Mothers and Daughters Pt. 08

"The neighborhood looks like a gulag," Nate nodded, "but they have one of the finest restaurants in town." He backed the car into a free parking spot. "I'll let you out," he offered as he opened his door, and walked around the front of the car, and then opened her door. She stepped out in her high heeled shoes, and held his arm tightly. He locked the car doors with an electronic chirp, and he walked her to the building front door.

They stepped inside, and a hostess greeted them. Nate announced himself, and said he had a reservation. She checked her ledger and crossed his name off the list. She asked if she could take Martha's coat, and Martha handed her the jacket, leaving Martha in her spectacular black dress. Nate asked for English menus, and the hostess nodded, then led them through a door, and then down a long flight of wooden stairs. Below, a single, elongated, serpentine-like table meandered through the large dining room like a riverbed, bending this way, twisting that way. People were seated at local bends in the reverbed table formation, creating private nooks in the continuous wooden tabletop. As they followed the hostess down the long staircase, Nate watched at least a dozen men and women lock eyes on Martha. The hostess led them to their private section of the serpentine table in a corner of the large room.

"What a peculiar arrangement," Martha surveyed the room around her.

"I am told the table represents the Elbe River," Nate explained, although he wasn't so sure himself.

"It creates an oddly private feeling in quite a crowded place," Martha analyzed.

"Welcome to Europe," Nate smiled. They opened their menu, and Martha was immediately impressed. A Sushi and goose liver appetizer – a tantalizing combination she had never considered. She had not tried bouillabaisse for a long time. Today they were serving venison, another interesting choice.

"None of the menu items have prices," Martha commentated.

"If you have to ask," Nate explained, "you can't afford it."

"Oh my!" she sighed. "You certainly know how to impress a lady," and then she added, "well, sometimes."

"I have my moments," Nate nodded without taking offence. "So tell me about you. Where did you grow up?"

Martha explained she was born in Richmond, British Columbia, just outside Vancouver. Her father was a commercial electrician contractor – he did very well during the boom years, and not that poorly in the bust years. Her parents moved to Ottawa when she was 10. She was a rebellious teenager, and ran away at the age of sixteen. She returned back home at seventeen, but then became pregnant with Briana.

"I don't want to call it a mistake, because I love Briana, but having Briana as a teenage single mother was a life altering event." Martha explained her mother insisted she live at home and continue at school, and Briana would grow up in a good home while Martha completed her education. She went to college for a business degree, and got a job right away at an engineering firm as the junior office manager, which really meant fetching coffee and stocking toilet paper in the washrooms. She left that job in a year, and was hired on with a major distributor and warehousing company that was the middleman between the factories and the retail stores. She became more involved in shipping and logistics, until a year ago, the company closed. The company fell victim to the burgeoning tide of on-line shoppers, and declared bankruptcy, leaving its employees with no back-pay, let alone severance. Martha discovered she had developed a narrow skillset in a shrinking job market, and finding new employment was proving much more difficult than she had expected.

During conversation they ordered their meal and drinks. "Will I upset you if I ask about Briana's father?" Nate broached the topic tactfully.

"Not much to say, really," Martha shrugged. "We were both young and stupid. We didn't plan on Briana. He promised to stay, and look after Briana, but then things didn't work out. My parents became very annoyed with him – he'd promise all sorts of things, like even babysitting Briana, and wouldn't show up. He left as much because of my parents as anything else," Martha sighed.

"They didn't respect him," Nate linked her recounting of her ex to their earlier conversation. "Briana told me he died young," Nate prompted.

"Cancer," Martha nodded, "although I didn't even know about it until after he died."

"How did you move to Ottawa?" Nate asked. That was the city Nate lived in, and where Briana babysat his kids. It was 4,000 miles from Richmond.

"My dad sold his business to a national contracting firm, and as part of the deal, he moved to Ottawa to open a new office. They bought a house there. Briana and I were still living with them, so we moved with them. They loved the city. My dad built a new house – their retirement home. They moved into the new house, and left Briana and me in their old house, and they gave it to me." She nodded slowly. "I refused to accept it, but they just moved out and left Briana and me there." Martha stopped as a flood of memories came back. "That's the house Briana grew up in."

"Have you travelled much?" He wanted to get to happier topics.

"I went on a cruise with three of my girlfriends," Martha nodded, "but we were so drunk the whole time I don't remember much." She reflected in thought. "Well," she smiled coyly, "I remember some of it."

"A conversation for another time," Nate smiled.

"A conversation that's never going to happen," she blushed, unable to suppress a smile.

Nate kept the conversation focused on her, on good times, on safe subjects. She eventually got tired of talking about herself, so they compared their interests in movies. The topic drifted to live theater. She said she had been to a live theater only once – she loved it – it was a production of Cats. They switched over to music, and which artists they like. Nate asked what concerts she had been to. "Not many," Martha offered flatly. "You don't get out to a lot of concerts as a teenager with an infant at home." Nate inwardly slapped his head for being so stupid.

Dinner was over and they ordered dessert and coffee while they finished the last sips of their bottle of wine. "Why have you asked about me all night," Martha asked.

"Because you are a beautiful woman on the inside, and I want to know you better," Nate answered honestly.

"Why do you say that – on the inside?"

"Because everyone can see you are beautiful on the outside – that's obvious. I am trying to get to know the real you."

"Why?" Martha asked.

"Because I like you."

She rolled her eyes shook her head in disbelief. "Of course you like me," she sighed.

Nate didn't want to have this conversation here, and he didn't want the night to end this way. "Listen," he offered gently, "I've tried really hard to have a very nice time with you tonight. I wanted you to have a relaxing time. I was wondering if we could steer clear of land mines until we get home."

"Sure," Martha replied curtly, but the damage was done. They sat in silence. "So tell me about you," Martha finally ventured. "Where did you grow up?"

"I grew up in small town Godderich, Ontario," Nate started. "It's a real tourist region on Lake Huron, across from Michigan.

"Near Toronto," Martha acknowledged.

"Closest city would be London, Ontario," Nate qualified, "but it is near Toronto – about 3 hours.

"I went to Toronto for engineering, and, well, you know what happened to that," Nate referred obliquely to his girlfriend Stephanie. "I moved to Kinston at the RMC – sorry, the Royal Military College – got my engineering degree, joined the army, married, had kids, went into special forces, retired, and now I'm a consultant."

"Wow," Martha nodded with feigned awe, "a whole lifetime in 30 seconds." She waited for him to say something, but then continued. "What did you do in the army, I mean, before you were in special ops?"

"I was in Artillery at first," Nate said, as if that explained everything. "I spent three years here in Germany with that. Then I was moved over to mechanized infantry, only I never actually did anything in mechanized infantry. I kept getting sent out on special assignments that had nothing to do with my job. I'm pretty sure that's where I got the creds to get into special ops."

Nate paused. "I met Theresa when I was in school at Kingston. We married when I graduated, and we had Sarah and Dillon during those first few years. Those were pretty good years – we were moving around, experiencing the world."

"And then you were in special ops?"

"It was called the Canadian Airborne Regiment then. I was in Petawawa, north of Ottawa. Theresa didn't follow right away, which was good, because the whole regiment was disbanded, and some of us later moved to JTF2, near Ottawa."

He paused in reflection. "That's when Theresa and I drifted apart. In part because I was going on missions I couldn't tell her about, and in part because I really loved doing them, and I always wanted more."

"So what do you do now?" she asked.

"There are two parts to JTF2," Nate explained. "The A group are the special ops guys who go out on missions. I was in that group until a certain incident I can't discuss moved me to the B group. Those are the support people who help the A group. I was really pissed off – the move was entirely political, but eventually I discovered how to do as much good in the B group. I started working with the Americans, French, the UK, and the Germans, and we started sharing ideas, tactics, and technologies focused on fighting terrorism. Until then, we were all basically doing it alone. I started traveling a lot, to all those countries, and that's basically how I set up the business I'm in now. I retired from the forces, and now I do basically the same job as a consultant."

"Why not stay in the JFT2," she asked, "if you're doing the same job."

"Way more money," Nate replied, "and more flexibility and freedom – I pick my assignments – they don't pick me. And, I can't deny there was a bit of a 'fuck-you' factor. I never got over being kicked out of the A group."

"Do you still do covert missions?" she asked, "you know, as a private contractor?"

"No comment," Nate replied with a cold stare. In truth, the only mission he'd been since he left the service was in the courtyard when he saved Briana's and Pavlina's life, but a little mystery never hurt the soul.

Dessert arrived. It was exquisite.

"Tell me about your kids," Martha said. He told her about the amicable break-up with Theresa, and how Sarah later found out about Theresa's affair while they were still married, and how Sarah still does not talk to Theresa. Dillon is less dramatic about things.

Sarah is finishing her final year of bioengineering in Toronto. She has applied to several schools to do a masters then PhD, Nate explained.

Dillon is in his second year of a computer gaming design course in Chicago. He won a scholarship to go there, and has to keep his grades above 80 to keep it. So far, his average is 92, Nate relayed with obvious pride.

They're both planning to visit Nate for the month of August, Nate explained. Each will come for two weeks, with a one week overlap between them.

Martha roughly computed the math. "Just how much money to you make?" she asked unashamedly. Hell, if he can do what he wants with her, she should be able to ask some questions.

"We sold our house when we split up," Nate explained. "I live on expenses, and Theresa moved in with Jason, so we agreed to use the equity for the kids' education, which is freaking expensive when they both have downtown apartments in huge cities."

"You live on expenses?" Martha asked for confirmation. "So your apartment ..."

"Is paid for by the client," nodded Nate. "The car too, and I get an allowance for food."

Martha leaned back in her chair and whistled softly. "Sweet deal," she admired. "So you basically just bank all your income, which you already said is much better than before."

"Pretty much," Nate nodded. "I expect to be here for another year or two, maybe three," Nate shrugged lightly, "then I retire."

Martha thought about the shambles of her own financial disaster, and grew inwardly angry again at Briana's role in that.

The cheque came, and Nate paid with a credit card. They rose from their seats, and Nate gently touched his hand to Martha's bare back as they walked along the serpentine wooden table to the stairs. As Nate followed her up the long, straight staircase, he admired the up-skirt view through the lace fabric.

Martha claimed her jacket at the entrance, and they walked to the car. "That was a beautiful meal, and a very nice evening," Martha offered as Nate opened her car door. He kissed her gently on the lips for a brief moment, and then she lowered herself into the car and he closed her door.

Nate configured the vehicle to display the GPS map as he drove, not for directions, but more for situational awareness. He turned on the car stereo, which was tethered to his cell phone through Bluetooth, and the car audio played from his playlist of favorite songs. Kansas' Dust in the Wind was up first, and Martha, knowing only the words to the chorus, sang along quietly.

"You have a beautiful singing voice," Nate complimented in between choruses.

"Thanks," she smiled. "I used to sing in school. I was in the choir." She paused. "Do you sing?"

"Yes," Nate nodded, "but my kids tell me I shouldn't." Martha smiled brightly. They both sang to the final chorus together.

Next on the playlist was P!nk's U + Ur Hand. "Oh my God!" Martha cried. "Briana would never stop playing this song when it came out."

"It certainly was a fuck-you anthem for a whole generation of girls," Nate nodded as he passed under the Baumwall elevated train station they he had taken many times. "I like the energy in the song," Nate commented as he turned right, and approached the apartment from the south, forcing him to bank left three quarters of the way around the building to access the underground parking entrance on the east side of the building.

Nate turned off the music once they were inside the garage, and he piloted the new car through the small garage, and backed into his reserved spot. "There don't seem to be enough cars in here for the size of the building," Martha observed.

"There's another garage," Nate explained as turned off the car, "but it has hoists, and I don't like waiting for my car. This one's more expensive," he noted, "but I come and go as I please."

"What do you mean hoists?" she asked.

"German cities are very dense," Nate explained. "To save space, you can park your car in a hoist garage, which lifts your car straight up, and then someone else parks their car under yours in the same spot. The hoists in this building stack the cars three high, so if you're on the top, you have to wait while the attendant moves the two cars beneath you out, and lowers your car."

"And that garage holds more cars than this one?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, it's easily twice the floor space of this one," Nate estimated, "maybe three times the size, and it stacks the cars three high, so it holds about six to nine times as many cars." He paused. "Maybe a bit less, because the cars are spaced further apart to accommodate the hoists."

"That sounds very expensive," Martha ventured, "all that heaving lifting equipment."

"Real estate is very expensive here," Nate countered. "Everything in economics is a trade-off."

Nate opened Martha's door, and took her hand as she stepped out. He locked the doors remotely, and they entered into the hallway for the elevator. Nate pressed the call button, but once they stepped in, he pressed the down button, not up. The car descended, and then the door opened. Nate led Martha out by the hand, and they turned right, instead of left, and Nate opened the door at the end of the hallway.

"Here," Nate said, ushering Martha into the second underground parking garage. Sure enough, the garage was at least twice as long as the first one, and most cars were stacked three high. Beside each stack was a pair of vertical rails that ran floor to ceiling. Connecting each pair of rails were two elevated platforms, one above the other, and each platform suspended a car in mid-air.

"I've never seen this before," Martha exclaimed in wonder, surveying the Mercedes, BMWs, Audis, Volkswagens, Fiats, Audis, Volvos, and other European cars stacked on top of each other. An attendant in a booth near the door smiled to Nate, but was clearly paying attention to Martha, who was still dressed in her stunning black dress with her jacket over top. Nate waved back at him, then he shepherded Martha back through the door to the elevator.

When they arrived in the apartment, Nate asked if Martha wanted a night cap – his offering was limited to wine and cognac. She asked for a glass of white wine, which Nate retrieved from the fridge, and he then poured a healthy dose of cognac into a brandy snifter for himself. "Cheers," Nate offered as he handed her the white wine. She took the glass and gently clinked it against his.

"Is this how you live all the time?" Martha asked.

"I go to restaurants maybe only once or twice a week," Nate mused, "I normally make my own breakfast and dinner. But otherwise," he gestured around the apartment with his cognac glass, "what you see is what you get."

"Is it just me," Martha looked around, "or is the downstairs bigger than the upstairs."

"The downstairs is bigger," Nate nodded. "The upstairs stops here," he pointed to the wall before the hallway to the downstairs bathroom, laundry closet, and his office. The apartment next door has a bigger upstairs than downstairs." Martha nodded appreciatively.

Nate gestured to Martha to sit on the sofa, and he sat next to her. He put his cognac down, reached to her face, and kissed her gently. She closed her eyes and returned his kiss for a long time before he pulled away. "Let's take our drinks upstairs," he whispered, and stood up, reaching for his cognac. He held out his hand, and she took it and pulled herself off the sofa. Nate gestured her to go up the stairs first, and once again he admired the view from behind.

"I need to use the washroom," she said at the top of the stairs. Nate nodded, and took her wine glass into the bedroom. She entered the bathroom, closed the door nearly shut, and then remembered she was forbidden to close the bathroom door. Martha sucked in deep breath, and opened the door, then sat on the toilet, staring through the open doorway. Her tinkling in the toilet bowl could not be helped, and mercifully, there was almost no sound from her other excretory function. She wiped clean, and then took another strip of toilet paper, moistened it under the tap, and wiped herself again, being certain to leave nothing behind.

She had no underwear to pull up, so Martha washed and dried her hands, then walked to the bedroom. Nate was waiting naked on the bed. "Come lie down," he patted the bed gently beside him. She lifted herself onto the bed, and lay on her back.

Nate straddled her thighs, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the lips. She dutifully kissed him back. Then he planted tender kisses down her chin, on her chest, down the front of her black lace dress, between her breasts, and down her tummy as she lay quietly. Nate moved off her thighs, and planted light kisses down one leg to her toes, and starting at the other foot, up the other leg, this time staying on the inside of her thigh as he rose higher and higher up her leg.

Nate pressed her dress up, and Martha lifted her hips for him, letting him lift her dress right up to her naval, exposing her naked pussy. No underpants, Nate smiled. He gently spread Martha's supple legs apart, and planted sweet kisses on Martha's bare triangle just above her pussy. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back as Nate slowly moved his kisses southward, until he found the delicate folds of her pussy. Nate landmarked right over her clit, and gently, deftly rubbed the tip of his tongue over her lightning rod, and Martha moaned appreciatively.