A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lady

Jack kissed Jan goodbye, while Suzette and I looked on uncomfortably. We thanked Mueller, Fitzgerald, and Price, and got back into Jack's car for the return trip to Kingsbrook. It was largely a silent journey.

Once we were on the highway again, Jack asked us where we had disappeared to. I was too sick to want to talk, and Suzette was largely uncommunicative. When we arrived back at her dorm, I was so sick and embarrassed that I forgot to give her a kiss goodbye.

That was the last time I saw her. We had one more week of classes, and the following week was finals. When the semester ended, she went back to the ranch, and then, in the fall, on to the women's college in Texas.

After we dropped off Suzette, Jack and I stopped at one of our favorite local dives for breakfast. The first few forkfuls were rough going, but once I finished eating, I felt much better. Now, all I needed was sleep. Jack dropped me off at home, and I forsook the need to study and jumped right into bed. He went on to the library to study for an Organic Chem test that he had the next morning. He didn't get home until late that evening.

When I woke up a few hours before that, I tried to process what had happened to me the previous evening. I just didn't understand. I could party with the best of them, and when I arrived at that house that is exactly what I intended to do. Two beers and a few hits of pot could not possibly have done that to me. Somebody had to have slipped me something.

I tried to retrace my memories of when I started feeling so incredibly messed up. We had been watching Saturday Night Live. I remembered that I had gotten up to use the bathroom, and that at that point, I felt fine. I still had half a cup of beerin my hand, but there was no table next to the couch where I was sitting, so when I started to walk out of the TV room, I set the beer down on the end table that was right next to Suzette. When I came back, I picked up my beer, sat down, and quickly finished the last half of it. A few minutes later, I started to feel strangely.

Then it occurred to me! Suzette! It had to have been Suzette! She must have put something in my beer. I remembered that Steve and Tracy's recliners were in front of the couch that she and I sat on and were angled toward the TV. I remembered that when they were talking to us, they had to turn their heads to see us. Suzette could easily have put something in my cup without them having seen anything.

It would be at least 15 years before I knew what Roofies or Rohypnols were. Still, I had seen enough hard-boiled detective movies to know that, at least in the movies, disreputable types were capable of slipping a Mickey to an unsuspecting victim, usually the good-looking woman. I shuddered to think that in this case, I was playing the role of the good-looking woman and Suzette was the disreputable type! Did she really slip me a Mickey?

And if she did, why? So she could have sex with me? Why would Suzette fail to understand my willingness and great desire to go to bed with her, and, misinterpreting that willingness and desire, drug me for the purpose of, in effect, having her way with me sexually? It didn't make any sense to me.

On the other hand, and granted, maybe this was an immature way to look at the situation, wasn't it in some ways kind of a compliment? I mean, a beautiful woman gives me drugs so she can have sex with me? Most guys my age, at least at that time, were not likely to complain too loudly. Then again, wasn't it just... weird? ... And wrong?

Shouldn't Suzette have known that I was crazy about her? Even in love with her? I knew I should have expressed my feelings to her, but I was too young, inexperienced, and afraid. I really had no idea if she had mutual feelings for me. Now, 28 years had passed, and I knew that, despite the fact that I hadn't thought about her for years, my feelings had never really changed, despite my marriage and my love for my wife -- that is, my ex-wife.

I clicked on the link to her Facebook page, and her profile picture popped up on my monitor. Sure enough, there was Suzette, flanked by three incredibly beautiful young women in their early 20s -- her daughters, I would soon learn. Damn, she looked fine!

Her brunette hair was a lot shorter and was streaked with blonde highlights. She still had those wide shoulders, but she appeared slimmer than she was in college, though her bust had clearly grown. Her face had certainly matured, but everything was still there: the cute chin, the soft lips, the statuesque nose, those piercing hazel eyes, and her wonderful complexion.

I clicked through other pictures of her, alone and with her daughters, and I began reading the posts that accompanied them. Along with the other information she had posted about herself, I was able to piece together a pretty clear picture of what she had being doing since that bizarre night 28 years ago.

She had graduated from the women's school in Texas with a Major in Fashion Marketing and a Minor in French (apparently, she spoke the language fluently). Then, she went on to earn an MBA from some school in Pennsylvania, and after graduating, she had gone to France, by herself, and had gotten a job working for some haute couture fashion house.

There, she met and fell in love with a Frenchman by the name of Francois Lévêque. They soon married, and over the next five or six years, she gave birth to three daughters, each one more beautiful than the next. They spent a number of years somewhere on the French Riviera, before Suzette brought her young family back to the States.

There they lived in a number of places on the East Coast. But after 10 years, her marriage to Francois began to fray, and a year later, she divorced him, changed her name back to Pearce, and moved herself and her daughters to Jacksonville, Florida, where she raised them by herself. Now, she was selling real estate in Jacksonville -- overpriced condominiums to retirees from New York.

I was transfixed. I looked at those pictures over and over again. In one, she was wearing a red, satin kimono, bright red lipstick and a lot of makeup, dangling earrings and matching gloves, her hair up, standing in profile except for her head that was staring deeply into the camera. One of her arms was at her side, while the other one held one of those Oriental fans.

She was posed in front of an Impressionistic still-life in an ornate frame, which hung above an elegant console table. The stereotype of that costume suggested docile subservience and chaste purity, but standing in profile as she was, the kimono could not conceal her ample bosom, and the whole effect screamed anything but innocence.

But what really caught my eye was the look on her face. It was -- how should I put this? --

penetrating. Her eyes had an incisive effect; they bore into you as if to suggest that she knew things that no one else could ever know, which she wanted to unburden herself of, though only to one person in whom she could confide completely.

I wondered why that picture had been taken. Was she at a costume or Halloween party? Was it some kind of a glamour shot? Who knew? What I did know was that it had a tremendous effect upon me.

And because of it, I now had an inexorable desire to do two things. First, I wanted more than anything else to see Suzette and to find out once and for all if she had ever had any real feelings for me, and if she had, whether there was any possibility that she still held those same feelings.

I saw no evidence, at least on Facebook, that at present there was any man in her life. In addition, my ex-wife and I had divorced three years ago, and since that time, I had had only a few relationships with women, none of which had lasted more than a few months at a time. We were both eligible divorcées. Why not?

And the second thing? I wanted to find out if Suzette had put something in my beer all those years ago back in Springfield, and if she had, why.

I realized that those two goals were at cross purposes to each other. I mean, if I was lucky enough to be able to see Suzette, and if I was even luckier and she did not hate me, as I suspected she did, and actually wanted to reconnect with me, didn't I risk it all by bringing up the past and trying to explain myself to her and apologize for my rash decision that night?

And more significantly, wouldn't trying to find out, or even worse, bluntly asking her if she had put something in my beer, drugged me so that she could take sexual advantage of me, place an undue amount of stress upon that emotional house of cards, such that the whole thing would come crashing down?

Still, all of this presupposed that I would even get a chance to see Suzette, and how was that going to happen? She was 2500 miles away.

And then I remembered! I could see Suzette after all!

I had forgotten that in three months I was scheduled to go to a tech conference in Orlando. The conference was scheduled to last for three days, but my boss was sending me there at his request and had insisted that I take some extra time to see the sites -- Disney World, Epcot Center, and all the rest -- and on his dime, no less!

I had already booked my flight and was scheduled to be in Florida for a whole week. I really had no desire to go any of those places, but I figured that an extra four day vacation to a place that I had never before visited would be good for me.

And then I considered the logistics. Jacksonville was only a two-hour drive from Orlando. I could spend the rest of the week there, near the ocean, which I preferred, before heading back to Orlando for my return flight. That gave me, I figured, four, maybe five days in which to see Suzette. That would work.

I thought about how I might go about contacting her. I could instant message her through Facebook, but I decided that to do that now with months to go before I would see her would only give her more time to remember that fateful night, and in so doing, decide that she hated my guts and should definitely avoid me at all costs.

My best bet might be to wait until I arrived in Florida and only give her a day or two advance notice. That seemed like the more prudent plan.

But then self-doubt crept stealthily into my brain. Shit, that was 28 years ago! The overwhelming odds were that Suzette wouldn't even remember me, and if she did, that she would think me the creepiest guy in the world for trying to get in touch with her after so many years.

Finally, I just thought to myself, "Fuck it! What do I have to lose?" If she does hate me, what's the worst she can do -- tell her friends what an asshole I am? They don't even know me, so who cares? And if by any chance, she is still in contact with any of the people that I knew so many years ago, I'm in California, thousands of miles away; I'll never see any of them again anyway. It was settled then. I was going to do it.

Three months passed in the flash of an eye, and on a Sunday afternoon in May, I arrived in Orlando for the conference. It was ostensibly training for launching an online blog, and my boss wanted me to start one in conjunction with the articles that I was writing for the travel magazine for which I worked.

The conference was pretty boring and not terribly informative. The only good thing about it was that there were an incredible number of really hot looking women in attendance. Just talking and visiting with some of them really got my blood boiling and made me that much more excited about the possibilities that I might just be able to see Suzette.

On Tuesday, the night before the final day of the conference, I instant messaged Suzette through her Facebook page. My note to her went as follows:

Dear Suzette,

I don't know if you will even remember me, but we had some fun times together at EDSU in the late 70s. I stumbled across your 'Facebook' page when I was looking up Paul Anderson, who I know you are "friends" with, and found out that you're in Jacksonville now. I've been living in California for some time, but I am currently in Orlando for a conference which ends tomorrow at 4:00 p.m.

After that, I planned to drive over to Jacksonville Beach. I am staying at the 'Four Points,' and I wondered if you might have any desire to meet me sometime for dinner or drinks. I would love to catch up. Message me back, if you have any interest in getting together. I'll be in FL until Sunday, and I would love to see you.

Missing your smile,

Jae Thomas

I was pleasantly shocked when Suzette messaged me back within the hour. She wrote:

Dear Jae,

Are you crazy? Of course I remember you! How could I forget? Those parties you had at your place were the stuff of legends! I would absolutely love, love, love to see you! And you're staying in Jacksonville Beach? How did you know? I live just down the road from your hotel! How convenient!

There is a little bistro less than a mile away from 'Four Points' that I like a lot. It's called 'Eleven South.' Why don't we meet there tomorrow at say 7:30 p.m.? That should give you plenty of time to make the drive from Orlando and to get yourself settled into your hotel. I am so excited about seeing you! If this doesn't work, message me back. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at 7:30! I can't wait to get caught up!

Love,

Suzette

My first reaction to her note was euphoria -- not only did she remember me, but she sounded genuinely interested in seeing me.

My second reaction was to set about interpreting every possible nuance in what she had written. I was probably being overly optimistic, but I noticed that she had mentioned that she couldn't forget me, that she would "love, love, love" to see me and wanted to do so as soon as possible, and that she assumed that I had chosen to stay in Jacksonville Beach because I had found out that it was close to where she lived.

I hadn't. I didn't know where she lived. Christ! I'm not a stalker. I just liked being close to the ocean, and that particular hotel was well within my company's per diem limit.

One other thing about her note. Over the past three months, I had tried to tamp down my expectations of meeting Suzette, and I knew that in reality things almost always fall far short of what a person could conjure up in his or her mind, but I thought that it was so interesting that in her closing she used the word "Love." That seemed a really intimate thing to say to someone that you had not seen or even thought about for 28 years. Again, I felt like I could not help but to be hopeful.

At 4:00 p.m. the next day, my rental car was already packed, gassed up, and ready to go. I hit the highway two minutes after the conference ended and made good time driving.

I arrived at my hotel on the beach about 6:15 p.m. and got myself checked in. Then, I changed my clothes, put on a sports jacket, and decided that I would walk to Eleven South. It was less than a mile down the oceanfront, and I been sitting all day. Besides, it was a beautiful evening.

I enjoyed the walk; it was especially pleasant knowing that I was about to see a beautiful woman that I really, really liked. I set off down 1^st Street South, the road closest to the beach.

There was a warm breeze blowing off the Atlantic, and I could smell, taste and feel the ocean. It's so much warmer and saltier than the Pacific, and it had a way of getting into your bones that made being near it so different from the West Coast. I lived only a few miles from the Pacific in California, but when you were close to the Atlantic, you knew you were close to it.

Don't get me wrong, I love living on the California coast. Because the water is so much colder, we don't get the storms, especially the hurricanes that Florida does, and we don't have to suffer through the same heat and humidity. But for this short visit, the Atlantic's warmth beckoned, and I was really glad I had chosen to stay near the beach.

When I reached Eleventh Avenue South, I turned right and walked one block west. After I crossed the street, Eleven South was just beyond the corner. It was a small, modern, single-story, sand-colored building.

I opened the door and walked inside, and before the hostess even had a chance to greet me, I had already spotted Suzette sitting at a dimly lit table in the back of the small restaurant.

I walked back to the table, but Suzette got up from her seat, ran to me before I reached it, and gave me a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Suzette! You look great!" I said.

She did too. She was wearing a dark-colored business suit, white blouse, and a black, calf-length skirt with high heels. Her brunette hair was longer than it had been in the pictures on Facebook, even longer than it had been in college and accented with blonde highlights, but her beautiful face, bright hazel eyes, and lovely complexion were all still unchanged.

Though she still had the wide shoulders of her youth, she was more delicate looking, with a slender waist and tan, toned legs. She had clearly taken care of herself. Even though her business suit, like the kimono in the Facebook picture, did its best to conceal them, I could tell that her breasts were considerably bigger than I remembered.

After she broke our embrace, she smiled and said sincerely, "It's so good to see you, Jae. It's been too long." Then, she stood back, giving me a serious once-over gaze. "Let me take a look at you. I love the beard! It makes you look so distinguished!"

I was wearing a sports jacket; a light-colored, patterned dress shirt, open at the collar; and a pair of jeans. I was glad that I had changed into the sports jacket because otherwise I would have been seriously underdressed next to Suzette.

She must have read my mind, because at that very moment, she apologized for being dressed so formally, explaining that she had just shown a multi-million dollar beach home and was afraid that if she stopped to change, she would have been late. She didn't want me to have to wait.

We sat down, and Suzette opened our conversation with a request, "So tell me what you've been doing for all these years."

I launched into a tedious account of my life. I explained that after I graduated from EDSU, I began my teaching career, went on to graduate school, and then transitioned from teaching into school administration.

I described how when I started teaching in the Twin Cities, I had met my wife and that after our courtship, we married and had two beautiful daughters that I loved dearly, both of whom were doing well and enrolled in graduate schools in California.

Then I backtracked and explained that before the girls were even in elementary schools, I had been offered a job as a Principal of a high school in a small city on the California coast, and that we had been living there ever since.

I explained that after our daughters had graduated from high school, my marriage to my wife had slowly started to unravel, and that we had divorced three and a half years ago.

I described how I had become disillusioned with education, quit my job as a Principal, and had begun writing for a glossy travel/feature magazine. I mentioned that over the last few years, I had had two books published.

Now, my boss had sent me to this tech conference, so I could start blogging articles about a wide variety of topics on behalf of the magazine, and that is what had brought me to Florida.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived just in time, because I was afraid that I had bored Suzette to death with my pathetic life story.

Suzette asked if I wanted to share a bottle of wine. I did. She asked if I liked Pinot Noir. I did; it was my favorite.