Aimee Ch. 01

The day was bright and sunny, but just a bit cool as the fall leaves had begun to fall. I walked along the sidewalk of the bustling business during the noon hour. The aroma hot dogs, popcorn, gyros, pizza, and unidentifiable foods swirled in the air with the leaves as the street vendors added to the congestion of pedestrian traffic. Masses of people trudged along with heads bent down looking either at the sidewalk or, as in most cases, smart phones. They were bobbing and weaving as they walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid those coming from the opposite direction as well as those pouring onto the sidewalk from the adjacent businesses. My attention had been drawn to my own cellphone as I scrolled through the text messages that had been received during the morning's budget meeting.

Suddenly, she burst into my peripheral vision as she came rushing out of Laffitte's Bistro, a popular lunch and dinner destination with a large menu and the kind of ambiance that was conducive to a relaxed meal accompanied by quiet conversation. Our collision was unavoidable and, being of less stature and mass than I was, she lost her balance and began to fall. I reflexively dropped my phone and reached out to steady her, awkwardly catching her around her waist as she grabbed for my arm. I felt her stiffen momentarily in my arm and as she regained her balance she pushed away from me.

Her face was flushed, and my first thought was that she was embarrassed. Then I noticed the puffiness around her reddened eyes, the smeared mascara and the trails of tears running down her cheeks making a mess of the makeup that she had carefully applied earlier in the day. In a moment of realization, I understood that she had been, and still was, terribly upset and that she was still crying with distress.

A sense of chivalry surges in me whenever I am confronted with a crying woman and this occasion was no exception. Holding on to her hand as she began to slip away from me, I apologized and asked her if she was alright.

As she hesitated in her response while we stood in the middle of the sidewalk, the lunch hour crowd diverting and converging around us as they passed, I took a moment to look at her more closely and saw that I held the hand of a young woman, perhaps in her early to mid to 20s, who stood close to 5'9" and weight about 160ish. Her tear-filled eyes were gray with long lashes and her oval face was framed with flowing dark and curly tresses that fell to her shoulders. Dressed in stylish black jeans and a flowing, white, silken blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves she was quite attractive with all the right curves in all the right places.

She sniffed while trying to wipe her nose on her sleeve and I quickly reached into my inner jacket pocket for my handkerchief and offered it to her. "Thanks," she said, dabbing at her eyes and then wiping her nose. "I'm OK."

Clearly, she wasn't, so I said, "You are upset. Is there anything I can do to help you?" She looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes again and she replied, "No, I'm OK."

"Let's go across the street and sit on one of those benches in the park until you can gather yourself and, perhaps, I can help you work through whatever has upset you so badly.", I offered. "My name is Don, and I promise I won't bite."

I thought I saw the corner of her mouth twitch just a little as I promised not to bite and, still hesitant, she looked at all the people milling around us and then with another sniff, and a swipe of my handkerchief she nodded. Taking her gently by her elbow, I escorted her as we navigated the street traffic and made our way to a remote bench in the park. As we sat on opposite sides of the bench I asked if I could know her name. "Aimee," she replied.

Looking to the side she said, "I don't think you would understand.", and raising her eyes to mine, she continued, "Why would you care anyway? No one really cares about me." Heaving sobs overtook her again, as her shoulders shook, and she leaned over with her elbows on her thighs.

I gave her a few moments to cry and then replied, "Well, Aimee, my dad, taught me, when I was a boy, to treat women with gentle care and steadfast respect unless they give you reason to do otherwise. You look as though you could use some of both."

After several moments, she wiped her face again with my now crumpled, stained, and wet handkerchief. Heaving a great sigh, she gave me a shy smile as her eyes held mine. "It has been a long time since anyone has treated me with gentleness or respect.", and tears welled up in her gray eyes again as she pushed a lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She again touched my handkerchief to dry her eyes and sighed deeply.

I waited in silence, hoping to draw her out. She continued with a deep sigh, "I don't know why no-one will care for me... love me. It seems as though they show interest and then suddenly disappear." Tears welled up in her eyes again and her lower lip trembled.

She heaved another sigh and said, "I am upset because the most recent guy I really liked just stood me up, for the third time in as many weeks. I'm beginning to think there is something wrong with me that makes me unlovable."

I was shocked at her dismal self-diagnosis and quickly said, "I'm sure that is not true. You are a young woman with your whole life ahead of you... what... are you 25 maybe?"

"I'm twenty-three.", she responded.

"Then you are far too young to come to such conclusions. You are a good looking, seemingly intelligent young woman who has just begun to live life. Surely there will be many young men who will be interested in you."

She looked up sideways at me and huffed, "Good looking? Look at me, I'm a mess!" As she said that her lock of hair escaped her ear again and fell across her face as she shook her head and protested saying that I didn't know the whole story. It seemed as though the dam broke, and the words poured out as she explained that she came from a very wealthy family and was in line to inherit a fortune numbering in the hundreds of million dollars. Still lived with her parents in the palatial mansion on the North side of the city. She had been in eight relationships in the last four years, none of which had lasted more than a few weeks, and the young men lost interest and either broke it off or simply disappeared.

"I'm afraid they just want to see if there is any money attached to a relationship with me. When they find out that I don't have access to it yet, they are no longer interested.", she sighed.

"Have they actually said that?"

"No, not actually, but what else could it be?"

"I suppose that is possible," I said, "but would be surprised if there is not another reason other than money. I know that this may be a bit too personal, and I am just a random guy off the street but have these young men been aggressive in seeking things from you other than your money?"

A tinge of color rose to her pale, smeared face as she slowly understood what I was asking, "Some," she replied but then vigorously shook her head as she added, "but I have not given in, and will save it for someone whom I know will love me."

I was impressed by her confession as well as by her resolve. "Aimee, I want to help you if I can. Can I ask a few more questions?" She shook the hair from the front of her face again and looked up from her hands in her lap. It was the first time I had seen her smile genuinely, and it was a beautiful smile, even if only a small one. "You have already been asking some, so what's a few more."

"Where have you been meeting these guys?"

"Here and there," she replied, "mostly at clubs and on-line dating apps."

It was my turn to huff in laughter tinged with disbelief as I said, "Aimee, excuse me, but clearly you are dating idiots. There is no reason you should have to meet and date men who are sad and pathetic losers. While not all of them are such, many, perhaps most of them are."

"I suppose," she replied, "but it's hard to meet guys when you have a last name like mine that is associated with money by anyone who hears it. At least in those apps I can be whoever I want to be instead of some spoiled little rich girl. That's what most guys think I am when they know who I really am."

"How much have you tried interacting with people on a different level, letting them get to know the real you and you getting to know them in a natural setting... even before you begin 'dating.' I'm sure that you have much to offer if you will just let your relationships develop naturally instead of, in the context of clubbing or dating apps."

Aimee was becoming more relaxed now, as she leaned back on the bench. She was no longer wringing her hands and her tears had dried. "Where do you meet guys then?" she asked.

"Well, assuming that you have no need for a job, you might still consider getting one doing something you like. Or you might find a place to volunteer at a place where you can meet and interact with other people and get to know them as they get to know you. Perhaps you could take a night course at the local college, join a club that focuses on an area of interest, offer to help with the programs at the Y, get connected with a church. Those are all places and ways to meet people."

She sat there pondering that with a faraway look in her eyes as she processed what I had said. Then she said, "How old are you, Don? How did you get to be so wise?"

"I'm forty-two, Aimee, and I'm not really wise, I've just learned some things over the years I've been knocking around."

She turned to me, this time with a broader smile and said, "Is that so? Well, you have given me some things to think about, and I will think about them. Thank you for saving me over there (nodding toward the sidewalk) and for taking the time to talk with me." She looked at her phone and said, "Oh my, we've been here for almost two hours, I really do need to go.," and she reached out to return my handkerchief.

"Keep it for now," I said, "I'll get it from you the next time I see you."

"You want to see me again? Why? No one has ever lasted for very long before," she said with a renewed look of sadness passing over her face. "Aren't you a little old to be interested in me?"

Smiling I said, "I've enjoyed talking with you and hope I have helped. I'd enjoy checking on you from time to time if you don't mind."

"We'll see," she said.

"If you need me, you can find me over there," pointing to the AEGIS building on the corner a block away. Here's my card, you can ask for me at the desk."

Now she smiled broadly with what I thought was a sparkle in her eye instead of a tear. "May I thank you?" she asked with her arms spread. I stepped to her and felt her young, lithe body press to mine as she wrapped her arms around me and whispered, "Thank you so much, Don. I hope to see you again soon."

Three weeks later, in answer to a nagging curiosity and possibly but unadmitted interest in young Aimee, I walked in the direction of Laffitte's after leaving the office late in the day. The sun was almost touching the horizon, casting long shadows and the streetlights were coming on accompanied by lights from the offices and stores, The lights, working in concert with the shadows of the trees lit the street with a symphony of varied colors and intensities. As the evening approached, the breeze had risen and the invisible fingers of cold crept through the air raising goosebumps on exposed flesh. As I entered the bistro, I breathed in the rich aroma of the imported coffee mixed with fresh pastry. The warmth of the restaurant embraced me as I took in the softly lit interior, its tables filled with mostly couples and the soft murmur of conversations between friends provided an undercurrent that added to the welcoming ambiance.

I was pleasantly surprised to find Aimee there but even more surprised to her behind the counter, hefting a rack of croissants into the display case. I approached the counter and said, "Hello young lady."

She turned abruptly and looked at me and a look of recognition graced her face as she smiled, "Hello Don, how are you?"

"I'm good.," I said, motioning around the room with my hand, "what are you doing here?"

She explained that she had taken my advice to heart and had been very deliberate in her efforts to "shape her future," and "create the new me" as she sought to make new friends in different contexts. She had moved out of her parents' home and taken an apartment about four blocks from the bistro.

"I often come here," she explained, "and have gotten to know the manager. She lost her baker a few weeks ago and, since I love to bake, and am rather good at it, I offered to fill in until she finds someone. I get to meet and visit with many of the customers. I've met so many and have found that I actually enjoy meeting them in a natural setting like this." She smiled broadly at me as she blew aside a strand of hair that was hanging across her face. "I've also enrolled in a culinary class and am honing my cooking and baking skills."

I was impressed and pleased! Aimee explained that she was almost ready to leave for the day, and she cocked her head to the side and asked if I would like to join her for supper before she headed home, and I accepted her invitation. I watched as she untied the straps of her apron and removed it. She smiled at me again and excused herself to "go freshen up" before we sat. I found a table and I watched her walk across the room, greeting some of the "regulars" as she walked. I saw her smile, her confident step, and her womanly form as she approached. I caught myself imagining things that I should not imagine. She was, after all, young enough to be my daughter.

We sat at the table near the back with a lit candle between us, the golden glow of the flame softly caressing the features of her face. Upon her recommendation, we each ordered a plate of Shepherd's Pie, and I asked for a bottle of wine... my treat, I said.

She talked almost non-stop throughout the entire meal. I wondered if it was the wine, or if she was always this way. She explained that she had left her parents' home and moved to an apartment four blocks from Laffitte's. Her mother was not happy with the move, but her dad offered to pay for the apartment. She had declined, wanting to do it on her own if she could. She related stories and shared details about all the people she had met and some of the friends she had begun to make. "No serious men yet.," she declared. "I'm being very selective."

As I filled her glass for the fourth time at the conclusion of a delightful time, she giggled and said, "It's been so nice to see you again. You made a tremendous difference in my life. You saved me."

As we stood, she turned and giggled as she said, "I'm sorry I don't have your handkerchief with me. I do still have it, and it is nice and clean." She swayed a little as she took her first step and then paused and got a serious look on her face as she said, "You know, I think I'm a little buzzed." And then she giggled again.

I smiled back and offered to walk her home to be sure she arrived safely. She put her hand on my arm and looked closely at me and then nodded. As we left the Bistro, it was much cooler than it had been when I arrived. The sun had gone down and in the evening air Aimee shivered. I noticed it and offered her my suit jacket to drape over her shoulders.

Twenty minutes later we arrived at the brownstone building where she lived. She turned to me and asked, "Will you come up? I'll get your handkerchief.," and she giggled again.

To be frank, I wanted to accept her invitation. My body responded to the invitation with a nervous feeling the pit of my stomach. I searched her face as she stepped up on the first step of the entrance and faced me with her face level with mine. A war raged in me between my physical and emotional responses on one side, and, on the other, my dad's advice from many years ago: to treat women with gentle care and steadfast respect.

Wisdom prevailed as I deflected and said, "I think not, Aimee. I'm so proud of the transformation you have gone through. You seem so much happier."

"I am, she said.," and she moved closer to me until the space between us was small enough that I could feel her breath on my face, smell the aroma of her perfume, mixed with the wine on her breath. She slowly placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned closer, pursing her lips with her eyes closed. I teetered on the edge and then turned my head slightly and touched my lips to her cheek, reaching up and taking her hands in mine. "It's not right Aimee. You are a little buzzed and I am flattered but I don't want you to do something you will regret. Get a good night's sleep. Keep the jacket, I'll get it and the handkerchief the next time I see you."

Her disappointment was clear in her face, but she smiled and then giggled as she said, "Thanks for being such a gentleman."