HIS STORY
I remember the first time I saw her, smiling, beautiful, sexy, twenty-two years old, and looking to conquer the world. It never occurred to me that she would conquer my world.
A femme fatale could seduce and cause distress or disaster.
Such a woman might have her eyes on a prize the man might offer. Something like money, prestige, or power. Any man, married or not, might be her target.
I had no prize.
Yes, at twenty-four, I married a girl in Waco, Texas. I had known her for five months. A few weeks later, I received a promotion to Dallas for a job that offered higher pay and more opportunities.
We moved into an apartment in a suburb of Dallas. She stayed ten days and returned home to live with her mother and father.
My wife told me, “When you give up that job and return to Waco, we can get another place, but I am not living in Dallas.”
I had no desire to return to Waco. A few months passed; I didn’t know how to resolve the issue.
Fate stepped in.
A new girl had been hired. She came by the office on a Saturday and found me working as usual. She asked, “How would you like to come to my place for spaghetti dinner this evening?”
HER STORY
I could have met him in West Texas. He graduated two years ahead of me from a different high school. We grew up twenty minutes from each other. Or maybe in Austin during my junior year at the University of Texas while he attended law school. But I met him in Dallas.
I dated guys and had a serious relationship with a man my senior year in college. At least, I thought it to be serious. Maybe not so serious for him. But graduation ended it.
My father invested in developing properties. My mother owned a retail store and planned to open more. Both were successful. I wanted to prove myself.
I accepted a job with a national organization as an entry-level executive. My first assignment sent me to Dallas.
I met the office manager. A tall guy with curly red hair, not cute exactly, but he had a way about him. He had an air of self-confidence. His secretary said his wife did not live with him. I wondered about that.
On a Saturday, I stopped by the office. He supervised a weekend crew. On an impulsive whim, I invited him to dinner. I had no plans, no agenda. I could only cook spaghetti. He accepted.
HIS STORY
I bought a bottle of Lancer’s wine. It paired well with spaghetti and French bread. At least, that’s what the guy at the liquor store said. Most importantly, I could afford it. But we started with bourbon.
I liked this girl. I think she liked me. After dinner and much conversation, someone offered a back rub. A little later, she said, “Are you going to do anything or not?” She had asked a life-changing question.
The following day, I called my soon-to-be ex-wife to inform her of her new status.
“I want a divorce.”
She replied, “You called me before breakfast to say that.”
“Yep.” I thought I sounded like Gary Cooper.
HER STORY
I didn’t know what to think when he told me he started plans for a divorce. Our “relationship” at this point consisted of spaghetti, wine, bourbon, and one — okay romantic night.
HIS STORY
Getting divorced is a process. She didn’t want any part of it. She said, “You know I am Catholic. I can’t get divorced.”
I responded, “Well, I’m not Catholic. I’ll take care of it.” I found a lawyer who said he could handle it for three hundred dollars. I had maybe seventy-five bucks to last a week after paying bills.
I went to my bank to borrow the three hundred dollars, and they said, “No, we don’t get involved in domestic situations.”
I opened a checking account with my seventy-five dollars at a different bank. I inquired if I could borrow five hundred dollars for a vacation trip to South Padre Island. “Sure, no problem.” It’s all in the presentation.
My wife came to the apartment with her father and his pickup to get everything she wanted. There were some clothes. They took a few things from the kitchen and a new console stereo record player. I helped her daddy carry it all to a mostly empty pickup.
HER STORY
His divorce became final a year after our first spaghetti dinner. We would spend the weekends at my apartment. We had a lot of spaghetti, Lancer’s and Mateus wine, and Benchmark Bourbon. Our time was fun, private, and personal. If I loved him, I wouldn’t have told him.
We never told anyone at the office about us. Once, he sent me roses three days in a row. Each day, the roses were a different color. The staff wondered who sent them. I never said a word. Frankly, the secret added to the excitement.
HIS STORY
I think a femme fatale would have caused distress. I felt no distress — maybe a magic spell. I wanted to touch her all the time. She made no objections. She made suggestions. After the divorce, we continued to date for another six months or so. Once, she said, “Do you want to date other people?” I told her no.
I should have said something like, “I can’t imagine wanting to date anyone else.”
HER STORY
I went to Europe on vacation with my sister. Before leaving, I had lunch with my mother. She and Dad had met him a few times. During lunch, Mother said, “You know he is just a redhead; they never amount to a hill of beans.”
I thought about her observation during my two-week vacation.
HIS STORY
When she returned from a European vacation, she told me we should move in other directions. So, I quit my job and found another in Houston.
HER STORY
He quit his job and moved to Houston. A little while later, I also left and moved to a lake resort, which my father was developing south of Austin. I started selling lake lots. I didn’t date much. I met an engineer, a good guy with a good future. I married him when I was thirty.
As far as the guy in Dallas was concerned, I sent Christmas cards. I didn’t want to completely lose touch.
I love my husband. Today, I have three daughters, three sons-in-law, and four grandkids. I love how my life turned out.
HIS STORY
I met a beautiful, intelligent woman. We were married and had forty-five wonderful years together. We achieved things neither one of us could have envisioned. She died a while back.
From a fifty-year perspective, I can now say what happened so long ago was not the work of a femme fatale. She helped to expedite a failed marriage that never should have occurred.
It may sound peculiar, but what she taught me turned out to be invaluable. I discovered a relationship meant giving, taking, laughing, experimenting, and trusting each other. And having fun with each other.
She enriched my life and set the stage for a marriage yet to come.
MYSTERY OF DREAMS
About fifteen years ago, I had a vivid dream. It’s just as vivid today as when it awoke me then. In the dream, I served as an American soldier in WWII as part of the D-Day Invasion force on June 6, 1944.
Our unit advanced through France but found ourselves behind enemy lines. We engaged a girl and two men in the French underground. I immediately recognized her. She smiled. Somehow, we felt the connection.
The Germans captured everyone, and we were to be executed. I woke up.
Was it just a silly dream? Was it really her? Was it really me? Was it a glimpse of past lives intertwining with other lives yet to come?
The second mystery of a dream occurred on a Sunday morning about a year ago. I woke up with a strong desire to find information about the girl I married so many years ago.
I had not thought of her in more than fifty years.
These days, we have the internet.
A simple search found her obituary. I read she had remarried long ago. They had a daughter who graduated with honors from Baylor University. The daughter was now married.
The obituary described a full life. Her funeral services were set for the following day.
Did she visit me in a dream to say, “Wake up and find everything turned out okay?”
