Take That Step

By Kevin Warrick Fitzgerald

“I hope I haven't come at an inconvenient time. My name is Albert Preston. Mr. Horace Hubble requests the honor of your presence at dinner this evening." He had a slight English accent.

Horace Hubble? The richest man in town. Wants me to come to dinner?

I had heard of him; the whole town had. Probably the whole state. And I’d heard some very strange rumors, Everyone had. The thing for certain was, I knew nothing about him.
'
"Me? I'm sure I don't understand."

"I'm sure he will explain himself if you will only come with me right now."

"I don't know." I said it with conviction. Does he really expect me to get into a car with a complete stranger? And go to a house I've never been to before? To meet a man with a very strange reputation?

This man, Mr. Preston, though. There’s something about him. A calming demeanor. A glow of peacefulness. "You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. I assure you of that," he continued.

Who is this man with those piercing, light blue eyes? "I don't know," I said with no conviction that time.

A flash of concern crossed his face. He could tell that was an insult and the roll disappeared. "I can understand your reluctance. How can I soothe your worries?"

My mind raced and I became conflicted. Down deep I wanted to go. My curiosity was piqued. I felt safe with this man – somehow. Which was strange in itself.

But this was so too strange. Too many unknowns. Mr. Preston was so serious. This was no hoax, but I simply couldn't go alone. That would be absurd.

Who could I get? Susan and her husband were out of town. What a shame. They love an adventure.

Who else?

"My I speak to my husband, Bill, about this?"

"Certainly." His smile was back.

I smiled, let the door close, walked into the den and sat in the chair. Bill was on the couch.

"Something very odd has occurred,” I told him. There’s a Mr. Preston at the door. He works for Horace Hubble. You know, that eccentric millionaire who lives in that huge house north of town." I paused, remembering. I hadn't been up that way in years. "On that particularly pretty hill with all the dogwood trees. Well, we've been invited up to that big house for dinner tonight. There’s a limousine here, now, to pick us up."

"Limousine?" Bill tilted his head toward me.

"I don't have anything thawed. Might be a nice time. Something different anyway. The chauffeur seems very nice. Could be kind of fun. Get us out of the house for a while. Good food. A short drive through the country. Fresh air."

He finally turned and looked at me. "Aw, Babe! You know how I hate those stuffy affairs where I don't know nobody. No doubt they'll want me to wear a coat and tie. You know how I hate that. Sitting around all night making small talk with total strangers I hope I'll never see again. Yek." He made a sour face. "I'd rather get my gums scraped."

He took a healthy swig of his beer. "And besides, you know that Tony and Moe and Steve and Ronald and Willy Billy are coming over for the Rams and Broncos. That game starts in about an hour. You can make us a bunch of sandwiches, right? Look. Tell 'em we appreciate the offer and maybe we can do it some other time."

And something snapped inside me and I knew exactly what it was. My temper.

I stomped up the stairs, marched into the sewing room, closed the door and sat in the stuffed chair in the corner. I couldn't remember ever being this angry. Bill could be so selfish and unthoughtful.

Then it occurred to me to ask myself, why I was angry over this? This kind of cruelty had been happening between us for years and years and years.

I sighed and tried to calm my mind. What should I do? What should I do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Warrick Fitzgerald
• Release date: Apr 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982951248

Kevin Warrick Fitzgerald

Mr. Fitzgerald lives south of Columbus, Ohio, and is hard at work on his next book.

Book preview

150

TAKE THAT STEP

by Kevin Warrick Fitzgerald

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TAKE THAT STEP

About 49,000 words

Copyright © 2023, Kevin Warrick Fitzgerald

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TAKE THAT STEP

CHAPTER ONE

The Invitation

Finally, the dishes are done. Another monstrous pile. Since this morning. Can my boys make a mess or what?

I dried my hands off on the red-striped tea towel hanging through the door handle of the refrigerator, where I liked to keep it, and brought the backs of my hands up toward my face so I could take a look at my nails, and I let a wisp of a smile surface. One of my best features, my hands.

No, my best feature.

That was why I didn’t mind pampering myself with a manicure once a week and a pedicure twice a month.

My smile slipped away when I realized they were the last features on my body that I felt some pride in. Anymore.

And without getting a manicure once a week, my nails and cuticles always looked so chewed up. Like my fingertips were constantly caught in a lawnmower.

I could only blame myself

Pushing forty-five and my hands were my best feature?

Only because I had them professionally done every Saturday?

Not like the good old days.

College.

Attractive feet, cute ankles, great legs, tremendous butt, slim waist, perky bust, elegant neck, beautiful face, long, silky, chestnut brown hair. And smart as a whip.

It seemed now, that back then, I had the world by the tail. Everything was going my way. I took college seriously, but I also had this magnificent circle of friends. Looking back, there seemed to be an endless succession of fun, parties, eating out, eating in, more parties. I chuckled at all the fond memories. Then I looked up and caught a skewed glimpse of my reflection in the polished steel fridge. My image was fractured and smeared, but I still looked chunky.

Time was such a cruel mistress.

No matter how conscientiously I dieted, I couldn't seem to drop more than a few pounds. Pounds that would surely as the sunrise reappear soon thereafter, and when I’m not looking.

Now my feet pained me. Everything south of my belly button was downright puffy. Both my butt and boobs had dropped after the boys were born, and surely neither had arisen. My neck’s wobbly, and my face showed a wrinkle for every year and every pain, and then some. I kept my hair cut short and dyed it a rich auburn every two weeks, or I would be the old, mostly gray mare.

I remember mama saying one time, It’s terrible getting old. Just terrible.

How true that is.

I sighed and thought, well . . . I’m still smart as a whip. At least I haven’t lost that.

Right?

But who’d notice around here.

I took a moment to fluff both ends of the tea towel sticking out of the fridge handle to show an equal amount of the red stripe on each side, sighed wearily, and walked back into the den where the screaming announcers and the crowd noise from football game hit me like a shovelful of dirt in the face. The TV was turned up so loudly the small speakers buzzed with distortion.

And there was Bill, wearing a pair of faded shorts that were way too short for him, with his belly bulging carelessly out of his stained t-shirt, lounging on the couch, swilling a tall boy, watching something named the Dolphins play somebody or other. He was screaming and jeering and hooting at the players whether they did well, or especially if they did badly. He had already finished three beers with no sign of slowing down. The empties were stacked up beside the chair, teetering, and ready to fall.

Football.

How could anyone watch so much of it?

College all day every Saturday. Pro all day every Sunday. Monday night too?

It didn’t matter who was playing or how many chores needed doing.

I paused and watched Bill for a minute from out of his line of sight. He took a swig and some drops of beer trickled down his chin, but he didn’t seem to notice as he bolted upright and shouted encouragement when a player broke through the lines and raced down the field. Go buddy. Go! Go buddy. Go! Look out! Bam! Good tackle, pal! What a play! Seventeen yards. Yehaw! He pumped a fist in the air.

The beer trickled from his chin and onto his belly but he didn’t seem to notice that either.

In some ways it was  just yesterday when we were students at the University of Maryland. Both seniors met at a party, and it was instant magic that kept growing all through the fall, winter and spring semesters.

What a time we had.

We married that summer. Bill was so handsome in his tux.

And our honeymoon!

Two full weeks in the Bahamas. Swimming every day. Bill in his bathing suit. Those rippling muscles. That perfectly flat stomach. Long, lean legs. World class butt. Tanned face, perfect smile.

What romance.

Up when we felt like it. Long walks, holding hands. Champagne by the pool. Light, playful kissing under the banyan trees every afternoon. Early dinners at some great restaurant, eating one course at a time, talking and savoring each bite. Hard, passionate kissing every night. The holding and tenderness afterwards.

Then up the next morning to do it all over again.

Now look at us.

Older, overweight and getting bigger and grumpier all the time.

The great lug hadn’t shown the slightest desire for me in a month, and might not for another month. There hasn’t been a tender moment between us since last year, even during the scant times when we’ve found time to be alone together.

He was a great catch, once. All my girlfriends repeatedly told me how lucky I was, how Bill would get a great job because he was so smart and made good grades. A hundred brokerage firms would try to snap him up right after graduation and he could pick and choose.

Bill did get a good job after graduation and went to work full of enthusiasm. But, what had happened to the goals and ambitions that we had for ourselves all those years ago? We were going to change the world, right every wrong, stand up for the downtrodden, feed the hungry, house the homeless, and secure a bright future for every child.

Now, twenty years later, he’s still at the same job and has barely gotten a raise in all that time, certainly no promotion. His goals in life have sunk to making sure he has his alone time, which amounts to getting together with his friends, drinking an incredible amount of beer, then staggering home in time to get about six hours of ragged sleep before stumbling off to work again.

As long as he has plenty of beer and can watch every football game, the work week was just five long days between weekends. And that’s the way he lived his life.

Day after gloomy day.

I shook my head trying to figure out how things could have changed so much, then walked back through the kitchen, up the front hall, careful not to trip over Bill's smelly sneakers that he had shed and forgotten about, and turned the corner to go upstairs, when a strange movement caught my eye.

I stopped, looked out the window beside the front door and saw a huge, very dark red, almost black, six door limousine slow to a stop beside the front curb directly in front of our sidewalk leading to the front door.

Taking a step forward, I watched as the driver's door opened and a young man dressed in a white tuxedo stepped from the car. He straightened his vest, walked briskly up to the house and rang the bell. He didn't notice me watching him all this time.

I slowly opened the door.

As soon as he saw me, the man removed his hat. His face twisted into a smile and all of his features radiated good will. Erin Miller?

He was a good-looking man in his early thirties, I’d guess. Thick through the chest. Thin through the middle. Blond. Freckles plastered over his nose and cheeks. I took one small step back. Yes. How did he know my name? What business could he possibly have with me?

I hope I haven't come at an inconvenient time. My name is Albert Preston. Mr. Horace Hubble requests the honor of your presence at dinner this evening. He had a slight southern accent.

Horace Hubble? The richest man in town. Wanted me to come to dinner?

I’d heard of him, of course; the whole county had. Probably the whole state. And I’d heard some very strange rumors, Everyone had. The only thing for certain was, I knew nothing about him.

I took another small step back and lightly touched the fingertips of my right hand to my chest. It was a silly little habit I had when I’m unsure of myself. I don’t even know I’m doing it most of the time. I wish I could stop it. Me? I'm sure I don't understand.

I am on a very important errand for Mr. Hubble. I was instructed to, and he made me remember this verbatim, 'If at all possible, if there is any way what-so-ever, have Mrs. Miller come to dinner tonight. Invite the whole family. Pay her if you have to. Pay her any amount necessary, but bring her to me. I must speak with her immediately.’

Speak to . . ..Why me?" This was really odd. What would that old recluse want to talk with me about?

I'm sure he will explain himself if you will only come with me right now.

I don't know. I said it with conviction. Did he really expect me to get into a car with a complete stranger? And go to a house I've never been to before? To meet a man with a very strange reputation?

This man, Mr. Preston, though. There was something about him. A calming demeanor. A glow of peacefulness.

Preston leveled a stare on me that went right through me, to the core of my being, like he knew my innermost secrets. Please bring your husband. Bring any friend you would like to have with you. Bring every male member of your family. We will do anything to make you feel safe and comfortable, to put you at ease. He smiled again.

Weird. Like he knew what I was thinking.

You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. I assure you of that, he continued.

Who was this man with those piercing, light blue eyes? I don't know, I said with no conviction that time.

He studied me for a few seconds, reached in his coat pocket, and pulled out a roll of hundred dollar bills two inches thick.

What will it take? he asked. Let me put it this way. You name the circumstances which would be acceptable to you and I will make sure every condition is met.

Money? I was not about to take any money. That would be absurd. I waved my hands. Please put that away.

A flash of concern crossed his face. He could tell that was an insult to me and the roll disappeared. I can understand your reluctance. How can I soothe your worries?

My mind raced and I became conflicted. Down deep I wanted to go. My curiosity was piqued. I felt safe with this man, Preston – somehow. Which was strange in itself.

But this was too weird. Too many unknowns. Mr. Preston was so serious. This was no hoax, but I simply couldn't go alone. That would be absurd.

Who could I get? Susan and her husband were out of town. What a shame. They love an adventure.

Who else?

May I speak to my husband about this?

Certainly. His smile was back.

Would you like to come in? I leaned forward and opened the screen door for him.

He took a step back and held his hat in front of him with both hands. I'll wait here.

All right. I smiled, let the door close, walked into the den and sat in the chair. Bill was on the couch and let out a loud scream, then bounced up with glee as he stared at the television and shouted, Did you see that, Babe? Madison intercepted and ran it back thirty -two yards.

No, I didn't. Bill?

It was a play and a half! He hadn't bothered to look over at me yet.

I had to raise my voice to be heard over the din coming from the TV. Something very odd has occurred. There’s a Mr. Preston at the door. He works for Horace Hubble. You know, that eccentric millionaire who lives in that huge house north of town. I paused, remembering. I haven't been up that way in years. On that particularly pretty hill with all the dogwood trees.

Bill screamed a silent, Oh yeah, and clenched his right fist, almost spilling the fresh tall boy in his left.

Well, we've been invited up to that big house for dinner tonight. There’s a limousine here, now, to pick us up.

Limousine? Bill tilted his head toward me but didn't take his eyes off the game.

I don't have anything thawed. Might be a nice time. Something different anyway. The chauffeur seems very nice. Could be kind of fun. Get us out of the house for a while. Good food. A short drive through the country. Fresh air.

He finally turned and looked at me. Aw, Babe! You know how I hate those stuffy affairs where I don't know nobody. No doubt they'll want me to wear a coat and tie. You know how I hate that. Sitting around all night making small talk with total strangers I hope I'll never see again. Yek. He makes a sour face. I'd rather get my gums scraped.

He took a healthy swig. And besides, you know that Tony and Moe and Steve and Ronald and Willy Billy are coming over for the Rams and Broncos. That game starts in about an hour. You can make us a bunch of sandwiches, right? Look. Tell 'em we appreciate the offer and maybe we can do it some other time. He nodded once toward