I had known he was there, but hadn’t acknowledged him. Most people preferred to stay to themselves, reading a newspaper or magazine. Or, some walked around in the attached store to entertain themselves. With any luck, the waiting customers would at least pick up essentials like laundry soap and toothpaste. Often times buying much more than that.
I shrugged. “Yeah, it does. I guess lunch will be what ever I can find in there.” I pointed at the door leading into the store.
“You know there’s a great Italian restaurant a few miles from here. I planned on going there for lunch. Why don’t you join me? My treat. Then I’ll bring you back to finish waiting for your car.” He had an eagerness that made me uneasy.
Scott, the manager, walked in and had overheard the guy’s offer. In the past, we’d had a few conversations about me being close to his daughters’ ages. A few months back, he promised only to recommend the same kinds of repairs he would for his own daughters’ cars. As he continued walking through the waiting area, he said, “Sounds like a good idea, Rose. Jim’s a good guy.”
I started to say no, but Scott defused that with his endorsement. He knows Jim, right? So, I should be safe. It’s daylight, just lunch, and Italian food sounded good. I’ll be dipping into savings fix the wipers. “Sure, lunch sounds good.”
Forty minutes later, Jim’s car was ready and we left for Angelo’s. He talked the whole way about how nice I was, unlike his ex-wife. He seemed to be preoccupied with his dislike of her. Anything from her attitude to her appearance. “Guess I should have asked. Do you have a boyfriend who will hunt me down and beat me up for treating you to lunch?”
I laughed. “No. How long have you been divorced?”
“Well, it’s in the final stages. It’s just a matter of signing papers.”
“I wish I had known that before agreeing to lunch. Is she going to hunt me down?”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “No, she kicked me out. She only wants my money. Might as well spend it eating well. If I don’t have any, there’s nothing for her to get.” He laughed, but he wasn’t smiling.
I nodded to acknowledge I heard him, but not to what he was saying. This is not a guy I want to get involved with. This was such a bad idea. The waiter at Angelo’s seated us right away. Jim ordered a plate of rotini and a glass of wine. I ordered a lasagna and a cola. “What, no wine? That’s what make it really good.” Again, that uncomfortable feeling washed over me.
The more wine he drank, the more he complimented me on my appearance and how nice I was compared to his ex-wife. Several times I reminded him that he was still married. “Technicalities. She don’t want me any more,” he replied each time.
I passed on dessert, feeling guilty about him paying for my meal. I wanted to return to the garage soon and didn’t care if it would be hours more of waiting. Or, that my clothes and hair would smell like new tires by the time the car was ready. He reluctantly agreed and took me back.
Before I could get out of his car, he reached over, and kissed me on the mouth. I pulled away, opened the door, and got out. I stood outside the passenger door and said, “Thank you for ride and lunch.” I shut the door and stepped away from the car.
He rolled the window down and called out, “Can I get your number? You know, for when my divorce is really final. I’d like to see you again.”
It finally clicked. I don’t have to be nice to this guy or anyone else if it causes me to compromise myself. “I don’t have one to give you. We won’t be seeing each other again. Thank you again for lunch.” Then I walked back into the repair shop.
J K Metz 