He, at six foot-three inches, remembered she was slightly taller. And, on that first evening, in high heels, she was towering.
He could not remember being asked to be her escort for her birthday dinner at the country club. Clouded in his memory was the birthday gift he must have given her. Nor could he remember picking her up or even driving her back to her parents’ six-acre country estate.
But he did remember being introduced to her parents at the country club, and the maître de greeting her by name.
He remembered her basement with the two-lane bowling alley he never used, the soft drink fountain with every Pepsi product at the ready, the stereo system with soft music, and the easy feel of the leather divan on his skin.
He also remembered the way she inched closer, brought her long legs under her hips, smiled, partially unbuttoned her blouse, then leaned back, removed her shoes, and extended her legs toward him.
He remembered two more things: her legs were bare, and her feet were bigger than his.