by Casey Lane
My friends were nothing if not relentless. It’s a rarity given their different personalities, but when Liz, Jane, and Deb team up as a united front, they’re some seriously scary women. I didn’t progress fast enough to suit them. Since I had barely left the farm after agreeing I needed help, I guess they had a valid point when they cornered me again like a pack of jackals.
Once again, I refused therapy or medication, so they made me compromise. To get them off my back, I had agreed to put myself out there and begin dating again. When I added my wary objection that I’d never actually dated or pursued a man before, Liz informed me that men were like bikes--once you got the hang of riding one, you never forgot how.
That made sense.
Seeing me wavering, the girls had pounced again and gotten specific. I had to promise to have my first date before the weekend of the Fall Festival, held annually at King Farm in October. It was still summer then, so I’d blithely sworn I would. Now the Fall Festival was this weekend, two days away.
I get that my well-intentioned friends didn’t want me doing a swan dive out of the barn hayloft. Neither did they expect me to miraculously get over missing my husband, but they did want me on the road to somewhere near a happy place again.
Fine and dandy, but I didn’t want any candy, babies, or bike riding. You could keep the candlelit dinner dates, the sharing and sweet handholding. I didn’t want love and I had none to give. However, theoretically, the idea of some good old-fashioned, belly-bumping lust, sex that I could walk away from without looking back, was not completely repellent. Two years was a long time to go without my man’s arms around me at night. Lately, I had found myself fantasizing a little over a penis that knew its way around a woman, batteries not required.
Somehow that theory had evolved into a plan and brought me here tonight.
Pimped out like a clown-ho’, I minced forward on the torture devices Jane called CFM shoes. I was putting myself out there and meeting a man like I promised the girls. And yes, I was hoping and dreading that the CFM shoes would live up to their name. I didn’t have a “date” actually lined up yet, and it was not my fault if the girls assumed that I did. But if I was the candy and a man was the baby, like Liz promised me, then finding a fuck buddy at the hotel bar should be easy.
My plan was that nobody in my real life would be the wiser about my definition of dating. First, I’d pick up a man in the bar, and then I should be in and out of my hotel room within an hour or so. Hopefully, I’d have a screaming orgasm to send me home with a big smile on my face before crying myself to sleep in my big, lonely bed, as I did most nights. It was a start anyway.
The background laughter of the tall, fun couple morphed into frightened shrieks that jerked me out of my sad reveries. I’d been vaguely aware when the tall couple had converged at the elevators with the bombed bunch right as the elevator doors dinged open.
Now I slowed down while taking in the bizarre scene unfolding twenty feet in front of me. Swaying drunkenly, the remaining half of the white shirt group elbowed their way into the waiting car, all except for James Franco’s doppelganger. Seemingly unprovoked, he had latched onto the tall couple woman’s arm with two hands and was violently shaking her while making dog noises.
The shrieks were the tall woman’s, and I’d be screaming too because that had to hurt. Drunken white shirt guy seemed intent on yanking her arm out of its shoulder socket. He was snarling louder than Rex when worrying a meaty bone and it was incredibly creepy.
From her other side, the tall man shouted in furious disbelief, “Hey, what are you doing! Let her go!”
Doppelganger James ignored the tall man and continued shaking the crap out of the woman. The tall lady wasn’t just standing there; she fought back. She kicked out wildly and smacked him in the head with her purse to get free, but to no avail. The tall man got a hold of crazy James’ arms and was trying to pull him off her.
I’d be bummed later I didn’t think to reach for my gun but reacting then on my first impulse, I started running towards the fighting trio.
I say running, but the reality was I got maybe four feet taking Mother-May-I baby steps with my legs flapping out from side to side. Frustrated, I felt like a geisha girl doing the Charleston, so I stopped and bellowed out as loud as I could, “Leave her alone, James Franco!”
I was shocked at how loud my voice was when the ear-piercing echo reverberated throughout our area of the parking ramp. It must have also shocked the struggling threesome. In response, they froze for a split second to look my way.
The tall man recovered first. He slammed the heels of his hands into the drunk’s chest. The tall woman pulled her arm loose while the white shirt man grunted and stumbled from the blow. The tall man followed up with another fast, hard shove to the drunk’s shoulders, and he fell back into the pile of his friends already in the elevator.
As if choreographed, the doors smoothly closed with a chirpy ding.
The James Franco doppelganger and the last of his inebriated cult members were gone as if they’d never existed. After that sudden violent outburst, the silence was deafening in the parking ramp.
Hobbling, I finally reached the couple. They had retreated cautiously back a few yards from the elevator. The man held the woman in a protective embrace while she cradled her left arm close to her chest. He nodded briefly to me, but all of our heads swiveled to watch the overhead elevator lights indicate the car was moving downward. We wanted to be sure the drunks were gone for good.
Once the coast was clear, I asked the woman, “My God, are you all right?”
Her face was chalky, but she answered in a strong voice, “Yes, I think so.”
To the man, I held up my phone. “Can I help? Should I call 9-1-1?”
“I’ll take care of it; I’m a doctor, but thanks for yelling when you did.” The man carefully took the woman’s arm and grimaced in concern at the long, red scratches near her wrist. He shook his head. “Can you believe that just happened? Jesus…did you see his eyes? Was that guy nuts or what? I need to notify hotel security before he tries to hurt someone else.”
Soothingly, she patted his arm. “I’ll be fine, Gary. You were wonderful.” The tall man, Gary, reddened slightly at her praise. “You’re right, though. Go ahead and hurry that call. Do you have the hotel number in your phone?” When he nodded and walked a few steps away to place the call, she turned to me and offered her right hand. As we shook, she went on, “That’s my husband, Gary Knutson, and I’m Karen. Whew! Thank you so much for your help. I couldn’t tell if that crazy man was drunk or high, but he needs to join a program! My arm burns a little but,” she added firmly with a small smile, “it’s nothing my husband and a very large beer won’t cure.”
By their surname and graying blonde looks, the attractive couple was most likely of Scandinavian descent. It took a lot more than an attack by a violent drunk to get the better of a couple of tough, stoic Swedes.
I chuckled. “My name’s…Mary Jensen. You’re welcome, although I couldn’t do anything but yell,” I ruefully motioned to my silver shoes, “while trying to run in these contraptions. That man’s growling was freaky. I’m relieved you’re okay.”
Karen nodded, even as she glanced at my high heels and then snorted. She blew out a deep, steadying breath while taking a tissue out of her jacket pocket and dabbing at her sweating forehead. Snorting again, she tossed the tissue into a nearby trashcan. Suddenly folding over, she burst out laughing. Concerned, I wondered if maybe she wasn’t so tough and was experiencing a delayed reaction.
Still bent over and busting a gut while hugging her waist, Karen gasped out between laughs, “I keep seeing it in my head over and over.” I reached out gingerly to pat her shoulder when she continued, “I’m sorry, but you looked so funny trying to run in those shoes! I’ve never seen anything like it!”
She went off on another peal of laughter. I snatched back the hand of comfort. The woman didn’t need consoling if she had time to notice me running in these
shoes when some freak was trying to tear her arm off. Karen apologized profusely for being rude, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to whoop and slap her knee with her uninjured hand.
Gary hung up and vigorously shook my hand next. “Thanks again. Hotel security is sending someone up here to escort us. They’re also meeting the elevator in the lobby to detain that man.” Eyeing his guffawing wife, he asked in bewilderment, “What’s up with Karen?”
I mouthed, “PTSD.” Nodding sagely at his raised brows, I started walking. “Okay then, looks like everything’s under control here.” Spotting the stairwell, I wasn’t looking forward to a longer trek in my high heels, but it was better than getting mauled in the elevator or held up by hotel security. “Good luck to you both.”
I was on the first stair when Gary raised a hand in a stop gesture and frowned doubtfully. “You’re a witness. Don’t you think security will want to talk with you?” He scowled suspiciously. “Wait a minute; didn’t I hear you call out the man’s name? Do you know him?”
I was hoping they had forgotten that part. It was going to be hard to remain anonymous Mary Jensen if I got roped into sticking around and giving statements. “Really, I’ve never seen the man before in my life, but he looked exactly like James Franco, the actor. It just popped out.”
Karen came up for air and laughingly agreed, “You know, now that you mention it, he really did resemble James Franco.”
I gave a little wave. “Sorry, I have a meeting and need to run.” That set Karen off yet again and I shrugged innocently at the still frowning Gary. “Please let them know I’m staying in the hotel. Security can contact me for a statement,” I pointed towards a single camera mounted near the low ceiling at the elevator, “if it’s even necessary.”
Gary held up his phone. “I’d feel better if we at least exchanged numbers.”
Seeing the stubborn tilt to his chin, I quickly gave in and we traded phone numbers. I then called out, “Bye now and enjoy that beer!”
Karen replied with a wheezing goodbye and Gary looked like he still wanted to object, but I didn’t wait around to hear more. Leaning lightly against the metal railing for support, I took the stairs down to the lobby as fast as my wobbly feet could go.
Chapter Two
“Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.”-Joseph Conrad
I cautiously surveyed the lobby, a modern, open space with a soaring ceiling. The main desk was on the west side, my side, and the cult was all hanging around there. Scanning their faces quickly, they were minus James Franco’s evil twin. Now that was good news for modern man. I was impressed with the efficiency of the hotel security.
One of the women was pounding her fist repetitively on the counter, but not with any real force. Her face was shiny with sweat and she looked dazed. Probably lost her buzz and needed to pass out. The other men and women were jostling for position at the counter. No wait, they were all swaying, but standing in place. Okay, that was not your ordinary behavior, but maybe they were singing Kumbaya while they waited. The two hotel employees on duty behind the counter wore a harried air, but nothing overtly wrong was going on. I saw an official-looking guy off to the side. His eye was on the group at the main desk, but I still decided to get my room card later.
Tugging up the neckline of my dress a final time, I gave them all a wide berth and took the steep escalator up a couple of levels to the Firelake Cocktail Bar.
Reaching the top, I breathed easier being away from the swaying white shirts down in the lobby.
I glanced over to the right at the long corridor leading to the skybridge crossing to the Mall of America. I had until eleven to cross the bridge before the hotel would lock their retractable glass wall and cut off access. That was my reluctant plan B, should I need one. Several bars stayed open until midnight in the mall, but the patrons at Hooters weren’t exactly my first choice. But tit for tat, my dainty B cups probably wouldn’t be their first choice, either.
Straight ahead from where I stood, my eyes were drawn to a lobby area with an ultra-modern seating area. The chairs scattered around were in funky shapes and sizes, all covered in the same tomato red, plush fabric. Beyond the seating area, a long hallway continued and I noticed a red EXIT sign luring me from the far end.
Wistfully, I thought of following that sign and finding my way right back outside to the west parking ramp. But I’d given my damn word, so I entered the cocktail bar. There wasn’t much of an entrance before the tables started. I paused to allow my eyesight to adjust to the dimmer lighting.
For a Wednesday night, the place was hopping. Decorated in smooth barn wood paneling with glass and stainless steel light fixtures, the bar exuded a hip North Country vibe. It was also deceptively large. The whole place ran parallel to, and overlooked, the open lobby two stories below.
Squaring my shoulders, I worked my way across the room through the talking crowds of people standing in the aisles. I reached the darkly stained wood bar and ordered a glass of the house red from a smiling bartender wearing the name tag of Michelle. Pouring, she answered my query that the place was packed due to a corporate Casino Night taking place in their East Ballroom. She noted I was alone, leaned closer, and added that her manager recently mentioned there were about one hundred and twenty-five people in the bar, close to their record. Her eyes lit up, probably thinking of the tips she’d rake in tonight while I glanced around thinking that meant more men.
Surrounded with people, six high-tops that were an upscale version of picnic tables took up the middle of the cocktail bar directly across from where I stood. The warm décor, the buzz of lively conversation, and the soft background music with a beat—I could see how this bar provided a pleasant, convivial atmosphere where it would be nice to meet a date for a drink.
However, I was not here to have fun. Focused on my mission, I started back at the left aisle near the entrance. The plan was to stroll clockwise around the entire bar, so that I didn’t miss any potential targets.
Facing the room from my spot near the entrance, the cocktail bar had two distinct aisles running down its length, cleverly divided into two rooms by different heights of tables, tall backed booths, and support columns.
Avoiding direct eye contact with any men just yet, I slowly, methodically walked down the left aisle. Weaving in and out of groups of drinking people, I observed the possibilities.
I was working off the general idea that sexual attraction between strangers was only skin deep, which was as deep as I cared to go. The term “meat market” never felt more apt. I wondered if this was how men only looking to get laid narrowed down their prey, or if there was a more efficient way that was still legal. I snorted into my wine glass while picturing carrying a hand sign that read, “I Want Your Penis” to flash at the man I chose, much like bidding at an auction. I could flip it to the other side where it would say, “For free, so shut up and follow me.” No talking, and none of that getting to know each other crap.
Disregarding the snuggling couples sitting on a long leather banquette amid small cocktail tables, I continued strolling down the aisle and entered the rear section of the bar.
I peeked out the back entrance. A single glass door led to the anteroom of the East Ballroom. Dozens of people wearing Casino Night name tags strolled around with cocktails in hand.
I turned back into the bar, watched some men shoot pool for a minute, and then ambled my way through the throngs and back up the right aisle. Leaning against the bar, there was a man wearing a dark suit with a loosened red tie who looked promising, but I passed him by for now.
Completing my surveillance where I’d begun, my eyes skimmed over a high top table in the middle of the room. A few couples out for an evening together did not fit the bill, but something I glimpsed caused my eyes to swing back. I stood perfectly still, instincts on high alert, the man in the red tie at the bar already forgotten.
The chatting group standing around the table parted like a cu
rtain at a theater and revealed a man sitting down. I forgot to breathe. I kid you not; my eyes beheld the most handsome man on earth.
Women and gay men; close your eyes and picture the handsomest man you’ve ever seen in your life. Okay, now I’m going to bet the farm here, and I have a really big farm, that your guy would pale into insignificance next to the beautiful man I saw lounging at that high top table.
I was neither a religious woman nor a scholar of the Bible, but what ran through my mind after my first, stunned look was still biblical in nature. Golden hair flowed past broad shoulders, golden-brown eyes sparkled, and flawless golden skin gleamed. I was tempted to shout out he had to be a gilded angel sent from Heaven. I might have done, if I’d known for certain he wouldn’t beat me up for calling him such a pussy name, and if gilded angels seethed with strength and raw sexuality.
My God, the man was friggin’ hot!
With a critical second appraisal of what I could see, I approved of his heavenly body, too. No wings and, thank God, no halo, the man did not get that physique from gently strumming harps. His muscles had muscles. And dear, sweet baby Jesus save me, I was back up to staring at that amazing face again.
As I stood watching him, I begged forgiveness of my own brain. I take pride in being an independent, intelligent woman, however, this guy was so good, I was awestruck and my next thoughts were ridiculously romancy.
If it’s true that our eyes are twin windows into the soul, then this man’s soul must burn with seductive sincerity. His fiery gold, speculative gaze could penetrate to the deepest core of your secret womanhood. If that look didn’t have you wriggling in your chair, when you spoke he watched you with powerfully intense concentration. You were a mystery he had yet to solve, but he was captivated.