You Don't Know Me

By Ramsey Austin-Spencer

Life was simple for Sandy in a world where nothing every changed; until the most intimate kind of betrayal changed everything. Being accused of murder and pursued by government agencies and international crime bosses, Sandy finds an alley in the most unlikely place; in a CIA agent on the run who held a gun on her when they first met. Not familiar with lies and deception, Sandy tries to navigate this new world where everyone is out to get something and killing people is just a tool they use to do it. As Brady and Sandy work to survive while trying to clear their names their true natures are revealed in the betrayals they inflict on their enemies as well as each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ramsey Austin-Spencer
• Release date: Feb 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370933334

Ramsey Austin-Spencer

Ramsey was born in Salt Lake City, UT, raised in Salt Lake City, UT, married and had a family in Salt Lake City, UT and will more than likely die there as well. Don't feel too bad; Ramsey also enjoys traveling to places other than Salt Lake City, UT. In a motor home with a Jeep towing behind it she tours the United States just for fun. An accounting technician by profession (odd, I know), she does payroll for one of the municipal entities in (you guessed it), the Salt Lake City, UT area. Writing is the passion that has driven her since she could pick up a pencil. Receiving her Associate's Degree from Salt Lake Community College, and her Bachelor's Degree from WGU, she continues to work on perfecting her trade by continuing to take classes. Always looking for new educational experiences, she is a certified diver, studied sign language and French, has been in local plays and even went through a Citizen's Police Academy. Two sons and a wonderful husband are the reason you have a chance to read the work Ramsey has written. They encourage, irritate and force her to do better. Hope you enjoy.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The unfamiliar car sat directly in front of her house blocking the drive and forcing Sandy to maneuver around it in order to park in her own driveway. Keeping her eye on the vehicle she strained to see if there was anyone occupying it, but she didn’t see anyone sitting inside. Climbing out of her car she walked up to the front door and turned the handle while pushing into the tight, weather-warped wood. Instead of going inside, she hit painfully against the door which didn't open, but stayed solid against her attempt. Looking once again to make sure Bill's was the other car sitting in the driveway in front of the unfamiliar sedan, she dug into her purse and pulled out her keys wondering why he would lock the house if he was home. The door lock broke over a year ago and they now used the deadbolt to secure the house, so locking the door by accident simply didn't happen.

Taking in the faded blue Ford in front of her house for the third time her mind began indexing all the people she knew, the cars they drove and wondering why Bill locked the front door if one of them were visiting. Stuffing her key into the lock she successfully made her way into the house.

Bill, she called, dropping her purse on the chair inside the front door.

Only a dark house shrouded in silence greeted Sandy, so she went into the kitchen and looked out the sliding glass door into the backyard. She didn't know why because Bill never went out there. The only reason for him to venture into the yard would be to actually do something with it, which was completely against his nature.

At five o'clock it was still an hour before Bill normally got home from work; if he actually left the office on time, which he often didn't. With a sigh she went back into the living room.

What are you doing home so early? she called out to the quiet house. Bill?

Making her way up the stairs to the bedroom, she kicked off her shoes and released the back button on her skirt as she went. Stopping at the bedroom door, she barely realized she was no longer breathing as she stared numbly at the scene in front of her.

Bill?

Her eyes moved from where Bill stood against the far wall pulling on his pants over to a busty red-headed woman standing on Sandy's side of the bed buttoning her blouse. Sandy's gaze now wandered back over to Bill looking for some sort of explanation from him.

You should go, Marilyn. Bill instructed the woman as she finished the last button.

Marilyn grabbed her shoes and pushed her way past Sandy with her eyes daring her to try and stop her. She didn't. The overpowering aroma of floral scented perfume assaulted her as the woman passed and she closed her eyes to the odor that would forever be a familiar, painful memory to her.

The front door opened and closed as Sandy waited for a response from Bill, who took his time picking up his watch and casually clasping the leather band around his thick wrist. He acted as though he didn’t realize she was here and his ignoring her irritated her more than what she just witnessed.

What is this? Sandy finally questioned, realizing his refusal to speak was intentional.

What are you doing home so early? Bill asked, as though she walked in to find him watching television rather than in their bedroom with another woman. I thought you were working the closing shift for Vickie?

I... Sandy couldn't think of anything else to do except simply follow along with Bill's normal, nothing's wrong type of conversation. It was slow and Madeline was there, so I left early, she mumbled, continuing with the charade of everything being fine.

Bill nodded once in acknowledgement as he tucked his shirt in.

Say something, she demanded, wondering how she even got those words out since her mouth was so dry it hurt.

Glancing over at her, his expression remained calm and uncaring. He straightened his tie, although leaving it loose as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. Again, his dismissal of her bothered her more than anything else currently happening.

Who was that? Sandy insisted waving her hand toward the hallway the woman recently left through. Her perfume still loitered around the room like a ghost, taunting her and she shook her head to purge the scent out of her nostrils, but it didn't work.

It doesn't matter.

Marilyn. Sandy said the name with a sneer. Is that what you called her?

Let it go, Sandy, Bill ordered her in a flat voice.

You're having an affair and I'm supposed to just let it go?

Bill pushed past her without answering and she stood dumbfounded for another moment before storming after him. She caught up with him in the kitchen with the blood pushing itself hotly up into her cheeks as she rushed in to confront him.

Deny it, she challenged him. Why don't you at least deny it?

Deny what? he scoffed, nonchalantly opening the liquor cabinet as he started the process of fixing his nightly drink.

Staring at the back of Bill's head her face heated in anger over what just happened, but it was fear making her breaths come in short, painful bursts; fear that this changed everything.

Her vision narrowed to the disheveled hair on the back of Bill's head and rather than thinking about him being upstairs, in their bed, having sex with another woman, she found herself thinking about how drab and ugly his hair looked. It was short and course and starting to show signs of going gray; and he put too much gel in it.

How long has this been going on? she asked him, closing her eyes for a moment to try and rid herself of the vision of Bill standing in the bathroom, preening in front of the mirror as he slicked his hair back with the thick gel. She needed to return to the problem facing her at the moment.

For a while, he said as he gulped down his drink and then started the routine of fixing another one.

Sandy slumped down into one of the green-vinyl kitchen chairs and covered her face with her shaking hands. She felt unreal and outside of herself as she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening. Her husband was cheating. That was big to the point of being life altering. The question appeared to be; what was she supposed to do about it?

My God, she whispered to no one in particular. I can't believe this. How did I miss this? Her mind replayed the years of their marriage to try and figure out what she should have been paying attention to in order to tell her this was happening. Slowly she pulled her hands from her face and looked back over at Bill with a sickening understanding. She had known, she simply didn’t want to see it and so she explained away anything leading to this conclusion like she did all of Bill’s other odd quirks. To admit something like this meant destroying the dream of being married and of one day owning a house and starting a family.

You never went out of town on business, did you? All the late hours at the office, all the Saturday's you worked and all the money we scrimped and saved so you could afford clothes and a briefcase and all the other things you needed for work. It was all a lie, wasn't it? It was all so you would have the time and money to spend on this Marilyn woman, wasn't it?

Don't be ridiculous, Bill snapped.

How could you do this to me? she asked him, unable to hold back as the emotion burst forth in the form of tears.

Do what to you? Bill spat out, finally turning and moving forward to stand over her. I work my ass off to support you. I pay for your house, your food, your car, your clothes. He held up the freshly mixed Vodka and Seven as though pointing it at her in accusation. What do you offer? He sneered into her face with the smell of the liquor assaulting her as much as Marilyn's perfume from before.

I work, she countered, turning her face to the side to avoid his look and his stench.

Work? Bill snorted. You have a token job as a clerk in a craft store two days a week and you even use that as an excuse for being the coldest woman on the face of the earth. I swear to God, Sandy, when your legs open, the refrigerator light goes on. A man needs passion in his life. No one can blame me for what I've done. No one.

Bill paced the chipped vinyl floor in front of her with his drink sloshing wildly in his glass. His familiar berating of her only enhanced her disgust of him. How could he be angry with her for being caught like a schoolboy with his pants down? He conveniently turned it so the fault became hers. This too was familiar to her.

I don't believe this, she growled, wiping angrily at the tears streaking down her face. You act like you didn't do anything wrong. You act like you had every right to bring that...that... She gestured to the front door, struggling for the right words because she didn’t typically swear or name call. That whore into my house! she finally screamed.

My house! he yelled back, slamming his drink onto the counter, causing one of the ice cubes to bounce out and skip across the floor.

Tears burned painfully in her eyes and her whole body shook with anger and fear, although fear now seemed a secondary emotion as she pushed forward to purge the hatred inside her. You filthy pig, she hurled back at him. Rational thought no longer drove her and she simply reacted to the emotions that burned her. She wanted Bill to hurt as much as he just hurt her.

Her fingers formed into claws, but she kept them tight against her legs as she moved in on him. How dare you treat me like this? she snarled at him like an animal. Her body trembled with the pent up energy that refused to be released as she moved closer to confront him.

Bill's hands shot out and pushed her squarely in the chest as she came towards him. Sandy staggered backwards and plopped roughly back into the chair, jarring her teeth painfully together as she landed, which caused her to let out a small grunt. In shock, she stared up at the stranger in front of her. She thought she knew him and even believed she loved him, but that felt like a lie now. He was a foul man and she felt nothing but disgust for him, which frightened her. Had he always been this way and she never realized it? Had she been blind all these years? Her mind screamed at her to run and for the first time in her marriage she listened to the voice in her head without hesitation. Without another word she left the kitchen.

Where are you going? he called, running after her. Catching her arm he yanked her to a stop before she could reach the front door.

I don't even know who you are, she cried with her world spinning around her as she stood in the dark living room. I can't stay here with you.

As much as her husband was a stranger to her, this house she once thought of as home now also seemed completely foreign to her. She didn't belong anywhere all of the sudden. This place was tainted and would never be the same.

Bullshit! He spat the liquor on his lips into her face as he yelled. You cold bitch. You're the one who made me run to someone else. If you weren't so frigid I wouldn't need to go anywhere else. This is all your fault and you should just be grateful I don't leave you. Besides, you always knew there was someone else and if you didn't it's because you were just too stupid to realize it.

I despise you, she choked out, shocked at saying the words out loud because she rarely countered Bill. I'm not staying here, she vowed, pulling away from him and grabbing for her purse which still sat on the chair inside the front door.

Who cares, Bill scoffed at her confession. Where are you going to run to? he chided her as she clutched her purse to her chest and ran from the house. He pursued her to her car still deriding her as he went. Are you going back to your craft store? Ha! His voice echoed through the quiet streets of the neighborhood. You have nothing! You're nothing without me. You wouldn't last one day by yourself. You need me Sandy because you're too pathetic to do anything on your own. If you were smart you'd get down on your knees and beg me not to leave you.

Climbing into the car she could barely insert the keys into the ignition as her hands shook like someone with palsy. She locked the door in case Bill tried to get at her, but he didn't try.

You'll be back. Mark my words, Sandy; you'll be crawling back here in an hour begging me to forgive you. He continued to holler at her, banging on the window of the car as she backed out of the driveway. Fear that the window would shatter pushed her forward and she put the car into gear to get away as fast as possible.

Driving until she couldn't hear him; at least physically, she still heard his voice grinding at her mind. The words ran over and over again in a torturous loop. She couldn't see him any longer, but she actually couldn't see much of anything else as the tears streamed down her face. Street after street, the car kept going further and further away from Bill and her familiar life as though the vehicle itself needed to escape. She didn't control it as she sped along the sparsely populated streets.

Without any destination in mind, she found herself on the freeway speeding as fast as she could to nowhere. Her mind tried to reconcile what just happened, but it seemed an impossible task. Bill had been right when he told her she had nowhere to go and no one to run to. She had no family here and no friends close enough for this kind of imposition.

Her mother died eight years ago and her father remarried and moved from Seattle to Normouth, Missouri a few years later. Her only brother who was eight years her senior moved to Los Angeles just over six years ago. She stayed in Seattle where her family moved during the summer when she turned nine years old. This had been home to her because it was the place where she went to school, where she met and married her husband, and now the place where she walked in on him and found him sleeping with some other woman.

Her foot pressed down harder on the accelerator as anger put pressure on every part of her body. Soon the freeway lights were whipping by her car in the descending darkness with frightening speed until she realized what she was doing and finally slowed down knowing she wasn't going anywhere anyway.

Damn it, she cursed as her anger cooled into irritated resignation. She steered the car off the next exit, knowing it was foolish to keep driving further away from her house when eventually she’d be forced to return.

She hated the thought of crawling back to Bill, but he was right; she couldn't support herself. She didn't make enough money to pay rent on a one bedroom apartment, let alone pay any other bills that would come up if she lived on her own. Besides, the idea of being alone terrified her.

Bill berated her for only having a part time job, but he was the reason she didn’t work full time. She met Bill her first year of college. At the time she had a job working part time while she went to school, but when they got married she dropped out and found a full time job so he could go back to college and finish his education. Bill had a history of going for a few semesters then dropping out and changing majors before going back for another few semesters and that didn’t change after Sandy gave up her dream of a college degree. Bill never ended up completing his education and dropped out for good before finishing. He got a job at a manufacturing firm as a sales rep and never went back. That was three jobs ago.

Sandy enjoyed working, but Bill hated everything about her old job. He pressured her into quitting, telling her how disrespectful it was to him because being the man meant he should be the breadwinner of the family and it reflected poorly on him to have his wife working. After a while it became unbearable to endure his rants, so she quit her job in order to appease him. It didn't take long to find out she missed the interaction with other people and eventually got Bill to agree to let her take on the token job he now despised as inadequate.

Thinking about what a poor job he'd done in supporting them made her lip curl up in distaste. They didn't own their house, the furniture was the same second-hand items they picked up when they first got married and her car was falling apart. Since Sandy wanted to buy a house she didn't considered it a sacrifice to do without. The house was the dream she held onto. Once they purchased that it would mean they were a family, just like when she was younger.

The only thing left to remind her of her own childhood was her mother's old china set. The value of it was minimal, but since her father gave the rest of her mother's belongings to his new wife, Sandy clung to that small bit of her past with passion. The china set remained back at the house and to say she’d have to return for it was an excuse because going back was inevitable. Still, it helped ease some of the humiliation of returning.

Sandy needed to change and be able to care for herself before she could think about leaving Bill. Until that happened, she had no other choice, but to return, so with a resigned sigh she turned onto the side streets that would take her back to her house.

She didn't want to hurry, but she had to go back because she didn't have enough money on her to get a hotel room for the night. She didn't possess any credit cards because Bill kept them all, saying he needed to keep tight control over their finances and if she needed anything she could ask him. He arranged everything to give him complete power and she hated him and herself for giving that to him.

Bill's accusation of her being cold was probably the most hurtful thing he said to her tonight because he was right. From the first time they slept together she'd never been wildly into sex. The movies and books made it out to be exciting and fun, but she never felt the climax people talked about. Bill had been her first real boyfriend and the first and only person she ever slept with. In her mind sleeping with someone meant you loved them, so if she didn't love and marry him it made her cheap. With a short snorting laugh, she shook her head in pity of herself. She felt very cheap right now and yet she doubted Marilyn felt that way. She saw the look of satisfaction on the woman's face when Sandy walked in on them.

Of course sleeping with Bill wasn't the only reason Sandy married him. He exuded confidence and he took charge. In the years before her mother's death after she became bedridden, Sandy spent a lot of time caring for her. She lost touch with friends and became shy and withdrawn. Her mother passed away and then just over a year later her father remarried and moved. Sandy was barely out of high school and felt lost and abandoned. Bill swept her off her feet simply by paying attention to her and it impressed her that he was almost five years older than her.

She believed she'd been a good wife, but inside she always worried it was a lie; the same as she always worried Bill was cheating on her. Even though she didn't get particularly worked up over sex, she and Bill did it whenever he wanted. She never took on the role of the aggressor, but she never denied him either.

Their sex life consisted of Bill climbing on, grunting and clinching and then getting off and going downstairs to watch television before she even got her clothes all the way off. Earlier in their marriage she tried to spice things up by wearing sexy lingerie, but it didn't change anything and she still never experienced that za, za, zing she always wanted to feel, so she resigned herself to that being the way sex was.

It probably was her fault Bill found someone else and that made her want to cry again because she wondered how this Marilyn was able to find sexual satisfaction in Bill where she fell short. The fault was obviously hers.

Throughout their marriage Sandy always deferred to Bill as the older, wiser person, but was that love? How could you love someone who didn't love you back, she wondered.

Looking at back now she realized she usually conceding to Bill’s desires to avoid some of the unpleasant spats they encountered, especially during their first years of marriage. Of course what she really ended up doing was giving him full control over her life. That loss of control happened gradually when she stopped fighting over small things and gave in, like not buying the items Bill didn't like to eat and folding his underwear a certain way. Then she started giving in over bigger and bigger things like letting him control the checkbook, never going out to movies or dinner and being pressured into quitting her job.

There were dozens of other things Bill would yell or pout about if they happened, so again she compromised. The problem was she always compromised but Bill never did. He talked down to her making her feel stupid until she truly believed she was stupid, which meant she always deferred to him as the smarter of the two of them. How had she let herself get to this, she wondered?

Well, here's another stupid thing you're doing, huh Sandy? She could hear him now in her head as though he were sitting right next to her. I swear, you never think. Sometimes you act like such a God-dammed idiot. Do you ever stop and think? Where did you think you were going to go? How did you think you were going to get along without me? You couldn't even make it past the city limits on your own. His imagined laughter echoed painfully inside her.

I'm not an idiot, she told the windshield with angry determination.

Seeing a familiar street up ahead, she let out a defeated sigh. She was heading back to him. She couldn't leave him. Everything about their life together ensured that.

I am an idiot, she muttered as the tears once again pushed up into her eyes.

Turning on her blinker she turned toward the street that would take her back to her miserable life. As she rounded the corner her purse slid to the floor and she leaned down, picked it up and put it back on the seat. When she glanced out the window again she saw the car stopped at the stop sign in front of her. Slamming on the brakes, she skidded to a stop, but it was too late; her front bumper connected in a quick jolt with the other vehicle.

Sitting behind the wheel, staring out at the red tail lights in front of her, she was sure she was having a heart attack. She hoped she was. With her hands held steadfastly to the steering wheel she waited until she was able to breathe normally. Perfect, she thought as she sat staring out into the dark night wondering why she couldn't just drive off a cliff instead.

Bill was really going to be mad at her now. Everything was her fault. It always had been and there was no escaping it; especially now. Dropping her head to the steering wheel, Sandy began to cry.

CHAPTER TWO

Sandy slowly released her grip on the steering wheel as the driver of the other vehicle climbed out and stood looking intently through the window at her. His face puckered up in anger and she couldn't blame him.

I'm so sorry, she apologized, climbing out to face the tall, slender man with short graying hair.

Who are you? he demanded.

Taking a step back from the angry man, the tears started to surface again. The entire world was against her at this moment.

I'm sorry, she repeated, trying to hold back the new bout of crying. How much damage did I do?

I can't tell how much damage there is in the dark, he said gruffly not bothering to even look at the car.

I'll take care of it. Sandy sniffed, turning away from the man unable to take his wrath and not wanting him to see her cry. I have insurance. I'll pay for the damage.

Pull over into the parking lot over there on the corner so we can take care of this underneath the lights, he told her.

Sandy nodded and climbed back into her car, driving slowly across the street and parking. The man pulled in next to her underneath one of the tall poles filling the massive parking lot with light. Both of them climbed out of their cars and Sandy waited, expecting him to examine the damage now that the lighting allowed it, but instead he walked over and stood right in front of her again with his arms folded. He appeared to be evaluating her rather than his car, but then he looked around them as though evaluating everything else; everything except his car.

Sandy cleared her throat and turned her head toward the damage on his car, as though looking would remind him what he was supposed to be doing. She couldn't get a good look at it from this angle and the man didn't move, so Sandy turned and went over to the front of her own car rubbing her fingers across the crease at the corner of the fender.

Closing her eyes momentarily, Sandy let out a quiet moan. It wasn't that bad and since the paint of the car was already so faded and chipped this didn't actually make the aesthetics of the vehicle any worse. Still, it didn't matter. This was just another failure on her part.

Bill's going to kill me, she mumbled to herself, briefly forgetting the man until he startled her by coming up behind her.

What's your name? he demanded.

Sandy, she told him, her voice shaking, although she couldn't tell if the accident or the gruff nature of the man she hit was creating the tremor. Sandy Hutaker.

She waited for him to ask for her insurance information, but he remained silent, once again making her slightly uncomfortable. She wiped absently at her nose, hating that she'd been crying and that her nose was now running. She didn't even have a tissue to wipe it while she loitered about in the middle of a parking lot, worrying about what was going to happen with her car, with the stranger's car, her insurance, her marriage and her life. Once again, she held back the tears lingering in the back of her throat.

She dug into her purse, finding her wallet to exchange the necessary information. Holding out her license she waited, but the man didn't make a move to take it as he still seemed to be looking at her and then scanning the area around them. It was odd and she couldn't figure him out.

Do you have your driver's license? she inquired hesitantly, trying to move the process forward. If I can get your information I'll have my insurance company contact you, or you can call them. She hesitated again and then shrugged. Whatever works for you.

What do you do? he questioned.

Do? The confusion made her want to cry again.

Perhaps this man was doing what was expected during an accident, but Sandy was too slow to understand. She'd never been in an accident before, but this seemed strange. Again, she wished she had a tissue as she could feel her nose about to drip. Her frustration was starting to turn to irritation.

For a living, he said. What do you do?

I'm a sales clerk, she answered slowly, once again trying to offer him her driver's license. I have insurance, she told him going back to her car and reaching inside to pull her insurance papers from the glove box, hoping to find a napkin for her nose instead.

What are you doing? he barked, yanking at her arm to pull her out of the car.

I can pay for any damage I caused if that's what you're worried about, she said pulling away from him. Her emotions twisted until she wanted to scream at him that her nose was running and he was refusing to allow her to get a tissue to take care of it. She understood how upsetting this might be for the man, but she told him she would take care of it and his car was far from being totaled. I have insurance. I'm just getting the card so you'll have the policy number and stuff.

She reached in the car again, this time grabbing a napkin and the insurance card. She held the card out to him, but he still didn't seem interested in her information. His eyes scanned the road and the parking lot, as though waiting for the police to show up.

Do you want to call the cops? she asked, watching the man with confusion as her annoyance at him faded slightly. He didn't look any older than fifty to fifty-four, but it was possible he could be going senile. Don't you want to check the damage on your car?

Slowly the man nodded and appeared to relax. Sure, he said and she followed him to the back of his car trying to discretely wipe her nose as she went. He bent down and ran his fingers along the dented metal. It's not bad, he said standing up, but his eyes once again searched the area around them. Slowly he focused on Sandy looking her over from head to toe. You're not wearing any shoes, he mused, his gruff exterior fading as an amused expression took over his face.

Sandy looked down at her bare feet, feeling the rough pavement under them. I left the house in a hurry, she confessed as she scrunched her toes up wishing she could hide them from him. This night just kept getting worse.

It sounds like an interesting story. He raised his eyebrow in question.

It's been a really terrible evening, she told him as the fatigue started to set in. At least he didn't seem mad at her any longer and now that the adrenaline seemed to be fading, the stress of the day began taking its toll. It was my fault and I am really sorry about your car. Don't you want my insurance information and driver's license so we can get out of here? she asked again.

Sure. The man smiled at her, his eyes now resting on her rather than scanning the area like they had been since they first made contact. I'm sorry I came off a little intense. I've had kind of a rough day myself.

I'm sorry, she said again. I'm sure this didn't help.

He continued to smile. I think it's probably worse for you than for me. Sandy believed that to be true and her face flushed slightly. Sucking in a deep breath, the man looked at the building sitting at the far end of the parking lot. Why don't we go in there where we can sit down, order a drink and I'll get all your information and I'll give you mine?

Sandy looked over at the black building that housed a dance club. Above the door sat a sign displaying a derby hat with eyes and a mustache and the name Marion's in the shape of a bow tie underneath in flashing neon blue light.

I don't think so, she said shaking her head.

You said you had a bad day. I have too. We could use some time to decompress and get this handled, don't you think?

I don't have any shoes, Sandy told him in a small uncertain voice.

I don't think anyone will notice. He nodded disarmingly. We'll just order sodas if you like; my treat. We'll go in there and sit down and take care of this like civilized people.

He began heading toward the bar as though she already agreed to go. Sandy hesitantly followed him into the heavily air-conditioned building loud with music. Sandy had never been in a place like this before and a moment of anxiety rushed in on her as everything assaulted her senses at once. On a Thursday night the club operated at a quarter of what it appeared to be capable of, but to Sandy it pressed in on her like chaos and put off energy like an explosion.

Looking down at her feet, she followed him through the tables fearing she might trip on something in the darkness and break a toe. She worried about what covered the floor as she sometimes stepped on something sticky or wet. Disgusted she kept going, vowing to shower the minute she got back home.

The only real light in the place shined on a large wooden dance floor which currently held a handful of people bumping and grinding to the beat that shook the walls. The rest of the place was lit by a string of neon lights running around the room and the occasional soft spot light that shined down on the tables, offering only enough light to see what you were drinking.

As I promised, I'll buy, the man said, pulling out Sandy's chair for her at a small table near the back of the room.

Sandy scooted to the edge of her chair looking across at the people scattered around her as she played nervously with the imitation leather strap of her purse. The bulk of her anxiety had passed, but she still felt like she didn't belong and was sure everyone noticed even though no one gave her any attention.

I shouldn't have come in here with you, she said rising and making her chair scrape against the floor.

There's no need to be afraid of me. I'm not here to search out and prey on young women. I thought you'd actually feel more comfortable with people around while we talked.

No, I didn't think that at all, she gasped out feeling hot and embarrassed again. Closing her eyes, she shook her head in frustration at her inept handling of the situation.

You said you had a bad day and you look as though you could use a friendly ear, he said. I know we got off to a poor start and I'm sorry about that. I guess I get a little flustered myself and I came across a little harsh, but I'd like to start over. He stuck his hand out for her to shake. My name is Harry. Harry Yodem.

Sandy took his hand and shook it with a small, unsure smile while her other hand still clung to her purse like a security blanket. Sandy Hutaker.

You already told me that, he said with a sly look as he leaned back in his chair as though completely relaxed. She envied him.

I did? she sighed trying to remember what she said and only vaguely recalling mentioning her name. Oh, yeah, she said feebly and sat back in her seat, feeling too humiliated to try and leave now.

Getting into a fender bender like that always gives your nerves a bit of a jolt. I know I could use a drink to settle me down. What can I get you?

I don't really drink, she informed him looking around her wondering if she could find an escape route. Maybe he was trying to trap her, she thought, but she already admitted it was her fault and he didn't seem upset any longer. She sighed and looked down at her purse oddly feeling like crying again.

Sometimes I can be a little pushy. I was abrupt and cross to you before and I'm sorry, he told her sincerely. I feel like I owe you a drink, but if you're in a hurry I understand that too. We can just exchange our information and you can be on your way.

No, she said slowly, pushing herself further back in her chair to try and force herself to relax, but keeping her purse tightly on her lap. She didn't feel relaxed, but she wanted to come across as more confident than she felt, so she consciously looked him in the eyes and smiled. It felt false and she found herself looking away again.

Sucking in a deep breath to steel her resolve she scanned out across the shadowy room at the flashing lights and people completely engrossed in their own lives. She wanted that. She wanted to feel free and light and happy and dance and not worry about anything.

The fatigue she felt earlier started to lift a little and she began to find her situation and this place slightly fascinating. Bill never took her to clubs or bars. Not being twenty one when she got married