Maxwell looked across the dinner table at his date. One of his friends mistakenly thought he knew his taste in women and had convinced him to go on this blind date. Maxwell had been disappointed the moment he’d been approached by a very stocky woman who looked to be in her fifties. He grunted and plotted how he was going to murder his friend and make it look like an accident. He smiled at his date as she rambled on about her day. Occasionally, he would catch himself looking at his watch or checking his cell phone for messages from Max or Tamarius.
His date, Marge Witfield, was the daughter of one of the board members. Maxwell had hoped to meet her younger sister. Closer to his age, she had seemed to have many of the same interests as him. Being a gentleman, Maxwell decided to see the date through. Marge was not whom he had expected, but she was a person with feelings, and he had to respect that.
"So how many children do you have?" Marge asked, smiling coyly at Maxwell.
"Ah two...well one. My son recently got married to a wonderful girl and I accept her as my daughter," Maxwell explained.
"Oh, that’s really nice. I have three sons and two daughters. Justin, Jacob and Job—those are my sons. And, my daughters are Evelyn and Sarah."
"Yes, they are all practically grown now. I wish your son was single. I'm sure he would have liked to meet them." Marge giggled.
Maxwell raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Yeah, you never know," he said, not really knowing what more to say.
"And, how's your brother?"
"Tamarius? He’s out traveling with his girlfriend." Maxwell looked around for the waiter. He needed a refill on his drink.
"Your brother is a great guy. He was single for so long. I was beginning to wonder about him."
"Wonder about him, how?" Maxwell felt defensive over his little brother.
"Well, you know what happened back in college. He never dated any girl after..."
"Did you think my brother was gay?" Maxwell asked twisting his face.
"Ah, well, no, but it's his choice. I just..."
"He is not."
"Well, I know...now."
"Gay? Just because a guy doesn't have women hanging all over him twenty-four seven," Maxwell grumbled to himself.
"Did he ever get over that Natasha chick?"
"Natasha? Oh, yeah; a long time ago. I haven't thought about her in a long time." He thought back to his college years.
"Well, on a better note, you’re single... I’m single. The night is still young," Marge blushed as thoughts of Maxwell’s angelic frame caressing her brought chills to her body.
"Waiter!" Maxwell yelled, stopping the waiter as he passed by.
"Another cranberry," Maxwell replied. He had been alcohol free since June of 2009 and was focused on keeping it that way.
"You don't drink?" Marge asked.
"No. I quit."
"Oh, so sad. I was hoping we could maybe go to a bar later."
Aside from having been a neglectful father for so long and having finally gotten on the right track, Maxwell now had another reason to be glad he’d stopped drinking. "I'm sorry, but I'm much happier now."
"Yes, well that’s important." Her grin didn’t quite hide her disappointment in his commitment to stay sober.
Maxwell smirked. The woman was making him feel like a pre-rape victim. She sat across the table smiling, licking her lips and puckering them, as she attempted a seduction. If his brother had been here to witness this farce; they’d have had a field day.
Maxwell looked down at his watch again. He couldn't take it any more. He had to get out of there. The gears in his head worked overtime as he searched for an excuse to leave. Just as one happily came to his mind, Marge began to speak again.
"So... your place or mine?" Marge pushed her chest towards him as she winked and coyly smiled.
"Check please!" Maxwell yelled, raising his hand. It was time to go.
The waiter hurried over and Maxwell shoved a few hundreds in his hand as he stood from the table. "That should cover it. Keep the rest." He then turned to Marge. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay longer. I have many meetings in the morning. You do understand?"
Marge’s lips moved as her eyes registered disappointment. “But… we’ve just… can’t you stay a little…”
He took off before she could form a complete sentence. Poor woman, he thought with a disenchanted shrug. The girl was all hot and bothered with nowhere to go.
"Those Martinez men," she grumbled.
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