Author's Note:
Poor Shane is in for a long night with Lester. I don't know about you but writing this reminded me of a particularly bad blind date I went on while home from college one summer. It was a set up between my mother and my date's grandmother. Need I say more? I'm not proud of it but when he drove me home I may have been out of his car and at my front door before he even had the car in park.
I hope you enjoy the rest of Shane Starts Stomping. As always, the characters belong to the brilliant Martha Williamson and were brought to life by the amazing Eric Mabius, Kristin Booth and Lane Edwards.
Chapter 2
Shane's eyes darted between her front door and the street. Her first impulse was to make a bee line back into the solace of her little house and hideout from Lester. But, out of courtesy for her neighbors, most of whom were elderly, she hightailed it, bobbling on high heeled feet, to the passenger side of Lester's brown older model Chevy Impala. Leaning through the window she snapped. "Lester, why are you honking?"
"Just letting you know I was here." Lester, wearing a tweed jacket that matched the color of his car, seemed oblivious to the fact that honking to let your date, make that dinner companion, know you've arrived was in seriously bad taste. Stepping back Shane makes a quick assessment of the vehicle. The car gave off distinctive early 2000's cop show vibes. Shane half expected a cherry light might fall out of the glove box if they hit a bump.
Shane, spoiled by Oliver's habit of opening her car door for her, waited for Lester to do the same. After several moments it became obvious that Lester Kimsickle was no Oliver O'Toole and she slid into the passenger seat. "Couldn't you just come to the door?"
Patting the dashboard Lester turned toward Shane. "She can be a bit finicky. Doesn't always want to start so once she gets going I need to keep her running."
Lester's disclosure was not an encouraging start to the evening. Shane wasn't the praying kind but at that moment she sent out a plea to the universe. 'Please do not let this car break down…at least not with me in it.' She buckled herself into the seatbelt longing for the comfort of her favorite pajamas. She would much rather be curled into her couch eating last night's leftovers while catching up with her DVR. "Where are we going for dinner?"
"I hear this place Montaldo's is pretty nice." Shane white knuckled the door handle as the car peeled away from the curb. The resulting screech of the tires rivaled racoons fighting in a trash bin. Smoke from the burning rubber was visible in Shane's rearview mirror.
Shane glared at Lester who was hunkered over the steering wheel like he was heading down a speedway. "Lester, are we late for our reservation?"
Lester shrugged his shoulders. "No, why?"
Shane's tone was sharp. "Because you're driving like a race car driver."
A pleased smile curved Lester's lips but, to Shane's relief, he eased off the gas pedal.
Shane released her grip on the door handle. "You said we're going to Montaldo's? That's rather extravagant for a work dinner isn't it?"
"No worries. I'm not paying for it. My rank with the USPS gives me a rather generous expense budget." Lester boasted. "Just, you know, don't go crazy."
Shane opened her mouth ready to ask what he meant by 'crazy' but before she could inquire the distinctive tenor of Garth Brooks singing Friends in Low Places came on the radio. Lester's off-key voice, in stark contrast to Garth's, rendered further conversation futile as he turned up the radio's volume. Shane was transported back to the Friday nights of her youth when she and her girlfriends drove around town singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs.
Finally Shane could take no more. "Lester, would you please turn that down?"
Lester leaned over and turned down the volume a notch or two. "Sorry but I just love me some Garth Brooks." Staring out the window Shane watched the street signs going by at a fast clip and willed Montaldo's to appear soon…very soon.
Shane had been to Montaldo's once before with her ex, Steve. The entire experience had been so disconcerting that her cheeks still burned at the memory of it. He'd swept into town insistent that he take her to the nicest restaurant in Denver. It was just like him to play himself up as the knight in shining armor who came to save her from the horrible mistake she'd made leaving him and DC. His armor tarnished quickly as she spent the evening watching him scroll through his phone. She wondered why he bothered to come to Denver at all. When he wasn't engrossed in every text and email that dinged his phone he was arguing what a colossal error in judgement she'd made breaking up with him. She proudly kept her resolve and sent him back to DC. He really never had a chance. By the time Steve even realized Shane was no longer in DC and he showed up in Denver, she was already aware that her feelings toward Oliver were turning from professional to personal. And, though the possibility of a relationship with Oliver was implausible, holding on to a thread of hope that one day he might be free was a sweeter dream than the reality of returning to DC with Steve.
Relief flooded through Shane when she finally saw the Montaldo's sign up ahead. At least Lester's wannabe cop car had gotten them to the restaurant but as they pulled up to entrance Lester cruised right past the valet parking. Turning in her seat Shane watched as the valet jumped back from the curb to avoid being side swiped by their car. "Lester, aren't you using the valet?"
"Nope, nope, no reason for that. They charge extra for that you know." Lester pulled into the general parking lot located on the far side of the valet lot. Stepping out of the car Shane immediately regretted her choice of footwear. Though stylish, the four-inch heels immediately pinched the little toes on each foot. What looked great on the shoe rack was not a practical choice for any amount of walking. Why did she do this to herself…or to her feet?
Lester shuffled ahead of her at a quick clip while she struggled to keep up. Every step was agony. "Lester, slow down!" Shane shouted ahead to him.
He stopped and turned. "Well if you wouldn't wear those fancy shoes you wouldn't have such a hard time. Now, take my shoes for instance, practical and comfortable, slip on and slip off."
Shane looked down at Lester's choice of footwear. His brown tassel loafers definitely fell into the category of functional shoes. Thankfully he slowed his pace a little and she did her best to keep up though every step brought language that could have drained her wallet and filled the swear jar in the DLO.
When they finally reached the entrance and stepped inside Shane knew it was the closest she'd ever gotten to experiencing Italy. Exploring the Renaissance art of Florence, drinking red wine at sidewalk cafes and indulging in decadent pasta were all on her bucket list but that's where they remained for now. When she imagined fine dining in Italy, Montaldo's, with its muraled walls, mosaic floors, and copper coved ceiling, was what she pictured. The soft light of crystal chandeliers cast romantic shadows throughout the restaurant.
Shane soaked in the beauty of the room her eyes landing on a couple at a corner table. Their heads were together, foreheads almost touching. His hand wrapped firmly around hers. Their smiles were bright and they had eyes only for each other. She threw her head back laughing at something he said and her hand reached out to cradle his cheek. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone as he leaned into her touch. Shane's heart clenched and her breath caught in her throat. Closing her eyes she easily replaced their faces with hers and Oliver's.
Lester's loud voice tore her from her musings and she turned her attention to the maître d stand. "I have a reservation under Kimsickle with the USPS." Shane shifted her focus from Lester's introduction to the beautifully tiled floor wishing it would magically open and swallow her up.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Kimsickle. Right this way." The maître d ushered Shane through to lead the way helping her with her chair as Lester managed his own. As he sat his knees hit the table sending water sloshing over the rims of the crystal goblets and spilling onto the pristine white tablecloth.
"Oops! My bad." Lester quipped.
The maître d grabbed the edge of the table to steady it. "I'll be right back to clean that up." He scurried off to find something to mop up the water. Returning he did his best to restore the table to its original order and gave them each a menu. "Enjoy your dinner." His questioning eyes met Shane's as he walked away. Answering his unspoken query Shane mouthed to him as he passed. "It's not a date."
Thank heavens for tall menus. Shane buried her face into it, studying the entrée descriptions like she was reading a favorite novel. Anything to avoid conversing with Lester.
A waiter approached to take their drink order. Shane ordered a glass of red wine while Lester asked for a Coors Light.
"I'm sorry sir, we don't have Coors Light."
"What do you mean you don't have Coors Light? We're in Colorado aren't we? Everyone has Coors Light!" Heads turned toward their table at the sound of Lester's booming voice. He had obviously never been taught the difference between an inside voice and an 'I'm shouting through a bullhorn' voice.
Peering over her menu Shane rolled her eyes and hissed. "Lester. Just order something else."
"All right, all right. Sit tight missy." Lester looked at the waiter. "Just give me whatever beer you have in a bottle."
As the waiter left to get their drinks Shane's eyes pleaded with him to hurry.
Returning her attention to the menu Shane contemplated the options until she heard Lester whistle from across the table. Lifting her head again Shane chided him. "Lester, please don't whistle in the restaurant."
"Sorry but whew! Look at these prices." Lester didn't lift his eyes from his menu. "Good thing the USPS is paying the bill."
The waiter returned with their drinks, a basket brimming with Italian breads and some dipping oil. Once dinner orders were given Lester and Shane turned their attention to the band set up on the side of the dance floor. Their rendition of Barry Manilow's Can't Smile Without You was remarkably good and Shane was thankful for the distraction. Her gaze returned to the couple in the corner of the room. They were truly in their own little world. While their attention was turned toward the band his hand remained firmly wrapped around hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. I can't laugh and I can't sing, I'm finding it hard to do anything. You see I feel sad when you're sad, I feel glad when you're glad, if you only knew what I'm going through, I just can't smile without you. For a moment she let herself return to the familiar dream she only allowed herself as she was drifting off to sleep each night…Oliver holding her hand over the dinner table, whispering in her ear, sharing a laugh with him. But then she would wake up and the smile she'd worn in her sleep quickly evaporated in the light and reality of the day.
Lester's off-key voice singing along to every word at a volume that rivaled the lead singer rudely shook her from her sweet fantasy. As the band wrapped the song, polite clapping filled the room but it was drowned out by Lester's overly enthusiastic applause. He turned his chair back to the table. "Oh, I just love Barry Manilow music. Reminds me of my mom."
"I'm sorry, is she gone?" For the first time all evening Shane thought maybe they had something in common…the loss of a parent.
"Gone? Oh heck no, she lives in Pueblo. She loves Barry Manilow. I grew up listening to all his songs." Shane could easily picture a younger Lester sitting at the kitchen table while his mother stood by preparing dinner while the two of them belted out the chorus to Copa Cabana.
Reaching his hand into the bread basket Shane's stomach turned as she watched Lester finger every piece until he found the one he wanted. "So missy, tell me about yourself. You know, before you came to Denver." Oil dripped from his bread onto the tablecloth as he brought a large chunk of it to his mouth.
Watching Lester poke through the bed basket was all the deterrent Shane needed to avoid the temptation of the warm crusty bread. The aroma of the yeasty, herby deliciousness would have to be enough to satisfy the rumbling in her stomach as they waited for their food.
Shane debated her response to Lester not sure how much she could, should or would reveal to him. She decided on a less is more approach and launched into a cliff notes version of her history skimming through her art gallery experience, and speaking in vague generalities about her work in Direct Line Operations in DC.
In return Lester took on the role of game show host and launched into a series of rapid-fire questions.
"Where were you born?"
"Alexandria, Virginia."
"Where did you go to college?"
"University of Maryland."
"Do you have any family?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And my family has no bearing on my ability to fulfill my duties in the Dead Letter Office for the USPS." Annoyance laced Shane's voice. "Lester, every one of those answers could have been found in my personnel file. Now. Do you have any questions that aren't already in my file?"
Lester leaned in propping both elbows on the table "Ever play any sports?"
Shane's brows furrowed and she shook her head in total confusion. The more Lester talked the less she understood him. Doing her best to keep her tone professional she asked. "What does playing sports have to do with anything?"
Shrugging his shoulders Lester explained. "I always ask if someone plays sports. Sports teach you how to be part of a team. It says a lot about how you work with others."
Shane stared at him blankly wondering how on earth he'd risen to the position he held with the USPS. All she could think of was that he must be related to someone higher up the pay-grade scale and had been given preferential treatment. "Lester what are you talking about?"
"You know….basketball, tennis, volleyball?"
"No, I didn't play sports. I was on the robotics and debate teams in high school. I also debated in college."
"Oh, so kind of nerdy stuff." Lester smirked.
She stared blankly her mouth opening and closing like a guppy in a fishbowl searching for food. A stinging rebuttal sat ready on the tip of her tongue. But as Lester droned on and on Shane realized that he spoke faster than his brain could catch up and even if he realized how insulting he was being she doubted he could stop himself.
Shane leaned in matching Lester's stance. "If you call using my brain in extracurricular pursuits nerdy then yes, I did the nerdy stuff."
Lester seemed oblivious to the irritation in Shane's voice and pushed on. "Tell me more about your work at the USPS in DC." Lester pushed.
Shane leaned back in her chair and breathed a weary sigh – where was that waiter with their food? Lester's stare bordered on leering and she found it incredibly uncomfortable. "Lester, I can't talk about that. I would need to know what your security clearance is."
"I'm the chief of postal security, I think my clearance is just fine."
"Sorry, Lester, I signed a confidentiality agreement and it remains valid whether I'm working in Direct Line Operations or not."
Shane sighed with relief, thankful for the interruption, as the waiter approached their table carrying a tray with their food. Before leaving the table the waiter asked if there was anything else he could bring them to which Lester replied. "Yeah, do you have any ketchup?"
Shane shook her head in disbelief. The waiter, ever the professional, replied. "No, sir, I'm sorry. We don't have 'ketchup.'" The way he repeated the word ketchup made Shane chuckle. The whole interaction was completely lost on her dinner companion.
Once the waiter left Lester muttered. "What kind of restaurant doesn't have ketchup?"
Shane focused her attention on her dinner doing her best to enjoy the one bright spot in the evening. Lester's chomping and smacking his way through his meal began to grate on her nerves which were already worn thin from his earlier interrogation. She kept her eyes on her own plate but couldn't help but sneak a glance at him when the noise from his side of the table peaked. He had tucked his napkin into his shirt collar and with every cut of his meat the knife scraped across his plate with a screech not unlike nails on a chalkboard. The space around his plate was littered with bits of food that had apparently fallen from his fork onto the table cloth. The refined and elegant atmosphere of Montaldo's was fully wasted on Lester Kimsickle. She glanced at her watch. 8:20. At the rate Lester was eating he would be finished quickly and if they skipped dessert she could still be home by 9:00.
Shane's earlier hunger had all but disappeared at the sight of Lester's attack on his own dinner. When he picked up a piece of bread and used it to wipe his plate clean Shane had had enough.
"Oh gosh, look at the time. Tomorrow's a work day. I really need to get home." Shane mentioned casually while checking her watch.
"It's not even 8:30. I think the band is going to play some more." Lester protested.
"Gosh Lester, I'm really sorry but I've got a lot on my plate tomorrow." Shane wasn't taking any chance and she went ahead and signaled the waiter to bring their check. She watched Lester's face scrunch as he tried to figure out how much he should tip.
He excused himself to use the men's room and Shane couldn't resist taking a peek at the bill. She was appalled to find that Lester had only tipped ten percent. It would be pointless to try and explain to Lester the etiquette of tipping so instead she grabbed her wallet and pulled out some cash and put it in the folder along with the receipt.
As they left the restaurant Lester headed toward the car at a pace that again left Shane trying to keep up with him. She didn't even bother telling him to slow down. By the time she got to the car he was sitting behind the wheel trying to get the car to start. Shane groaned along with the engine that refused to turn over. Lester kept turning the key and pushing down on the gas to no avail. Even Shane knew that was a sure way to flood the engine.
Shane pulled out her phone. "Lester, I really need to get home and I think you're going to need a jump or tow so I'm just going to call myself a cab." Shane was relieved to find out there was a cab sitting not far from Montaldo's waiting for a fare.
"Well that's not necessary" Lester protested. "She'll get started…like I said, she's just finicky sometimes."
The cab pulled up and jumping into the back seat she called out. "Good luck with your car Lester and thanks for dinner." She motioned for the driver to leave quickly before Lester could say anything else. Once out of the parking lot Shane slumped back into the seat completely exhausted by the strain of the evening. Grabbing her phone she texted Becky. "I tried stomping…it did not go well. I give up." Within moments her phone rang.
"Shaney?"
"Becky? Why are you calling so late? I figured you would call me in the morning after you saw my text."
"I'm in Seattle so it's plenty early. So? Spill it. Tell me about your stomping and why you're giving up already." Becky sounded like a schoolgirl waiting for her best friend to dish on the details of a date.
Shane laughed. "Don't get too excited. It's not at all what you think. I just went to dinner with someone from work."
Becky gasped. "Oliver?"
Shane's heart sank. "No, no. It wasn't Oliver. He's married remember? It was a guy from postal security."
"Oh geez Shaney. Please don't tell me you went to dinner with Lester Kimsickle." Becky's voice sounded desperate.
Shane's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "How did you know it was Lester? How do you know him?"
Becky chuckled. "Shaney, he was in the same department meeting that Oliver was in when I first came to Denver. Wow! You could not have chosen anyone more different from Oliver."
Shane paused. "Okay, let's get one thing clear. I didn't choose him. He said he needed to get to know me for security reasons."
Now Becky was all out laughing. "Seriously Shaney? You are way too smart to fall for that kind of line."
Shane rubbed her forehead. "I know, I know but I was doing what you told me to do. You told me to get myself back out there."
"I'm sorry Shane. I never dreamed that you would take me so seriously and I certainly didn't think you would go out with someone like that buffoon Lester Kimsickle. It does explain why it's not even nine pm and you're evening is already over."
The cab pulled up to Shane's house. "Becky, I'm at my house. I'll call you tomorrow okay?"
"You took a cab home? Oh yes. You better call me because I think there's more to this story."
Shane paid the cab driver and slowly followed the path to the steps leading to her porch. Her shoes still pinched her toes so she finally just pulled them off before climbing the steps. Once inside she slipped off her coat and made her way to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea. She looked at her watch. 9:06. She almost made it by nine. Two hours of her life she would never get back and hoped she could quickly forget.
Shane took her cup of tea to her bedroom and changed into her most comfortable pajamas. Once free of makeup she climbed into bed propping herself up on her pillows and sipped her tea. The tightness she'd felt in her shoulders all night finally began to loosen as she shifted her thoughts away from the disastrous evening with the worst dinner companion ever. Her stomach turned thinking about the possibility of running into him at work. She would just have to make sure that didn't happen.
Finishing her tea she turned off the lamp on her bedside table. Surrounded by darkness, enveloped in downy pillows and the warmth of her duvet she closed her eyes. The song from earlier in the evening still echoed in her head. I can't laugh and I can't sing, I'm finding it hard to do anything. You see I feel sad when you're sad, I feel glad when you're glad, if you only knew what I'm going through, I just can't smile without you. Shane succumbed to the vision that was as familiar to her as a scene of a favorite movie. She's at Montaldo's sitting at the corner table her hand wrapped by a stronger one. An occasional kiss to her knuckles or whispered secret sends shivers down her spine. Her companion, dressed in a dark suit with a tie and pocket square that matched the color of his crystal blue eyes, rises and extends his hand to her. She takes it and he pulls her to him drawing her hand close to his heart. They glide effortlessly around the floor spinning and dipping as the skirt of her blue dress floats around her. She surrenders to sleep her lips curved into a smile that only comes from the sweetest of hopes and dreams.