Heartbreaker

It wasn't long after we'd moved Steve's stuff to my trailer from his Houston apartment that I met Bridget Dufay. She and Steve had just come in from work.

My first impression of Bridget? She was by far the cutest construction worker I'd ever seen. She worked as a welder on the same construction site as Steve, surprisingly enough.

Though a little on the unkempt side hair-wise in that first meeting, she was still quite attractive, with a statuesque figure, smiling (and unusual!) pale blue eyes, high cheek bones, and generous lips. She was perhaps a bit taller than average female-wise: practically the same height as Steve or I.

Bridget's hair was naturally something like a light to medium brown in color-- but the outdoors work had sun-bleached that portion of her hair not usually protected by her hard hat. So her barely shoulder length hair was blond looking towards the bottom and brownish everywhere else.

Basically Bridget rated USA regional model-looks appearance-wise. According to official industry sources, no less. I'd learn sometime later this status had been formalized by her doing occasional photo-shoots for small magazines specializing in local people and attractions. I don't think she was ever seen on a cover except as part of the background, usually being relegated to smaller internal pics here and there over many months. I'd eventually get to see some of the shots. In them Bridget was usually sporting short shorts and a shirt tied off at the mid-section, or else a tasteful dress of some sort. On occasion she seemed to be wearing a wig-- or else had had a major hair job performed on her. The modeling was just a part-time gig for her though. One of several things she did in-between construction jobs, which made up most of her work (and construction work is notoriously short term and temporary). Another was volunteer work helping deaf kids with something-- I can't recall what now.

Anyway, Steve had saved Bridget's life at work-- or contributed to it in some fashion. She'd fallen off a high perch and been caught by her safety harness all of us had to wear on our respective sites.

Our safety harnesses could indeed be life-savers at times. Unfortunately the nature of our jobs meant we couldn't attach them to anything most of the hours we spent at work, due to being on the move.

Luckily Bridget had apparently been sitting immobile for a moment; hence her fortuitous use of the harness.

Steve had either been the nearest other person or the nearest with the quickest reflexes to come to her aid as she dangled in mid-air. Apparently the fall rattled her enough to make for something of a shock the rest of the day. For which of course Steve had the cure.

As we were all pretty busy and Steve preferred eating out a lot anyway (I was the opposite), I didn't see or hear much from or about Bridget again for a while afterwards.

Steve didn't live with me for long, as he was returning back to our native Tennessee well before me, partly in an effort to clean up his precarious financial status prior to returning to school. Something I encouraged wholeheartedly. For I didn't like for Steve to be in such straits.

Me, I felt like finishing out the summer in Texas. After all, I'd passed that damn license and inspection trial, plus survived the multiple assaults by Briggs-- not to mention the incident with the tornadoes (sheesh!). Now I hoped to rack up a bit more local experiences of the better kind before heading out. Plus save more money for school. I never ever had enough money.

One of the last things Steve did before he left was make a request of me: take care of Bridget for him. He mentioned some sort of ex-boyfriend trouble she was having, and hoped I'd keep an eye on her for him.

I assured him I would. Though this request was something of a surprise to me. Steve was usually the love-them-and-leave-them kind of guy. So this made me think he liked this girl more than usual. Plus, I could swear there was something in the discussion about making arrangements later for me to bring her with me to Tennessee when I returned, for reuniting her with Steve.

Maybe my memory's playing tricks on me there. But I'm positive he asked me to look out for her. And I was a pretty serious fellow back then-- too serious, lots of folks frequently told me. Plus woefully naïve to the ways of the world, regarding some matters. So when I told him I'd look out for her, I meant it.

Keep in mind I agreed to this having only met her maybe once or twice, and knowing virtually nothing about her but that she and Steve had dated for a couple weeks.

In hindsight though, maybe Steve was just trying to get me to clean up the ex-boyfriend loose end for him. Maybe he'd promised Bridget he'd do something about it, but just wasn't going to be around long enough to fulfill the obligation personally (I knew for a fact his financial problems to the north were serious, and required his immediate return).

Or maybe he was trying to set me up with Bridget, partly to console her for his own leaving, and partly to help me get over Sue Anne, whom he knew I was still pining over, despite all intelligence and good sense to the contrary.

Sure enough, maybe only days after Steve left, Bridget showed up in my doorway wanting to hang out. I said sure, and we spent some time talking about various things, including Steve.

Knowing what I do now I'm sure she was coming over partly because she missed Steve, but mostly so she wouldn't be home when Paul Kimmel (her ex-boyfriend) came around to annoy her.

Bridget stopped by several more times over succeeding days, and I thought I was getting to know her a little better. It was sort of fun, as she seemed much a tomboy-- almost like one of the fellas. She reminded me somewhat of Dana Connor: my best ever female friend since childhood, with whom I'd also shared a brief but wondrous love affair in high school before her parents split us up.

Between my nagging longing for Sue Anne and my notion that Steve cared a lot for Bridget, I wasn't much affected by any sexual attraction early in my relationship with Bridget. Which made it all much easier for me than was typical. Again, in something of a reprise of my year or so with Dana before things suddenly flared up between us.

So Bridget and I ended up spending significant time together. Soon though the ex-boyfriend problem came to the fore. According to Bridget he was increasingly harassing her by basically showing up unexpectedly at her apartment. Though I definitely didn't want any prurient details, it sounded like he was being a little too aggressive in all manner of ways.

I must also inject here that I was fairly inexperienced with relationships at the time, and so prone to making mistakes-- as well as getting in over my head. Had I been older and wiser I likely wouldn't have made that promise to Steve to start with, and most certainly wouldn't have gotten as deeply involved with Bridget as I eventually did.

But of course the spice of life is sometimes found in error, or by accident.

And I must admit that I was lonely. Sometimes awfully so. Though my job was full-time-- and I had little choice but to use much free time doing repairs to Shadow-- still that left me with way too much other time in which to wallow in the misery of unrequited love and whatever other negatives might be present in my life at the moment.

Up to now there'd been way too little vacation in this vacation from school.

So anyway, I asked Bridget if she wanted to move in with me for extra protection. Nothing sexual, because I regarded her as Steve's girlfriend. Although my present place had an extra bedroom she could use, I knew of a bigger trailer in the park that had recently become available, and was wanting some bigger and better digs anyway. I told her we could move to that one, and split the rent and other bills in a fair manner.

Rather than answer me right away, Bridget asked "Can I see your hand?" as she held out her own to receive it. We were sitting on my couch (it'd come with the trailer), maybe a foot apart and facing one another, at the time.

"Why?" I asked.

"I just want to try something."

I wasn't much of one for casual physical contact in those days. Maybe it had something to do with all the fights I'd endured in both elementary and high school. During those years likely three-quarters of all the physical contact I'd experienced had been adversarial and painful-- in the extreme.

Heck: I was so heavily conditioned by that violence that even during my first couple years in college, unexpected contacts were anathema to me.

Even being surprised by the gentle touch of a woman would often cause me to instantly recoil-- wholly involuntarily-- as if she'd laid a burning hot barbecue fork upon my flesh.

Yeah, I was messed up. I know that. Back then I just didn't understand why or how.

No, I didn't recoil from everyone like that. Just most people. People I didn't know very well, or trust. Which basically amounted to almost the entire human population.

But Bridget didn't surprise me: she asked first. So although it made me uncomfortable, I gave her my hand and she held it between both of hers for a moment, with her eyes closed. Then she opened her eyes without letting go.

"Can I ask you something?" she posed her second request.

"Sure, Bridget!" I said, eager to get the touching over with. It made me uneasy on multiple levels.

"Why do you love her?"

Sue Anne's face suddenly spun up front and center before my mind's eye.

"Who?" I asked, stunned that that would be the first question Bridget might ask me. To my recollection I had never discussed or even mentioned Sue Anne to Bridget before that moment.

"Sue Anne," Bridget responded, right on the money. Damn!

"Oh. I guess Steve told you about her. Well Bridget, I don't feel like talking about her--"

"I'm sorry. But I have to."

"What?"

"It's hard to explain-- I just need to know something about you before I can decide what to do next."

Oh. Hmm. So she basically wanted to perform her own little psychological test on me before moving in, just in case. Well, I guess that made sense. After all, she didn't really know me that well. And moving in with someone is no small matter. So I gritted my teeth and went along with it. I had promised Steve I'd take care of her, after all.

"Okay. Shoot. What do you want to know?" I offered.

"Why do you love her?" Bridget asked again. I'd been hoping I'd already successfully dodged that query, to get a different one.

"I don't know. I just do. I know it's stupid. I know any opportunity I ever had with her is probably gone forever now. But I just can't help it. I guess I'll get over it one of these days..." My face had to be red as a beet now; I flushed easily back then, especially over matters like these. And being touched at the same time by a girl just made my blushing even more certain.

Thankfully Bridget ignored my reddening, but for possibly the very slight smile she kept on her face throughout most of the questioning.

"So you think your love for her will fade?" she asked.

"Yeah. It has to," I answered a little too honestly. Basically I meant I wouldn't be able to bear this unrequited love thing forever. One of my major preoccupations of the past couple years had been trying to keep myself distracted from it. For that was often the only way I could make it from day to day.

"Did you ever think there might be a good reason for you and her never getting together?" Bridget continued.

"Hellfire, Bridget! There's tons of good reasons!" I tried to joke about the hard truth of the matter.

"What's the biggest one?"

"Bridget, I'm sorry-- but what does all this have to do with you moving in with me?" I was getting exasperated by her interrogation.

"I'm just trying to find out something about you, is all," she replied. Still firmly clasping my one hand between both of hers.

My blushing was always accompanied by a wave of warmth all over. I felt hot. Hot and uncomfortable.

"The biggest reason why we shouldn't be together...the biggest reason...it's hard to pick one, Bridget!"

"Try."

"I guess maybe...I was just too shy to even make much effort towards her..." I said, hating to admit my failing. "But I couldn't help that. Just getting too near her overloaded me somehow."

"Do you know about circuit breakers?" Bridget asked.

"Yeah; sure!"

"Well, maybe there was a circuit breaker there to stop you from going the wrong way."

"Oh. Like a circuit breaker for destiny, or fate, you mean?" I asked with a skeptical and annoyed smile.

"Yes." Bridget still retained her own smile.

I had to admit I hadn't thought of it that way before.

"If that's true Bridget, I wish to hell somebody would put in a better system! Because that one sucks!"

She laughed.

"What about Dana?" she asked next.

"Oh! So Steve told you about Dana too, huh?"

Bridget just smiled a bit wider at that, saying nothing. Waiting on me.

"Okay. Dana was my best friend since second grade. We sort of had a fling in high school, but her parents stepped in and stopped it. I wasn't allowed to see her after that."

"Do you want to?"

"Hellfire Bridget! Of course I do! Dana's great! I miss her. But I had to leave town to go to college, and she and I never did want to go against her parents...so we just never got back together again."

"Do you know what she's doing now?"

"No. Not really. But I made no secret of going to school. She could call me or write me if she wanted. I guess she's busy with other stuff now..." I trailed off, a little sadly. Everything just seemed to be against Dana and me. Her parents. My Sue Anne crush. And now time and distance, too. I figured if I looked her up I'd just find out for sure she didn't want me around any more. It seemed better to hold onto the hope of a wonderful accidental reunion some time, rather than a definite rejection sought out voluntarily on my part.

Dana was just too wonderful a girl. She was surely married or in college somewhere by now; maybe even a mother. And she definitely wasn't dumb enough to wait around for me to get over Sue Anne. Heck: I wouldn't wait myself on that if I had a choice about it!

I'd gotten more than enough feelings of rejection from the Sue Anne thing, my unanswered letters to Lindsay, and the recent ordeal with Alley. It made me wince just to think of all those things in one lump. Ouch!

"Don't give up Jerry," Bridget said, almost like she was reading my mind.

"What do you mean? Don't give up on Dana? Or Sue Anne?"

"Don't give up on love. It's the only worthwhile thing in this world. But if you're not open to the possibility it'll be a lot harder for it to find you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that enough, Bridget? Is my interview over now?" I sure hadn't liked it!

Bridget finally let go of my hand, looking at me appraisingly.

"You're a better person than you think you are, Jerry."

I laughed. "There's lots who would argue with you! But I think you'll find I'm an okay room-mate. That's all that really matters here."

Bridget let that one go without a response-- but for a curious look.

Fully twenty-two years after that discussion with Bridget, I would find myself finally talking about her in-depth with Steve. And remarkably enough, we were both back in Texas again at the time(!)

Steve swore to me he never told Bridget anything about either Sue Anne or Dana. Didn't even mention their names. He had no reason to. For the time he'd spent with Bridget had been about he and her-- not me. And I'm pretty sure I'd never mentioned them to her either, prior to that conversation. So how the hell had she known about them?

That was Bridget: she just plain knew things she shouldn't have.

Liberation

After all that interview weirdness in 1972 Bridget took me up on the room-mate offer, and within a week I'd upgraded to a larger trailer and we'd moved her in too, lock, stock and barrel. I think we scheduled the move to happen when the ex-boyfriend was working, so that when he resumed his stalking she'd simply be vanished from the premises.

And of course if he showed up at our place he'd have me to deal with.

Moving Bridget was the main event between our respective transfers: for I personally possessed little more than food and a handful of cooking/eating utensils, clothes, and books to be carried from one trailer to another. And Shadow, of course.

Bridget though actually had some furniture and even a full-size console TV and separate stereo, among other things.

I'd had no TV to watch at all the whole time I'd been in Texas until now. I guess maybe that might have been one reason I'd felt so morose in my spare time.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover Bridget and I seemed to enjoy more overlap than expected in TV show preferences. It soon wasn't unusual for us to spend the evening watching together from her couch.

I found Bridget and I shared musical tastes too. I'd have learned this sooner if Shadow's tape player had been working-- but Lloyd had somehow damaged it during his brief driving stint in Shadow on the trip from Tennessee. So I walked into the trailer one day to hear Bridget playing one of my favorites on her console stereo. For a moment I thought she'd filched it from my bedroom, and began to voice a protest against such raids-- only to find out the selection was from her own collection.

As it hadn't been all that long since Shadow and mine's near-death experiences with the tornados, as well as the escape from Briggs-- and shortages of time and money continued to plague me as always-- I hadn't yet completed repairs on my car.

The list of things not yet repaired included stuff like my charred and ruined CB antenna mount (and burnt up CB radio inside the car)-- plus roof damage from sliding under the bridge; my scraped, scratched, and dented rear bumper; my strobe lights (the hot bulbs had exploded underwater); and some corrosive effects to the latch mechanisms used in deploying my tire poppers and crash bars, from their hours of submergence or near-submergence.

I hadn't designed the latches for lengthy underwater time-- since Shadow was supposed to be a dry land vehicle(!)

My popper supply itself needed replenishment too. As I'd used up most of my current store to flatten my own tires while under the tornado threat (agh!). I had nowhere near enough left to refill the magazine again.

I still hadn't replaced the police scanner Briggs had torn out. I needed to replace my miniature fire extinguisher too, as I'd used it to put out my CB radio after the lightning strike.

There was some minor damage to the air dam.

Shadow also had a few bullet holes here and there, from maybe both the store robbers and the police who'd been chasing them.

I had either replaced or suitably repaired all my tires (including the spare), thank goodness. And gotten Shadow cleaned up for the most part from the awful swamp-like moldy stink the water-filled channel had bestowed upon him (both in the engine compartment and interior).

I'd replaced my stereo speakers not long after Bridget moved in, figuring to get a replacement antenna and just listen to the radio until I could also get a new tape player.

Anyway, the bulk of the repairs remained undone.

One day when I was attending to the lengthy and ongoing process, Bridget asked if I wanted any help. That's when my mental stereotype of women kicked in, and I sort of casually dismissed her offer without even considering it. Bridget recognized this, and called me on it.

"You don't think I'd be any help, do you?"

"Well Bridget, like I said I do appreciate the offer, but I've just never seen any woman but one who even knew how to check her own oil in a car, much less do anything significant repair-wise."

Without another word Bridget strode over to the already unlatched hood, opened it, and yanked the oil dip-stick (she actually recognized it without my help). She checked it visually, by smell, and smearing some of the oil between a couple fingertips-- then pronounced that Shadow was slightly low, but apparently there weren't yet too many miles on the current oil.

I was impressed.

"Got anything else you don't think a woman can do?" she asked. And I gave her a sheepish smile.

Of course Bridget-- like Dana-- was far from being a proficient auto mechanic. Her top notch oil check turned out to be something instilled in her by her dad.

But Bridget was an independent woman, who'd basically fended for herself for several years by that time automotive-wise. And worked construction off and on over that time too. So she was not without some skills in regards to some of the work required on Shadow.

Ergo, she did end up being of help to me on such matters. Eventually (after being given a sample to go by) she would single-handedly make enough new tire poppers to fill my magazine not once, but twice. She would also do a bit more welding to my roll cage in spots she said she didn't think were up to par. She'd removed the padding to inspect it once she learned I'd done most of the welding myself. She did other things too. But doing the poppers alone was a pretty substantial job.

Of course most all of that would happen later-- not that first day. For at that point we were still hobbled by the replacement costs of some of the gear involved. Plus suitable fabrication tools and materials. And in need of a better place to work than the parking spot just outside our trailer. Etc.

So things with Bridget went fabulously for a while. Maybe a little too fabulously. For I found living in such close proximity to Bridget considerably tougher than merely seeing her on occasion, and in more formal circumstances. For one thing, now that she lived with me, she wore skimpier stuff than she ever had when only visiting. So I was seeing more of Bridget now-- in more ways than one. For Bridget, comfortable at-home wear seemed in include skin-tight tops of nearly thread-bare fabric, with no bra underneath. Hot pants, too. Or at least some of the shortest shorts I'd ever seen. Sometimes it seemed she wore more to bed than in her day-wear around the house. Like an over-sized T-shirt in fairly good condition thickness-wise. A couple times she found a reason to parade around in the living room wearing only a towel after a shower, too (unfortunately the towel never slipped). She was also divulging a lot more personal details (including bits about her sex life) to me now in conversations. And suddenly showed up one day with a completely new hair style; one which seemed to ratchet her up a whole other notch in sex appeal, amazingly enough.

Being a man, it would have been nearly blasphemous for me to complain about many of these changes. Heck: I was enjoying them! Plus, recall we were living very near to the Texas gulf coast, in the summer time. The outdoor temperature was often likely not far different from that of a tropical sea island. And indoor temperatures could actually climb considerably above that, if you didn't make use of air conditioning.

For some reason it didn't occur to me to compare my own lifestyle to Bridget's. I don't think Bridget saw me very often in a state of undress similar to what she paraded around in. And I sure didn't discuss my sex life with her to such an extent. Of course, it wasn't like I had a lot to talk about there. Maybe I was getting vicarious pleasures out of Bridget's revelations.

But these changes seemed to be making everything more complicated for me personally, where Bridget was concerned...

And speaking of complicated...!

Paul somehow found Bridget in her new digs and began stopping by to talk to her. He was very civil and well-behaved though: I made sure of that. And Bridget indicated she didn't mind just talking to him. Apparently she was trying gently to get him to go away.

I saw nothing wrong in anyone seeking a peaceful outcome to anything, so long as there was no coercion involved. And regularly assured Bridget that I was there and ready to handle Paul if he stepped out of line.

He didn't though. Not on his first visit. Nor the second. Or the third. I'd unobtrusively check on the pair occasionally to make sure everything was okay, and it seemed to be so.

Then one day during a visit I suddenly heard a big commotion in the driveway, and people yelling. I rushed outside to find Paul gone in his car, having forcibly abducted Bridget in full sight of our neighbor, who told me about it. He said Bridget had been trying to get away from Paul, and he'd forced her into the car and took off.

I started to get into Shadow to go after them of course, but got momentarily delayed by my neighbor. My neighbor was a bearded chain-smoker of both tobacco and pot, and sometimes a bit paranoid as well. Eventually I'd learn he was a small-time drug-dealer too-- so maybe he had reason to be paranoid! Ha, ha.

Anyway, my neighbor seemed to have been badly shaken up by witnessing Bridget's abduction: he was trembling. I wasn't sure if his shakiness stemmed from excitement or fear. He urged me to take a gun with me for any confrontation with Paul, and offered to loan me a pistol. But I didn't think that necessary. Too, I had my own guns. But I didn't tell him about them. I thanked him and left.

Fortunately by that time I knew where Paul lived. I can't recall now how I knew; maybe Bridget had pointed it out to me one day when we were out for a drive or something.

It was an apartment complex not too far from our park. When I got there, Paul had apparently already dragged Bridget inside.

I banged loudly on his door. Paul didn't answer for a long time. I kept banging and yelling that I wasn't going anywhere without seeing Bridget.

Yeah, I'd like to say I busted the door down and stormed in, like on a TV show, but I'm sure I was nowhere near big or strong enough to do that! This was a pretty substantial looking door, too! Ha, ha.

Maybe partly because he was afraid of the attention the commotion might bring from neighbors-- and then police-- Paul finally opened the door and let me in. I'm sure I had to stand out there making a ruckus for at least 15 or 20 minutes first, though.

Paul had Bridget as deep in his place as he could get her, sitting on the bed in a bedroom. The bed was made, with no sign of a tussle.

Bridget acted somewhat subdued and quiet, but seemed all right. And told me she was.

I believe she was afraid of what might happen if she said otherwise, though.

I cannot recall exactly what I said to Paul then, but basically I think I informed him I was going nowhere without Bridget, and he might as well wrap his head around the idea.

This was probably the most forceful and direct I'd been with another man face-to-face in quite a while: the last time had likely been on a construction job in Louisiana where Steve, Will, and I had worked through Christmas vacation the previous winter (I'm not counting here my brief meeting with Briggs' car thief).

In Louisiana, this somewhat older construction guy had been giving me and Will unending grief for maybe a solid week, for no good reason I could discern. We'd took it too, being so new on-site and all, and on the lowest rungs of the job scale: basically gophers (errand boys; extra hands; etc., for the more experienced workers).

But after a week I'd had enough. It was early in the morning. We'd been working maybe 25 minutes, with the last ten or so of that involved in me and Will both lugging this heavy portable generator up the steps of a four story structure. The place was like the steel frame of a building with no walls. Just as he'd done in past days, the bully was harassing us the whole time. Including during the generator lug. The strain of the generator's weight for four stories-- combined with the constant derision-- got me to critical mass. I was sure Will might continue to take it for quite a while; maybe even indefinitely. But I personally could only suffer fools for just so long.

So we got to the top and put down our load, neither of us having said a word in response to the guy the whole time.

Then the guy walked over near the edge of the structure. There was no safety rail there; just a drop off. He was still spouting his B.S.

I casually walked over towards him like I was just doing more job-related stuff, then suddenly stopped smack in front of him. I then told him he was going to stop this shitting on us that very second, one way or the other-- and it didn't matter to me which it was. I also crowded him closer towards the edge at the same time.

I was ready to fight. I'd just notified him of the fact. And I'd backed him up against a four story drop, where it'd be easy for him to fall off either by accident, or from even the mildest of scuffles.

And yes, there were witnesses. Will was there of course. I didn't look to see his face, but I would guess he was either worried about the trouble I was about to get into, or surprised at me forcing a confrontation. Or both.

(Will didn't know me as well as his brother Steve did)

Steve was elsewhere on-site. But there were several other construction guys standing there too, with whom we'd all been working all week. They too had heard the grueling verbal abuse heaped upon us by this guy. I guess they didn't like him either. For none of them stepped up to help him, or break up what appeared to be an imminent fight on the four story edge.

Of course, I was no dummy. My move on him at the edge had been calculated to put him at a disadvantage, and maybe scare the shit out of him. Thereby increasing the likelihood he'd back down and leave us alone, and the matter would thus be settled peacefully. And having the witnesses there would help insure he'd keep his place afterwards, too.

But don't get the impression I was bluffing there. I can recall very few times I bluffed in such situations, and those only because I believed I had no other choice.

No, to my mind a bluff is a last resort. Partly because another human being may well be able to tell how committed you truly are in subtle ways. So just like how you should never point a firearm unless you're planning to shoot it, you should never forcefully confront a man-- unless you've already decided you're ready and willing to fight him to the end.

And by end of course, I mean until one of you quits or simply can't fight anymore. And yes, for some guys or situations, that'll work out to one of the combatants being dead.

If you've made that decision and already planned your initial moves and told yourself to hell with the pain and injury-- I'm going in!-- then your opponent will likely see and comprehend that determination. And in many cases you'll catch him by surprise with it; and he not having had the chance to do the same, may well back down for fear there's something important he's not considered in the matter. And if nothing else he'll hope to delay things a little to mentally prepare-- but you don't give him the chance. Instead, you keep pressing him for commitment now, now, now, or for him to retreat in a way that'll satisfy you. Or else.

And so that's what I did to the guy standing on the edge of a four story drop near Baton Rouge Louisiana, as we stood in a brisk early morning December wind.

He knew I wouldn't really have to fight him at all if I didn't want to. I could just suddenly push him over. It wouldn't take much.

All that mattered in that moment was what my eyes and voice and demeanor told him. Was I willing to do something that extreme?

He looked in my eyes and saw that I was. Or at least he was uncertain enough about it that he figured it best to err on the side of not getting shoved at all.

And so he acquiesced. Heck: it's not like I was demanding a lot, after all. Not to save his freaking life.

And Will and I had no more problems with that guy after that.

So just how committed was I? Well, I was pissed. I didn't plan on pushing him off, but he (or both of us) might have fell off in the fight I was willing and planning to have with him at that moment, if he didn't give in.

I'd also fallen from heights before. Usually with only minor injuries as a consequence (if I was hurt at all). And in those instances I hadn't had someone else's body handy to use as a cushion, as I did here.

Heck: as a kid, I'd routinely jumped off stuff about a third to a half as high as this-- for fun! And was under the impression that being taller now meant I could probably safely endure proportionally higher falls, as well.

(Note that at this age, I didn't yet realize that my adult self could actually get injured more easily from falls than my child self had; no, I would have to learn that the hard way)

Like I said, I despise bluffing. Anyone taking a chance on me bluffing them is a fool.

Paul, Bridget, and I stayed in Paul's bedroom talking for quite a while. Maybe an hour or so. I was adamant in my position, and I think Paul was finally beginning to realize it. His ongoing bullying of Bridget had now met a wholly new obstacle: me.

Mentally I was planning out my moves for when the physical combat began. Verbally I was sparring with Paul as he tried to weasel around and through things to convince Bridget to persuade me to leave, if he couldn't do it himself.

He might have battered Bridget on many other nights in the past, but he wasn't going to do it that night. Not without battering me into submission first.

I'd been pummeled by lots bigger and stronger guys than Paul before. And I'd never ever surrendered yet.

Plus, my past experiences in fights had rendered me pretty savage in what I was willing to do in such a struggle. Because I'd simply been through too many of them before. By this point, anyone getting into a fight with me was going to get all of me, no holds barred. You plain wouldn't believe the stuff I'd be willing to do to hurt them. To make them stop doing what I considered to be wrong. That was my mindset in the moment.

And that's the point where one of the most amazing and unbelievable things of my entire life happened. Though readers may find it anti-climactic, I suppose.

"Bridget tells me you play chess," Paul said, sort of abruptly changing the subject of the discussion, it seemed.

"Yes," I replied.

"Are you any good?"

"I'm okay, I guess. Why?"

"I play chess myself. How about we play for Bridget? I win, I keep her. You win, she's free to do what she wants."

I considered it for a moment. Sure, it was probably some sort of trick. But in that case we'd simply be stuck in the same impasse as now: not much lost.

As I considered Paul to already be acting in bad faith by trying to hold Bridget against her will, I felt under no obligation to keep any deal with him regarding her fate. If I lost the match, I'd still fight him for her if necessary. Screw it. After all, this was a human being we were talking about; not an animal to be bargained over.

I was also pretty good at chess. Played maybe thousands of games, against a wide variety of opponents, ever since I was maybe ten years old. I'd bought a book about chess great Bobby Fischer's strategies and tactics too, and studied it in high school. Steve, who was almost superhuman in some respects-- especially mental-- only ever beat me at chess a single time. Indeed, up to that point I'd only met a single person my entire life who could beat me with impunity: a fantastic senior engineering student at college named Greg. Poor guy. He'd indulged me maybe fifty games before he finally declared he'd play me no more. I simply couldn't beat him, no matter how hard I tried. Greg could just see further ahead and in a wider swath of potential moves than I. He was better at crunching the numbers.

But Paul was no Greg, I was pretty sure. So if Paul was offering an honest deal here, there was a good chance Bridget would be free of him-- if I won. I figured the chances of me winning here were pretty good. I also felt in pretty good shape mentally and physically for a match.

"Okay. We'll play a game. And if I win, you'll never bother her again. Deal?" I extended my hand towards Paul.

"Deal," Paul replied, as we shook hands on it, "...and if I win, she's mine," he finished.

I didn't respond at all to that.

I think the game lasted something less than two or three hours. With all our personal fates and futures possibly hanging in the balance here (after all, I might accidentally kill Paul if we fought), I tried to play my best.

Bridget hardly said a word during all this, although she was almost never more than a few feet away from us. Paul ordered her to get him an iced tea once and she did it-- getting me one too while she was at it, although I'd not indicated any such wish. Poor Bridget. That was the biggest act of defiance she seemed capable of mounting before Paul-- even with me in the room to protect her.

From what I knew of Bridget, this timidity seemed way out of character for her. I couldn't imagine what Paul could have done to make her behave this way in his presence.

Of course, I guess to Bridget I was still somewhat of an unknown quantity too, in terms of how much protection I could truly offer her. I was a skinny little guy, and usually very easy-going. I don't think I'd ever told her about all the violence in my past. And Bridget likely didn't want any of us getting injured or possibly killed to rid her of Paul. It must be hard on women in such situations, with so much being beyond their control. And many men (like Paul), so downright stupid. Or would it be desperate? Heck: I couldn't imagine anyone being more desperate in regards to women than me at that time-- but no way would I ever force a person to be with me. How any man could stand that-- let alone enjoy it-- was beyond me.

But sure enough there are some sick bastards out there. Twisted by something somewhere into being more monsters than human beings.

Paul played reasonably well. I could tell he'd played for years, and kept in practice. For a while it was unclear which way things would go. Plus, luck can be a wildcard in any situation.

But finally the contest came to an end. The most memorable chess game of my life. Maybe even a historic game. For how many times have you ever heard of someone getting freed by the outcome of a chess game? Even in a feature film fantasy?

"I believe that's check-mate, Paul," I ventured, wondering if we'd now finally get to the fisticuffs or whatever else might be our fates. I was ready for whatever might come.

But Paul surprised me by living up to his end of the deal. We shook hands again, and I took Bridget out of there with me. And I guess Paul felt he'd saved face in some fashion, even with his loss.

Looking back on it now, I guess the fact that Paul knew Bridget and I truly weren't involved romantically throughout the time I was confronting him over her-- plus Bridget seemed involved instead with my best friend, who was presently out-of-state but might return-- all helped to confuse and defuse the personal conflict between me and Paul ourselves, and lead to the surprisingly pleasant and peaceful outcome which eventually came about.

On the other hand, I also figured that Paul was something of a bully in regards to Bridget, and simply afraid to have to confront someone more of a match for him, such as myself.

Paul also had to suffer considerable uncertainty as to my prowess. I exuded a grim determination and wealth of self-confidence in my encounters with him, partly due to my wanting to keep my promise to Steve to protect Bridget, some from my instinctive need to protect women and children from bullying, and a bit more from my own considerable experience in fighting (and suffering) in general.

It also didn't hurt that I was in pretty good physical shape due to my strenuous construction job of the period-- and stared death in the face almost daily on the job.

And of course there was Shadowfast. He was a pretty serious looking beast upon approach. And looking inside only confirmed first impressions, what with the roll cage and all. Shadow literally was a comic book style supercar, come to life.

Paul had seen Shadowfast up close and personal virtually every time he'd visited the trailer to speak to Bridget. He'd had to park alongside Shadow and walk around the car, time and time again.

As Paul's visits had usually come around dark or after, I don't know if he ever noticed the bullet holes Shadow sported at that time. Or would have recognized what they were if he had seen them. But they too were there for his possible consideration.

I believe all of that could have played a role in cowing Paul along the way.

Plus, maybe Paul thought that even if he overcame me, Steve might show up afterwards. I hadn't considered this last point until just now, as I wrote up the incident.

After I'd apparently freed her from Paul, Bridget seemed to revel in her new life. She got a little crazy happy.

After we left Paul's there was quite a lot of hugging and kissing and thanking of me, which embarrassed me a lot. Plus made me uncomfortable coming from Steve's girl. I mean, I liked it tremendously, but felt like I shouldn't have.

It was then that I kind of wished Bridget wasn't Steve's girlfriend, but mine.

Lord! What was I thinking? I forced myself to clear my head.

Sure she's gorgeous. Sure she's smart. All around great in many ways. But she's also taken!

I believe that was the end of my wild tangent for that night. I put the matter out of my head. And Bridget and I went to our separate bedrooms as usual.

With Paul now apparently out of the picture for good, Bridget wanted to run around more in our free time. Evidently with the threat of Paul always hanging over her before, she'd been afraid to make many unnecessary trips in public. So we ended up doing more shopping trips, more touristy trips, and spending more time together in general, after that.

Bridget was so happy now. And funny, too. Her sense of humor and playfulness seemed to balloon after Paul was no longer a concern.

One day Bridget and I got a bit separated on an outing and I was dismayed to discover a strange guy hitting on her as I returned. She handled it well on her own before her would-be suitor even realized I was there. But I was disturbed to realize I'd felt a bit jealous myself, rather than thinking of things on Steve's behalf.

Man! I was definitely going to have to get me a girlfriend, and soon! Agh!

So I tried to put a little more room between Bridget and myself over ensuing days, and find a girl of my own.

The trailer park I was living in seemed to be packed full of attractive single women. Some with kids, some without. Many were divorcées. I'd learned this very soon after moving in, as a couple of them (sisters) had showed up at my door to invite me to a get-together, where I got to meet lots of the park tenants all at once.

I'd intended to do some fishing in this pool from the very start, but been delayed by my early tight finances and all the extra troubles brought on by my encounters with police. Plus, I'd had to spend a couple weeks in Houston to help Steve after his car expired, too.

And then there'd been the tornado incident with my neighbor Alley-- which it seemed she'd told everyone about and so got me blacklisted thereafter...

And now that Bridget was living with me, the park women assumed we were at the very least living together in a romantic sense...no matter what we told them to the contrary.

So after a couple more rebuffs above and beyond Alley's, I didn't even bother trying to date from the park again.

My damn apocalyptic dating luck and reputation seemed to have followed me here all the way from Tennessee!

And taking Bridget in had sure been a bone-headed move on my part, in respect to dating! Ouch! But to be honest, I hadn't even considered that angle when I'd invited her.

Yeah, there were lots of times back then when I didn't think things through before I acted. So I had to try another tack.

We had a new guy on our work crew now named Joseph. Joseph and I became buddies after we discovered we had some common interests. So one day I got some advice from him on where to meet women locally.

Joseph told me he was going to a particular meeting spot a couple nights later and I should come with him. So I said I would.

I was surprised by Bridget's reaction to the news later: she actually wanted to come with us! Of course I was against that-- a stance which seemed to annoy her.

"Why don't you want me to come with you?"

"Because I'll be on the make, Bridget."

"So?"

"It'll feel weird if you're there too."

"Why?"

"I don't know...I'd just rather you didn't go, I guess."

Uh oh. Now it seemed I'd hurt her feelings. Damn it.

So I ended up taking Bridget with me. And of course I struck out lady-wise. I felt like it was Bridget's fault.

We ended up leaving the night spot together. Me, more frustrated than ever. Joseph stayed behind, having brought his own car.

"No luck huh?" Bridget asked me.

"Nope."

"Well, maybe you'll do better next time."

"Yep," was all I said back to her on the subject.

In my next such effort a few days later, I just made a random trip one night to a local bar to check things out. This time I didn't give any indication at all to Bridget about where I was going, or what I was planning to do. I just left at an opportune moment when she couldn't easily catch me with questions (I could only hope she wouldn't be a pest if I returned with someone).

Unfortunately my familiarity with the area was limited, and Bridget was able to guess my destination.

It didn't help that Shadowfast stood out like a sore thumb in a parking lot, either. Look for the darkest thing in the place: that's him.

Needless to say, after Bridget showed up, I struck out yet again. After we'd returned to the trailer in our respective cars...

"Bridget, I think we need to have a talk."

"About what?"

"About your following me around...I've got to have some space! You've got Steve, but who've I got? Nobody! I need somebody, Bridget! I'm going stir crazy here!" Bridget and I had talked pretty straight with one another from the very start. Recall how tomboyish I said she was. Plus, we were room-mates. And fast becoming friends, too. So there didn't seem much need for artifice between us. But being a young man-- and not all that experienced or knowledgeable in regards to women-- maybe I was being hopelessly naïve or idealistic there.

"You've got me," she replied.

"No! I mean yeah, we're friends and all, but I need a woman, Bridget-- for womanly things--"

"I'm a woman," she said, matter-of-factly.

Gosh, but she was being obtuse on purpose! "Yes, but you're Steve's woman, Bridget. Oh...you know what I mean!"

She smiled and I almost smiled back; her amusement was infectious. Agh! I had to get through to her somehow that these games were not good!

"Speaking of Steve, do you ever talk to him?" she changed the subject.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Have you talked to him since he went back to Tennessee?"

"No...why? Have you?" I asked. Suddenly knocked off-balance by the turn in conversation.

"No."

"So?" I prodded her.

"I was just wondering if you might be calling him anytime soon."

"Well, I guess I could. From what I know of his schedule, Friday night might be a good time."

"Can I talk to him too, then?"

"Sure!" I told her.

And with that Bridget bounced up off the couch, kissed me lightly on the cheek and said "Thanks sweetie!" Then she headed back to her room.

Bridget had played me like a violin. I'd meant to have it out with her, she'd changed the subject, had me promise her something new, then went to bed. Just like that.

Man! I needed me a woman, bad! Stuff like this was probably why Bridget was interfering with my attempts to socialize: she knew so long as I was pent up like this, it'd be easier to control me. I recognized it because I'd been through this before, with other women. Damn it. Times like this almost made me long for the simpler days I'd spent in the trailer park-- living alone.

Call night came around some days later. We had no telephone in our trailer. This was Texas in the 1970s, and our living arrangements and jobs were both highly temporary in nature.

Bridget wanted her presence during the phone call to be a surprise to Steve.

We set out in Shadowfast for the task. I stopped somewhere to get a pocket full of coins for the call, then we found a phone booth. It was after dark. We packed ourselves into the closet-sized chamber and shut the door to reduce the noise from the nearby highway.

I don't think Bridget usually wore perfume, or even used a scented soap or shampoo, so the only aroma you typically detected around her was her own subtle but natural scent. It was rare I got a whiff at all under normal conditions. But the booth was a pretty tight fit. Plus, as she was going to eavesdrop on the conversation early on, we ended up squeezing even closer together than the booth demanded of us.

She smelled really nice.

Steve answered the phone pretty quickly, and we went through the usual best buddy thing, with Bridget staying silent beside me but listening in. We had both our heads pressed up close to one another, holding the phone between us. We were both smiling because of the surprise we had in store for him. Plus, Steve knew nothing of what had transpired with me and Bridget since he'd left.

Keep in mind I was a pretty simple and straightforward fellow back then, who took his best friend at his word. A best friend who was a much more complex guy, with lots more irons in the fire than I'd ever dream of juggling. And just one of the many sets of items he juggled on a regular basis was women.

I eased our way into the subject of Bridget.

I should of known better-- especially with Bridget right there listening in and Steve unaware of it, but I was caught up in the moment, and simply oblivious to all the possible things which might have been happening with Steve since he'd left us. In my further defense, I hadn't had a whole lot of spare time to spend on such contemplation, either.

"How she's doing? Have you seen her since I left?" he asked.

"Yeah. I moved to a bigger trailer and had her move in with me to help get Paul off her back."

"Great! So you and her hit it off, huh? How's it going?"

"Uh, she's just living there. We aren't involved or anything. She's your girlfriend, after all."

"Not anymore, man. Go for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I met somebody. Katie. She's here with me now, in bed. You want to talk to her?"

I was stunned.

"Steve, Bridget's standing right here beside me listening in," I too late informed him, at a loss for what better to do in the situation. It was awful.

"Oh. I didn't realize. How's things going Bridget?" Steve carried on, trying his best to dodge any incoming rhetorical bullets.

Then Bridget spoke with him a bit, chastened a lot by what had already been said. I couldn't easily exit the booth the way we were crammed in, but I did move my head away from the receiver to try to give her a little privacy. That left me hearing mainly just her side of the conversation beyond that point. And it sounded rough.

It wasn't that Bridget was acting angry or especially hurt or anything. It's just that I knew she had to be hurting, and was controlling it as best she could. She handled herself extremely well considering the circumstances, I thought. Better than I would have under similar ones, I was sure (and later events would prove me right).

And no, Bridget didn't go ballistic on Steve at all. Far from it. Anyone unfamiliar with the situation might have noticed some tension in her demeanor and tone, but that was about it.

Steve got off pretty much scot-free there, in my opinion.

After we'd finished our call Bridget seemed oddly unmoved by the incident. I'd been afraid she might be distraught. For it'd seemed she liked Steve an awful lot (just like 99.99% of all the other women who ever met him).

I took her out for eats, hoping to cushion the blow. Everything seemed awfully normal. Bridget was her usual cheerful self. We avoided the subjects of the phone booth conversation and Steve, though.

We got home and went to our separate bedrooms, for it was getting late. I was at a loss for what else to do about the matter. I hoped Bridget was taking it as well as she appeared to be.

I was somewhat angry with Steve, but not altogether surprised. I knew him well, and had been a bit concerned from the beginning that something like this might happen eventually. But I'd also hoped he'd finally met 'the one'. I had to admit though that the more I learned about Bridget, the less chance she seemed to have to be Steve's life-mate. Bridget was maybe a little too...I don't know. She just wasn't the type I expected Steve to settle down with, when all was said and done.

Of course, if anyone had pinned me down I would've had to admit I had no idea what sort of woman could successfully keep Steve occupied and entranced for the rest of their lives.

Then there was the question of what to do with Bridget in my own regard. I'd freed her from her ex. But now it seemed I'd also freed her from Steve. The first thing she'd wanted, but not the second. Was everything a wash now? Would Bridget come to hate me after she'd had time to digest it all?

I was lying in the dark contemplating these things, when a small knock came to my door. I got out of bed and opened it to see Bridget standing there crying. It was an almost silent cry, but accompanied by whole body shivering.

Our rooms were never entirely dark, due to several street light type poles situated all about the park, with the light streaming in the lightly curtained windows. So I could see her tears streaming down her cheeks.

She came into my arms and I held her there for a while, her whole body quivering with emotion.

In my youth a woman in tears was devastating to me. It made me want to do anything to quell their sorrow.

It all seemed natural and inevitable as we began kissing and moving our hands over one another. I was dressed in the style of running shorts I'd taken to wearing for bed at Tech. They were especially well suited for the often hot summer nights in Texas.

The only item I was sure Bridget had on was the same shirt she'd been wearing for our outing. Her jeans were definitely gone though.

Keep in mind I was sort of confused at this point, wanting to console Bridget, but also still somewhat in shock over Steve's casual brush off of the whole matter, and not quite finished digesting the notion that Bridget was no longer Steve's girlfriend.

I also had this thing about not wanting to take advantage of a grieving woman. For the heroes in the movies never did such a thing! Nor, for that matter, did the heroes in the many books I'd read.

Yeah, yeah: I was young, naïve, and way too nice a guy. I'd had girls basically use that sometimes as their excuse for rejecting me in the past. Ouch! But I couldn't avoid the young part; and I'd been raised by unusually decent people, who harbored high expectations of themselves and others. A normally quiet-spoken but indefatigable hero of a father, and a prim and proper mother with a love of books and learning, who aspired to being a real life version of Mary Poppins-- only using principle and persistence rather than magic to overcome any obstacles which came her way.

Gosh and begorra if I hadn't been raised on a steady diet of romanticism and idealism there! Ha, ha! Mix that up with some tough early years in the real world, and you got the uncertain but well-meaning young man I was in Texas, in those days.

And I suppose I was lagging pretty badly in the experience department where women were concerned, too. Partly due to lack of cash making for minimal dating. But maybe mostly because I'd been hung up on Sue Anne during the time I should have been playing the field and learning my way around.

I also didn't at that time understand that there was a big difference between affectionate, intimate comforting of an upset woman, and lustful exploitation of a scared or intimidated one-- such as it seemed Paul had subjected Bridget to before I came along.

The way I saw it, both things easily led to sex. Sex of a kind the woman might not want if she wasn't so beset by circumstance. And so I found it difficult to draw a line between letting my comforting go too far, and the despicable things I suspected of Paul.

And yet I also knew Bridget was hurting. Turning her away now would not only be painful to her, I was sure, but cowardly too, on my part. For sending her away would be lots easier for me than struggling to find the line between her needs and my own-- and then not crossing it, if it turned out to be too much for her.

I didn't feel prepared for this: for approaching that particular boundary with Bridget. I wasn't sure I'd be able to sense it in time. Wasn't sure I could avoid hurting her myself, maybe worse than Steve had. Maybe-- in some way-- akin to Paul's misdeeds. Agh!

I also had to admit I owed her something. For she'd made life lots more pleasant and interesting and fun for me here, since she'd shown up. Even when her annoyance quotient hit its max, it'd still felt better by far than my best moments spent alone in this place. Or with anyone else, I was surprised to realize in the moment.

So I was somewhat at a loss on what I should do here.

Kissing and caressing felt good, felt right. Bridget seemed to need it. Even if only temporarily. And I definitely liked it. And maybe needed it more than Bridget herself, as it'd been a while since I'd been in such close contact with the fairer sex.

We stood there making out for a few minutes, running our hands over one another, and soon French kissing to beat the band. Also kissing and nipping each other about the neck and shoulders. Heavy breathing, the whole bit.

This seemed to quell Bridget's tears pretty quickly, and her sobs soon ebbed away.

It became increasingly difficult for me to decide what to do next, as Bridget seemed like a potential cornucopia of delights to me in that moment. Even if all we were going to do was make out a while to make her feel better. Our tongue play was deliciously invigorating. And yet other charms beckoned as well...

Bridget was a visually striking woman. And the more you got to know her, the more alluring she became. Her smell alone seemed intoxicating now. And holding her in my arms and kissing her was beginning to ring all my internal bells...

My normal gentlemanly self was melting like candle wax under a cutting torch.

In the back of my mind I was asking myself how the hell I'd never noticed how staggeringly beautiful she was until just now? Grrr!

So it came to be that my lust and my guilt and my concern for her all fought a three-way match for top priority as our embrace become ever more passionate. I did on occasion wonder if I was unduly pushing her; wonder if I'd be able to perceive it if I was; and unsure if I could stop myself anyway, beyond a certain point.

But soon those concerns had melted away in a firestorm of hormones. As Bridget seemed to be sharing in my mounting abandonment of inhibition.

I discovered her panties were still present, but she was wearing no bra. That was pretty normal for Bridget nightwear, so definitely no clear sign to speed up ahead. Which was disappointing, but not wholly unexpected.

Ahhh! The magical realms of Bridget! Soft; curvy; long. Did I mention Bridget was tall for a woman? Virtually my own height. So I sort of had more real estate there to examine than usual.

Oh no! I began thinking of Sue Anne. Apparently because she and Bridget shared the same approximate height.

It seemed that even as my guilt and worries over going too far with Bridget fell by the wayside, they were replaced by my unwarranted feelings of betrayal towards Sue Anne. Like my love for Sue Anne demanded precedence over any amorous feelings for someone else.

No! I didn't want to think of Sue Anne! I had to get her out of my mind, or she'd spoil everything. I knew that from past experience.

Yeah. Get back to Bridget, I told myself. Check out the differences, her uniqueness, rather than comparing her to someone else...but as I'd harbored intense feelings for Sue Anne for at least a couple years by that point, it was no easy task to banish her from my thoughts.

Even Dana had never been able to knock Sue Anne out of my head for very long.

Then, at that moment, Bridget helped me clear my mind with a new and aggressive move of her own. Grrr!

Things proceeded nicely after that, with us soon being pleasurably entangled on my bed, bereft of all our clothing.

But then, once again, thoughts of Sue Anne threatened the moment.

I tried to force the intrusive feelings from my mind. I wanted to enjoy Bridget and she me: not wallow in the dashed hopes of things past. I was sick of that! And yet, somehow powerless to free myself from it. Nooo...!

Then Bridget came to my rescue once again.

At that moment, almost as if she were reading my mind, she grabbed my head with both hands and just stared into my eyes at point blank range with an intense, serious expression, that made it impossible for me to think of anyone else. Then her face mellowed again, became joyous, and we resumed our love play.

We made love three times that night. Maybe more, depending on your definition of the term. Partly because I was so pent up from my long sexual fast of past months, and Bridget so emotional over the thing with Steve, I suppose. But it also felt like something more: I just wasn't sure what.

I believe my last conscious look at the clock showed it to be sometime after 4 AM.

What happened next? Lightningfast.

(A much improved version of this pic is coming soon!)