respect for anything he said. Occasions where she discovered that he was right had left her fuming internally. She had done a number of things in her life for no more reason than that her father had forbidden her to do so.

  However, she dared not ask that question because she had no desire to even mention her father, and certainly not to explain the why of her anger to someone who suddenly seemed so unlikely to understand. So she quickly asked the question he was expecting, "Why no kiss?"

  Kris laughed, "He always said, 'Then what you gonna do on a second date?'"

  Ellen felt suddenly warm inside at the implication of a kiss on their next date. Even that was so much less than she had done on most first dates, and yet the thought of it was suddenly tantalizing. Teasing. A hint now, the reality later. And in between, delicious thoughts of what wa
s to come.

  She felt herself blushing. And hoping he would ask her out soon.

  * * *

  "Well?"

  Ellen knew that question from Millie required a long, detailed explanation.

  "Well, what?" she responded, carefully keeping her tone neutral.

  "If you don't tell all--and I mean every detail--I will come over there and strangle you. So unless you want your best friend to do hard time, you had better start talking."

  "Well, I certainly wouldn't want that," she laughed. And began telling her tale by spilling her food on her carefully selected top.

  "You didn't."

  "Did. Frightened nearly to death by a 'FIRGA.' Fortunately, I realized just how silly I was being. I started laughing and barely managed to stop when he showed up at the door a few minutes later."

  "How was the movie?"

  "OK. Lots of explosions. Kris seemed to like it pretty well. He kept me laughing through the whole movie with little comments. Then he took me to a dessert place I had never been to. Some amazing desserts."

  "And how was ... dessert," Millie emphasized the final word, leaving no doubt about what she was really asking.

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know? What do you mean? You walked home?"

  "No, no!" she laughed. "We had a wonderful time. He walked me to my door. Then while we were standing there, he told me his father told him to never kiss on a first date."

  Ellen remembered her shock at his words. What would it be like to have a father you respected? She had had that once. Once long ago. Before.... Before that time. She remembered walking down the beach holding her father's hand. Climbing over rocks while Mom looked on. Once a month they would go out for ice cream. Just the two of them. That is what made the betrayal hurt all the more. She felt tears for a fraction of a second before the heat of anger boiled them away. The old rage. How could he have done that to her mother? To her?

  "He didn't kiss you?"

  The words drug her back to the present. She pushed the rage away and answered her friend, "Nope. Not even a peck."

  "Wow. What a let down."

  "Until last night, I would have agreed with you..."

  "Really? You got it bad, eh?"

  Ellen thought. Was she falling for Kris? That was a silly question. The right question was how far and how hard?

  "Yep," she admitted. "I think so. It's different though. We didn't sleep together. He didn't grope me. He didn't stare at my chest. We didn't even kiss."

  "Is he gay?"

  Ellen laughed.

  "Not a chance. He didn't stare at my chest, but he noticed it."

  "Naughty girl."

  "Indeed. However, you interrupted. We didn't even kiss. And yet, I really want to see him again. I have slept with lots of guys that never intrigued me half as much."

  "Is he religious? Maybe he is saving himself for marriage?"

  "The subject never came up, actually. Would that be a bad thing?"

  "Maybe yes, maybe no. Kinda cute, really. But you can't save yourself for marriage. You went down that road years ago."

  Ellen hadn't thought about that. She had never much thought about being or not being a virgin. None of the boys she had dated before had cared. What if Kris was expecting her to be a virgin? A momentary fear clutched at her. Was it over before it started? Living up to people's expectations was hard enough. She had never thought that someone might ask from her the impossible. The tightness in her chest relaxed only very slowly. The doubt stuck with her even as the physical manifestation faded.

  "You still there?"

  "Yeah. I'm here. Sorry."

  "So, he's a keeper?"

  "Oh, yeah. He's a keeper." In her mind she appended, "If he still wants me..."

  Dark Inside

  Christmas might be the season of joy for some. For Ellen it was a season filled with anger and pain. Even a joyful image like that of a child wide eyed in anticipation as she opened a gift was like candy laced with poison. For just a moment, she could share the joy and the excitement. Unfortunately, the memories of long ago joy turned rapidly to bitterness and rage. Her most intimate relationships had been ripped to shreds by her father and his current wife.

  Her family had been destroyed. Bitter and vicious infighting between her parents. She and her brother flipped back and forth between households. Her mother dead.

  And every year she drove the two hours from her house to the house of the two people she hated most on the planet. She gave them cold hugs. Her expression would be carefully neutral, giving away nothing, she hoped. And she would force out fake smiles when they seemed to be necessary.

  When the food was eaten, the gifts opened, and some wine drunk to numb the pain a bit, she would make excuses and get out of the house as quickly as she could. Before she got into some bitter argument with them.

  That at least was the plan. In reality, she never managed to leave soon enough. Or perhaps she didn't want to leave without a fight. She rarely admitted to herself that such a possibility existed. And yet, when she was really, really honest with herself, she feared it was so. She wanted a chance, just a tiny chance to inflict on her father just a tiny fraction of the damage he had done to her.

  And, as far as she could tell, he still didn't know why one day his loving, adoring had turned on him like a wolf on a wounded deer.

  It was all because of a secret.

  * * *

  She had talked to Kris every day since the date. He had asked her out again, however, they had not yet worked out a time that fit both of their schedules. The Christmas holiday was confusing both of their schedules. They were going out on New Year's Eve, but they were both trying to figure out sooner time.

  In several conversations, they had both tried to ask each other about family visits. However, neither had wanted to come out and ask nor more specifically turn down an invitation. Or be thought insensitive. After a lot of hemming and hawing, Kris had said, "OK. I am making a fool of myself. I feel a bit like I should ask you over to my folks' house for Christmas. However, I am not ready for that."

  She was a hair disappointed on the one hand. On the other hand, she was relieved. Very much so.

  "Whew!" she replied. "And even I don't want to go see my dad. I would never dream of asking you to put up with that."

  "You and your dad don't get along?"

  "No," she said, her voice flat. "And I don't ever see it happening."

  "That's too bad," he offered after a moment.

  She was fairly sure he wanted to ask her what had happened. And she was just as sure that she didn't want to talk about it.

  "You don't want to talk about it."

  "No."

  He had left it at that. Ellen suspected it would come up again later. She was just glad for now that he had not forced the issue.

  * * *

  Her father had obviously moved out before the divorce. He and his new wife had bought a house after they had gotten married. After a promotion a few years ago, they had moved up and into a new house. Two stories. Three car garage. 3600 square feet. Lots of marble. Fancy kitchen. Thick, soft carpets. They had filled it with expensive furniture and covered the walls with expensive art.

  She sat in her car looking at it. It was a beautiful house that she hated. It was in every way beautiful. She knew her mother would likely have loved it as well.

  Which is what made it so awful. The house screamed, "I dumped you and your mother. I left you with barely enough money to keep the old house. Then I went out and got a new wife and bought a big new house. Just so that I could rub your nose in it."

  She drew in a deep breath. There was no point in sitting out here getting angry at her father. She should go inside where she could be furious at him in person.

  "God," she thought to herself, and if there was a God, prayed, "I hate him. I hate him so much."
>
  * * *

  "Hello, Ellen," her father greeted.

  "We are so glad you are here," his wife added.

  "I wouldn't miss Christmas," she added with her sincerest fake smile. Silently, she added, "Though I would give my left arm to be elsewhere.

  * * *

  "You what?" Ellen exclaimed.

  "I set you up with a friend's son. One of our client's son is going to be here a few days. A VP, in fact. His son is already a department head. Rising very quickly."

  "I don't care if he is the son of the President of the United States of America. You have no right to set up a date for me," Ellen said, carefully not holding back the anger bubbling up inside her. "Last time you did that I very explicitly told you. No more dates. No more meetings. Do not arrange meetings between me and any man."

  "It's just coffee. He is visiting from the East Coast. He wanted to see a few of the local sites and doesn't know anyone. When I heard, I knew you would want to help."

  "Well, you were wrong."

  "Now, don't be like that..."

  "Like what? Wanting to be treated like a person? Like I had a life and might be already doing something..."

  "You said you weren't seeing anyone..."

  "That doesn't mean that you can arrange a date for me without asking!" she yelled.

  There was a moment's silence.

  "He got in last night," her father continued, ignoring the outburst. "I told him to meet you at 8PM."

  "Did you?" Ellen said, her fury actually keeping her from getting the mounting flood of angry words out of her mouth.

  "Yes. He will be wearing a bright blue shirt. He is about six feet tall. Here is his cell phone number," he finished, holding out a business card.

  "That's nice. I hope you have a good time."

  "No, dear," he said forcing a laugh. "He wants the company of a young woman."

  "Well, then hire him a hooker," she responded, somewhat shocked at her own words. "I am not going to be there."

  "Now, dear. This is a very important client. His business is very important to us."

  "Then hire him an expensive hooker."

  "I told your mother..."

  "My mother is dead."

  "I told your mother that you might be like this."

  Ellen stared at her father. He was talking in the same calm, measure voice he had when they had had arguments when she still lived at home. The voice that said, "I don't know why you are out of control. I am being quite reasonable."