In The Eyes of the Beholder

If one were to see Gail Madison as she walked through March's Department Store they probably wouldn't be impressed with her one way or another. At first glance she was neither attractive nor unattractive. In her late thirties, she seemed slightly taller than average for a woman. She was lean, but not skinny, however the loose fitting slacks she wore to work exaggerated the thinness of her legs; actually, while slim, they were well formed and shapely. Her blond hair seemed relatively short, but it was long enough for her to wear it in a small comma shaped pony tail, with bangs in front covering her forehead. Light complexioned with pale blue eyes, her otherwise pretty face had a kind of washed out appearance. This, combined with the solemn expression she usually wore, gave one the impression she was aloof and unsociable. The fact is, you might say that she had just missed being beautiful, however you have to know two things. First, just missing being beautiful isn't a bad thing, it means you're better than average. Secondly, her friends, the ones who'd seen her relaxed and happy, knew that she hadn't missed at all; she was beautiful in her own way. And now, unbeknownst to her, Bob Rice knew it also.

Two nights earlier, she and her friend, Marion from housewares, had gone to a local Christmas street festival. It was an enjoyable night, chilly but not very cold with some occasional snow flurries to add to the holiday ambiance. Local amateur artisans were selling their wares, food stands abounded, and a brass band played carols amid the abundant Christmas decorations. That's where they ran into Bob.

Bob Rice was manager of the Sporting Goods Department at March's. They all knew each other casually, nodding acquaintances. The store seemed like a large place, but if you worked there awhile, you became aware of everybody else that worked there. So when they stumbled into each other that night, it was like an unexpected meeting of old friends. They exchanged greetings much more warmly than they ever had at work. The spirit of the holiday was at work. It seemed Bob was there with a friend, whose wife was working at one of the stands. He wondered off on his own while his buddy stopped to visit her.

"And where's your wife tonight?" Marion asked.

"Ex-wife," he responded jokingly, "and I don't really care where she is, as long as it isn't here."

"That puts you and Gail in the same boat. Mine is working tonight."

He looked at Gail and smiled, "Another happy loser. How long have you been a member of our little club?"

"Five years and counting."

"I've got you beat, seven years. Look, there's a stand over there selling mulled wine, can I buy you guys a round? I assume you're both over twenty one."

Marion, who was a few months shy of fifty, chuckled and looked at Gail, "I think this one is gonna' try and get us drunk. But I'm game, how about you?"

"I think we can risk it. I'd love one actually."

So the three of them made their way down the crowded street to the stand where a large sign proclaimed it to be "The Wine Shoppe". The wine wasn't bad, nothing to brag about but it was warm and spiced and pleasant. One had the feeling they had taken every short cut in the book while making it. But one must expect this at a street fair. As they stood sipping the wine, Bob looked at Marion.

"OK, I've got your story, husband's busy." Then turning to Gail, "Now, what are doing here all alone? Nobody's snatched you up again?"

"Hey," Marion interjected her voice full of mock insult, "she's not alone, she's with me. And for your information, Gail's particular as to whom she lets snatch her up."

Far from angry, Marion knew he was fishing of answers and wanted to keep the conversation going. She raised her head theatrically with her nose in the air in a pose of wounded superiority.

"So, there." Then turning to Gail, "Tell him, sister."

Bob and Gail laughed at her performance. Grinning, Gail spoke up, "I think you put him in his place sufficiently."

Bob lowered his head in a sign of chastised humility. But when he looked up, looking at Gail's face, her cheeks flushed from the chill, the open mouthed smile, the lights from the decorations reflected in her eyes, he saw the true beauty in her. While Marion suspected it, Gail didn't realize that at that moment she'd stolen a piece of his heart.

As for her being alone, she had always figured after her divorce she would meet someone. All she seemed to attract however were men who were on the make; ones who believed all divorced women where easy. It was the old "once they've had it on a regular basis, they can't live without it" myth. She avoided these ones like the plague. But she didn't understand that the somber expression that she often wore gave her an unfriendly appearance. This tended to keep the type of men she was interested in away, until now.

Bob was tired of being alone also and now that he was aware of Gail he decided he had to move quickly. The more her saw of her, the more enthralled he became. He really couldn't believe she was unattached and available. Then he remembered, he hadn't paid any attention to her until he saw her that night. That was about to change.

So when Gail went into the stockroom and saw Bob talking to her boss, she was surprised. She'd never seen him in the Ladies Wear backroom before. But, figuring it was none of her business, she went about her work. As she was unpacking a shipment of blouses she heard him behind her.

"There's one half of the dynamic duo."

She looked over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. "Hi, what brings you to Ladies Wear?"

"Looking for a new girdle," he joked, "I put on some weight since Thanksgiving and I need a quick fix."

"Wrong department, foundation garments are next door in lingerie."

"Aw, wrong answer. You were supposed to tell me I don't need a girdle."

Again she flashed the smile, "Well, how would I know? You said you needed a new one, for all I know you've got a full corset on underneath."

"You've got me there." He didn't want to risk insulting her by offering to show her what he was wearing underneath. He changed the subject.

"It seemed to me the other night that you're really into the whole Christmas thing."

"Yes, I am," she turned to face him, "it kind of brings back memories of when I was a kid. Don't you like it?"

"Of course I do. Here's the thing; I've got two tickets to this Christmas concert, pageant, or whatever that the City Cultural Association is putting on and no one to go with me. I was wondering if you'd consider going."

She stopped and thought for a moment. A guy who she'd never have expected to pay her any attention had just asked her out for a date. You can't judge a book by the cover, but the little she'd seen of him, he didn't seem to be one of the horny clowns she'd been meeting, just out for a cheap, quick romp between the sheets, but then you never could be sure. Well, she thought to herself, she couldn't bitch about not meeting men if she didn't give them a fair chance.

"Sounds interesting, when is it?"

"Thursday, next week. Starts at eight"

"I think I'm free." Believing she sounded a little too casual, she added, "I'd love to go."

"Great, we can talk at lunch and work out the details. Now, I've got to get back to work."

He started to walk away, paused, then called over his shoulder, "Thanks, I'm looking forward to it."

He had not only asked her for a date, but they were having lunch together. The million dollar smile on her face was replaced with one of pleased bemusement as he walked away.

"I'll be damned." She murmured to herself, "Who would have guessed it?"

Their lunch together was simple, he met her in the employees break area and they made plans. On the night in question, he would pick her up at six; they'd have dinner, and then off to the concert. Afterwards, that would depend on how they felt. In the days between, neither really spoke much about it. They were both eagerly anticipating it, but were both trying to appear nonchalant. It was time lost, it was foolish, it was also human.

The day of the concert, it occurred to them that neither knew how to dress for this thing; they decided casual would be best as long as they didn't go in jeans and tee-shirts. When Bob arrived to pick her up, Gail realized they had similar taste in clothes. Both chose sweaters and slacks but, then she thought what else would you wear this time of year? At least they weren't matching outfits. She always hated seeing men and women dressed alike. He had a Nordic print sweater over tan slacks; she'd chosen a black turtleneck over dark blue slacks. They had similar taste, but with a different touch.

They had dinner at an Italian restaurant, where over pasta and Chianti they finally began to get to know each other. She asked about his hobbies.

"Don't know if I have any, really. I've a rack of beer steins, I guess that's a hobby. Not the instant collectables type, the older ones; brewery promotionals from the fifties and sixties. From back in the days when distributors passed them out to bars for advertising. I read and watch TV a lot, does that count?"

"No on the TV, yes on the reading. I read a lot too. My kindle is always close at hand."

"I haven't gone electronic yet, I'm a dinosaur that likes the feel of paper and ink. I've a closet full of paperbacks; can't seem to bring myself to throw them out."

"Well, that's a hobby also. What sort of things do you like to read?"

He hesitated, "Most of the classics, but the early twentieth century stuff is my favorite: people like Hemingway, Steinbeck, Lewis, and O Henry, of course."

Her elbows were on the table with the fingers of her hands interlocked, forming a kind of bridge that she rested her chin on.

"Interesting, I read a lot of classics too, but I must admit there's a few Harlequin Romances in the mix." She shrugged her shoulders, "I'm a girl after all. But I didn't hear any Sports Illustrated or Playboy on your list."

"No, but I do have a copy of the first Playboy I ever bought safely tucked away."

"We'll overlook that one. Your first one, you're entitled to. It must've been a milestone in your younger years went you finally worked up the nerve to buy one."

He gave her a bewildered look, then in a quiet voice, "Younger days hell, it was two weeks ago."

Gail gave a laugh and, lifting her chin up shook her head. It was one of those small things that make a big difference, they had just learned to relax around each other. From there on the conversation flowed easily. They talked as if they were old friends, no one would guess that they had never said more than hello to each other until a week and a half ago.

Leaving the restaurant, they drove to the theater where the concert was being held. Inside the lobby, above a counter they saw a sign, "The Wine Shoppe". It was the same one from the street fair.

"Hey, look" he laughed, "it's our place."

"It's nice of them to follow us."

"Yeah, a regular movable feast. So let me buy you a mulled wine, for old time's sake."

Sipping the warm, sweet wine out of a paper coffee cup, Gail thought she'd really rather the Chianti they had with dinner. But on the other hand, mulled wine was traditional to the season and it added to the holiday atmosphere. It was like fruitcake, few people claimed to liking it, but almost everybody bought one for the holidays.

Finishing their wine, they went in and found their seats and waited for the show to begin. It was an enjoyable program. The local amateur philharmonic orchestra was the main feature playing a mix of Christmas carols and selections from Handel's "Messiah". A couple of choirs sang accompaniments. Gail actually enjoyed it, but she had the impression that Bob wasn't quite as enthusiastic as she was. In fact, she suspected that when he excused himself the go to the men's room, he was actually hitting the Wine Shoppe. She thought it was sweet of him to bring her even though it wasn't his cup of tea. Then she realized that he didn't know she liked orchestra music when he asked her to come. He'd probably bought the tickets just to have a reason to ask her out; she found that to be endearing.

After the concert they stopped at a bar for a nightcap, figuring the wine they had at dinner had probably worn off. It was a bar Bob was familiar with; he steered her towards a table where they could talk rather than the bar itself. He ordered a cheese platter and a beer for himself, Gail stayed with wine.

"So, what do you do on the holidays," he asked her, "anything special?"

"Christmas Eve I like to go to midnight mass, been doing that since I was a kid. Christmas day I go to my sister's, the whole family gets together for dinner. How about you, what do you do?"

"Nothing special, it varies from year to year. I didn't know any churches still had midnight mass. Seems like most have it at eight or nine at night anymore."

"No, some still have the shepherd's mass. You Catholic by any chance?"

"I was raised as one," he shrugged his shoulders, "guess it didn't stick. Haven't been to church in years. Never did go to midnight mass on Christmas, I always wondered if I missed something."

"It's just a mass, but the organist plays carols, and the choir sings them. A lot like what you suffered through tonight."

"I wasn't suffering," there was a surprised tone in his voice; "I enjoyed being there with you. Didn't you like it?"

"I loved it, I just, I didn't mean," she paused, "I was just trying to be funny. But, if you'd like to see a midnight mass, you're welcome to come with."

He looked up, "You're serious?"

"Of course; I'd love the company."

"As long as you're sure I'm not intruding, I'll be there. But, this isn't something you do with your family or anything is it? I really don't want to butt in on them."

"No, I usually go alone. My brother and sister never got into it that much. I'd love to have somebody with me for a change, I feel kind of conspicuous being there by myself."

"Well, we can't have that. If you're sure it's OK, I'll be there."

It was that simple, he was going. He was amazed that he had just made a date to go to church of all places and wondered exactly what hold this woman had on him. All he was sure of was that he wanted to be with her and was willing to take every opportunity that presented itself to do so. What, he thought to himself, was the name of that old song? "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered", that was it; it certainly seemed to apply to him at this moment. Oddly, it was a good feeling.

When he took her home, Bob walked her to her door. Gail wasn't sure what to say, but she knew she had to break the silence.

"Would you like to come in? You could have one more, for the road."

"No, I mean I'd like to, but I really have to get up early tomorrow. Can I have a rain check?"

"Christmas Eve. After I get back from church I usually have something to eat. If I have company, it'll give me an excuse to have something special. Unless you've changed your mind about it."

'No, no I haven't, I'll be there. And I really do have to get up early. Trust me, I'd like nothing more than to have a nightcap with you right now, but I'll be useless tomorrow."

When they reached her door, he watched as she unlocked it and swung it open. She turned to face him and spoke softly.

"Good night then, I guess."

"Yeah," he nodded his head. "We can work out the details for Christmas Eve at work." He paused slightly, "Good thing we work together, otherwise how would we ever finalize our plans?"

It was an awkward statement; Gail just looked at him and smiled. Then he placed his hand on her cheek and bent down to kiss her. On the surface it was a just a simple kiss, tender and uncomplicated. In reality it was three kisses; the first a general kiss on the lips followed by two more, one on her lower lip and one on the upper lip. Gail was tempted to respond passionately, but felt the unpretentiousness and honesty of the kiss conveyed more emotion than any French style, tongue in mouth, spit swapping lip lock ever could. She chose not to do anything to corrupt it.

As he straightened up after the kiss, she looked up at him. Her breathing had grown heavier and she felt a fluttery feeling in her chest as she became physically aroused, but still she did nothing. She was savoring the mood. If he wanted to wait a month of Sundays to take it to the next level, she was willing to wait. For the first time she was sure he had feelings for her; she wasn't sure how deep they ran, but he wasn't just trying to get into her pants. She was enjoying every second of it. She'd discovered what a turn on anticipation could be.

"See you at work," he whispered.

Gail nodded and watched as he walked down the walk. Then she closed the door and turned around, leaning back against it. Arms crossed she looked up at the ceiling briefly, then closed her eyes. She was trying to understand what was happening. This man whom she had seen around the store ever since she'd started working there and who'd never seemed to notice her, had just made a date to go to church with her, despite not being very religious. She'd seen him talk and flirt with other women at work, women who were more attractive or younger than herself and he was completely at ease, the picture of self-confidence and yet she'd just watched him shuffling and uneasy, like a teenager with his first crush. She'd been disappointed when he turned down her offer to come in, she'd felt kind of slighted, but then there was that damned kiss, the unspoken promise of more to come. She had literally melted.

She was beginning to allow herself to believe that perhaps it was love, but that might be wishing for too much. Still, if all he wanted was to get laid, he could have had that tonight, she'd been his for the taking. But he'd chosen to go slow. Perhaps, just maybe, she thought, he wanted to win her rather than just take her. She hoped so, the next few days would probably tell. Then looking down at her breasts above the crossed forearms, she exhaled and lightly bit her lower lip nervously. The next few days will tell, she thought as she walked away.

Christmas Eve arrived; they both had to work during the day until March's shut their doors at six in the evening. As closing time approached, everybody began to exchange holiday greetings. When Bob came up to her, she was half expecting him to cancel out on her.

"So, ten, ten thirty at the latest OK?"

"Yep, the church is only five blocks from my place. I like walking there and looking at the lights. Is that all right with you?"

"Oh, this is your show. We'll do whatever you usually do. A walk on Christmas Eve sounds good to me. I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting." She almost called him honey, but caught herself at the last minute.

At ten thirty the doorbell rang. When she opened it, Bob was standing there holding a shopping bag. He stepped in and held the bag out to her with an air of uneasy self-consciousness.

"Ah, for under your tree, assuming you have one; merry Christmas."

"I do, and thank you, how sweet. You didn't have to, I'm glad you did, but I really wasn't expecting anything."

"My grandmother always said never go visiting empty handed," he responded almost shyly, "especially on the holidays. You know, knock on the door with your elbows, because your hands are full."

"Well, thanks to your grandmother too, it's a lovely tradition."

"I don't know if it was lovely or just Granma's way of making sure we always brought her stuff when we dropped in."

"Nonsense," she chided, "if your Grandmother was anything like you, she was probably a class act. You got it from somewhere."

She didn't realize it, but that was the first direct complement she'd paid him. The effect was subtle, but far reaching. For the first time Bob was sure that this enchanting woman had a favorable opinion of him. Now he was waiting for the right moment to let her know how he felt, how much he wanted her. He watched as she set the shopping bag down by a four foot artificial tree and removed the three wrapped packages, placing them in the modest pile already under it.