What Phoebe Wants

“Doing great, Ben. Thanks for coming out. This is Phoebe Frame.”

Ben nodded, then turned to the car. “You bought this from Easy Motors?”

I nodded. “I’ve only had it since yesterday, so it’s still under warranty—isn’t it?”

Ben made a noise that might have been laughter. “Good luck getting anything out of that bunch.”

I retrieved my purse and Ben hooked the car up to the wrecker. I started to climb in beside him, but Jeff pulled me back. “Ben can take care of it. I’ll drive you home.”

I didn’t think that was a good idea, but before I could say anything, I heard clanking chains and tires on gravel and Ben pulled out into traffic, my Mustang hoisted behind him like the catch of the day.

“Okay. Thanks.” At least driving, he’d have to keep his hands to himself. As for me, I could always sit on my hands.

“I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.”

Eating was too much like a date. I was not going to date Jeff. “I really need to get home,” I said.

“You have kids?”

The question jolted me. “Uh…no.”

“Good.”

Good? “Why is that good?” Was the world infested with men who didn’t like children?

“It means you don’t need to get home. And everybody has to eat, don’t they?”

We ended up at a place called Pizza Junction, which combined Old West decor with Italian food in a sort of spaghetti Western theme. “You’ve eaten here before?” I asked as we made our way past bales of hay festooned with braids of garlic.

“It’s very good.” He slid into a booth and I sat across from him. “I recommend the Lariat Special.”

I ordered a Diet Coke and agreed to split the Lariat Special with Jeff. He apparently wasn’t a man who believed in small talk. As soon as the waitress brought our drinks, he looked me over and asked, “How long have you been divorced?”

I stripped the paper from a straw and wadded it into a knot, avoiding his gaze. “Six months. We were separated six months before that.” Anticipating the next question, and wanting to get it over with, I added. “We were married twelve years.”

“Was it your idea, or his?”

I had to hand it to Jeff; he had nerve. I imagined him tackling computer problems this way: find out everything you can so that you approach the problem armed with information. I could have told him these things were none of his business, but why bother? It wasn’t as if I had any real secrets to hide. “It was his idea. He said he didn’t want to be married anymore.” I swished my straw around in my Diet Coke. “He has a young girlfriend now.”

He took a long pull on his beer. “He’s crazy.”

“Because he left, or because he took up with a younger woman?”

“Both. What could a younger woman offer that you couldn’t?”

He sounded so certain of right and wrong here. So naive. “You don’t understand now, but one day you will. Of course, right now, younger women for you are in high school.”

He leaned back against the booth. “I’ve always been partial to older women.”

“Then go visit the nursing home.”

He grinned. “Touchy, touchy. You know what I mean.”

The arrival of our pizza saved me from having to find an answer to that. Jeff was telling me he was interested in me and I couldn’t deny the powerful physical attraction I felt for him.

As we worked our way around the pizza, I turned the conversation to safer topics. I found out Jeff owned the company that distributed the software I was going to be using, as well as a number of other medical and dental programs. He had a small office with a few employees and spent most of his time in medical offices, selling or setting up new systems.

“Is every office as much of a soap opera as ours?” I asked.

“Pretty much.” He looked thoughtful. “They’re mostly women, you know, so it’s always interesting for a new man to enter in to the mix.”

“I’d think you’d enjoy the attention.”

His grin returned. “Oh, I do. I certainly do.”

He managed to eat most of the large pizza, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him that I could see. I’d confined myself to two pieces and hoped all that cheese wouldn’t translate itself into an extra inch on my hips by Friday.

It was almost nine o’clock by the time Jeff drove me home. I sat against the passenger door, staring out at the dark streets and thought of all the times some boy had driven me home from a date in high school. I had the same feeling now, that sort of jittery, sick-to-my-stomach sensation, anticipating whether or not he would kiss me, and what I would do if he tried. You’d think, at my age, I’d be over that kind of nervousness, but apparently it had come back to haunt me, like post-adolescent acne.

I had my door open seconds after the truck turned into my drive, but Jeff was almost as quick. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he said.

He came around the truck and tried to take my arm, but I shied away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I fumbled in my purse, looking for my keys.

“You’ve been jumpy all evening. What’s your problem? What is it about me that you especially don’t like?”

“It’s not you in particular,” I said, and headed up the walk. “It’s just…I haven’t had the best of luck with men lately.”

“Not all men are jerks like your husband.”

I thought of Dr. Patterson and the man who groped me in the elevator. “Just most of the ones I know.”

I started to unlock the door, but he covered my hand with his own. “I’m not like them.”

I sighed. “You say that, but your mind works like theirs.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me that well.”

He was leaning very close, and his eyes were dark with a desire that both frightened and thrilled me. “I know you’re probably going to try to kiss me right now,” I whispered, any intention I’d ever had of refusing him vanished from my mind.

He took a step back and shook his head. “I don’t think so. The mood you’re in, you’d probably bite my lips off.”

He turned away and I sagged against the door. “Good night, Phoebe,” he called when he reached his truck.

When he was gone, I let myself inside. I told myself I’d talked my way out of a tight spot. After all, I really didn’t want to start anything with Jeff.

But the part of me that never lied wished I’d let him kiss me.