Eleven (2 page)

On the outside, I was smiling and
laughing. On the inside, the pain was real and raw. Although the
stories were self-deprecating; I much preferred to throw the
punch-line, as opposed to being the punch-line. And the martini
brought on a warm, welcome buzz.

Once again, I found myself asking the
question, “What did I do to deserve this?”

When happy hour was over, I would go
home—alone. I would wash the day off my face and crawl into the
safe, secure haven of my waterbed—alone.

The pillow would muffle cries and
absorb tears as I pleaded to God, “If there is a good man out
there, Dear Lord, please help me find him—or help him find me.
Please.”

Chapter 4

S

I was broken. I was tired. I was fed up
with the losers who seemed intent upon hurting me. It was time for
a change. There was necessary work to be done. I needed to pull
myself up by the bootstraps, put my big girl panties on, and deal
with the mess I had made of my life. I wanted to blame the whole
world, the universe, fate, karma, kismet, sorcery, mankind—anyone;
instead of facing the source of the problem. The common denominator
for each of my failed relationships: Me.

The problem did not lie within who I
was, but rather in whom I was choosing. Somewhere along the way, I
had forgotten my value and my picker had gone haywire. As I looked
back on my recent forays into the dating world, it was easy to come
to the realization—I deserved so much better. And I was the only
one who could fix my picker! I obviously needed to use my brain to
make my decisions from now on. My heart was an idiot!

My mind was made up. No more settling
for less than I deserved. No more damaged, used, jaded excuses of
men who were carrying more than enough baggage to share. The time
had come to raise my standards. If I expected someone to appreciate
me as a woman of substance and value, I was going to have to find a
man of equal proportions.

Thank God for my girlfriends! They were
always there for me and carried me through every heart break. The
men would come and go: the women in my life were constant. Not all
of them had been through the same situations I had experienced. But
they had faced their own challenges and disappointments. They
knew—they understood.

On a lazy Sunday afternoon in late
August, we gathered at a friend’s pool for last dip of the year. As
we floated in the warm rays of the sun and sipped icy Margaritas,
we concocted a plan for my future. We created the blueprint for my
perfect match. We called him “the S man”: which became our
pseudonym to define a man who embodied all of the relevant
“s-words” we could think up. We decided he must be smart, stable,
secure, sincere, successful, sensitive, spiritual, seductive, sexy
and…sensual.

That’s not too much to ask for, right?
But where on Earth was I going to find him? I had already looked
everywhere with no luck. Yet I knew he existed. I closed my
eyes—and I could feel him out there; waiting for me.

Chapter 5

Empty Tank

Since all but two of the girlfriends
had dates that Friday night, we planned a girls’ lunch in place of
happy hour. We rushed in from the middle of our work-day and
quickly placed our orders so we could get to the business of
gossiping and catching up.

My friend at the opposite end of the
table leaned forward with a mischievous grin and inquired, “Hey,
have y’all heard who is single again AND back in town?”

My other friend exuberantly answered,
“Yes! I heard! AND you know who he would be perfect
for?”

All smiling faces turned their
attention to my end of the table. I swallowed the sip of sweet tea
I had just taken into my mouth. Great! I sighed, feeling the
gnawing suspicion that I was about to be the target of yet another
infamous set-up.

“
What? No, I haven’t heard.
I mean, who? Who are y’all talking about?” I cautiously
asked.

Our lunch platters were served and as
Southern women have the propensity to do, everyone began to engage
in conversation at the same time. Between nibbles of soup,
sandwiches, and salads; the comments began to fly in every
direction across the table.

“
His daddy died, so he came
back to take over the family farm and ranch land in
Texas.”

“
I heard they have land in
Colorado and New Mexico, too.”

“
Yeah, lots of oil wells on
their land in New Mexico.”

“
His mama said that he will
be living here, but traveling back and forth between the ranches.
He got tired of the rat-race in the Metroplex. He wanted to be
closer to home.”

“
Have you seen him lately?
Oh, God, he’s so freakin’ handsome!”

“
Oh, girl! If I wasn’t
already taken, I would go after him myself!”

“
I hear his ex was a real
bitch.”

“
She had to be! He has
always been such a good guy. He’s so much like his
daddy.”

“
I heard they were college
sweethearts. She snagged him early.”

“
Lucky bitch!”

“
Didn’t he get his degree in
Finance?”

“
I think so. Oh well, that
should help him with running the ranch and managing all the money
he just fell into!”

“
Oh, Hell, he won’t ever
have to worry about money. He’s got more than he knows what to do
with already.”

“
Yeah, I think he’s
officially a member of the ‘cologne cartel’ now. You know—they
drive around in their King Ranch cabs, smelling like a department
store’s cologne counter. They only risk getting dirty when they
roll their windows down to bark orders at their farm
hands.”

“
Did they have any
children?”

“
I think so. I think they
had two boys. They live with their mama in Dallas. She puts them on
a plane every other weekend to come see him.”

“
I’m sure they gave her
quite a bit of leverage regarding spousal support.”

“
That’s too bad. Boys that
age need their daddy!”

“
Awe, I bet he’s a good
daddy.”

“
He’d make a damn fine sugar
daddy!”

“
I hear he got his heart
broke pretty bad.”

“
I heard she had an
affair—early in their marriage, too! And he stayed with her! Can
you imagine?”

Then the attention turned in my
direction again, “Don’t you remember him?”

I did remember him; vaguely. At least,
I remembered his family. They were one of the most affluent
families in the area. They had gone to the same church my family
did when we were growing up. I remembered his grandfather leading
prayer on Sunday mornings and watching both of our fathers serving
at the communion table together on occasion. Our mothers would
always politely chat in the fellowship hall.

His daddy was well thought of; a
salt-of-the-Earth West Texan. He was unusually tall, with broad,
rugged shoulders. I remember; in spite of his size, he had a gentle
look out of his eyes. He was a good, Christian man. God rest his
soul.

His mother was a lovely woman. She was
an iconic Texas matriarch. She had helped her husband build their
business and even worked along his side during their early ranching
days. When their hard work began to pay off, she resigned herself
to a busy social calendar, decorating their estate, and focusing
her horse riding interest on cutting horses; until she reached the
age it was considered improper for a lady to be riding at all. She
was a rather tall woman with impeccable bone structure and posture
as straight as an arrow.

All their sons had been blessed in the
genetics department—especially him. According to my friends, he was
a “tall drink of water” and “easy on the eyes”. From my best
recollection, the last time I had seen him, I was only 4 years old.
He would have been 17 at the time. So what I remembered about him
wasn’t much.

In spite of my friends’ suggestions and
encouragement, there was something about the subject of him that
made me feel uneasy. Something felt intimidating in the thought of
him. Maybe it was our age difference. Maybe it was his money and
status—and my lack there-of. I figured he was out of my league.
Besides, the possibility of us actually meeting was slim to none.
I’m sure he had no idea who I was. I doubted if the remembrance of
a 4 year old me would stir any kind of recollection on his part. It
was a nice thought, but it was never going to happen. I no longer
had the energy to entertain fairy tales.

I politely smiled at my friends’
insistence that I should “Go for it!”; “Snag him while you can,
honey!”; “Get to him before someone else does!”; “You’ll never know
unless you take a chance!”—and replied, “We’ll see…”.

It was time for me to get back to my
office. I was already running 5 minutes late.

I said my goodbyes to all the girls and
asked my other dateless friend, “Want to get together after work
for a drink?’

“
Sure! Pick me up about
5:30. I’ll see you then,” she replied.

The afternoon was busy and passed by
quickly, which is always a blessing on a Friday afternoon of a busy
week. I swung by my friend’s place to pick her up and we headed to
one of our favorite watering holes.

As we were enjoying visiting over our
second round of Coors Light draft, dark clouds began to drift into
the area and the wind started to pick up. Just as they were
lowering the tarp sections of the patio in which we were sitting, a
loud crack of lightning flashed and the power went out. So we
finished our beers and decided to make a run for the
car.

We made it to my car just in time. As
soon as we closed the doors, sheets of rain started to blow across
the pavement. I started the car and switched the windshield wipers
to high. As I put my car in reverse, the gas gauge alarm began to
ding.

Damn it! In the busy hustle of the
week, I had forgotten to fill up my tank. It was below empty—well
below empty.

“
There’s an old Fina station
on the other side of the street about 3 blocks that way, if you
think we can make it,” she said, pointing down the
street.

So I carefully pulled out onto the
street and veered into the right-hand lane. The rain was coming
down so hard; I could barely see the street lights. As we coasted
into the gas station parking lot, my car began to sputter. The
engine died at the exact moment I pulled up to the pump. We looked
at each other and laughed. Whew! We had barely made it!

My friend offered, “I’ll go pay inside
if you will pump the gas.”

I gave her ten dollars, knowing I
didn’t want to spend the time to completely fill the car up in the
pouring rain. As soon as I saw her signal me, I got out of the car
and quickly removed the gas cap.

This was an older gas station and the
handles were situated on the side of the pumps, instead of the
front like the newer models. I tried my best to shield my eyes from
the pelting sheets of rain and reached out to grab the gas handle.
When I wrapped my hand around the handle, something didn’t feel
right.

Suddenly, I felt a warm, tingling rush
surge through my hand and up my arm. The handle was moving! Shit!
Had I been struck by lightning? I knew I shouldn’t be pumping gas
in a lightning storm.

I gasped when I realized that someone
else’s hand was already on the handle. I should’ve let go.
Strangely, I didn’t want to. I slowly moved my gaze up a tanned,
muscular arm to the edge of his wet sleeve. Streams of rain were
running down his arm onto my hand. When I peered up in
embarrassment to attempt an apology, I looked into the deepest,
bluest eyes I had ever seen. I stood there frozen in the pouring
rain with my mouth wide open in a gawk; my hand still squeezing
his. I must have looked like a drowned rat.

I slowly pulled my hand away and barely
heard his muffled reply as he told me he was already finished. He
returned to the dry comfort of his pick-up cab. He looked back at
me and flashed a sideways grin as he drove away.

Wow! Things don’t usually rattle me,
but I was trembling and felt jittery inside. What in the Hell had
just happened? My mind was reeling and my heart was
racing.

I hurriedly pumped the ten dollars’
worth and jumped back into the car with my friend. I couldn’t wait
to tell her about my impromptu encounter with the handsome
stranger. We were both drenched and wiping the mascara from below
our eyes. Then I looked down and a wave of humiliation came over me
when I realized the white cotton blouse I was wearing was
completely soaked—and completely sheer.

Dang it! No wonder he was smiling—he
got a free peep show at the gas pump! At least I was wearing a
pretty bra. Oh, God! My cheeks and ears were burning from the
realization of what had just transpired.

My friend was breathless from her quick
jaunt to the car.

She had seen what had happened and was
excitedly repeating, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I have
goose-bumps! Oh my God!”

I laughed at her and said, “Of course
you do, silly! You’re wringing wet.”

She looked at me and smiled, “No! That
was him! It was him! The guy who was on the other side of the pump!
He is the guy we were talking about at lunch!”