Hopeless Romance (Or Something Like It)

    I spent the evening sneaking glances at his pants.  I don't even know what the fascination is with people's butts, but it's so expected these days to check them out that I can't help myself.  Anyway, I imagined what was hidden by those khaki pants and then remembered that I didn't have to imagine: I'd been in those pants, Mr. Garcia’s pants.  My face flushed as the memories rushed back again...

    Lawrence Garcia came to work in August as my new boss.  And he wasn’t a looker, per se, but he was confident in that way that I love, that way that everyone else calls cocky, but that I understand because it mirrors my thoughts.  People never call me cocky outright, but they mention ‘confidence’ and something about a ‘thin line,’ so there’s a pretty good chance I’ve crossed it more than once.  He was big, at least six feet to my five, and well built the way a mountain-biker or hiker might be.  He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black.  His eyes were a hazel-y, chocolate color, which I only discovered after spending hours looking into them.  He wore brightly colored button-up shirts: yellows, oranges, blues.  He wore nice pants and nice shoes.  I don’t care who you are, if you dress well, you’ve got my attention.
    He did more than dress well to get my attention though.  He always found a reason for me to help him, not any of my co-workers.  When he couldn’t figure out how the scanner worked, he called me over to a secluded corner of the department store where he was ‘checking prices’ or some such.  I began to wonder if he’d actually worked with this company for three months before coming to this store specifically; shouldn’t he already know how to use a scanner?  Scanner use is a basic step!  But I didn’t want to read too much into it.
    Once I showed him how to boot up the scanner into the correct mode, we talked for twenty minutes.  Not about work, but about things like where he was from and where I was from and Dollywood and Carowinds and roller coasters and beer and wine and high school and journalism…as it turned out, we had a ton in common.
    He gave me a ride home from work one day, when my car had broken down.  I was elated.  I didn’t realize at the time how against store policy this was, but I wouldn’t have cared anyway.  The more I worked with him, the more I liked him.  The more I looked at him, the cuter he got.  As we left work, he walked toward the passenger door and I thought to myself, “Oh no, he is NOT going to open my door for me!” but more than just opening the door for me, he also said, “M’lady,” as he helped me into the Jeep.  Swoon!  I tried not to look as thrilled as I felt while he walked to his side of the car.  He turned on some music, and to my surprise, it was right up my alley.  It was swing music, which I loved, and he started to tell me all about Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
    “This song makes me want to go out and buy a pin-striped suit!” he exclaimed.  I giggled like a schoolgirl and proclaimed my love for Michael Bublé, who sings old jazzy tunes.  I told him about the Apartment Warming Party that my roommate and I were going to have that Friday night and invited him.  He seemed really interested, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I told myself that he wouldn’t come.  My roommate worked with us too, so he had already met her.

    The Thursday before the scheduled Apartment Warming Party, he invited me out to play darts.  I didn’t plan on going to play darts, but I wanted to go hang out with him anyway.  I talked some friends into coming along, and we sat down for dinner, realizing that the area designated for darts was for 21 and up, and we were merely 20.
    "How old do you think he is?" Laura asked.
    "I don't know," I began, "28?  No more than 30?"
    "Oh, he's 31..." Lynn, my roommate, answered.  "Someone asked him at work the other day and I heard him say that.  31."  The three of us sat quietly, each making our own assessments of the situation.
    "Well I'll be 21 soon.  That's only a 10 year difference.  My parents are 12 years apart.  Besides, we'd be on a closer level, maturity-wise, right?" I asked.  They shrugged, clearly not thrilled that I was so gung-ho about all of this.
    We had some pizza, and as we got up to leave, he came downstairs from the dart room and smiled wide.
    “There you are!” he said happily.  “Why didn’t you come upstairs?”
    “We’re not twenty one yet,” I said.
    “Well then I guess we can’t go out and have fun…”
    “We can have fun, just, not out,” I said.
    “Well, then are we still on for tomorrow night?” he inquired about the party.
    “Actually, we canceled it because it didn’t work with anyone’s schedules, so, no one could come.”
    “And when did you plan on telling me?!”
    “Sorry!  You can still come if you want, but no one will be there,” I said quickly, hoping he wasn’t seriously offended.
    “Will YOU be there?”
    “Of course, I’m off work all day.”
    “So I’ll get there around five?” he asked.  He really wanted to come hang out with me at my apartment?  Truthfully I hadn't told him the change of plans because I didn't think he'd really come.
    “Sounds good,” I said, as coolly as possible.

    Friday rolled around, and Mr. Garcia was early.  He knew my roommate was still at work, and he wanted to get some alone time with me.  He didn’t tell me that exactly, but why else would he show up over an hour early?  We sat on the couch and watched TV.  It wasn’t anything special, really, but I’d never been pursued so seriously before, at least, not seriously enough for someone to invite himself over.  When my roommate got home, the three of us decided to order a pizza, and we ended up playing board games.  Board games!  How picture-perfect is that?  Anyway, he wouldn’t let us pay him back for the pizza or for the beer he’d brought over.  He claimed that as my boss, he probably did make more money than me.  We laughed.  At some point, I wondered how appropriate it really was for my boss to come to my apartment, buy me alcohol (I was a minor!), and stay past midnight.  But I didn’t care at all.
    Before he left he invited me out of town the next weekend with him.  He said that he had a cabin in Gatlinburg and that if I wanted to spend the day with him, he’d be happy to have me.  I thanked him for the offer and said that I would think about it.  As he stepped out onto the porch that night, he asked if he could get a kiss goodbye.  I grinned and said that he could have a hug.  He nodded and we hugged.  Then we waved goodbye, and I stepped lightly back into my apartment.  “Cloud 9” is not an appropriate cliché for how I felt…Cloud 9,000 maybe, but nothing in the world could bring me down.
    I turned over the idea of a weekend with Mr. Garcia.  Lawrence.  It was hard to remember that he wasn't my boss all the time.  I really wanted to go for it because I liked him a lot, but I’d only known him a few weeks.  I decided that I needed to talk to him some more before I knew whether or not I wanted to go with him, so on the Wednesday before the trip, after I got off of work that morning, I called him while he was still at work.
    “Hey Lawrence, it’s Chloe,” I said sweetly.
    “Heyyyyy, how’s it goin’?”
    “Do you have any plans tonight?  I get out of class at six, and my roommate is working until nine…I thought maybe you could come over…”
    “Yeah, that sounds good!  I’ll see you around six fifteen,” he said happily.
    My stomach felt nervous; we’d never really seen each other alone before.  I mean, the night we played board games was very innocent and friendly; we hadn't planned on being alone that night.  He arrived promptly at six fifteen, and I welcomed him inside.  We sat on the couch but this time we talked instead of watching TV.  Entire hours went by.  We talked about his years in high school, how he had been a great runner on the track team, his time in the Police Academy, all the cars he'd ever had, how each of his parents were with a new significant other...he seemed pretty proud of himself.  My roommate got home around nine thirty and went to her room, assuming we’d want to be left alone.  It was dark in the room and before I knew it, we were lying so close to each other that our noses were practically touching.  I memorized the way his hair was brushed back from his forehead, a few strands falling into his face.  His eyes seemed so entranced on my face, with a look so pure I’d never encountered one like it before.  His eyes moved from mine down the bridge of my nose and over my lips, up my cheeks and out to my ears, and back to my eyes again, while a smile formed softly on his lips.  I blushed and his smile grew.  He pushed his face closer to mine and touched his lips to my cheek.  His eyes became serious and he carefully kissed my lips - beautiful kisses, the kind with playful biting and cautious tongues.  If he had slipped his hand up my skirt, I wouldn’t have minded.
    “I am in such disbelief right now,” he said quietly.  “After the way you played it at work today, I thought you didn’t like me!”
    “That was acting.  I didn’t want anyone to suspect anything…”
    “You’re good.  I never thought I’d end up kissing you tonight.”
    “You’re so full of shit!”  I'm a hopeless romantic.
    “You’re perfect,” he mumbled after a moment.
    “Nothing is perfect,” I told him.  He said that I was beyond my years and that he couldn’t wait to get to know me.  I told him that it’d probably be pretty easy, since he was in charge of making my schedule.  He grinned and said, “This is going to be fun.”
    That night I had no doubt that I would be accompanying him to Gatlinburg over the weekend.

    The trip to Gatlinburg was amazing.  He grinned at me excitedly when we got on the highway.  He put his hand on my leg, halfway up my thigh, and squeezed.  The drive was only a little more than an hour and a half long, and we spent it listening to Michael Bublé and Frank Sinatra and wordless, jazzy tunes.  I placed my hand on his hand, trying to show him that I was interested in him, too, in case he couldn’t tell already by the fact that I’d agreed to spend the night with him out of town after having met him a mere two weeks earlier.  We didn’t say very much…
    We pulled up to his cabin, which was nestled up a road full of other cabins and similar getaways. We got out of the jeep and he offered to carry my bag, but I only had one.  I thanked him anyway and followed him up the old porch steps to the door.
    The cabin was tiny.  There were shelves along all of the walls, piled with books and knick knacks.  The kitchen was only slightly larger than the kitchen in my tiny apartment.  The TV in the living room was big though, a wide screen, and movies and video games littered the floor around it in stacks and stacks of titles I’d never heard of.  There was an inviting leather couch which made me think of Lawrence as quite the professional, making big bucks and buying leather couches.  He led me to the bedroom, which was almost literally just big enough for the queen size bed it housed, and we put our stuff down.  He showed me the second bedroom and the bathroom to finish the grand tour.  I’ve been in walk-in closets bigger than that full bathroom.
    “It’s so tiny!” I kept gushing about the little cabin, enamored with how picture-perfect it was - up in the woods, complete with odd knick knacks, puzzles and movies to pass the time on lazy days, and the smell of a fireplace that was surely used during cold days to erase everyday worries.  He smiled in a way that let me know he was happy to share this with me and see me so giddy.
    We brought a movie with us that he’d never seen before.  He put it in the DVD player and sat on the couch.  I stood in front of him.
    “Which side?“ I asked.
    He considered for a moment and then placed his left hand down and said, “This side.  I prefer you on my left.”  I sat close to him and got comfortable as we settled in to enjoy the movie.  His fingers stroked my skin softly, brushing up my arm, then down my back, over my rear, and finally resting on my leg.
    After the movie we staggered sleepily to the bedroom.  There was so much innocence in the darkness of that night.  He kissed me so sweetly, like I was the most important person in the world, nevertheless in that room.  Things escalated easily, quickly, but I wanted to do this the right way.  I wanted to be with him for him, and get to know him in the un-Biblical sense.  I didn’t want things to go too far too fast.  And I told him so.
    "I don't want things to go too far too fast, you know?" I said softly, feeling slightly like a child compared to him.  After all, in ten years I imagined he'd had a lot more experience with intimate situations than I had, even though I considered myself quite good at love and what it entailed.
    After that he put my shirt back down delicately.  "Okay, that's fine.  I just want you to be comfortable," he said.  Yeah, he definitely had experience where buttering girls up was concerned.  We slept together, literally.  Nothing happened and I felt so secure.  He was like a huge bear compared to me and I preferred it that way.  His arms swallowed me up comfortably, and I didn’t even need a pillow.
    In the morning he wanted to take me to his favorite pancake house even though he knew there would be a wait because of its popularity.  We arrived and, sure enough, a line twisted out the door for pancakes.  We walked in to put our names down and the hostess said, “Oh, we do have a table for two.”  He raised his eyebrows excitedly and looked at me like he was a kid about to enter a candy store, except that the candy store was a pancake house and he was a grown man.
    “I’ve never been here and not had to wait in line!” he exclaimed.
    “Well, maybe I’m your lucky charm,” I grinned.
    We sat and looked over the menu.  The place was absolutely packed and when our food arrived, I realized why.  It was delicious!  In the back of the restaurant you could see the chefs and a huge slab of butter, which was continually being whipped up and slapped into a deep mixing bowl.  The servers rushed back and forth, spooning big wads onto their plates for the customers.  This place was definitely better than IHOP.
    After a very filling breakfast, we hopped on some curvy mountain road and drove up to a hiking trail.  We spent at least three or four hours hiking up and down this trail.  Toward the top, just before the final ascension, some kids were throwing rocks over the ledge and they were dangerously close to hitting the hikers below - namely, us.
    "Quit throwing rocks, or I'll kick your ass!" he yelled up the mountain.  I had not at all been expecting such harsh words.  Who knew if the kids throwing rocks were five or fifteen?  I tried not to let it bother me too much though.  We were hot and had been hiking a long time, so maybe those elements were getting to him.
    The outlook at the top was amazing, and I was proud for having gone two miles up without being too slow.  Rocky ridges extended to the left and right, lending themselves to more careful climbing for willing hikers.  We were on a peak in the middle of circular valley, mountains rising up all around.  When we got back to the bottom of the trail, I took advantage of the stream by pushing my shoes off to wade around in the water.  My feet felt like they were bleeding after the four miles I’d just hiked, and the frigid water had never been more welcome to me.  When we got back to the cabin, the bed had never been more welcome to me either as I promptly passed out for a nap before dinner, Lawrence at my side.
    When we woke up we walked into the touristy town for dinner.  We went to the Hard Rock Café where he held the door open for me and pulled out my chair for me and paid for me.  I insisted that I had no idea these things actually happened and tried to pay him at least for my half of dinner, but he wouldn’t let me.  We talked about the necklace he always wears.  He got it from Hawaii. Carved out of some sort of bone by locals, it was a symbol that meant life goes on despite all the hard knocks.  He never takes it off, and I didn’t bother to ask why it was so significant to him.
    In the car on the way home from the trip, he put in one of his favorite bands and asked if I wanted to see what he did when he had an especially shitty day.  Sure, why not?  A loud song came on and he turned it up louder, yelling the words to the song...something about LIFE SUCKS.  I remembered the rock-throwing children, but this display was harder to ignore because we were in an enclosed area, and it was so loud, and briefly I wanted to get out of the car.

    On the Monday night after our weekend trip, he asked if he could stop by.  I said sure.  We hugged when he arrived, which was the new custom.  We sat on the couch and he got comfortable…comfortable enough that he looked like he’d be in that position for a while.  I sat near him and smiled naively.
    “Doesn’t it seem weird to you that you don’t really know anything about my past, or how old I am…?” he asked.
    “Well, I found out your age through some people at work…I don’t mind that you’re ten years older than me.  And I don’t ever pry into people’s pasts because some people are uncomfortable talking about them.”  The instances from the weekend flashed back through my mind and I briefly worried that he was an angry, bitter man and I was somehow the perfect thing for him to take it all out on.
    “Okay.”  He paused for a moment and clasped his hands together.  “There are some things I need to tell you.  It has been eating away at me for two weeks."  He paused again.  "I’m married.  But my wife wants a divorce.  This will be the third one for me.  She has said four words to me in the past month: "The truck won't start."  I live in the basement, and she gets the top part of the house.  I also have two kids from my two previous wives.”  He stopped to let his words sink in to my stomach.  “Especially after this weekend, I wanted you to be able to go into this with all the information so that you could make a fair choice.  I wouldn’t blame you if you went running the other way.”
    I considered what he had said for a long time.  I breathed in and out slowly to remain steady.  I wanted to make him uncomfortable, since he had just crashed down my hopes of being romantically involved with him.  As if it wasn't bad enough that he was ten years older than me, and my boss, now he has three wives and two kids, too?  He expected me to run the other way...what if I turned the tables?
    “What do you want?” I asked him.
    “To be happy.”
    I thought about his words, processing everything as fast as I could before I opened my mouth again.
    When I did, it was to kiss him, hard.  I practically leapt the length of the couch, landing in his lap and catching him entirely off guard.  What was he going to do, stop me?  I don't think so.  I grasped his face in my hands, an air of dead seriousness emanating from my body and  stinging his eyes.  At first he looked frightened, and he tried to act like he didn't want it, like he shouldn't do it, but who was he kidding?  You can't have three wives and two kids by pretending not to like anything that oozes sex.  I straddled his legs with mine, crashing my lips into his again.  Quickly I unbuttoned his shirt, thankful that finally my nimble fingers could be put to good use.  By then he was in that mode, the one where his brain shuts down and his body moves of its own accord.  He slipped his shirt off and his hands instantly went for mine, which came easily over my head and broke the kiss for only a second.  His belt was more difficult to unfasten because I’d never actually rushed sex like that before, but my determination won out and within a few extra moments it was unbuckled.  He sat up on his knees to take his pants off as I took off my own and before I knew it he was on top of me.
    At that point I was too wrapped up in the moment not to have sex with him, as I had originally just wanted to get him really turned on and then let him down somehow.  But I knew I could work it this way too.  I let the moment take over and wrapped myself up in all the reasons I liked him and let’s be honest, I wanted to get in those pants from day one anyway.  I knew I wouldn’t regret this choice, and desire had taken over.
    When our heads cooled and we got dressed, neither of us said anything.  I smiled at him coyly, hoping he would assume there would be more to come.
    “I’m really good at keeping secrets,” I said innocently.  He smiled a knowing smile, excited no doubt by having me as his little secret.
    “That sounds good,” he said, a gleam in his eyes.  He left as if random sex on my couch happens often, and I told him I’d see him at work.
    I began wearing the cutest outfits I had that would barely pass the dress code: heels that were almost too high, tops that were almost too low, dresses that covered almost too little, makeup that covered almost too much…it was actually a lot of fun.  I could see him watching me and then taking a deep breath and walking the opposite direction.  When no other management staff was in the store he would flirt with me, shamelessly trying to find a way to recreate what had happened the last time we were at my apartment.  On rare occasions, when the two of us happened to be in the same stock room by a token of the greatest luck, I took full advantage and ‘accidentally’ brushed against his front side or kissed his cheek when he wasn’t expecting it.
    Finally I got called in to the store manager’s office one day.  Lawrence was on his way out when I came in and he looked determined and pissed.  The store manager told me to close the door behind me and then have a seat.
    “It has come to my attention,” Mr. Price, the store manager began, “that Mr. Garcia has been acting inappropriately toward you.  I suspect that you haven’t come forward regarding this matter because you have been too afraid or nervous to do so…”
    Mr. Price continued and when I realized what was going on, that Lawrence was getting busted for sexual harassment, my face flushed and tears were easy to conjure.  I nodded my head and went along with it.  As I figured, Lawrence had just denied everything.  We had talked once, briefly, about what would happen if people got suspicious, and we’d agreed to just deny everything and play dumb.
    Mr. Garcia was only at work the next day to collect his things and clean out his office. As he walked out to his car with a box in his arms, I watched his butt through his pants and felt oddly proud of myself, as if I had accomplished a great feat.