His stare gripped me. Intelligent and intense, yet gentle. A cold had kidnapped his voice and the sound of bowling balls and people cheering didn’t help. It forced us to lean in closer. Not that I minded.
“You bowl?” Kirk asked.
“Not really. I got a sixty-five once. My highest score.” I smiled.
I’d been waiting to see him since our meeting weeks earlier and had hoped he’d show up at the radio station bowling event. He was the title sponsor, though advertisers — especially the owners of businesses, didn’t usually make appearances. That was left to their assistants or marketing people. But here he was. Kirk the owner. And he was so close that I could smell the lozenge in his mouth.
As we made small talk, both of a bit nervous—or maybe it was excitement, I sensed something in the distance watching. Staring. A presence that seemed to be zoned in on us. I couldn’t look up. I had to focus on Kirk and what he was saying. But as he turned away to cough, I stole a glance and saw it. A knight in shining armor standing conspicuously at the far end of the bowling alley.
Kirk was the owner of two Harley-Davidson dealerships. His advertising agency had always been our contact, but with the Harley 100th anniversary coming up, the dealers were planning early. And demanding a lot. For the media, it was a complicated game advertising chess attempting to please them all. And having the two big rock stations and most popular morning shows, the pressure was on us.
On the day of our big meeting, I greeted Kirk and his entourage in the front lobby and escorted them to a conference room. The account reps for each station were waiting at the far end of the long table. I knew the game. They’d let me do the heavy lift. I’d be the bad guy, if needed, answer the tough questions.
“How’d the chaps work out?” Kirk asked, sitting to my left. It took a second for his question to register.
“Oh,” I said, “they worked out fine.” I paused. “He didn’t, but they did.”
I’d made a call a couple months earlier, looking for a specific pair of chaps for my boyfriend that Christmas. It was the first and only time I’d talked directly with Kirk. The relationship had been hanging by a thread for months, but Christmas was no time to sever it, so I did my due diligence and scouted out the chaps he wanted.
“Ah,” Kirk responded.
There was a quiet and stoic strength to him, one that as attractive as it was mysterious. He was a mash-up of bad boy biker and groovy musician. I pictured him playing the sax in a dark jazz bar or maybe plucking a bass with a rock band. And his glasses were beyond cool. Purple, rectangular, plastic frames. Only someone with confidence could pull off glasses like that.
The next hour, or maybe it was more, time had vanished like a vapor, Kirk and I exchanged ideas. He fed off me, and I consumed every word he said. And all while the rest of the room sat and watched. At least I think so. I wasn’t paying attention to anyone but him. By the time we were done, we’d come up with promotional playbook, a well-planned media menu full of creative ideas.
As I headed back to my office after saying goodbye to our guests, I felt footsteps behind me.
“What was that all about?” It was a rep named Ann, someone I loved and respected, and not just for her business savvy. She knew me. She knew people.
“What was what?”
“That,” she said, waving her hand in a circle. “You two.”
“Oh stop. We clicked. That’s all. I like him. He’s very smart.”
“Smart, huh?”
“Screw you,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror at a car kissing my tail. My phone was ringing in my purse, and I had slowed down, fumbling to find it. While I’d taken a half day off, there was no such thing as disconnecting from work.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You got flowers,” Roz said. She was our receptionist and had been for years. She knew everything about everyone.
“Oh God,” I said.
“Nope. Just me.” Roz had been determined to clean up my language since the day I’d started, insisting I dump several of my favorite words. This included the casual use of the word God. And when I swore, I didn’t question dropping a quarter in her jar. There was no point in challenging Roz.
“Can you read the card?”
“You sure? Okay,” she said, not waiting for me to answer. “And they’re red roses,” she said, a lilt in her voice. “You know what that means—”
“Just read.”
“You will always be my number one love. Forever. Mike.”
“Ugh. Can you please give them to someone? I’m not coming all the way back to pick them up, and they’ll go bad over the weekend.”
“Okay, then.”
I pulled into a parking spot in front of the bookstore, feeling a wave of guilt come over me. Mike was a good guy. Just not my guy. I opened the car door and reached for my purse. I couldn’t be pulled back in. It wasn’t right for me or him. My phone rang again, startling me.
“More flowers?” I said, not bothering with a hello.
“Yep.”
“What?”
“Wild flowers and in a pretty purple vase. Want me to read the card?”
“Sure,” I said, lighting a cigarette.
As Roz slowly read, this time with no sugary affect, a long ash fell onto my peacoat—actually, my daughter’s peacoat. One that I had borrowed without her permission. It bounced across my lap leaving a trail of small holes.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I yelled.
“That’ll be seventy-five—”
“Roz! I just lit my coat on fire.”
“Shouldn’t smoke. Want me to give these flowers to someone, too?”
“No. I’ll be right back.”
Email marathons consumed the days ahead, neither Kirk nor I quite sure what was next or whose move it was. It wasn’t a game, nor was it fear. We were busy. He was going through a divorce, not to mention the fact that he was a client. And I was a single mom with a lot on my plate. The emails provided a safe and easy way to get to know each other. What’s your favorite salad dressing? We both liked balsamic. And movie? And what about your favorite motorcycle, he had asked me, assuming I liked to ride. I suppose the chaps suggested it, though it was far from the truth. Heritage Soft Tail, I had told him. It was the only one I knew but I wasn’t ready to tell him that.
Eventually, emails led to phone calls, and phone calls led to our first date.
On March 17, 2003 Kirk picked me up and drove to the Eastside. He never mentioned where we were going, which was intoxicating in its own right. A man in charge. One with purple glass and intense eyes. As we carefully crossed the icy parking lot, he casually tucked something in my coat pocket. I smiled but didn’t check to see what it was. I wanted to be cool like him. Unrushed. Comfortable in my own skin. Strongly present.
We sat at a small table in the middle of the quaint Irish bar. I wasn’t nervous, but I was excited. He was as attractive as I’d remembered and looked at me like he had at the bowling alley. It was a look like he knew me. And like I could trust him. I quickly found myself wanting to tell him everything, to tick off each year of my life, to celebrate my successes and share my stumbles.
As people moved about the bar, closing in on us but not disrupted the special little bubble we’d found ourselves in, I saw something gleaming on the far wall. I clasped my hand over my mouth, unable to hide my surprise.
“Oh my God,” I said.
The corners of Kirk’s eyes crinkled and his lips turned upward. Not in a full smile. He didn’t do the full smile thing unless he was outright laughing. This was more of a smirk but without attitude. Like he had a secret.
“I saw it when we walked in. And the one at the bowling alley.”
“You did? That’s two knights. Two,” I said. “And in the strangest places. I mean, who would have thought…what do you think it means?”
Endless love notes later, as well as numerous surprise chocolates left in my coat pockets, several motorcycle trips that almost did me in, one farting dog, two stepsons who enjoyed testing the limits, and a teenage daughter who took her time warming up, we did it.
It was October 29, 2005 at four o’clock in the afternoon when we stood before friends and family at the Unitarian Church in downtown Milwaukee. Sun streamed through the stained glass windows and tears ran down our cheeks. And without hesitation or a single question or doubt, I married my knight in shining armor.
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