Hunting Pixies

Hunting Pixies, Part Six

"What are you doing here?" Margaret turns fully to ask her father. I see Jim taking Margaret in, as if seeing her in some new light. I don't know if it's because he is attuned to the change that I have seen come over her in the last 24 hours, or if it's from the sight of her wrapped in the jacket of some 59-year-old man that she just met last night. Based on his smile, I'm going to assume it leans more to the former, but he catches me in the corner of his eye, and it probably has something to do with the latter as well.

"Well, getting ice cream with my daughter, and her...friend, obviously. After all, you did just say you promised me." He responds, chuckling a bit, then to the confused kid behind the counter says, "I'll have one scoop of butter pecan, please, Brad."

Apparently, 'Brad' responds, "Yes, sir, of course, in a cup, right?" Jim nods. I don't see a name tag, so I assume Jim must be a regular. I'm a little proud of myself that I remembered Margaret's dad's name without having to run through a whole list of possibilities.

Brad scoops and hands the cup to Jim, then looks to Margaret, who orders, "A scoop of chocolate in a sugar cone with rainbow sprinkles, please..." Brad moves to fill her order. I give a little snicker, "What, she whispers to me, pixies love sprinkles." Jim must hear better than I do, or he remembered his hearing aids, because I see him arch an eyebrow. Margaret blushes a bit.

"And you, sir," Brad asks, entirely unsure how I fit into this picture. He isn't really alone.

"A scoop of the dulce de leche, in a cup, please."

Brad hands me my order and moves to the register to ring us up. Margaret pays. Brad thanks her, then hesitantly, "I'm sorry to have to ask, but we are closing, so I will have to ask you to take those outside?"

"Thank you, Brad," I surprise myself by responding, "not a problem at all."

The air outside is a little chillier than ideal for eating ice cream, and Margaret looks grateful for the use of my jacket. "Daddy, where's Sue?" She asks.

"Oh, we took separate carts over tonight. I knew I'd want to close things out with an ice cream, and she was going to stay out a little longer with some friends." As he says this, we note that the band has just finished its last song of the evening, and the crowds from the square are starting to make their nightly exodus to return home, or to some new friends' home, or to the many post-parties at the bars around the plaza. I assume Sue is among them somewhere. Margaret looks a little bothered by Jim's revelation, but says nothing.

We move to find seats outside away from the crowds, settling near where we were last night. I reflect that the last 24 hours have been very interesting, and that is likely to continue for the next several.

As she finds a seat, Margaret remembers something. "Oh, when I checked on the kids earlier, I only got to talk to Meagan. All the cousins got in today, and the twins were busy playing with them. I was going to call again before their bedtime, so this would be perfect. Daddy, you can talk to them, too?"

Jim hesitates a moment. "I'll talk to them when you call tomorrow, Margaret. I'd actually like to have a few words with this young gentleman since I have the opportunity?"

Margaret appears a bit panicked, thinking about how she might "save me." There is no need. "I would be happy to talk with you, sir," I respond. We leave Margaret with her ice cream and worries to give her privacy for her call.

We walk a few storefronts down to a spot on the plaza where the stores are closed and there won't likely be any interruptions. We've finished our ice cream before we find a bench and throw the cups in a trash can on the way.

As we sit, I don't have to worry about small talk. Jim gets straight to his point.

"Steve, I love Margaret very much. She's the baby of our family and has always been the apple of my eye. She's extremely intelligent, but I believe she tends to see the world through some filters that don't always match reality. She spent a lot of her childhood lonely, in many ways, often having to amuse herself, and creating maybe a fantasy view of the world? And we sheltered her more than we maybe should have, and that kept her somewhat naive. While I regret my role in not doing more to prevent that, it forged her into a very special woman, and I don't regret the outcome."

"She is a very remarkable woman," I confirm, and he continues.

"When I saw an obviously much older man taking an interest in her last night, I wasn't exactly thrilled. But she's an adult, and I'm not going to interfere with her choices. I'll offer her counsel, but not try to stop her. Margaret has always been very open with me. When we met for lunch today, she told me that this man she met last night was married, but had some kind of understanding with his wife that would allow him certain 'freedoms.' You can imagine that I was prepared to offer her some very strong counsel on that."

"Absolutely, sir, I'm certain you would, and should. I am sure I'm far from the 'ideal' that any father would want for his daughter." If I'm going down here, I'll go down with honesty.

"Not 'sir,' it's Jim. Hell, I had colleagues my whole career far younger than you that I've always seen as peers, and still have as friends. And you haven't let me finish." He looks to see if I'm going to interrupt again. I give him a nod, and he continues, "when Margaret met me at the club this morning, I almost didn't recognize her. There was a glow to her that I haven't seen in years, probably not since her mother died, certainly not since she'd been married to David. So I didn't immediately tell her you'd be bad news. You aren't going to be bad news, are you, Steve?"

"I've rarely been bad news in the past, and have no plans to start, s..Jim."

"Good, because when I saw her just now, that glow had intensified. She's radiant. She's clearly happier than I can recall her being in a very long time. And I suspect whatever she's getting from being with you right now is a big part of it. So thank you for that."

"She is radiant, I agree, and you're welcome?" I hazard.

"But I have questions for you," he continues, "the state of your marriage, and your agreement; Margaret didn't have details for me, but you've been fully truthful about the basics of it with her?" I nod.

"You love your wife, but there are elements in the marriage that are lacking? And she's supportive of you finding fulfillment elsewhere?"

"Yes, that's the gist of it," I reply.

"Good. Then I want to share some things with you, Steve. Things I should have shared with Margaret long ago, but never did. I think I've been kidding myself that I was protecting her, but I was probably only trying to protect myself. And relationships in our family have suffered as a result. I'm going to talk to her about this while she's here this week, so please keep it to yourself for now?"

"Certainly, you can trust me to do so."

He pauses to give me a once-over, and then continues, "I don't know you, but I believe I can. Margaret's mother, Lily, was the absolute love of my life, but we did not always have a 'conventional' marriage. There were certain desires she had which you and I would not be anatomically equipped to fulfill."

He pauses to make sure I understand what he's saying, I nod, and he continues, "Lily accepted my 'gift' of allowing her to fulfill those desires with others. Susan had been a student of ours long before, and became one of those 'others' early on. Then later, with all of our full consent, became someone with whom we both shared our love for many years. That worked out until Susan became a little too attached to me and I could sense was trying to replace Lily in a more conventional relationship."

"So Lily and I ended the relationship with her at my insistence. Lily was reluctant to do so, even knowing Susan's intentions. I think even beyond the physical, Susan filled some place for Lily that I could not, and I regret that I did not see that then. It might have been that I should have left the relationship. I don't know. But then Lily became sick and started to decline. She was no longer able to be physically intimate with me and asked that we bring Susan back into our relationship so that she could fill those needs for me and I think ease Lily's final years."

"Susan was happy to do so, and I was glad to have her in my life again when Lily passed. Margaret's sisters are much older and were far more aware of these relationship dynamics, but we agreed to keep Margaret out of the loop, which I know now was a mistake. Because when Susan and I did come forward openly as a couple, Margaret felt it was all too soon, and it created a rift between us for a time. And that rift remains between Susan and Margaret."

"Margaret has mentioned that, and yes, from what she has told me, it seems she resents Sue as being someone who came into the picture too soon after her mom was gone. But there is more to their current rift than that, right? Not to be too bold, but from what I have observed, you and Sue maybe now have a different arrangement as well?" I take a chance bringing this up, but I want to make sure Jim knows he should come fully clean with Margaret about the present, not just the past.

"Did Margaret tell you she thinks that?" He asks.

"No. She suspects worse. She believes Sue is 'running around' behind your back. But I'm guessing it isn't behind your back?" I reply.

"It isn't," Jim reluctantly admits, "Vanity makes this difficult to admit, but Susan still has needs that I'm physically just not able to fulfill anymore. So yes, we have an arrangement. 'Discretion' is part of it, one of our 'rules,' but that's hard to manage when you're surrounded by perceptive people. And Susan is getting a lot more lax on that. She made a pass at you, did she?"

"Not directly, no, but there were...signs...of interest," I say.

"I'm sure," Jim rolls his eyes and laughs, "I have a feeling this would probably all have ended up to be much easier if the two of you did hit it off. But then I wouldn't have seen this change in Margaret that is starting, and I would like to see it continue. I know I'm hurting their relationship by keeping this from Margaret, so I will address that."

"With that out of the way, though," Jim continues, "I want to know a little more about your arrangement, and maybe offer you some advice that will help the three of you navigate things?"

I give him a surprised look. He laughs a bit. "I'm not so old that I can't be perceptive, too," he explains. "I look at you and Margaret and I can tell that you are both smitten, right?" I give him a small nod. "This isn't a casual fling for either of you?"

"Were you just listening to our dinner conversation?" We share a laugh, then Jim becomes serious again.

"What is your wife's name, Steve?" He asks.

"Beth."

"Have you and Beth set 'rules'?"

"We have."

"Have you shared these with Margaret?"

"At dinner, just now."

"Good, that's a very good start. But recognize those are guidelines, and they are going to have to grow and change with you as you all grow. And remember that the ' best laid schemes o' mice and men'..."

"'...Gang aft agley,'" I finish for him. He raises an eyebrow and laughs.

"I knew I'd like you. Yes, the rules will go sideways from time to time, but just remember that they all come down to building and maintaining trust. Trust is a gift you can only hope to be given by someone else once. It's a fragile thing that can never be fully restored once it's broken."

He adds, "I don't know or need to know what your rules are, but there are three more pieces of advice you should consider if you'd like?" He asks.

"I would very much appreciate any wisdom from a voice of experience. Thank you," I reply.

"Okay. First, thank Beth each and every day for the gift she's given you, not in words, but in the way you treat her. Second, don't make promises to either Beth or Margaret if you know or even think you won't be able to keep them. Third, don't offer either of them anything, unless it's solely yours to give. And fourth, and this is advice I will now take myself, don't hide your arrangement from those close to you if hiding it might hurt them."

"That's all very solid advice. Thank you, Jim." I sincerely reply.

"And my final words, I promise," Jim adds, "Your heart is ALWAYS solely yours to give. It doesn't belong to anyone else. You can only share a part of it with them, and it has an infinite capacity to be shared. I trust you to remember all of these things and treat my daughter with the respect that she deserves."

As he finishes his last statement, we look up to see that Margaret is standing in front of us, listening, radiant, and smiling broadly at us both.

"So, Margaret," Jim laughs, "you can see my interrogation of Steve is complete, and he is unharmed. How are my grandbabies?"

"All doing very well, Daddy." Margaret beams.

"I'm ready to call it a night," Jim says, "can I drop you kids back at your hotel?"

"That would be great," I answer for us.

We accompany Jim to the golf cart parking lot at the rear, and quickly find his Badgermobile, as he calls it. If you had asked me what the universe had in store for me this evening, riding in the back seat of a tricked-out University of Wisconsin-themed golf cart being driven by my 42-year-old maybe-somewhat-new 'girlfriend' with her 80-year-old father riding shotgun, while talking about my holiday plans with my wife and her family, would NOT have been on my bingo card, yet here we are.

"So, Steve," Jim asks, "What do you and Beth do for Thanksgiving?" I think I hear Margaret take a sharp intake of breath at the name, and feel the cart swerve a little.

"This year we're hosting at our little place in the woods over in Volusia," I respond. It'll be a full house: I'm picking my mom up from near here tomorrow to take her over; my brother and his wife, who are still in Florida, will probably come over for the day, maybe with her mom; Beth's sister and brother and their spouses are coming in; her mom lives near our place in Brevard and will come over with her and my daughter, who's still at home; my two boys will be in from college, one of them will probably bring his girlfriend. So maybe 15 of us?"

"That's a crowd, must not be that little of a place?" Jim laughs.

"Big enough for them to visit for a meal, but only two bedrooms, so not big enough for many to stay past that," I joke. "I designed and built it like that on purpose."

Jim laughs. "That's a wise man."

Margaret remains silent, but I catch glimpses of her looking at me nervously through the rearview mirror, smiling in encouragement or sympathy when she catches my eye. But the underlying tension has not left her face since we began the drive. Which is fortunately short, and my recitation of my upcoming guest list has consumed most of it, but I remember my manners despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"How about you all, Jim?" I ask.

"Susan and I and two other couples. Plus beautiful Margaret this year, and I think one of the other couples is bringing one of their 'kids' as well." More than enough for here, but I miss our family Thanksgivings up at the farm in the Dalles. We would have what, Margaret, sometimes a couple dozen of us with your sisters and all the kids? But it's just too cold there for us already this time of year. My days of making it home outside of summer are over. Family comes first, Steve, always remember that."

"Absolutely," I respond, just as Margaret pulls under the porte cochere at the Brownwood. I exit the golf cart with Margaret. Jim takes her place at the wheel, giving me a firm handshake.

"You're a scholar and a gentleman, Steve. I trust that you'll remember what we discussed?" He asks as Margaret loops her arm in mine.

"I will, Jim. Thank you very much. Until we meet again?"

"Until we meet again, Steve. Margaret, you have your car here? But I assume I won't see you until tomorrow. Have a good night." And with that, the Badgermobile drives off into the surreal nighttime horizon of the Villages.

Margaret and I walk toward the doors, and she says, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea we would run into Daddy, and he must have confronted you about being married? What did he say? It seemed like he's okay with it? He didn't really give me much advice one way or the other when we talked at lunch."

In the lobby, I stop, reach for Margaret's shoulders, and turn her to face me. I look in her eyes. "It's okay, Margaret. Your dad seems genuinely okay with us. But YOU need to talk to him about why that is. He wants to clear some things up with you this week, okay? But we're all good." I give her a quick kiss, then we walk toward the elevators, but remember something and make a beeline for the front desk.

"Good evening," says the desk clerk. "How may I help you?"

"We'd like to get some more towels for our room, if we could, please," I respond.

"Certainly, sir. I can have housekeeping bring some up, or I can get you a few now if you care to wait a moment? How many?" I plan to respond with two, but...

"Four, and we'll wait," Margaret chimes in before I can respond. As he walks to the back to retrieve them, she whispers to me, "I don't want housekeeping interrupting us, and we're going to need at least two for the splash zone." She giggles and composes herself only when he returns with the towels.

We make our way to the elevator, and as we wait, Margaret turns to me, saying, "You know, we didn't talk about Lisa's 'invitation' yet. When I went into her room and got her number, she let me know it was pretty much an open offer, if we wanted to join her tonight, or if either of us ever wants to take her up on it later..."

The elevator arrives and we get on. "Hmm, very tempting, but definitely not tonight. Seems like she'd had quite a few drinks and was maybe just running on some nervous energy she might regret later? But honestly, I'm just not sure I'm ready for something like that. 'I'd have to get new friends. I'd have to get orgy friends...'" I trail off, wondering if she'll get the reference from Seinfeld.

She laughs, "'and a 'whole new wardrobe, moustache, robes, and lotions...' My parents loved Seinfeld. We'd watch reruns all the time. Lisa is definitely tempting, but I'm not ready to make that kind of fantasy real yet, either. Although you might look good with just the moustache."

"Oh, I do look good with just the moustache, baby. Remind me, and I can show you some pics," I laugh, out loud.

I push the button for seven. Margaret pulls me down into a deep kiss as the doors close, breaking it only after the car reaches our floor.

"I'll text her in a little bit to let her down gently," Margaret says as we exit and head for our room.

"I'm really surprised by how that all went down. Did you work that with a little bit of pixie magic?" I ask.

"Hmm. That, and she heard me getting off all afternoon with you. She's right below us, you know. She said she couldn't get any work done in her room because it sounded like there was a woman above her dying with pleasure. When she found out it was us, she wanted in. Maybe your pixie has some siren in her. Who knew?" Margaret trails off, and we both laugh our way into our room.

"Okay," Margaret says. " I'll give you some privacy to do whatever dirty boy business you need to in the bathroom first. Then I'll go, and then we'll see where the night takes us?"

"Sounds good." I give her a quick kiss, and she takes off my jacket and sits on the bed to remove her boots. I take my phone out of my pocket and unclasp my watch, noting that it's almost ten. I place them on the nightstand beside her, on top of my book she mentioned at dinner, and smile. I'm looking forward to talking about books we enjoy at some point. I throw two towels past her and onto the bed in the vicinity of the splash zone, drawing a giggle.