AMANDA’S SEDUCTION

2255 words

By Tom Hannon

“Check it out, Tommy,” Paul said, pointing to the attractive, middle-aged woman sitting alone at the bar. “Isn't that Melissa’s mom?”

“You’re right, Paul, but what the hell is she wearing?”

“The babe’s got my attention,” Paul said, nodding his head in approval. “She was a fox eighteen years ago when you dated Melissa in high school, and still is. Christ, she’s gotta be in her mid-fifties. Look at her. Wow!”

“I’m looking, not liking what I see.”

“What’s not to like, Tommy? The woman is gorgeous. It’s no secret where Melissa’s great looks came from.”

Seeing Mrs. Harper alone on a barstool dressed the way she was gave me reason for concern. I’d known her since I was a teenager. What she was wearing was out of character for such a classy lady, and after not seeing her husband in the vicinity, I wondered if everything was okay with Mr. Harper. I walked over to say hello. Our eyes met, but from her blank stare, I knew she didn’t recognize me.       

“Excuse me, ma’am, aren’t you Mrs. Harper?”

“My husband and I divorced a few years ago,” she said. “What’s it to you?”

“Mrs. Harper, it’s me, Tommy McGraw.”

An instant smile of recognition formed on her face. “Tommy, how are you?”

“Pretty good. I’m in town this weekend for the high school twenty year reunion. Paul and I were reminiscing about our adventurous teenage days.”

“It’s been so many years,” she said. “You’re even better looking than when my daughter introduced you to the family, back in high school. Jim and I were positive you two were going to tie the knot.”

“I think of Melissa often, Mrs. Harper. There is always a place in my heart for her. So how’s she doing anyway?”

 “Not sure,” she said, with a faraway expression. “She took off five years ago, leaving only a short note, telling me to go to hell.”

“Ouch! What brought that on?”

“There was a disagreement. Leave it at that.”

Rather than prying and asking questions, I embraced her with a sympathetic hug, only to find her clinging to me with all her might.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Harper?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m one step away from ending it all. I can’t go on much longer.”

 “Don’t think like that. Whatever the problems are, you can get through them.”

She took one last gulp of her martini and said, “No, I won’t. There were too many mistakes. I made my bed. Let me die in it.”

“I don’t like what I’m hearing. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then maybe you and Paul should continue talking about the good old days. My life sucks, and there’s no reason to burden you with the dark clouds hovering over my head.”

“Mrs. Harper, everything I’m hearing tonight concerns me. Your divorce, the misunderstanding with Melissa, and even the way you’re dressed. It’s so unlike you.”

She bit her lower lip. “I’ve changed. I’m sorry you have to see another side of me. I’m not the Mrs. Harper you remember.”

“I’ve always been a good listener. Care to talk about it?”

She looked uncertain at first before changing her mind, and asking me to follow her home.

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee, before throwing my autobiography at you. However, no more Mrs. Harper crap. I’d feel a lot younger if you called me Amanda.”

I jiggled my car keys to catch Paul’s attention and to signal I was going to Mrs. Harper’s apartment. He gave me the thumbs up sign, which told me where his thoughts were. He had the wrong idea, and I reminded myself to call him tomorrow with the disappointing news that I didn’t pop the old lady.

In the parking lot, Amanda did a runway model spin, showing me she still had a killer body. With a seductive wink, she said, “I’m not a dinosaur. Don’t make me feel older than I already am.”

We weren’t inside her apartment for more than thirty seconds when she wrapped her arms around my neck, and passionately pressed her lips against mine. I didn’t like the direction this was leading, never expecting her to come onto me. After pushing her away and expressing my displeasure, I let her know she was out of line. Although  I carefully chose my words, trying not to insult her, I got my message across, that I had no intentions of jumping in the saddle with the mother of an ex-girlfriend.                                 

“I understand how empty your heart must be and there are serious issues you need to address. Amanda, I’m willing to listen, but please, don’t attempt to seduce me.”

She pulled away, avoiding eye contact. She knew her actions were wrong, but rather than make a big deal over it, we got down to what I thought was the reason why she invited me back to her apartment.

“It all started in the summer of ’69,” she said. “I was seventeen and pregnant. My family, fed up with my carefree lifestyle, threw me out of the house, leaving me alone with the difficult decision about what to do with the unwanted baby.”

She confessed that I was the only person she ever told about this. Not even Jim, the man who fathered Melissa a year and a half later, knew of her shameful secret. She continued her verbal journey, with honesty, as she detailed every wrong turn and dead end along her bumpy road.

“Tommy, I’m no saint. I had many affairs over the years, and it was a mistake to get involved with Melissa’s fiancé. One afternoon, Melissa came home from college early and she caught us in bed together. The marriage was off, Melissa moved away, and Mr. Harper filed for divorce.”

I began to say something, but thought better of it. I was sure these secrets had been building up inside her and she needed someone to listen without asking questions.

 “I became the loneliest person in the world and couldn’t cope with life anymore,” she said. “I hid my pain and loneliness with alcohol abuse, cocaine binges, and more bed partners than I care to remember.” She grabbed a Kleenex to wipe the tears running down her face before pleading, “Please hold me.”         

This wasn't something on my projects to do list, although Amanda had her own ideas since the moment she invited me to her apartment. I’m not sure how I allowed it to go so far, but with the morning sun peeking through the window, my thoughts were of Melissa. What would her reaction be, knowing what her mother and ex-boyfriend were up to? Sleeping with a woman eighteen years my senior was insane, even if she had the stamina and body of a woman half her age.

It was going to be another one-nighter for Amanda, and I hoped she’d understand why it couldn’t be anything more. Even though she was the aggressor, I felt guilty about using her, and wished I had handled it differently.

After she lit a cigarette, I climbed out of bed to get a closer look at the magnificent portrait of Melissa that hung above her dresser. It caught my eye earlier in the evening, but with other distractions keeping me occupied, I didn’t get a chance to look it over. As much as the painting drew my attention, I grew curious about what was hanging just below it. The theme of the collage of photographs overwhelming the room was about Melissa, except for a framed ticket of the Woodstock Concert that seemed so out of place.

 “Were you at Woodstock?” I asked. “So was my mom. It’s a small world.”

“Not that small, Tommy. Your mother and I were only two of four hundred thousand people attending.”

“It was before my time, but historians say, ‘Woodstock was the last hurrah of the sixties.’ I guess this was a big part of your life.”

“Very much so,” she said. “It was all about sex, drugs, and rock n roll.”

“Why buy a ticket? I thought it was a free concert.”

“The concert initially wasn’t a freebee, but with so many gate-crashers, security feared a stampede. Rather than risk serious injury, everyone was allowed in.” She laughed and admitted, “I was one of those fools who bought a three-day pass in advance. Cost me eighteen bucks, which at the time was a week’s salary from my part-time job at Wetson’s.”

“And you still have the ticket after all these years?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “I lost the original and found another one at a collectibles show.”

“Why is it hanging below Melissa’s portrait?”

“Don’t go there, Tommy.”

I brushed off her explanation as a coincidence, although I wanted to discuss it further. I put on my trousers and shirt and asked her to meet me in the kitchen after she got herself together.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Probably nothing, but I’d like to run a few things by you.” Without looking at my naked lover, I left the room.

When she appeared from the bedroom, she was wearing a sexy robe with its cloth belt dangling at her side. I tied the belt tightly, to cover what I could from view.

“What’s with the sudden modesty?” she asked. “Last night you couldn’t keep your hands off me. I also heard no complaints when I taught you positions you never knew existed. Now, you’re avoiding me. Do I look that bad in the daylight?”

“You look fine. I’m just second-guessing what took place last night.”

“Tommy, don’t freak out. I’m not expecting a commitment.”

“I’m afraid it might be more complicated than that, Mrs. Harper.”

“What did I tell you about calling me Mrs. Harper?”

“Please, we need to talk.”

Without warning, she untied the robe, let it fall off her shoulders, and in a seductive voice said, “We’ll talk later, my love, after another go of it in the bedroom. That is, unless you feel like doing it right here in the kitchen.” She looked at me in despair and whispered, “Tommy, I’ll do anything you want.”

“I want to talk, Mrs. Harper. Can you please get dressed?”

“No, I’ll stay naked. Hurry up; say what needs to be said. Let’s get this over with so we can continue where we left off last night.”

“I’m not so sure either of us will have that desire afterwards. I need to ask you a few questions. Please, answer them honestly.”

“Tommy? Don’t look away. I’ll answer your questions, but don’t avoid eye contact with me.”

It was difficult not to look, so I focused on her face and I started my questioning.

“What can you tell me about the father of the baby? What became of him?”

Before she answered, she lit up another cigarette and took a long drag. “It was a wild weekend,” she said. “I never thought to get last names and telephone numbers.”

“You used the sentence in a plural form. How many were there?”

“Tommy, I don’t need a lecture from you. The past is the past. Give it a rest.”

“What decision did you make with the baby? You didn’t abort it, did you?”

“Next question.”

“Answer me, dammit! Did you abort the child?”

“What I did is none of your business,” she hollered.

“It could be,” I said in a voice just as loud, while ripping the cigarette from her lips.

Her eyes began watering as she hesitated answering my question. “I’m not sure how you figured it out, or why you need to know, but no, the abortion never took place. When a wealthy couple offered me financial security to go through with the pregnancy, all I saw were dollar signs. There were no third party or adoption agencies involved, no records to trace, or fear of the kid disrupting my life years later. Just the way I wanted it. I’d have the money needed to get my feet on the ground after my family disowned me, and my son was certain of a good home.”

“So, in other words, your son is walking around somewhere and if he was standing next to you, you wouldn’t even know who he was.”

“Tommy, you have no idea how this haunts me, especially with my life crumbling the way it has. I have two children, and contact with neither. I’d give anything to have him in my life, but I have no freaking idea where he is. The only link between us is the concert ticket I tucked inside his blanket only minutes after his birth.” She nervously laughed, explaining how she wrote her initials M.E. for Mandy Evans on the back of the original. “Who was I kidding,” she said. “I’m sure his new parents destroyed the ticket as soon as they discovered it.”

Her words ripped my insides apart and it felt like someone had kicked me in the balls.

My hands trembled as I slid a piece of laminated cardboard across the counter. I’d carried this memento in my wallet ever since I was old enough to understand.

“Few people know this,” I said. “I’m not the biological child of the McGraw’s.”

“If this is a sick joke, it isn’t funny.”

“Oh, how I wish it were a joke.”

She stared at the ticket before slowly turning it over, to see her faded initials. She quickly reached for her robe and covered her body.

“Oh, my God, Tommy! What have we done?”