Knight in Shining Armor on a white horse? How about Tom Cruise in a White Mustang? Sometimes a prince turns out to be the frog. This story won first place in Writer's Journal's Romance Writing Competition and was published in their January/February 2002 issue.
THIS OLD MAN
“Come on, Jill. You’ll have a good time.”
Jill sipped her tea, removed the napkin from her lap, and wiped her lips. “Sara,” she said, “Remember the last one I had, the one that smacked when he wasn’t even eating?”
“But—“
And the one I called Paw, because that’s all he did.”
“Yes—“
“And the one that picked me up in an old pickup truck with the rooster caged in the back. We ended up out in the boonies at some bonfire where everyone was half lit watching a rooster fight -– which was against the law, I might add.” Jill shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll find the one who’ll lift me from the drudgery of blind dates and rooster fights.”
“Someone that doesn’t exist. Mr. Perfect.”
“I should settle for Ralph and his fighting rooster?”
“No. It’s just waiting for the perfect man is foolish.”
“Look,” Jill said. “I’ve got my own catering business, I pay my bills on time, and I’ve almost saved enough for a nice down payment on a house. Don’t I deserve one fantasy?”
Sara sighed. “Never mind.” She gazed out the restaurant window. Her eyes lit up. “Well, speaking of the Devil,” she said. “There he is.”
Jill looked out the window, and saw a young man at the intersection of Main and Washington. “He’s the blind date?”
“That’s him. Close your mouth, Jill.”
His sandy hair glistened in the sunlight. He had a strong straight nose, sculpted cheekbones, and a physique that would coerce, “It was just right,” out of hard-to-please Goldilocks.
Sara said, “He owns Evans Advertising and has never been married. But I’ll find someone else.”
Jill raised her glass in a toast. “What are friends for? I’ll do it.”
* * *
Jill was thumbing through the mail when the knock sounded at the door. She checked the peephole, smiled, and opened the door to greet Wes Sykes.
“Can you spare some dishwasher detergent?” he asked.
“Sure. Come in.” Jill shut the door behind him. “I think I still owe you some Cayenne pepper.”
“Then, we’ll call it even.”
Wes, a veteran divorcee of five years, had been a good friend for over a year now. Jill met him when the fifth floor threw him a surprise party for his fortieth birthday. He had laughed at her humorous over-the-hill card. After everyone else retired, she stayed and the two talked for hours. He proved to be the perfect host. He shared wisdom he’d learned from a failed marriage, while Jill divulged her catastrophic love life.
“Let’s see,” she said. “Bill left me for a dancer with a 42 inch bust line. Mark couldn’t see past his office door, and Luke gambled everything he owned away, including the watch I bought him Christmas. So now, I’m not settling for anything less than a man with a good head on his shoulders, a big heart, steady income, who is kind, romantic, funny--”
“The typical knight in shining armor on a white horse,” Wes said, clearly amused.
“Tom Cruise in a white mustang will do nicely,” she teased.
Wes had become like a wise, older brother eleven years her senior. She was thankful for a friend without rampant hormones, and not having to put on feminine airs, or worry about saying something inappropriate. She’d greet him in her shabby robe, no makeup, and not feel embarrassed at all.
Jill poured dishwashing powder into a plastic bowl.
“That enough?”
“Plenty,” he said. “Jordan’s coming tonight and I don’t have time to run to the store. I’ve got a roast in the oven and potatoes boiling on the stove.”
Jill giggled. “Aren’t you the little homemaker?” She opened the pantry door, pulled her apron off the hook. “Need this?”
“No thanks. By the way, I’m using your recipe.”
“Then it will be superb.” She kissed her fingertips. “Is Jordan doing better in school?”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say she’s passing.”
Jill crossed her arms and leaned against the beige refrigerator. “Give her time, Wes. Teenage years are difficult. Her body is changing. Emotions are speeding into every direction. She’s caught between the little girl inside, and a young woman developing on the outside. Schizophrenic, you might say.”
“You got that right,” Wes said. His mud-brown eyes seemed to laugh. “How, may I ask, do you know so much about raising kids? You’re still one yourself.”
Jill’s hands flew to her hips. “I’ll have you know I’m, I’m, well, I’m not a child, thank you very much.”
Wes stepped in closer. “And how old are you?” He smelled soapy clean, as if he’d just showered. His complexion was smooth, except for three lines between his brows. Light aftershave scented the air without overwhelming it.
“That’s none of your business,” she spouted. He reached out, touched her hair. “Ouch.” She jerked away.
“What’s this?” He held up a strand of hair and smiled. “I’ll be. It’s a gray hair.”
Jill grinned, despite the tightening in her stomach, and grabbed his chin, turned his head left to right.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to decide which gray hair I want to yank out of your head.”
Friday night, Jill was ready for her date an hour early. In the mirror, she perused the shimmering black dress that clung to her, and ended two inches above her knees. The color complimented her black hair coiled into a loose bun, and the soft coral color on her nails and lips.
She felt anxious and impatient, so she snatched up her wine, left the apartment, and knocked on Wes’s door.
When he saw her, he whistled. “Wow! You look great for an old gray headed woman.”
“Really?” she said curtly. “I’m going to try to do without my cane tonight.”
Wes laughed. “I’ve always been attracted to older women. They remind me of my dear, sweet mother. What’s the occasion?”
“Blind date.”
Wes lumbered to his kitchen. “Blind date, huh? More wine?”
Jill sunk into his overstuffed couch. “Better not, but thanks.”
He returned clasping a glass of his own. “You don’t do blind dates, Jill. Remember?”
“Well, I sort of cheated. I’ve seen him.”
“And?”
“He looks like Brad Pitt.”
Wes held the glass to his lips, but before he drank, said, “That ugly, huh?”
Jill snickered. “Actually, he’s better looking than Brad Pitt.” Wes sipped his wine like he hadn’t heard her. “So, how was your visit with Jordan?”
“Great. I did what you suggested and didn’t mention her grades once. Jordan congratulated my control, even kissed my cheek, and said I was a great dad.”
“I told you. I may not be a mother, but I was a young girl -- once.”
Wes ambled over, and stood over her. Jill gazed up at him. Tingles played up and down her spine. That had never happened before.
“Now what are you doing?” she asked.
“Just looking for more gray.”
She stood. “Maybe that was your gray hair.”
He patted her right cheek in a brotherly way. “I don’t think so.”
Jill lowered her eyes, almost embarrassed. “I better go.”
She started for the door, but stopped when Wes said, “Wait.”
Jill faced him, but he motioned for her to turn back around. “Your zipper isn’t all the way up.” When she felt his touch, goose bumps covered her arms. “You missed the clasp, too. You trying to make it easy for this guy?” His fingers brushed against her neck. She closed her eyes as he clasped the neckline. “There you go, Cinderella. You’re all dressed and ready for the ball.” He spun her around and gazed into her eyes. “Tell me. Does he ride a white horse, or drive a white mustang?”
Her face warmed. She was blushing, of all things. “I better hurry.”
He walked her into the hall, and there at her door stood Brad Pitt’s clone.
“Hi, Dave, I’m Jill,” she said, her hand extended.
“You are ravishing, just as Sara promised.” Dave kissed her hand. “I hope you don’t mind the top being down on my car.”
Jill said, “Why no. What kind do you have?”
“A Mustang.”
Jill noticed the surprised look on Wes’s face. She looked back at Dave. “The night air will be absolutely wonderful,” she answered, thinking this was too good to be true .
And it was. It was before eleven when Dave and Jill arrived at her apartment. She had enjoyed being with Sara and Jeff, but Dave turned out to be The Pits instead of Brad Pitt. He was conceited, full of himself, and thought everyone else was, too.
“You going to ask me in?”
Jill managed a fake grin. “I’m really tired, Dave. I had a great time though.” It sounded believable.
“Come on, baby. The night’s young.” He wrapped his arms around her. “We can get to know one another better.”
Jill pressed her palms against his chest. “No, Dave. Really, I can’t.”
He pulled her closer, ran his hands down to the curve of her back. She flinched as he tried to kiss her.
“Really, I need to go.”
“Hello, kids.” Jill jerked away at the sound of Wes’s voice. He was exiting the elevator.
Dave smiled. “Hey, man. What’s up?” he said, and returned his attention to Jill. “Come on babe, let’s go on in.”
Jill stiffened. “Maybe another time.”
Wes approached them and, seeing him next to Dave, Jill realized how tall Wes was.
Wes said, “I think the lady wants to go in –- alone.”
“Hey, it’s cool man.” Dave’s hands flew up in protest. “I don’t fight over women.”
Wes grabbed Jill’s elbow. “Great. So later then.”
“Yeah, later.” Dave headed to the elevator.
Wes waited until Dave was gone, and Jill had unlocked her door. She was silent.
“Good night, Jill.” She held the doorknob and didn’t answer. Wes touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
She turned around. His eyes disclosed a concern she’d never seen before. But how dare he assume authority over her life? She was a grown woman, and had handled much worse situations than this.
“You didn’t have to make a scene.” Her hands were on her hips. Her right foot began to tap as if angered as well.
“Scene?” He drew the word out like a lengthy sentence.
“Yes, scene. I could’ve handled the conceited twerp.” She spun back around. “You’re not my daddy.”
His sarcasm didn’t follow hers. The hallway was quiet. On the wall, Wes’s shadow was motionless. His breath sounded like a gentle breeze, but she knew it was anything but.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. See you later.”
What was she doing? He had only tried to protect her. The entire night, as Dave rambled on and on about his successful life, she had thought about Wes’s touch, wondering how if felt to hold him. Why did she have to have such a big mouth and loose tongue?
She whirled around. “Apology -– not accepted.”
“What?” He backed away. His face reddened.
“You heard me.”
“What do you want? Blood?”
“No. Too messy. Dinner will do, by candlelight.” She tapped her temple, as if deep in thought. “Of course, I’ll expect long stemmed roses, expensive wine, and romantic music.”
He grinned, entered her doorway, and pulled her into his embrace. She didn’t resist.
“Oh, really?” he said. His lips were so close Jill could almost taste them. “I’m not a Knight and I don’t own a white horse or a mustang.” Before she could answer, his arms folded around her, and he kissed her as if he’d realized how much he’d always wanted her. He stopped, but his lips remained near hers. “Well?”
Her eyes were still closed. “What knight? What white horse?”
He chuckled. “This old man might can probably muster up enough energy for dinner, but the candlelight might be difficult.”
“I’m an independent, Millennium woman. I’ll provide the candlelight.” Then, Sara pulled him back to her lips. Who needed candlelight anyway?
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