After Edward left, I continued to work swing shift, was accepted at work as one of the "girls", enjoyed their company but remained aloof. In truth, I was not like them even though I tried to be. The twelve years of my parochial school had left their indelible mark.
I yearned for the part of me lost when Edward left, something to fill the void he left. Each day I dressed, put on makeup, combed my hair, dabbed on perfume, I did so for his absent approval. He too left an indelible mark. I remained his Asian doll.
I pined for his smile, voice, caress, and sophistication. That’s what I told myself. In truth, I missed the affair’s forbidden excitement, the epicure dining, most of all the attention of being someone special. Friday nights slipped by uneventful, no longer was I the object of a maître d’s or sommelier’s attention.
My internal trinity was in conflict. Mind’s God the Father’s yearned for Edwards intellectual stimulation, Heart’s Jesus Christ ached for his romance, and Vixen, my Un-Holy Spirt, meowed for his stroking. The conflict within simmered until Vixen took control. Playing off Edward’s Tramp-Scamp penis appellation, Vixen perverted the ditty sung by the Siamese cats in the Disney movie, Lady and the Tramp into.
I am horny if you please
I am horny if you don't please
There is no finer Vixen than me
I like, you pet me quite a while
Meow, meow, Vixen, wants it now, now.
While driving, shopping, laundering, working the ditty would pop up. After a year of marriage fidelity, in the spring of 1978, a year after Edward walked on the plane and out of my life, an engineer walked in. Vixen made no coy flirt suggestion for his attention. She didn't even notice him. He boldly approached while I was bent over staring into the microscope at Nortec Electronics and interrupted me.
“Hi good looking. How, about having lunch together at break?”
Looking up from my silicon wafer alignment, I blinked, refocused, and scanned him. His alignment pleased me.
“I don’t eat cafeteria food. I bring my lunch. Cafeteria food’s bad.”
“I know but I didn’t bring lunch. You can sit with me while you eat your bag lunch. I’m just asking for us to sit together.”
“You’re pushy. I’m aligning now. Pick a seat. When I go to lunch, I’ll decide if to sit with you.”
I bent back down to align. He strode off, de-bolded.
When I arrived at the cafeteria with my lunch bag, he was sitting alone at a far corner table. I strode over, sat across from him, opened my bag, and nibbled on the chicken I’d brought but didn’t say anything.
He was assured of himself and assumed I’s say something but I looked at the girls where I normally sat. Confronted with an awkward silence, he finally asked.
"Cat got your tongue? I’m glad you decided to sit with me. What’s your name?
“Cobra, are you venomous?”
I turned and looked at him.
“Careful, I might bite.”
My tongue darted out in warning.
“How about you and me, we go on a date? Let me see if I can charm you with my flute."
"So am I".
"Í don't see a ring".
"Don't wear one but I'm married."
He was ten years older, good looking but bald on top and a bit on the short side, say five feet nine inches. I figured Italian. He had a nice voice and smelled good. He was sure of himself in demeanor, an Alpha male.
I looked directly at him.
"Are you with your flute good enough to date me?"
He didn’t flinch or look away. His hazel colored eyes attempted to take control.
"I'm good, very good. If you go on a date with me; you’ll know how good I am."
I knew the best response was to mock him. Engineers assumed line girls were attracted to them because of their superior work position. I was never going to be his F and F. I wanted a prince Edward, an Omega.
"Who are you and what do you do here?"
"I'm self-employed. I’m an electrical engineer. Nortec contracted me to fix an equipment problem. You can call me Enrico."
I looked directly at him, again darted out my tongue for his attention.
"I've never dated a Mexican electrician. My husband’s an engineer."
Insulted he replied.
"I'm an electrical engineer, not an electrician and I am Italian, not Mexican."
Knowing Italians tended to look down on both I retorted.
"Well, you look Mexican, maybe Portuguese."
He smiled instead of protesting. He realized I was teasing.
“So, you do bite. I’d like to charm you.”
"Where’d you take me on your date?"
"Where ever you like."
"I like shopping, my husband never takes me."
"I’ll take you shopping".
"You’ll need to be a real engineer. I like nice things."
Laughing at my brashness he replied.
"I like to be treated nicely when I buy nice things."
"Get me perfume so I can smell good for you."
"That's for you to decide. I need to know if you are Cheap Charlie cologne or Good Charlie perfume."
"I'm Good Charlie Perfume, you'll see."
My chicken finished, I replied.
"You better go fix the equipment so you can afford nice perfume."
I got up and went to the girls' table. They’d been watching from afar and began their innuendos and teasing as I sat down. munching
The next lunch shift, he was sitting at the same table with a wrapped little box. I sat down and instead of opening my lunch bag, opened it. It was Shalimar, a half-ounce.
Setting it on the table I glibly replied.
"It’s a half ounce, you’re only half good?"
He stared, stunned. His smug, cocky smile dropped to a frown. His eyes darted ire. He took the package and wrapping, put them in his coat pocket, and left without a word. It didn't matter to me if we went out or not. If we did it was going to be on my terms. That was what my pride said but Vixen said a half-ounce was fine.
The next lunch he had an ounce bottle, boxed but unwrapped as if to say he too was indifferent.
I opened the box, then the bottle and applied dabs behind my ears and on my wrists. After a few moments to merge with my scent, I placed one wrist under his nose.
It was our first contact. He lost his indifference. I lifted my hair on one side and let him put his face to the nape of my neck for a sniff with his nose caressed by my hair. I was wearing the dangling gold and pearl earrings. He attempted to kiss my neck but I pulled back and told him.
"We're not on a date."
Tired of my banter he replied.
"Are we going out or not?"
"I would if I had something to wear."
"What, a nightie"?
"I need a nice dress and shoes to be nice on a date."
I wrote my sizes on a napkin to let him know I was serious. He was upset as if I was making him a fool. I got up, left to the girl’s table but turned around on leaving, smiled as a flirt, and said.
"Make sure you don't get half a dress and one shoe."
"You better not be half a date."
"I don't do half dates."
The next shift, Thursday, he wasn’t there. I assumed his interest had waned. Friday, however, he showed up and explained he had worked Thursday at another facility.
"I got you a nice dress and shoes. They’re in my car. You want to see them?"
"Get them and I will try them on in the ladies’ room. If they look good, I will let you see me wear them."
I wasn’t going to degrade myself rushing to his car as if I was a cheap F and F. He came back with an Emporium bag and handed it to me. Not looking inside, I went to the ladies’ room to examine his nice. The quality of the blue mini dress and pump shoes were nice but the shoes weren't what I’d pick to match the dress. Together, however, they made their statement. He wanted nice sex. Vixen did too.
I put them on. The dress hem was three inches above my knees. The three-inch heels pushed me forward. I put the dress and shoes I wore to work and the Emporium bag in my work locker.
With the company smock over my new dress, I strode back to his isolated table. Walking across the cafeteria I crossed my footsteps to provide emphasis from the high heels. Their clicking on the floor raised the heads of the girls at my regular table.
He stared down at my feet in the shoes and smiled.
"How’d you like the dress."
I lifted my smock as if to show the dress but pinched it with the smock so it rose too. He briefly saw my panties.
I dropped the smock, bent over, and crossed my arms, as if embarrassed.
"The dress looks great on you. You promised a date."
"Meet me Sunday, ten in the morning, at the Stanford Mall fountain."
"Not more shopping?"
"I said, I like shopping, but my husband never takes me."
I got up, took a few steps with heels clicking to go back to work, stopped, and turned back to him. He obviously had been watching my posterior sway. I opened the front of the smock so he could see the dress then left him smiling at the table.
The girls quizzed me but I told them I was just teasing and wasn’t interested.
“He’s a joke. If you want him, he’s yours. You can have the dress and shoes too.”
In truth, after a year of marital fidelity, I was swept off by my feet, not by him, by my need for wanton attention.
Author Notes: She tries to control and manipulate an engineer met a work by banter but is struggling with herself.