Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor

A very heart-felt Thank You to Erik Thread. His help, suggestions, and corrections, make my story a better read for you.

This story doesn't have a hot sex scene, so if that's what you are looking for, please read elsewhere, then come back at another time to enjoy this short tale.

*

The sun, low in the western sky, reflected off the windshield of a car in the parking lot. The glare momentarily showed a bright light inside the darkened bar when the door was opened. He didn't need to turn around to see who walked in the door. The mirror behind the bar gave him a pretty good view of the woman.

Her steps weren't hesitant, but she did move slowly, her fists clenched in the front pockets of her jeans. The soles of her leather loafers barely made a sound as she walked to one end of the rectangular bar. She briefly looked at each of the men scattered on barstools on the long side of the bar and the two men sitting on the short side opposite her. She took her hands out of her pockets and held onto the edge of the bar as she lifted her hip and slid onto a barstool, leaving the corner stool vacant.

After waiting a moment to see if a companion would join her, the bartender left his quiet conversation with the two men on the far side of the bar and approached his new customer. After placing a coaster in front of the woman, he gave her time to consider what she wanted to drink.

"Double Black Jack and water with a little ice, please."

The bartender moved to select a glass and took a bottle from one of the shelves to prepare her drink. The bartender walked in front of a man sitting on the second stool nearest the corner to place the drink before her. The man held up a ten-dollar bill and nodded his head toward the woman.

She slipped her hand into a pocket of her jeans, brought it back to the surface of the bar, and then opened her fist to place a folded twenty-dollar bill on the bar to pay for her drink. She smiled at the other customer and gave a single shake of her head. "Thanks anyway, I'd rather buy my own drink."

The bartender took her money and went to get her change, speaking quietly as he passed the man. "Better luck next time, Tinker."

Tinker picked up his beer, nodded to the woman, and offered her a brief salute with his raised bottle and then took a long swallow of his drink. She lifted her glass to give him the same salute before taking her first sip of the diluted Tennessee Whiskey.

The original proprietor of the distillery would have been proud of the way she appreciated the first taste of his family's 80 proof product, although he might not have liked that she was a woman.

The bartender returned with her change. She selected one of the bills and stuffed it into the nearby tip jar, then slid the remainder under the edge of her coaster. The rings on her left hand momentarily reflected the light from the back of the bar.

Tinker didn't need to turn his head to look at the woman. As near as she was, he could see her easily. He suspected she was in her early-to-mid thirties. She was a little taller than average, slender. Her jeans fit well but weren't skin tight, which meant she wore them for comfort rather than to show off her figure. She wore her simple light blue shirt with all but the collar button securely closed. The flat, tailored collar neatly wrapped around her neck. If she was wearing makeup, there wasn't much of it. The matte color on her lips meant she wanted just a little color rather than the shiny look of come kiss me. She wasn't dressed like a woman on the prowl. She was probably in the bar on the spur of the moment. Maybe had a little time to kill before she needed to be somewhere. Perhaps she didn't want to go home to an empty house.

Just barely loud enough for the man two seats away to hear her, she said, "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor."

His chuckle preceded his own response, "Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief."

"Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief," She completed the fortune telling rhyme, and then added, "Big House, Little House, Pigsty, Barn."

Tinker nodded at the rings on her hand and asked, "Did your dreams come true?"

"I thought they did." Her words were self-deprecatory, as if she wasn't particularly happy about her answer.

He watched some kind of emotion cross her face as she looked down at her glass. "But ..."

He waited a moment for her to finish the comment she started. When she remained silent, he prompted her, "Seems like you wanted to add something, didn't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders in non-committal agreement then looked at each of the other men along the edge of the bar. Most of them were giving their attention to the television above the head of the bartender.

They nursed their drinks in silence. Tinker glanced at her a few times, surreptitiously. She didn't appear to be angry or disturbed. She simply appeared to be giving a lot of thought to some weighty problems.

Likewise, she occasionally lifted her eyes from the glass in front of her, noticing the relaxed way Tinker sat at the bar, as if he was exactly where he wanted to be at that moment. She also looked over her shoulder as a new song began playing on the jukebox, her head moving slightly in time with the heavy beat of the music.

Tinker turned his head to see several couples from tables on the other side of the room walk out to the dance floor and begin to move in step with the slow music.

Her head snapped up when Tinker asked, "Would you like to dance?" She looked over her shoulder again and thought about it for a moment then nodded.

Tinker stood and turned her barstool giving her plenty of room to stand. He took her arm and steered her between a few tables, then put an arm around her waist to turn her into his arms. After a few steps, when it appeared they moved together pretty easily, Tinker looked down at the woman.

"You know, I usually know at least the first name of a woman I hold in my arms."

"Beth."

Tinker pulled her just a little closer and appreciated that she didn't push him away. When the song ended he didn't immediately step away, nor did she. Instead, he held her a moment until the next song began and felt her relax a little more as she got used to being held by a man she did not know.

Beth wondered about this man, accepting that he was attractive, in a rugged way. He might look different in a suit, but the jeans, denim work shirt, and boots fit the little she had learned about his personality. He stood a few inches taller than he had seemed, sitting near her. She was curious what kind of work he did, his hands were rough with calluses but held her gently. She could feel the shoulder muscles under her hand moving as they danced and those in his legs when they occasionally touched her as he turned them.

They did not talk during the dances. They simply enjoyed the music and the movement. A few times, Beth looked up at Tinker and usually saw his dark eyes looking down at her. However, other times he watched the other dancers on the floor to avoid a collision. When the second song ended, Beth took a short step back and whispered, "Thank you."

Tinker followed Beth back to her seat and nodded at the bartender's look of inquiry, consenting to another round. This time Beth allowed Tinker to pay for her drink.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Tinker asked, not really expecting her to unload her problems. He just wanted her to know that if she needed a friend for the evening he didn't have anywhere else he needed to be.

In a sudden burst of anger, Beth responded quietly, "Talking doesn't always solve problems."

"No, it doesn't," Tinker agreed. He remained silent, giving her a chance to change her mind.

Beth placed her left hand flat on the bar and moved her ring finger from side to side, watching the stones sparkle in the subdued lighting. She looked at Tinker's hand and showed she had also made an observation. "Yours is newly missing. Maybe that's what I should do."

"I didn't lose much," he answered, looking at his own finger. The once white skin had tanned, but the dent left by the missing wedding ring was still obvious.

"I don't think you can say that," Tinker added. He could see the large diamonds in her rings, one of the pair of diamond studs in her ears, and no one could miss the largest one hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. Every breath she took caused the diamond below her throat to sparkle.

Still looking at her hand, Beth asked, "If you could, would you undo it?" She wasn't specific about asking if he would have preferred he hadn't married his wife, or did he wish he had stayed with her.

"It wasn't my choice." Tinker answered, assuming she was speaking about his single status. "She decided another man's bed was better than mine."

"Yeah," Beth breathed out the word in a sigh of acknowledgment that she knew what it felt like when a spouse strayed. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to one side, "Maybe that's what I should do."

Tinker smiled, "I might enjoy it." It wasn't really an invitation but it did sound like he might be interested in her. Then his voice turned rough, "But I don't think you really want a revenge fuck."

"No," Beth responded, not taking offense at the words he used or the assumption that he was her target.

Their conversation was quiet, giving very little information about themselves. They responded to a remark from someone else down the bar or an item on the local newscast. He laughed at her wit and she smiled at his complaints about the city's failure to repair pot holes in the streets.

Before they finished their second drinks, Tinker stood and turned Beth's stool. "Come dance with me." His words were less an invitation and more a demand than his previous offer.

They moved to the dance floor, both absorbed with their own thoughts. Tinker maneuvered them to the darker corner of the dance floor, put his hand under her chin, and raised her face. When he kissed her she responded, then rested her forehead against his shoulder.

"Is that what you wanted?" He asked against the side of her face, breathing in the fragrance of her. He didn't need to tell her, she could feel the beginning of his erection pressing against her.

"I don't know," she responded as she pressed her breasts against him a little more firmly than necessary while his arm tightened around her.

She was much easier to lead around the dance floor after two very potent drinks. Without hesitation, Tinker moved them off the dance floor, taking a few steps into the hallway leading to the restrooms. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her thoroughly, not letting her come up for air until she was responding to him without restraint. He pressed his erection against her, grinding his body against hers, letting her feel him. Then he moved his hand down to cup her sex between her legs, almost lifting her off her feet as he massaged her.

"Is that what you want, Beth? I can show you how much I want you, but I don't think that's what it takes for a woman like you."

Tinker didn't give her a chance to respond. He kissed her again and used his hand to stimulate her, pressing the seam of her jeans tightly against her until she was panting and moving her head from side to side.

As suddenly as be began his assault Tinker stopped and stepped away from her. Beth's eyes slowly opened to look up at him.

"Fuck," he exclaimed, grabbed her hand and walked around the edge of the dance floor and out the door. In the fresh air, Tinker took two deep breaths of air and pulled Beth behind him until he had her at the passenger door of his truck. Once he had joined her inside the truck, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

A few blocks away from the bar, he turned into a drive-in restaurant with curb-side service and ordered two large black coffees. Beth had not said a word since they left the bar. As if she were coming out of some kind of trance, she accepted the cup of coffee and nodded that she understood when Tinker told her it was hot.

Now that his erection was subsiding, Tinker could think with the head above his shoulders. "You need to go home and tell him what you want."

The defeat in her voice was almost frightening. "I don't think he cares."

Tinker's voice was rough and deep, "Lady, I've spent less than two hours with you and I already know I could wrap myself around you and stay there until my dying breath."

Beth lifted her eyes from the steaming cup in her hands as a tear rolled down each cheek. "He won't leave. He'd lose everything he has."

"Oh shit," Tinker finally understood. "Look, give me your address, I'll drive you home."

"He won't be there. Will you ..."

Tinker stopped her from completing her request. "Look Beth, that's not what you want, is it? You don't want to play his game."

Beth shook her head, looked around for a moment, realizing where she was. "I ... I need to ... my car."

"You've had two double Black Jacks. I'm not letting you drive. Now, give me your address."

Tinker drove across town, eventually passing streets he never travelled unless he was on a service call in his work truck. But then he would be more likely to need his climbing spurs. He was more familiar with the alley and utility poles behind the houses than he was the front doors.

Clutching a business card in her fist, Beth left Tinker's truck with his words ringing in her ears, "Call me when you can have what YOU want."

Once inside her home, before she could change her mind, Beth walked into the study, closed the door and locked it. She picked up the telephone, and without looking up the number, made a call. She was surprised to hear her call go to voice mail with instructions, "Leave a message for Toby."

For a moment, she almost forgot the reason for her call. After the beep, Beth spoke haltingly, "Daddy ... ah, I ... he ... ah, Brent ... I'm at home. If it's not too late when you get this message, please call me. I need to ... ah ... I want to tell you something."

Beth leaned back in the desk chair, took a deep breath then picked up the telephone again and made her second call. Not surprised to hear a recording machine this time, Beth spoke slowly, "Good evening, Gerald. It's Beth Magill Thornton. It's almost eight o'clock at night. I need some legal advice."

Within an hour, armed with information, telephone numbers, and available options explained by Gerald Brooks, Beth was still pacing the open space in the study, waiting for her father to return her call.

* * * *

"Hi, Dad, thanks for calling me back."

"You are welcome, my dear. What are you and Brent doing this evening?"

"I'm not sure. Brent is probably out with some friends. He doesn't seem to want to spend his evenings with me."

"Really? He said he took you to dinner a couple of days ago and you'd had a pleasant evening."

"Daddy, that was a business dinner. That man brought his wife with him. Well, at least he said she was his wife. All they talked about was how big a grant they needed from the foundation to build the newest section of a playground."

He spoke sternly, as if he was teaching his daughter a lesson, "Beth, that's part of Brent's job. Are you saying you don't like to help with the goals of your mother's foundation?"

"No, I didn't mean that. That's not why I called."

He chuckled a moment and his voice was a little softer when he asked, "Okay, why did you call?"

Hearing the sound of traffic in the background Beth asked, "Are you going somewhere or on your way home?"

"I'm headed toward my condo."

"Come by here and I'll pour you a nightcap."

"Whoa, baby girl, what brought this on?"

"I need to talk to you and I'd like to do it in person, not on the phone."

"All right, I'm about two minutes away. Make mine light, I've already had a few."

On the spur of the moment, Beth pulled a couple of packages of her father's favorite snack from the freezer and put them in the oven to warm, then filled the ice bucket at the bar. She wanted her father relaxed and comfortable for the conversation she planned. Most of their personal visits seemed to turn into yelling matches, something she desperately wanted to avoid.

* * * *

Beth heard the car door slam and opened the front door as her father approached. "Hi, Dad. Did you have a special date tonight?"

His answer was gruff and challenging, "Remember? You and I do not discuss my social life."

"Sorry, I was just being polite. Fix yourself a drink. I have some sausage rolls warming in the oven."

"Okay, then you can tell me what you want to talk about."

Beth and her father had a strained relationship. They loved each other, but since the death of Beth's mother, every time the two of them were together, it seemed to end in some kind of argument. Toby had a controlling personality. She had always been comfortable taking her father's advice, but now she was beginning to realize she allowed him and also her husband to have too much control over her.

Beth's hands shook as she arranged the sausage rolls on a tray, but she had calmed down by the time she placed the tray on the table in front of her father's chair. Toby selected a roll, took a bite, and nodded his approval.

They had a short conversation about the most recent dinner when Brent and Beth had been entertained by the president of a local service organization. The appeal was to the foundation for a grant to complete the next phase of a children's playground within a large city park. Brent was more interested in giving them less than they asked for so he could keep some funds for an addition to the local ball field named in his honor.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, trying to show some confidence, Beth asked, "What would you say if I told you I want to go to work for the foundation?"

Toby paused a moment, surprise showing on his face. "Well, charitable foundations always need people with a business degree. Is that what you want to do? And if it is, can you tell me why?"

"I have a personal dilemma I need to resolve ... and then I'd like to do something with my life. I'm tired of being a trophy wife to a has-been who has nothing to show for his career but a few trophies and a championship ring."

Toby chuckled for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, baby girl, that's all I had when I married your mom."

"Yes, I know. I shouldn't have let you use the same criteria to pick out a husband for me."

"Now wait a minute ..."

Although she knew it was going to create friction, Beth was ready to say her piece, "The reason you hired Brent was because you could tell him what to do. And you knew he would tell me what to do." Her father was sputtering to get his words out but Beth didn't stop, "So, you gave him a rich heiress to marry, just as you did with mother, and you kept all the control for yourself."

"Beth!"

"Well, a public figure uses his name to draw more public figures to him. You just let Mother's money speed up the process."

By this time, he was on his feet yelling, not careful of the words he used, "I did not benefit from your mother's money. She left all of it to you and that stupid foundation. That's what made you a little rich bitch. All I get out of it is a salary."

"And all I get out of it is a famous name who can't keep his pants zipped."

If this were another time and place, he would have been standing on the field, stomping his foot, yelling at an umpire. As it was, the veins on the side of his neck were bulging and Beth was no more afraid of him than the umpire had been.

"Fine," he sputtered. "Get your shit together and tell me when you're ready to put in a full day at work. Wear business clothes." His voice rose as he added, "And not something you'd see at a meeting of the Garden Club."

Challenging him, for perhaps the first time in her life, Beth clenched her fists and glared at her father, "Okay, but not in a position where Brent will be my supervisor. I have a business degree and he left school for a professional career. I will not be under his thumb."