hers.
“Maria Guadeloupe Garcia-Martinez.”
She asked how old he was and he said twenty-four. He asked how old she was and she said twenty-five. She asked if he had a girlfriend and he said he had a beautiful Mexican girl who worked in a restaurant in mind. He asked if she had a boyfriend and she said she was waiting for a big gringo cop with blue eyes.
They dated for three months before he asked her to marry him. It was all right with her family. He seemed like a good man and would take care of her. Besides, it would be good to have a cop in the family.
They were married in a Catholic Church by a Hispanic priest. He didn’t care. He wasn’t religious. He would do whatever she wanted. They waited until they were married to make love. He was not a virgin but she was. He tried to be as gentle and caring as he could because he loved this girl with all his heart. She responded and tried to please him. She had no idea that she was supposed to enjoy their love making, too. She was just inexperienced.
They spent time at both families and split holidays so that neither family felt neglected. Both families were completely accepting. Mike was even learning to speak Spanish. He loved to please her and their lovemaking was something sacred to him. He could never imagine it with anyone else.
Now he was in his truck with a woman sitting next to him and it felt like he was being unfaithful. He was lonely but he was lonely for Maria, for the dead woman he still loved. He missed her and his little girl desperately. In his mind, whatever he hit and whoever he fought was the truck driver who took his loves because that asshole couldn’t go a day without drinking.
A few times after their death, Mike went looking for fights, but looking down at bloodied and broken men after a moment’s altercation only made him feel worse. Hurting people for no real reason was not who he was. When he finally realized there was nothing he could do to kill the aching loneliness, he settled on a defensive strategy: he prepared and trained and taught others, hoping that what he did would somehow lessen the suffering of others.
“Mike, are you listening to me?”
He jerked back to reality. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said we are having dinner at my parents next Saturday night.”
“Oh. OK. That’s fine.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“Of course I did,” he lied. “It’s just that sometimes I can’t hear even out of my good ear because of being around all those weapons in the infantry.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “I smell baloney.”
He pulled into the parking lot in Old Town and took the ticket from the meter. He parked and got out and opened the door for her. She really was a pretty woman.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I was drifting a little.”
She smiled and patted his cheek. “Just don’t drift too far from me.”
She took his arm and they started walking to the restaurant.
Mike opened the door to the restaurant and they were met by a handsome Black man looking at a computer screen.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I have reservations for two. My name is Valentine.”
“Great,” he said. “You’re Willie’s friend. I’m Alan Baker, his cousin.”
Mike smiled and shook his hand. “This is Donna.”
“Hello, Donna, and welcome.”
The food was excellent and the atmosphere was wonderful. He told her about his childhood - his father was second generation from Ireland and his mother’s parents were straight out of the Scottish Highlands. In fact, she still spoke with a Scottish lilt.
She said her father’s family was from Naples but her mother’s family was from Sicily. She admitted it was a volatile combination.
After dinner, she suggested that he show her his house since she had never seen it. He agreed and, when they arrived, she whistled. “Wow, Mike, this is beautiful.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
He was forever forgetting to lock his truck and this time was no exception. Since this was the first time he brought a woman at his house, he was nervous so he even left his keys in his truck. As he led her through the arches, she said, “Very nice.”
He checked his pocket. “I left my keys in my truck.” He started back to get them but then remembered it was cold. “Just a minute,” he said, and reached down in a large flowerpot by the door and pulled out a spare key. “Go in where it’s warm and I’ll get my keys. As she entered the house, she whistled again. Mike was back in less than a minute.
“I love this house,” she said.
“I’m still working on decorating it. My neighbor next door is helping me.” He was proud of what had been done so far. Ludmilla had picked out colors and furniture for the whole house. He thought it was beautiful. He tried painting the walls himself but it took too much time away from training so he asked Jason to recommend a painting contractor and had the whole house done at one time.
“I don’t really like the colors you have in here. They’re too subdued.”
He was helping her off with her coat. “Really? I like the colors.”
“Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “Our first argument.”
He hung up her coat and said, “Would you like a tour?”
“Yes, please. And make sure we end up in the bedroom.”
He looked at her and she smiled. He showed her the rest of the house and the back yard. She was truly impressed. She held onto his arm as he explained everything.
As she walked into the master bedroom, she said, “I could really do something with this.” She continued looking around. “Oh, good, you have a stereo in here.” He did. He liked listening to Celtic music at night. It relaxed him. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She was back in two minutes with a CD. She pushed him to the end of the bed and made him sit down. “Just relax, cowboy, and enjoy. I’ve wanted to do this for you since I first saw you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Call it cultural enrichment.” She walked over to the stereo and put in a Journey CD. Driving guitars and the strong made-for-rock voice of Steve Perry filled the room. Donna started to sway in an extremely provocative manner. As she danced, he could tell she had practice. It was just the right amount of movement between classy and vulgar. Steve and the boys cranked out the sound.
It’s tearing me apart
Every-every-every da-ee-yea
It’s tearing me apart
Oh, girl what can I say
As she swayed, she pulled her sweater up over her head, revealing a flat, hard stomach and large round breasts encased in a black, lacy bra. She threw her sweater over the back of a chair and skipped forward until she was directly in front. He thought, how the hell did she do that on those high heels? Then she lifted her skirt up, revealing thigh stockings and a garter belt, but no panties. “I’ve been planning this, Michael. I’m going to convince you that you can’t live without me.”
Mike’s eyes were glued to her. He wasn’t sure what to do. She was very sexy but he could live without her - that was the problem. What she was doing here was no more to him than a strip show at a juice bar. But, it was a very good strip show at a very nice bar.
As she continued to dance, she took off her skirt. Her black pubic hair reminded him of Maria’s, which only helped to convince him that he really shouldn’t be doing this. But he hadn’t been with a woman since Maria died and his eyes were started to float.