It's All a Matter of Choice
An Original Story by Ms_Figg
 

Prologue

The long, long workday finally over, a tired, overworked Emmet Barrows pulled up into the yard, his 1990 Acura making a horrendous noise and jerking as he put it into park.  The twenty-six year-old black-haired, brown-eyed office worker adjusted his glasses and sat in the car a moment, his hands still on the steering wheel.  He just had to get his car looked at.  It sounded as if it were on its last piston. 

Sighing, he gathered together his mother’s Reuben sandwich and Cherry Coke, some paperwork from the office and his uneaten bag lunch.  He hadn’t had time to eat it because he’d been given extra work to complete “as a favor” for Brandon Luster, his handsome yet lazy co-worker.  It had to be finished by the afternoon.  Of course, Emmet did it.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t completed his own work and had to bring it home so it could be on Mr. Allen’s desk first thing in the morning.

Emmet kicked the car door closed, walked up the walkway of his three bedroom home, then wrestled to open the door without dropping anything.  His glasses slid down on his nose uncomfortably and it took a minute to let himself in.  The moment the door opened he was greeted by a sharp, shrill voice.

“Emmet?  Emmet is that you?  You’re ten minutes late and I’m starving! You know I need to eat punctually or I get a devastating headache!”

”Sorry mom,” Emmet called back as he set the items in his arms on the kitchen table.  He picked up the bag containing the sandwich and the Cherry coke and walked into the living room where June Barrows sat on the sofa, watching television.  The fifty-four year old blonde widow looked up at her six-foot son, her blue eyes narrowed.

“Why are you so late?” she asked as Emmet put the bag and coke down in front of her on the coffee table and gathered up the dishes left there from breakfast and lunch.

Emmet looked at the clock.

“Traffic mom,” he said tiredly as she leaned forward and opened the bag. “And there was a line at the deli.”

“Traffic.  A likely story. Get me a plate,” she ordered, but Emmet knew the drill and was already heading for the kitchen.  He put the dirty plates in the sink to wash later, then opened the cupboard and got a new one.  He brought it to his mother, who took it from him, unwrapped her sandwich and placed it on the dish.

“It’s barely warm,” she complained as she took a bite.

Emmet sighed.  He picked up a Reuben sandwich and Cherry coke every night after work for his mother.  Every blessed night.  Sometimes there were a number of customers or traffic was heavy on the way home.  The sandwich couldn’t always be hot.

“I could pop it in the microwave for you for a few minutes,” Emmet said, leveling his eyes at his mother.

“No.  It doesn’t taste as good if you nuke it,” she said.  “You just have to get here faster.”

“All right mom.” Emmet said placatingly.

June stopped eating and looked up at her son.

“You think I’m a burden,” she said, her eyes beginning to fill.

Oh no.  Not again.

Emmet shook his head.

“No I don’t mom.  You’re not a burden.  I don’t have a problem bringing you a sandwich every night,” he said, trying to stave off the nightly guilt trip.

“Your father, God bless his soul, used to bring me a sandwich every evening after work.  He never complained,” she sniffled.

Emmet rolled his eyes then said, “Mom, I’m not complaining.  I never complain.”

June looked at him.

“I can see it in your eyes.  Your pupils have 'complaint' written all over them.  I’ve tried to be a good mother to you all these years.  It was hard raising a son on my own, with only your father’s pension to survive on,” she wailed.

Emmet’s father had been much older than his mother when he married her, and a Federal Postal worker for over thirty years.  His pension was enormous.  He died of a heart attack seven years ago when Emmet was nineteen and already working, contributing to the household and going to business school. She didn't have too much raising to do, but she conveniently pushed that fact aside.  In addition to her husband's pension, June Barrow also had his benefits.  The most she struggled with was getting out of the bed and walking into the living room. 

Emmet sat down in the armchair to the right of the couch and looked at his mother.

”Mom, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.  Everything.  Tomorrow I will try to get here faster so your sandwich will be hot. Okay?” he asked her.

June sniffed.

“All right, Emmet.  You always say that.  We’ll see,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Good,” Emmet said rising, “I have some work I have to finish…”

“Again with the work?  We hardly spend any quality time together anymore, Emmet.  Wheel of Fortune is about to come on.  Why don’t you ever finish your work at work?  Probably flirting with some floozy,” she said accusingly.

Emmet sighed.  He wished that was the case.  Hell, he was twenty-six years old and hadn’t even been laid yet.  He liked women.  He really did, but every time he tried to talk to one it was as if his tongue tied itself into knots.  The only time the women at work talked to him was to ask him to do something for them.  And his mother was too frightened to be left alone at night, (or so she claimed), so he was stuck at home most of the time…unless he went food shopping.  He rarely had a chance to mingle socially with women.  The weekends usually found him seated at his computer with piles of work to do from the job.  Most of the time it wasn’t even his work, but the work of co-workers who said they had plans for the weekend and asked him to finish for them.

Emmet’s major character flaw was he could never could say no.

June Barrows was one of those clinging, manipulative mothers who just couldn’t or wouldn’t cut her apron strings.  She practically controlled every aspect of Emmet’s life, laying the guilt on thick any time he showed the least inkling of wanting to do something for himself.  She was a pampered, selfish woman, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, feigning weakness at every turn, the exception being when she went to the spa, the manicurist or the casinos on the weekends.  She had plenty of money, collecting both her husband’s pension and half her son’s paycheck every two weeks.  Emmet made good money, but hardly spent any of it.  He just put part in the bank and invested the other part.  He had quite a bit saved up.  He never did anything but work.

“Mom, I’m not flirting with anyone, believe me,” he said to her evenly.

“Hmph.  They’re all gold-diggers, Emmet, every single one of them.  They’ll clear out your bank account and then give you the cold shoulder.  Women aren’t to be trusted.  Believe your mother.  I know,” June said, biting into her sandwich again.

Emmet thought it might be worth his entire savings to get his hands on a woman.  He could always make more money.  His eyes glazed.

“What are you thinking about?” his mother demanded, crashing through his daydream.  He didn’t even have privacy in his thoughts.

“Nothing,” he said rising. “Mom, I’ve got to get to work.”

”Go ahead,” she spat as the television chanted ‘Wheel…of…Fortune!’  “Go ahead.  Neglect your mother.”

Emmet shook his head slightly as he headed for the kitchen and collected his paperwork.  He put his uneaten lunch in the fridge.  He looked at the stack of papers as he headed for his home office set up in the third bedroom.

Damn, it was going to be a long night.

**************************************

Across town, Anita Bowen sat belly up to the bar.  The five-foot-nine brown-eyed, curvaceous brunette was sipping a “Sex on the Beach” and perusing the want-ads.  She had just come to town and was staying at the motel across the street.  She was looking for a job.

“Office Workers Wanted.”

It gave a description.  The basics.  Knowledge of computers, typing, data entry etc. Anita circled the ad and took another sip of her drink.

Sitting at the end of the bar, Brandon Luster eyed the good looking and apparently unescorted brunette.  Ooh, she was yummy.  He ran his fingers through his hair, cupped his hand to his mouth and tested his breath, then put on his most winning smile.  He was a good looking bastard and knew it, six foot, blonde-haired, blue eyed and well-built.  He had no problems with the ladies.  He strode over to Anita and stood behind her.

Feeling a presence, the woman stiffened then looked around.  Brandon smiled at her.

“Good evening.  Mind if I join you for a drink?” he asked.  “I’m buying.”

Anita let her brown eyes wash over him.  Yes he was a good looking guy, confident…probably had no problem attracting the women.  It was probably easy for him.  He probably never had his heart broken in his life.

“As a matter of fact I do mind.  You’re not my type,” she replied, turning back to face the bar.

Brandon looked shocked.  He was every woman’s type.  He moved over to the bar beside Anita.

“How do you know that?  You haven’t even given me a chance,” he said to the woman.

Anita looked at him.

“I’ve given guys like you plenty of chances.  You weren’t interested,” she replied.

Brandon studied her.

“Well I don’t know about the other men you’ve dealt with, but I’m definitely interested,” he said.

“Well I’m not.  Now please leave me alone and go pick up someone else who thinks you’re irresistible,” Anita said.

Brandon’s face twisted unpleasantly.

“Funny,” he said as he walked away, “You don’t look frigid.”

Anita ignored him.

“Asshole.  Guys like that are always assholes,” she thought.

Anita had discriminating tastes when it came to men.  She didn’t always look like she did now.  When she was younger, she was gangly and awkward.  Her family had been poor and she didn’t have the nice clothing the rest of her peers did.  She was always teased and picked on.  The good looking guys didn’t look at her twice unless it was to comment on her flatness and beanpole frame

But there were others that were just as awkward and socially inept as she was.  The smart ones.  The quiet, skinny, acne-ravaged boys, with weird hobbies and highwaters.  All imperfect as she was, all overlooked and underestimated.  All as sweet as they could be.

When she finally filled in and out, and her straight lines became curves, then they came.  The good-looking, swaggering, confident young men, with their winning smiles and smooth lines.

But now…it was her turn.  There was nothing she enjoyed more than seeing the bewildered faces of the handsome, confident men as she left with some quiet, unassuming guy that in their estimation, didn’t amount to even a quarter of the man they were.

What Anita found even more exciting was the bewildered look on the face of the man she did choose, who couldn’t understand why such a lovely woman would even take a second look at him when all those perfect specimens were readily available.  And he certainly couldn’t understand why such a woman would seduce him, and give him an experience he had only fantasized about.  There was a very simple answer.

To Anita, it was all a matter of choice.

********************************************

 

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