Second Chance Love

Second Chance Love

By Shawn Inmon

©2015 by
Shawn Inmon

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

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Cover Design/Interior Layout: Linda Boulanger

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Published by Pertime Publishing

For Dawn Adele – both my first

and second chance at love.

November 1973

Annie Templeton glanced up at the venerable 7-UP clock in
Gus's Diner
, rolling her neck to work out the fatigue. It was 6:45 PM. The end of her shift was still hours away. She swept a quarter, dime, and nickel into her pocket—enough to buy a gallon and a half of gas, had she owned a vehicle--then stacked the used tableware and carried it back to the dishwashing sink.

The door's bell rang. That was both good and bad. Good, in that Annie shared a tiny one-bedroom apartment with a roommate, was behind on her share, and could use all the tips she could get. Bad, in that she had been working since late morning, and had hoped to sit down for a cup of coffee with Margie, the cook, before it was time to start the closing duties.

The new arrival looked thirtyish and round-faced, showing signs of future jowliness, and wore a suit and tie far handsomer than his own face. Not a lot of
Gus's
clientele wore tailored suits. Before he settled into his seat, Annie stood ready with the coffee pot. He smiled and flipped his cup over with a porcelain
clunk
.

Like most people, he looked handsomer when he smiled. Annie, a tall, graceful woman with long, thick dark hair, smiled back as she poured the coffee. She was that sort of person who gave off a slightly damaged vibe; not quite a 'victimize me' feel, but enough to appeal to the sort of man drawn to women with problems. She was twenty-nine. A dozen years of waiting tables, cleaning hotel rooms, and factory work had engraved their story on her face and heart.

“What’s the special tonight, uh…Annie?” the man said, looking at either her nametag or her chest, or both.

Annie laughed. “Special? Why, everything’s special here at
Gus's
.”

He narrowed his eyes a bit, an expression she could not decode. Annie retreated behind her Waitress Smile, handing him a single-sided, laminated menu with half a dozen choices. “Everything we have is right on there. I’ll give you a minute to make up your mind.”

She headed to the back to run a load in the dishwasher. As Annie passed the kitchen, Margie's eyes asked a question. Annie laughed a little and shook her head.

Forty minutes later, the gentleman in the suit finished his chicken-fried steak and laid a ten-dollar bill on top of the tab, which came to $2.27. Waitressing had taught Annie not to assume a tip until the customer made the fact clear. “I’ll get your change and be right back.”

“The rest is for you.”

Annie tilted her head a bit to the right, but stuck to the manual: identical reactions to all tips. “Thank you very much,” she said. "I hope you enjoyed your meal.” Considering that $7.73 had more than doubled her shift's tip take, that wish required little effort. She turned to go, but the man reached out and laid his fingertips on her wrist.

Here it comes.

“You know, there’s a new nightclub downtown called
Chez Paris.
It’s jammed every night, but I can get us in. What do you say?”

“I’ve been working since before the lunch rush started, I’ve still got two hours of filling ketchup bottles and washing dishes, and all I’m looking forward to is going home. I have a shift tomorrow morning," she finished, not unkindly. "But thanks for the invitation. I don't think a man as well turned out as you will have any trouble finding a date.”

I flattered him. What made me do that?

“Like you, I work too many hours to get in much socializing, but I understand. No problem.”

Annie finished her shift, went home to bed, then got up to another day like the one before. He returned that evening, once again after the dinner rush was over, and he struck up another conversation. He got around to asking about her next day off, which she said was Friday, and left another oversized tip.

Thursday evening he was back again.

“You must really like our cooking, or something, since you keep coming back.”

“Or something,” the man said. “By the way, I never introduced myself. I’m Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeff,” Annie said.

“Since you’re off tomorrow, what do you say to coming out with me tonight?”

While Annie searched her mind for a nice way to decline, Jeff went on: “If nightclubs aren’t your scene, I get that. The new John Wayne movie,
The Cowboys
, is playing at the Rialto. I love John Wayne. How about if I pick you up tomorrow night and we go see it?”

“Gus says I’m not supposed to date the customers.”

Jeff looked around, a bit theatrically. “I saw the cook. She doesn't look like a Gus. Is there a Gus here that I haven't noticed?"

“No. Gus hardly ever comes in any more.”

“Well, I promise not to tell him. What’s the name of the cook?”

“Margie.”

Jeff raised his voice a bit, to carry. “Hey, Margie, how about you? Are you going to tell Gus?”

Margie turned her back and went into the walk-in freezer.

“Can I assume that Margie did not just head back to Gus's office in the freezer to rat on you?”

Despite herself, Annie laughed. She had a hard time remembering how long it had been since her last real date. She’d been kind of seeing a construction worker named Bill, whose idea of a date involved pizza and TV at his place. That dreaded thirtieth birthday was coming up in January, and she felt her youth draining away.

“Okay.” She wrote her address on the back of an order ticket. “What time?”

“The movie starts at seven. How about if I pick you up at six-thirty, and I’ll take you to a nice dinner after. Somewhere that Gus will never find us.”

Annie's nod changed her life forever.

Despite a valiant effort, Jeff didn’t get Annie into bed that first night, nor on the second. The third date was the charm, for Jeff if not for Annie, who had hoped a well-heeled lover might be a better lover, much to her great disappointment.

They got together a few more times, but Jeff grew increasingly distant, then stopped calling. Three weeks later, her normally steady biological clock did not go off at the appointed time. A visit to Planned Parenthood confirmed the logical conclusion.

While Annie didn't miss Jeff, she needed to get in touch with him. He had never given her his phone number. Still, men like to talk, and moderately successful men like to talk about their successes. With a few leaps of logic and some detective work, Annie tracked him down at work. Jeff turned out to be a company vice president. And there she hit the wall: Jeff's secretary, who defended the ramparts of Jeff's access with veteran skill and determination. She could not meet him, and he did not return her messages.

Annie finally decided to wait outside his office building. After three hours, just as she was ready to give up, she saw Jeff and two other men come out. She waved and caught his eye. Indecision passed across his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he said something to the other two men, then walked toward Annie. When he was still ten feet away, he said, “What, Annie? You’ve got to quit calling for me at work.”

“I’m pregnant,” Annie said. Her voice was calmer than her thoughts.

“You don’t know that it’s mine.”

“I do.”

“I’ll pay for an abortion, but that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Annie felt the blood drain from her face. Any remaining illusions disappeared.

“I’m not going to have an abortion.”

“Listen. Annie. I’ve got to run; I’m late. I’ll be in touch with you in the next few days.”

The other two men pulled up in an Audi sedan. Jeff jumped in the car and was gone.

At least
he won't see me cry
.

Four days later, a Certified—Return Receipt Requested tag appeared in her mailbox. She went to the post office, signed, and collected a manila envelope addressed to “Andrea Faye Templeton.” The return address was for Anderson, Jenkins and Grogan, the city's largest law firm. She waited to open it until she was outside the post office.

Dear Ms. Templeton:

We have been retained to facilitate an understanding regarding your current situation. Our client, who accepts no responsibility or liability for your medical situation, is nonetheless willing…

Filtered of the legal ass-covering, the law firm would pay reasonable hospital costs relating to the birth. They would also pay her $1000. In return, she had to agree never to contact Jeff again. There was a triplicate agreement inside the envelope, along with a stamped, self-addressed envelope.

When Annie got home, she read it again. Numbly, she signed. She removed the bottom copy, shoved the other two back in the envelope, then laid down on her bed, buried her face in her pillow and wept.

She woke up two hours later, washed her face, and put on her makeup. She walked the block and a half to the nearest payphone. She dropped a dime into the slot, dialed a number and waited. A slurred man’s voice answered. “Hello?”

“Bill. It’s Annie. I’ve missed you. How about if I come over and we watch some TV?”

Less than a month later, at Annie’s prompting and to Bill’s surprise, they stood in front of a Justice of the Peace and said their vows. Seven months later, Annie Coleman bore a healthy female infant weighing seven pounds and two ounces.

Annie christened her Elizabeth Lynn Coleman.