I looked at all the bulletin boards on the walls. There were lots of pictures of happy kids involved in various activities. Lots of smiling handicapped kids. Her work was getting services, like medical care and therapy and educational help, for kids in the foster care system. One whole bulletin board was labeled “Want.”
“Case, what does this mean, ‘Want’?”
“Those are all the programs I wish we could afford for the kids.” She gave a dry laugh. “Or I should say, that’s maybe ten percent of what I want to offer. Those are the most possible, though.”
I kept looking. They didn’t seem like frills. Educational testing, coordinating health insurance for disabled kids. Jesus.
“That’s why I want to get this grant proposal done before we go. If we get the grant, I can offer more.”
“How much is the grant for?”
“Ten thousand. I know it won’t pay for much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“What does your program need most?”
“Well. I’m the only full-timer,” she said. “I have another social worker who is only half time because that’s all I can afford. And our assistant is only at ten hours a week. If I could hire them both full time, that would help a lot.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m dreaming. Most grants are for specific programs, not for salaries. Okay, I’m done. Let me put this dress on and powder my nose and we’ll go.” She got up and came to me again, and I put my hands on her waist. “You seem...worried or something,” she said.
“No, not really. Work stress.” Really I was thinking about how I was lying to this good person, who worked all day helping poor kids. I guess it showed on my face.
“Well, stress is bad.” A smile softened her face. “Mick, do you really want to go to a fancy restaurant and then the symphony tonight?”
“Well, sure. I thought you loved classical music.”
“I do! But maybe it’s not what we need right now. I’m kind of stressed out too, and the idea of wearing heels all night....”
I laughed. “What did you have in mind?”
“How about you let me surprise you. Do you have your gym bag in your car?”
“Yes.”
“As much as I hate the idea of not getting to look at you in a tux all night.... Change into your gym clothes. Where we’re going, you’ll want to be comfortable.”
“O-kayyy,” I said. “What are you going to wear? I was kind of looking forward to seeing those legs in heels.” I gave her a fake leer, and she laughed.
“I have my gym bag too. The men’s room is down that little hallway. Meet me back here in ten minutes.”
I changed into workout clothes, and when I was done, Casey was already waiting for me. I’ve never known a woman who could get ready as fast as she can.
You should have seen her. Heels and dresses are one thing, but you should see Casey in her gym clothes. She had on a pink tank top that showed off her pretty shoulders, but the shorts were the show-stoppers. Black stretchy shiny material that clung to her ass and legs like it was painted on. They came down almost to her knees, so they didn’t show a lot of skin or look cheap. But holy mo.
So we got in the damn Prius and she gave me directions to a little African restaur
ant near her work. It was the tiniest restaurant ever--three tables. She ordered for us in a language I didn’t understand, a spicy Ethiopian stew and thin bread like pita bread. Casey showed me how to eat it with my fingers, scooping up the stew with pieces of the bread. It was delicious, and you wouldn’t believe how cheap it was. You could serve it in a much nicer restaurant, give people forks, and charge a lot more, I bet.
We got back in the car, and she still wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Turn by turn, she led me to a big strip mall, and told me where to park.
“Jump City,” the sign said, and I still didn’t know where we were. It wasn’t a bar, because some little kids and a few teens were headed towards the door. We got inside, and there were padded rooms with wall-to-wall trampolines built right into the floors, and people were jumping on them.
“Are you nuts,” I said, laughing. “I thought you were taking me to a bar to unwind.”
“Nope. We took some kids here a few weeks ago, kids with sensory problems. I thought it would make a great place for a date. Come on!”
We took our shoes off, and she led me by the hand to one of the rooms full of trampolines. We got on one of the bigger trampolines together and she started to jump. I felt like an idiot at first. I wondered how many people here were top litigators. None, I would bet. So what was I doing here? It wasn’t like the gym, where you got sweaty for a reason.
“Come on, it’s fun!” Casey yelled, and then she jumped high, landed on her butt and then bounced back up onto her feet. “Try it!”
The place had loud music with a driving beat, like a bar, but of course there was no alcohol. I did what Casey had done. She was next to me, jumping her heart out, laughing...and I thought, what the hell. I never just let myself go and do something fun without a goal. So I jumped and goofed around like a maniac. The music was old disco and funk from the 70s, way before our time, but it was fun.
Casey kept grabbing my hands, putting her arms around my shoulders. Not that I’m complaining! It was almost like we were dancing to the loud music, but with a lot more freedom. I was loving watching her. I don’t have to tell you how much fun it is to watch a pretty girl jump up and down, right?