Penned (2 page)

The thought sent her into giggles, and a man in the grocery checkout line gave her a frown.

On the way home, she kept thinking of how easy it had been to smile with Ross, how happy she'd been with him and how uptight she was now.

It's like every day is marking time.

She hurried home to compose a quick note and drop it in the mailbox before the mailman came by.

                                                                                    * * * *

Dear R.,

              All right. You convinced me. I do think your jokes are funny too. I'll see you again. Name the time and place.

                                                                                                                              Pam

“Best to keep it light, I thought,” she confessed to her friend Janey an hour later over the phone.

“Wow. That is just wild. I think you're doing the right thing. The letter was hot, anyway. Doesn't sound like Ross though. He wasn't the hottest then, but I guess he was pretty funny.” Janey smacked gum on the other end of the line.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Janey. You're right though. He is funny. I used to laugh a lot more, and God, I felt younger. Now I'm like a fossil or something.”

But my response to fantasizing about Ross the other night wasn't what a fossil would do.
Her spine prickled at the remembered sensation of release.

“No, you're not, but you did laugh more with him. I remember that.” Her friend cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I remember too.”

“As long as he's good in the sack. Or better than he was.” Janey giggled.

Pam laughed as well. “Honestly, you act like you're twenty sometimes. I have to take what I can get at my old age.”

“Whatever. Forty is the new thirty or something.”

“Maybe I should. I'll let you go. Just wanted your opinion.”

“You got it. Rock on, Pam. Do all the things I'd do.”

“I will. If I get a chance. Have fun.” She smirked.

“Planning to. Tim's coming over tonight, and he always makes me feel young.”

“Spare me the details since I'm not there to enjoy it.” Pam laughed. “Bye.”

She hung up, a big smile on her face. Her thoughts returned to Ross and what he'd do with his hands when she saw him.

Maybe he'll have a whip too or something a little different than I've tried in the past. It's worth a shot. Nothing to lose but a few lonely nights.

                                                                                    * * * *

The response from R. came Thursday morning—same stationery and flowing hand on the envelope. Pam ripped it open as she hurried back inside, glad Joan Winchell wasn't outside to see her.

Dear Pam,

              Wonderful. Come over to my place. Do you remember where it is? 540 Morehouse Road.

Let's say next Friday evening at seven. I'll cook dinner and sweep you off your feet.

                                                                                                                R

She dropped the letter with a yelp. “That's not Ross's address.”

When she had stilled her shaking hands, she tried to think it through.

Maybe he moved there.

Maybe.

Or maybe he had the wrong Pam Smith, and she had the wrong R.

“Oh, my God.” Her tone made Fluffems bristle from his seat near her on the couch.

Pam jumped up, pacing the floor. “I have to write him back and end this. I can't show up at some stranger's house, if this is a stranger.” She bit her knuckles and went to do a load of laundry.

That task always had a way of setting her mind at ease.

It worked for a while.

Then she found herself back at the table, staring at the letter. Before she could change her mind, she scrawled a response, her hands slipping on the pen in her nervousness.

Dear R,

              Next Friday night it is. I'll see you there, but I'm not sure I'm the Pam Smith you're               looking for.

She delivered it to the post office before they closed.

I hope he gets it in time, and this whole charade will end
.

But her heart made a queer tumble at that notion.

                                                                                    * * * *

The answering missive came Monday when Pam checked the mailbox after work.

Her exhaustion from the long day fell away.

“That was fast.” She didn't bother getting inside before tearing into the letter as she strode up the walkway toward her house.

Dear Pam,

              I think you are the one I'm looking for. I'll see you at seven, and we can find out.

                                                                     R

“Oh, my God.” She let herself into the house, her breath whooshing out.

He still wants to see me.

She took her cell phone from her purse and punched in Janey's number.

After too many rings, her friend picked up, breathless.

“Janey, I need your advice.”

“It's kind of a bad time.”

She swallowed hard. “I'm sorry, but I just need a minute.”

Janey sighed. “Okay. I can tell you do. What's up?” A voice whispered in the background, and Janey giggled.

Pam rolled her eyes.

“It's the letters. ‘R’ isn't Ross. At least, I'm not sure if he is.”

Janey laughed. “Well, why didn't you ask him in your last letter or just pick up the phone and call him? Are you afraid to find out?”

“Not really. He had an unlisted number and then when cell phones became popular, he used his as a main phone and cut his landline, oh, God, seven years ago now, I guess. He was always changing numbers and plans. It's a thing with him. He's isn't in the book.”

“So. What are you going to do?”

Pam bit her lip. “I don't know.”

“Going to meet him somewhere? Isn't that how these torrid, blind love affairs usually go?” Janey snorted.

“Yes, I am, or I wrote him that I would. I'm just not sure I should go.”

“Live a little woman, and have your cell phone in hand to call the cops if it's not Ross, and you need help.”

“Janey.” She groaned and giggled.

“I mean it. Gotta run. I want to hear all about it after it goes down.”

“Maybe. Bye.” Pam clicked “end” and stood there for a long moment.

“I have a date for the first time in over a year, and it's with a total stranger who might be a psycho, for all I know,” she whispered.

Pure terror stole over her, turning her icy cold.

“Shake it off, Pam.” She picked the letter up and read through it again. All the compliments warmed her.

He can't be all bad if he can write like that.

                                                                                    * * * *

She heard nothing else from “R”, and by the next Thursday evening, Pam was a ball of nerves.

Before bed, she tore through her closet, looking for the right outfit.

“Something sexy. It's going to be bad enough when he takes one look at me and tells me to leave.” Tears brimmed in her eyes at the thought.

Dammit. Why do I care? It was just a stupid bunch of letters to the wrong person, most likely.

There was still a little hope it had been Ross but not much.

He's not a “change” person—other than with his stupid cell phone, which he was always changing plans for a cheaper one. He wouldn't have moved from the nice place he already had.

Pam stood before her full-length mirror, the one that had been more unkind to her as the years passed. She squinted, gazing at herself without flinching.

Her long, ash blonde hair was shiny, her facial structure strong for a woman of forty—no sagging or bagging at the jawline.

Wrinkles around her pale green eyes told of the years, and an extra thirty pounds showed from the stress of her job and too many lonely nights with a carton of ice cream.

“What am I doing? I can't show up there tomorrow night.”

She sighed, an ache settling in her chest.

I'm not going to. It's not worth the risk
.

The weekend passed in a blur. Pam went to two movies and on a shopping spree, picking up lingerie and other outfits she'd never have ordinarily chosen if she hadn't been trying to avoid thinking about the date she'd missed.

It's not like I need any of it, but...

The trips kept her mind off of “R”, sort of. Monday morning, she avoided the mailbox.

There won't be anything in there, anyway.

When Janey called Tuesday afternoon, she didn't bother with small talk but spilled what was on her mind.

“I didn't go.”

“What?” Janey shrieked.

“I couldn't. I'm glad.”

“It might have been the hottest night of your life.”

“Get real. I'm forty, thirty pounds too heavy, with wrinkles.”

Janey paused for a second too long. “Don't say that! You're amazing. You're smart and funny and—”

“Bye, Janey. I'll talk to you soon.” She hung up with a sigh.

Even my best friend knows it's true
.

By Thursday, she couldn't stand not checking the mail anymore. After work, Pam wheeled into the driveway and forced herself to walk to the box. Her legs shook, and her breath came in gasps.

The familiar stationery and hand greeted her. The letter was dated Wednesday. She walked slowly up the drive and into the house, opening the envelope as she did.

Taking a deep breath, she slid into her favorite chair and unfolded the letter.

Pam,

You didn't come to meet me. I guess I understand that. There's a lot of water under the bridge between us. I'll come to you and if you don't answer the door or respond after a couple tries, I'll leave you alone forever. I just can't let it go without seeing you again face-to-face. I love you, and I remember how happy I was when we were together. You made me feel loved—like I haven't been since. And I can't forget how sexy you are. I'd give almost anything to feel you next to me again, your skin against mine. Please, Pam. I hope you'll remember and that we can renew what we had and take up where we left off.

                                                                                                  R

“What have I done? He's probably some crazy stalker. Either that or he'll never show up anyway. I'll put my bets on the latter. Maybe he likes to get his jollies off of homely forty-year-olds.” She dropped her head into her hands as Fluffems nuzzled her neck—the only sweet-nothings she'd receive tonight. After a few minutes, she got up and threw the letter in the trash.

                                                                                    * * * *

As luck would have it, her court case load picked up in the next week, and by the end of it, she was in a daze. Friday night, she came home from work and slipped into one of the new short, silky nightgowns she'd bought, which was complete with a flowered kimono. She worked on a brief and then vegged in front of the television, ice cream carton in hand.

The TV grew blurry after a while, and Pam didn't fight dozing off. She dropped the carton onto the coffee table next to her.

A light knocking on the door awoke her. Half asleep, she stumbled to it, gazing out of the peephole.

A stranger and a handsome young one at that—not a day over thirty by her estimation—stood there, hands in his jeans pockets.

Then her heart dove to the floor.

It's R.

A bolt of excitement shot through her, and she felt wide awake.

“Who are you?” she called, her voice shaking.

The man with a head full of rich, black hair laughed. “Sweetie, it hasn't been that long, has it? It's Renn. Can I come in?”

Renn. The name took a moment to sink in. It hadn't been Ross at all.

Pam's cheeks flamed with heat.

“I don't know. I was already asleep. It was a long week, so not tonight.”

He still doesn't know I'm not the right Pam. What am I doing? Why don't I just tell him?