Writing Challenge: Part V

Rebecca finally called yesterday. We made plans for dinner that night. She even told me where she lived, so that I could pick her up, just like a real date (although she insisted it wasn’t one. It was a non-date as she called it).

It was a nice night and she wanted to try a new restaurant within walking distance. I contemplated bringing her flowers, but decided against it. I didn’t want to push my luck. Still I didn’t want to go empty handed, so I brought her a packet of green tea. It was the only thing I really knew about her.

I think she liked it. She certainly seemed pleasantly surprised. She laughed of course. I knew she would. Still, it wasn’t the worst start of the night. Better than the ending at any rate, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

We had a pleasant conversation as we walked to the restaurant. We both avoided the touchy subjects from last time. It was an unspoken agreement that I wouldn’t mention her husband, and she wouldn’t mention my parents. We simply talked about why she wanted to become a psychologist and why I chose mechanical engineering as a major.

Through most of the dinner conversation, we talked a little about our likes and dislikes on a range of topics. She apparently likes the West Wing, along with other similar dramas. She also likes baseball almost as much as I do, she is even a fan of the Twins.

Unfortunately the conversation turned to politics. They say you should never discuss politics with anyone you want to stay friends with. I can attest to this. She is very much a bleeding heart liberal, while I’m more of a libertarian. That conversation got very heated, and we had both been drinking which didn’t help matters.

Thankfully she had her wits about her and ended the conversation before it got physical (and not in a good way). Unfortunately she did so by steering the conversation towards another touchy subject with me: “Most men stare at my breast when they talk to me. You, however, keep staring at my hands. In fact, you look at the hands of every woman you meet. What’s up with that? Are my breasts not good enough?”

“Sorry. I guess I like hands. Is it really that abnormal?” I said hoping she wouldn’t push the subject too much.

“Yes, actually. In fact, you’re the first person to have a hand fetish. I’ve heard of feet fetishes, but not hands,” she said. I should have known she would have no sympathy.

“Well I do like to be unique date. I guess I’m doing pretty good in that regard.”

“First it isn’t a date. Second, that isn’t an answer, but I won’t push it this time,” she said. Would the appropriate thing to do after that be to stare at her breast? I didn’t of course, but only because her smile captivated me for some reason.

Dinner ended shortly after, and we began our walk home. We had a few more drinks than we should have (or at least I did) so walking was more adventurous then normal. We decided to take a short cut through peoples yards. It was probably a mistake to do so, as we were quite loud. I’m sure we were disturbing people. I even tripped and fell.

She was a few feet in front of me when we were tramping through the yard of the apartments across the street when she froze staring at her apartment. I caught up to her to see what had her spooked.

Two men were waiting near her apartment door. They were wearing suites. I couldn’t tell from this distance in the dark, but I would imagine they were cheap, cheesy suites. One was leaning against a car smoking a cigarette. He had a blue suit with a matching hat lazy tilted down his face. The other was staring down the street looking for something.

They were both young looking (maybe my age) and fairly well built. The one against the car was white, but with a fairly dark complexion. Italian maybe? The one looking down the street was black and bald. Neither looked like good news.

“Maybe we should avoid my apartment for a while,” Rebecca said.

“What do they want with you? You can’t hide from them forever. Tell me what is going on. Maybe I can help,” I offered.

She chuckled under her breath at the offer. It seems she thought I was a joke compared to them.

“I’m sorry to get you mixed up with this, but I don’t need your help. You must stay out of it. You have to promise me you will stay out of it,” she said. The look of concern was genuine.

“Look if you’re in that much trouble, then we should go to the police. I can go with you,” I said. We moved behind the apartments we came from to get out of the line of site of the men across the street.

“That would not be a good idea. I swear to you I can handle this. I’m stronger and more capable then you think, and I a friend that can help. You have to trust me. Go home. I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise,” she said.

“Well that isn’t a good idea,” I said.

“Why not?”

“For one, that is my car he is leaning against,” I said.

“Oh right. I have a cell phone. We can call you a cab. In fact we can share a cab. I should go to my friend’s house. She will need to know about those two,” she said and started to dial on her phone before I could object.

She made us walk down the street to meet the cab, to be sure we wouldn’t be seen or drive past the two men. We both got in. I tried to ask questions about who those men were, but all I got out of her was they were dangerous, I should trust her, and that she and her friend were capable of handling them on their own. I eventually stopped trying.

I’m not sure how I wanted this non-date to end, but certainly not like that. I guess it could have been far worse.

By the way, she still hasn’t called me, but it is still pretty early in the morning. I hope she is all right.