The state highway department was resurfacing roads and replacing guardrails around the Warhaven vicinity, and it seemed to Pete Petrovich that whether driving his own rig or the PUD's truck he was always being stopped for construction, the head of the line.
He soon began to marvel at the timing that he was often at the head of these lines, stopped by a flagger, and a sylph indeed, who he quickly acknowledged to himself was beautiful, witty, and flirtatious. They had been neighbors for years, but their paths had really not crossed and he had never noticed her charms. Now, he felt like a nebbish under her alluring gaze, a lost mariner lured by a sweetly singing siren.
Daphne, who had flagged for about eight years, had probably been hit upon by men hourly, sometimes subtly or politely-sometimes overtly-and occasionally even beastly. Yet, she continued to hold that the give-and-take with men made her feel youthful and coltish. Daphne was thirty-five and a single mom with two kids. That summer she found herself warmly attracted to her politician neighbor, the one with the silly nickname.
One morning Pete strolled into Jane's Java, poured and paid for a cup of house coffee, grabbed the front section of the Garfield Gazette and sat down at the small window table.
After reading an article or two Pete looked up to see Sheila Berry come through the door. She ordered her latte and walked to Pete's table, sitting down.
"Hey, Pete. Good morning."
"Morning, Sheila. How are you?"
"Fine," she said. "Life is good."
They sat there in silence a moment or two, and then her coffee arrived.
"Thank you," she said.
"No problem," the waitress responded, as she turned to return to the counter.
"Pete," she began. "It isn't any of my business..." She paused.
And P.P. rejoined, "But?"
"But," she continued, "I was in the salon the other day and the girls were talking."
"About?" he prodded.
"About how Daphne has her hooks out for you and will snag you by hook or by crook."
"Hmmm," he said. "That's interesting news."
"Is it news?" she queried.
"Hmmm?" he asked.
"I mean, is it news, or do you know how she feels about you? I mean, I've seen you in line at the paving stops. You two seem to be pretty chummy."
"And?"
"And it's just, well..just keep your nose clean, P.P. You"re a damn good councilman. She's very high maintenance."
"So are the power lines I work on every day."
"That's a poor analogy, and you know it. Electricity is predicable, women aren't. Peter, listen. For a while Daphne and David were friends. She recreates a lot."
He raised his left eyebrow, then Sheila smiled, then they both broke into laughter.
"Thanks, Sheila."
"You're welcome." She shook her coffee a bit, stood, and walked out and headed for the boutique, her popular and profitable Uptown Girl Boutique.
"Hmmm."
Pete returned to his paper and an article on yet another corporate buyout.
"Hmmm."
Pete had a buddy who worked a similar job for the phone company. Since the turn of the century the company had been merged or sold a half a dozen times. For a while it seemed as if every time he saw the guy in his work rig, that it was a different color with a different logo. Pete liked his current stability and its simplicity. He knew from the start Daphne was a firecracker.
P.P. wondered about rumors and what they were good for. It was rumors that initiated the destruction of his marriage. He had blindly wondered why he and his wife were being shunned back then, until the truth hit him squarely between the eyes: P.P. was a dope.
He really didn't want to jump out of the skillet into the fire, excepting that Daphne was so darn pretty and so skillfully flirtatious.
Commented
Sorry, there are no recent results for popular commented articles.