Untitled, Chapter 1

            Dyanne glanced at her watch.  4:46PM.  Just about another 45 minutes, and she could go home.  She fiddled around on her computer some more, trying to appear busy.  Tidied her desk for the twentieth time that day, organized the pamphlets in the drawers by size – largest to smallest.  Anything to make the time pass faster.

            Finally, 5:30PM rolled around.  She set the office phones to go to the answering machine, grabbed her bag and  headed out, locking up behind her.

            Now what? she thought to herself.  She didn’t particularly want to go home just yet; there was nothing waiting for her there.  Evan wouldn’t be getting off work for several hours still.  Where was the joy and comfort of home if all she was doing would be vegetating on the couch, trying to stay entertained?  It was just like work, in a different environment.

            No, she would run some errands first.  They were running low on milk, she thought.

            For Evan, 5:30PM meant nothing more than a break to eat a quick bite for dinner, then back to work.  He checked his phone for any messages from his wife.  There were none, so he decided to message her instead.

            Need eggs. Get more pls? Let me know when ur home.

            It was probably childish, but he just wanted to hear the “ping” of his phone and know that it was a message from Dyanne waiting for him, even if it was just about a grocery list.  He was soon gratified to hear the familiar tone of a text message alert on his phone.

     K. Getting milk too. –D

            He smiled at his phone, then tucked it away and went to go get dinner for himself.

            The grocery store was crowded when Dyanne got there.  I suppose everyone else had the same idea, she thought.  Hallmart must be the place to be on a Friday after work.

            As she went about her chores, getting eggs and milk, she reconsidered her own thought.  No, they probably didn’t have the same idea she did.  They probably have a loving spouse at home, dinner waiting for them in the oven, a German Shepherd bounding up to greet them and welcome them home.  To them, this was a quick “honey-do” standing in the way of them and home.  For her, this was more busy-work, putting off the inevitable.  She didn’t want to go home.

            She headed towards the alcohol section, thinking that a bottle of wine might help ease the loneliness at home.  Dyanne had never had much cause for wine, but she figured it was worth a shot tonight.  A glass of wine, a bowl of chocolate ice cream, and maybe that new chick flick that was just released recently.  Yes, that sounded like a good plan to her.  If you had to be home alone, you may as well do it right.

            Once she arrived at the wines, she was flooded with options.  Red wine, white wine, honey wine, flavored wine, sweet wine, tart wine… Dyanne had never realized wine was this big of a deal.  She decided to go by price tag instead, which led her to the boxed wine.  Wine is wine, right? she justified, examining a box of “Chillable Red” wine.

            “Big date tonight?”

            She turned to face the owner of the deep, masculine voice behind her.  He was attractive, dressed in his best business attire.  His suit probably cost more than her paycheck, and fit him perfectly.  Dyanne didn’t consider herself unattractive – she knew she looked good compared to many women – but her in her cheap slacks and Hallmart blouse, next to this chiseled specimen designed and sent straight from the gods, she felt underdressed and worthless.

She’d be damned if she let him know that, though.

            After allowing herself a small chuckle, she responded.  “No, nothing too fancy.  Home alone tonight.”

            He cocked his head and smiled at her, but turned to make his own selection of wine.  “A pretty girl like you, all alone on a Friday night?  I find that hard to believe.”

            “Yeah, well, that’s the truth.  No big plans.  Just some good wine, a good movie, and myself tonight.”

            “‘Good wine?’”  He repeated, stopping in his tracks and staring at her.  “You call ‘Chillable Red’ boxed wine ‘good wine’?”  He took the box from her, and replaced it with a bottle of wine he had picked from the shelf.  “Concha y Toro.  Try that tonight instead.  It’s better than that boxed garbage.”

            Dyanne looked over the new bottle in her possession.  “How do you know I’ll like this?”

            The stranger shrugged.  “It hardly matters.  Anything is a step up from ‘Chillable Red’.”

            “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t know any better either way.  Thanks.  I appreciate your help.”

            He nodded dismissively as Dyanne walked away, heading for the ice cream.

            After Dyanne had acquired all of the necessities for a girl’s night in – chocolate, ice cream, wine, movies, popcorn and all – she headed for the cash registers up front.  Somehow, even on the busiest days, there were only one or two registers ever open.  Dyanne headed for the shorter line, and was startled to see the stranger from the wine section waiting at the end of the same line.

            “You’re still here?” she asked without thinking.

            He closed the magazine he was browsing through to look at her.  “I could ask the same of you.”  He peeked into her shopping cart.  “One might think you were suffering a break-up, considering your purchase choices.”

            She flushed.  “I’m not.  I’m happily married to a wonderful man.”

            “Then why are you home alone?”

            Dyanne opened her mouth to respond, but realized that anything she said at that point would sound too defensive, like an excuse.  So she chose not to respond.  What business did he have anyway, asking personal questions like that?

            They waited awkwardly in line together as the customers ahead of them made their purchases and left.  After the strange man made his purchases and was about to head out, he instead turned to Dyanne.  “Do me a favor?” he pleaded, to her surprise.  He handed her a business card.  “My cell phone number is on the back.  Just let me know that you make it home safely.  You’re a beautiful woman, and your husband is a fool for not looking out for your safety better than he is.”

            And with that, he turned and left.

            Dyanne stood staring after him for a moment, then glanced at the card.  Xavier Stevenson.  His cell phone number was scrawled hurriedly but still elegantly on the back, just like he said it would be.  She looked it over, then stowed it away in her purse and concentrated on making her purchases and getting home.