Ruined Page 2

  Brad was feeling no pain whatsoever. He felt great, actually. “Inspired,” might have been a better word. He sat at his usual spot—Johnny had left earlier after his wife had called with some sort of emergency—and quaffed his mug in contentment.

  Then …

  There she was, the blonde from the night before. Brad watched her as she sauntered toward the corner of the bar once again, flipping her hair back and licking her full lips as she walked. She was dressed in a silk blouse and a pencil skirt. Must be a professional of some sort, Brad thought.

  He gazed at her as she sat down, taking all of her in. He had noticed her legs the night before, but now he was staring at her rack. The generous cleft revealed by the low-cut blouse told him she was wearing a push-up bra. He took another drink from his mug and shifted in his seat, never taking his eyes off her. When Kelsey put a glass of wine in front of her, he checked out her left ring finger. Nada. He smiled to himself and stifled a belch.

  Kelsey turned around and Brad motioned toward him with his near-empty mug. When he approached him with a fresh frothy beverage, Brad leaned over the bar and under his breath asked, “What’s with the blonde?”

  “New customer,” Kelsey replied. “Been in a few times lately. Why? You interested?” Kelsey looked at him with a slightly elevated brow.

  “Maybe,” he shot back with a smirk. “What’s she drinkin’?”

  “Chardonnay, what else?” Kelsey laughed, alluding to the single woman’s usual choice of inexpensive first drink. After that, other patrons usually paid for them.

  “Send one over on me,” said Brad.

  “Right away, sir,” his friend mocked him good-naturedly.

  Brad felt his heart begin to beat faster. He watched Kelsey pour a glass of wine and walk toward her. He sat the glass down and told her something. The woman looked Brad’s way, but showed no reaction. Now he was really nervous. Kelsey walked away and the woman got up and headed toward Brad.

  “Are you trying to pick me up?” she said. She smiled demurely as she towered over him in four-inch, black suede pumps.

  Brad’s mind was racing. What to say? Was the honest answer, “yes,” the best way to play it? She might slap his face and embarrass him in front of his friends. “No,” and she might be insulted or think him full of bullshit. He wanted his expenditure to work for him.

  “I bought you a drink because you seemed nice and you looked lonely. What happens after that is up to you.” He felt the answer was safe and he held his breath until she spoke.

  “May I sit down?” she said after some hesitation.

  “Yes, by all means. I’m Brad.”

  “Crystal.” She sat her glass of wine on the bar and then took Johnny’s regular place. Her skirt slid halfway up her thigh. Brad’s eyes went straight there and none too subtly.

  “Are you married, Brad?” she asked, deliberately elevating her gaze so that he would have to lift his head.

  “No. I lost my wife seven years ago.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” she replied. “Never remarried?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, Brad, what do you envision happening between us?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. We just met,” he sputtered. Could it be possible? A hooker…in Kelsey’s for Christ sake?

  His eyes looked into hers for what seemed like several minutes. He was speechless. He downed his beer and drummed his fingers on the bar.

  “Look, honey,” she finally said. “Let’s cut to the chase. If you have a place and three hundred dollars, we can have a fun afternoon; otherwise, I thank you for the drink and I’ll return to my seat.”

  He remained quiet for another minute or two. When the last beer settled into his system, he went for it.

  “My son is home. Why don’t we slide over to the Sleep Inn, one exit down?”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Just give me the money and we’re on our way.”

  “Outside,” he answers.

  When they emerge into the afternoon sunshine, Brad had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could see to pull three hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. He ushered her to his car and opened the door for her. Ten minutes later, they were riding the elevator to the second floor of the Sleep Inn.

  She emerged from the bathroom in a black lace bra and matching panties. He felt the blood rush to his groin. He couldn’t wait to touch her, touch it all. He was sitting on the cheap floral bedspread, still fully clothed.

  “Let’s go baby, shed those duds.”

  Brad undressed as she pulled back the covers. He stripped to his boxer shorts and walked up behind her, unhooking her bra. She reached back with her left arm and wrapped it around his neck, emitting a low laugh. By now, Brad’s hands were all over her breasts. He felt himself becoming erect. She turned around and grabbed his manhood.

  “Wow, a big boy, huh.”

  She dropped her panties and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shorts as she did so. She began to suck him. When he was good and hard she lay on her back and whispered “Come on, baby! Give it to me!”

  Brad knelt between her legs and leaned into her. He caught his breath in nervous anticipation—it had been so, so long. He no sooner penetrated her than he lost it. After a few futile thrusts, he stopped.

  “What’s the matter, baby?”

  He heard himself stuttering. Disbelief, along with humiliation, came over him. Why? His mind flashed over years of masturbation since his wife’s death. He was not impotent. What was the problem?

  “It’s okay, honey. Just get on your back, I’ll fix you up.”

  Brad did as she asked as sweat began to bead on his forehead. She went down on him again. He closed his eyes…fumbled for her breasts…nothing. She even suggested he take a nap. They lay there together for the better part of half an hour, but he couldn’t sleep, let alone relax. She tried more foreplay, then finally sat up and sighed in resignation.

  “Look, honey, I can’t spend all night here. Take me back to the place you found me.”

  Brad had paid four hundred bucks, counting the room. He felt foolish as well as defeated.

  “Listen, this has never happened to me before. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  She laughed as she fastened her bra. “Don’t worry, your problem is safe with me.”

  He flinched at the word “problem.” He didn’t have a “problem.” He got dressed and they left the hotel. When they pulled into the strip mall parking lot once more, Brad was curt.

  “I’m going to just drop you, if that’s okay. I have to get home.”

  “That’s okay, I understand. Maybe next time.” She gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and got out of the car.

  Brad drove away at a high rate of speed, wishing he had never met the woman. He began cursing and talking out loud. After blowing off steam, he became worried. What if this happens again—the next time I’m with a woman? He quickly dismissed the idea. It had been because she was a hooker. He had felt cheap, sleazy. What guy could perform under those conditions? With a normal woman, he would be okay.

  By the time he reached home he had rationalized that it was simply a one-time deal—he was drunk, she was a prostitute, there was too much pressure, and on and on. He went into the kitchen and made a ham and cheese sandwich, grabbed a cold brew and sat down to watch the remainder of the late college game. Jared was out and he decided to turn in early. It had been a very trying day.

  He crawled into bed, naked, and grabbed his laptop from the bedside table. He pulled up one of his favorite porn sites, a guilty pleasure he used his widower status to justify. Julie had abhorred pornography. They had always had great sex, but anytime Brad had suggested toys or even just sexy lingerie, just to mix it up a little, she had protested. “That’s for sick people,” she said.

  After watching some scenes of a couple doing it in the backseat of a car,
the sound turned down in case his son happened to come home, he sought self gratification. He was relieved when he was able to attain his usual firmness and within a few minutes had reached a full and pleasurable climax. He went to the bathroom, washed up, and when he returned to bed fell into a sound, uninterrupted sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brad started off Sunday slightly depressed. He identified two reasons for his state of mind: first, his humiliating experience with that whore Crystal; second, the hostility in his son’s last words to him.

  He went to church that morning, to assuage his guilt over Saturday. Later that afternoon, Jared brought home some pizza and wings in time for the NFL early game.

  “I knew you refused to cook so I didn’t want you to go hungry,” Jared said.

  “Well thanks, son. Gonna watch the game with me?”

  “Sure, Dad. This was not all for you, ya know,” Jared retorted with his crooked smile.

  Brad just smiled back; he knew this was Jared’s way of easing his guilt for snapping at him the day before. Brad was happy that the two of them would be able to spend a few hours together that afternoon. Then he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts about his failure to perform with Crystal. They watched both games together before Jared said he that had a date and left.

  Six a.m. Monday arrived with too much alacrity. He looked out the window to see a gray and cloudy day.

  “Yuck,” he muttered as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

  After his morning routine, he filled his go-cup emblazoned with his company logo and headed out the door. Once outside he saw Jared’s car in the driveway and remembered that his son had asked to borrow his Lincoln again—“to impress Janie,” he had said. He stopped in his tracks and scowled briefly, then walked over and got in Jared’s car. When he turned the key, all he heard was a series of clicks.

  “Damn it!” He hit the steering wheel with his fist.

  He got out, popped the hood, twisted the cables and tried again. It fired up that time and he headed for the office.

  When he arrived at work he and Maggie exchanged their usual morning pleasantries. She followed him into his office with his mug of coffee.

  “Here you go! Stan brought in donuts this morning and there’s a caramel iced one for you.”

  Stan was his most trusted worker. He had been with Brad almost as long as Maggie and ran his largest crew, always taking on the big jobs.

  “Maggie, you always know just what I need. I think I’ll marry you someday.”

  He couldn’t believe what he had just said. Nevertheless, he looked directly at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She played it well.

  “We’ve known each other too long for you to be flirting with me, Mister Wallace!”

  Brad laughed her off but said no more. At ten o’clock he walked out of his office.

  “Maggie, I’m going to make my rounds. I’ll see you later.”

  He traveled to several job sites, stopping to see each crew chief and see how things were going. When he got to Stan’s job he pulled out his lunch and ate with the crew. Whenever Brad took a vacation, which was almost never since Julie died, Stan Bucklew, a burly, broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a shock of blonde hair, was the one in charge. Brad often thought he would leave him part of the business someday.

  After he left Stan, he called on a prospective customer in the area, only to discover he had been outbid on the job. Brad hated to lose anything, especially money. His mood plummeted and he cussed under his breath the whole way back to his office.

  Maggie had a questioning look when he walked in. She did the usual thing: let him go to his space and ponder whatever it was that was bothering him. She had perfected that approach over many years.

  Sometime later, she stuck her head in the door.

  “Need anything before I leave?”

  “No, thanks Maggie. Have a good evening. We didn’t get the church job.”

  “I gathered as much. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, dear.” He often called her “dear,” but she had never responded in any way that made him think she took it romantically.

  Brad worked on for another hour, then turned to Julie’s photo.

  “Good night Julie, my love.” He kissed his finger and touched it to the frame’s glass.

  He locked up and headed for Kelsey’s.

  The place was packed for Monday Night Football. Mondays were Brad’s favorite times at Kelsey’s. Tonight was exceptionally appealing as his favorite team, the Redskins, were playing. He was looking forward to a late night of game-watching and maybe even winning a little money on the side.

  “Oh, here he comes now! My favorite freeloader!” Kelsey greeted him with usual familiarity. A few people at the bar chuckled.

  “‘Afternoon to you too, Kels-o.” Only those closest, in other words whoever spent tons of money at his bar, got to call Kelsey “Kels-o.” If any non-regular tried that, Kelsey himself would set him or her straight in short order.

  The early family dinner crowd filled the tables. They would soon clear out and the hardcore football fans would remain. Brad meandered through the diners and stopped at the free appetizer buffet to load up a plate. Then he headed for his usual seat at the bar, where Kelsey already had a cold mug of his favorite beer waiting. Johnny was there, too, in his usual place.

  “Hey, partner. Too bad you had to leave the other day. Everything ok?” Brad said, slapping his drinking buddy on the back before he took his seat.

  Johnny swallowed some beer and shrugged. “Tell ya what, Brad. Sometimes I want to just throw it all in. I’ve been married too freakin’ long. Nothing about my wife attracts me anymore. I can’t do anything right, damned if I do, damned if I don’t. You know?”

  “Look, Johnny,” Brad said, “I hear you loud and clear, but I’d give anything to have my Julie back, warts and all.”

  “Julie had warts?” Johnny reared back.

  “No!” Brad laughed out loud. “That’s just an expression. I mean I loved her for who she was, including her flaws. That first year after she was gone I wanted to die, but Jared needed me, so I had to pull myself together and he and I kept each other going. In retrospect, it was the loneliness that haunted me, not that I really wanted to die.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  Johnny mumbled something like he guessed he understood, and the conversation ended. About that time, Kelsey came over with a few odds and ends of food. “Here, freeloader! Here’s what’s left. Enjoy!”

  “Thanks Kelso, we will.” Brad slid the plate of wings and pizza toward Johnny with a gesture to dig in.

  The regular Monday night football crowd was gathering around the bar. Bob Kelly was a local businessman who loved to drink beer and had the belly to prove it; he tried to hide it behind a three-piece suit. Dyed black hair was a weak attempt to evince youthfulness. He was a good guy who had a million blonde jokes. Bob approached Brad from the left.

  “Hey Brad, Johnny, how are you guys on this fine Redskin-ass-kicking night?”

  “Screw you, ya Dolphin-lovin’ asshole,” said Johnny. “Hell, you’ve never lived in Florida, or even went to college there!”

  Brad laughed and looked at Bob, who was taking the teasing all in good fun.

  “Hell, he never even went to college, did ya, Bob?” Brad winked at Bob, letting him know he knew better.

  “All right, you two jerks. We’ll see who wins this game,” Bob said.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Fish Man” Brad said reaching into his pocket, “I got fifty bucks here says the Redskins do the ass-kickin’ tonight.”

  “Straight up or point spread?”

  “Straight up, screw that point spread crap,” Brad scoffed.

  “You’re on, pal! This is like shooting Redskins in a barrel.” Bob shook Brad’s hand.

  “Hey Kelso, give my friend,” Brad pointed to Bob with
his left thumb, “a cold one on me. By the time we leave he might not be able to pay his tab.”

  At that, Johnny burst out laughing and Kelsey headed for the taps, shaking his head.

  “Thanks for the beer, pal,” Bob said when Kelsey put the mug in front of him. “I’m happy to drink your beer and take your money!”

  They bandied back and forth about the game and, up until kickoff, discussed other things of interest, including the outstanding physical features of some of the fairer sex hanging around. The Redskins took the opening kickoff and ran it back for a touchdown, which had most of the patrons cheering and Brad and Johnny really gave Bob a bad time. However, from that point forward the Dolphins scored on all but two possessions and had a substantial lead at halftime. Now it was Bob doing the gloating and razzing his two pals. He ordered three boilermakers to celebrate his team’s big lead.

  They took turns buying rounds, alternating between beer and boilermakers. By the end of the third quarter, Johnny was finished.

  “I’m outta here, guys,” he said and when he backed off his barstool he lost his footing and fell backward. Brad reached out and caught him before he hit the floor.

  “Hey, Kels-o!” Brad called out to the proprietor, who was on the other side of the bar washing glasses. “Call Johnny a cab, will ya?”

  Kelsey looked at Johnny and grabbed the phone behind the bar. He was always on the alert for any situation that might result in his getting sued.

  Brad took Johnny’s keys and when the cab arrived he helped his friend outside. He handed the keys to the cabbie and instructed him to walk Johnny to his door and then hand him his keys. After paying and tipping the cabbie upfront, he returned to the bar.

  The Dolphins had scored again and were up by thirty points. Bob wasted no time in resuming his gloating.

  “Ready to pay up?” he chided.

  Brad pulled a crumbled wad of bills from his pocket. He called out to Kelsey to close out his tab. “Ol’ Bob here is driving me crazy,” he said. If the truth were told, he would have said he was starting to feel a little off balance himself. They had put away a lot of booze throughout the game.