Is it Written on My Face?
She stood silently amidst the chaos of exuberant revelers; it was New Year's Eve in Times Square.
As she stood and watched introspectively, her thoughts took her back a year ago when she was on this very spot...with him, but she wasn't crying, nor was she sad.
She met him a few months before the New Year on a dating site; he found her out of millions of others just because of what he saw in her face and what she wrote in her profile.
And it was last year on New Year's Eve that they stood where she is standing tonight and after a long and passionate kiss at midnight, they retired to his place in Chelsea where they spent the next morning nursing their hangovers in painful bliss.
Over the next few months, she was getting more work as an actress, he was not and beginning to run out of options until one day he was offered a job with a theatre company in Phoenix. After that offer, their days seemed to be numbered. She offered to support him, but he knew he had to take the job for his own sanity. That was in May.
But tonight, here in Times Square, it was she who was leaving New York. Her show had closed prematurely in November and she was on her last financial leg. Something had drawn her to Times Square even though she was packed and ready to leave that next morning and move back to Charleston where there was a job waiting for her.
A voice broke through to her as she stood among the crowd."I couldn't help but notice that you are the only stationary person in sight. Everyone around you is jumping around, dancing and...you know...celebrating and yet, there you stand."
"Huh...I didn't notice" she saw the young woman who had spoken for the first time. She was young, alone and also noticeably sober. "I could say the same for you."
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding. I only noticed that the two of us are the only people who seem to be alone."
She studied her. She appeared to be as sober as she and...alone as well. "So what brings you here?" she decided to let her memories loose for a while.
"Just got in this afternoon from Olympia and I had always wondered what it would be like to come here on New Year's Eve, so I did; quite a scene."
"Let me guess; new in town and trying to have your brush with fame on Broadway." She said in a way that sounded sarcastic, even though she didn't really mean it that way.
"I'm afraid it must be written on my face. I should have scrubbed a bit harder when I took my shower" the young woman laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
"No, not really, your face is fine...it's a nice face and I'll bet you're a terrific singer and actress. It's just that this town is filled with terrific singers and actresses...can you dance?"
"Enough to get by...for a soprano anyway" she lamented
"Thank you for not being an alto. Those women always cause me to sing in uncomfortable keys." She also laughed.
"Have we met...I mean before tonight" she said without thinking, her mind going back to the memories that brought her to Times Square to begin with.
"That would have been highly unlikely unless you spent time in Olympia" the young woman said.
"Right, near impossible, isn't it?" She was coming back to the present. "Say, what is it about this place?" she blurted out.
"I can't help but notice that you seem to be drifting between where you are and someplace else" they young woman observed.
"Yes...and no. I'm drifting, but I am right here...seems I'm always ending up right here." She nodded.
"This is a pretty important place...I mean for you." the young woman said, in a way that made her feel strangely like she had known this self-confessed soprano much longer than this brief encounter.
"Yes, I spent last New Year's here with a man that I met...well, not here, but on a dating site. We had gotten together because we both had significant encounters in Times Square, encounters that were brief and final...well, that was the reason he found me on the site anyways."
"What do you mean 'final'?"
"I mean the beginning...and the end."
As they watched the festivities before them, she recalled the story to this young woman from Olympia.
"He saw my picture on a dating site and wrote. 'When I saw your picture it reminded me of someone I knew very briefly; a woman I met in Times Square. She had a train ticket and she was just walking along Broadway with her suitcase. We only spent an hour together, but I wanted to drop everything and go to Milwaukee with her."
"But he didn't." the young woman offered.
"No, and he regretted that he never got her name or address"
"And, you also have a story like that?" the young woman asked.
"A few years back, I was just arriving, having landed a part in a big show; I had met a man, here in Times Square. He was leaving, throwing in the towel and going back to Jackson Mississippi."
"This chance encounter must have been something..." the young woman started.
"It was...well, magical. I hate using that word...but it was. Anyway, I never got his name or address or anything. The guy from the dating site and I had shared an eerily similar experience." She said solemnly. "I was just thinking that my time here is ending... and yours, well, it's just beginning.
"Beginning isn't the word I would use, but that doesn't matter you're leaving and I'm coming" the young woman said.
"What is it about this place; can't people get their life schedules to correspond?!" she said loudly.
"Now, that wouldn't be very realistic, would it? This is the avenue of broken dreams, not reconciliation."
She laughed. "That's funny, Broadway, the street of reconciliation. It would never sell. You know, I get the feeling that I've been playing a part in a cruel cycle-of-life-tragedy ever since I got to this town."
"And you want to break the cycle? Defy the muse of tragedy...what was her name?" the young woman was strangely smiling.
"Melpomene (/mɛlˈpɒmɪniː)" she sighed, "Wicked old bitch...actually a young bitch if my Greek serves me."
"Didn't she specialize in song and dance?" the young woman offered grinning just a bit more than was natural.
"Yeah, sang and danced all over the corpses of hope and joy".
"But, you're different", the young woman said "you've been in a big show; you're on your way up."
"Yes, I have..." she said, thinking out loud.
"But, you're still determined to ruin her fun?" the young woman asked.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do" she averred.
"Pity, you have so much promise. The next show could easily be your big break." The young woman assured her.
"No." she said with renewed determination.
"So, you're going to change your destination, aren't you? But you'll still be leaving". The young woman said as if she already knew the answer.
"You know, I'm very glad to have met you...I can't seem to shake the feeling that I've met you before...but that's not possible. I've never been to Olympia...how did you know I've decided to change my destination?"
"I had been watching you. You're not that hard to read."
"Must have been written on my face; damn that new soap, it's worthless." She laughed.
"So you're going...?"
"Yes, to Phoenix...this time I have a name and an address."
The young woman took her hand. "Normally I would be singing and dancing with this crowd, but I had to talk to you first...and give you a proper send off."
"Send off, but we've just met..."
"Yes, that's right, we just met. My name is...well, people call me Mel, it's short for...oh never mind, it isn't important. If you come back to NY, I hope you'll come back stage to see me when I get my first big show."
"Pretty sure of yourself, are you; but I will, even if it's a little show." She said watching as the young woman left her and joined the crowd. And then she thought she saw her dancing.
It Happened on Wilshire Blvd.
The din of falling water obscured all other sounds even though she stood on one of the busiest streets in Los Angeles.
"I couldn't help notice that you're very wet." A voice barely audible crept into her consciousness.
"That fountain has never been properly calibrated; I see it splash people all the time. Would you like a towel?"
Who was this uninvited presence? She slanted her head to behold a somewhat elderly man in a blue blazer just staring at her – hardly an expression on his face – just looking at her.
"You carry towels around with you?" she managed.
The man wasn't quite an intrusion because he was keeping his distance, but she was surprised she was able to hear him over the splashing waters. She was wet from the fountain, but it didn't concern her right now.
"Not normally, but I have a roll of paper towels."
"I'm sure the sun will do the job", she sighed, realizing that her slacks were completely soaked. She felt the moisture cold, but not terribly uncomfortable.
"That may take some time", he tilted his head at the sky which had a thick cloud cover.
"It doesn't matter...I've got time." She pursed her lips, "I just walked, or rather, stormed off my job."
"What would be a storm without precipitation?" He mused, "I figured something was going on, you've been standing in the splatter of this fountain for at least a half an hour." again, looking at her without expression.
"You've been watching me for ..." she started, alarmed.
"I noticed you on my way to Walgreens and when I came by here again...well, there you still were."
"I guess that's better." She said.
"Yes, it would appear to be less...creepy", he almost smiled. He was carrying two bags clearly marked 'Walgreens', so his story held up.
"My boss locked me in his office..." she began to cry.
"With him in it?" the man said with concern, trying to keep her engaged.
"Yes," she sobbed.
"I wish there was something I could do for you...here, I have some Gatorade" he put down his bags and removed a plastic bottle full of blue liquid and handed it to her, again retreating to a comfortable distance.
She opened the bottle and took several gulps, not realizing how thirsty she was "It's cold," she finally said reclosing the bottle.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?" he remained the same distance from her as if exercising the kind of caution one would with a cornered animal. Just then, he opened the roll of paper towels and tore off several sheets holding it out to her. She took a step towards him, gently receiving the towels and immediately covered her face with them.
"A little harsh for tissue." He observed.
"You're kind of handy to have around," she said collecting herself and sniffling. He stood expectantly, awaiting a sign from her.
"Stay a minute, I may need something else from your bags." She started to laugh.
"I've got a quart of motor oil – 5W-20." He allowed himself to join the brief laughter.
"Yeah, that's what I need," her laughter abating.
"Same as your car?" he had a semi serious look.
She shook her head helplessly, "I couldn't tell you..." she looked at him and noticed his deep brown eyes and his uncannily calm demeanor. He was so calm and he seemed genuinely concerned, even though he did just come out of the blue.
"I get that, I only recently found that all cars do not take the same type of oil...the hard way, I'm afraid." He chuckled slightly, revealing a pair of almost irresistible dimples.
"Are you some kind of angel...like in 'It's a Wonderful Life'?"
"I've seen the movie. What if my mission was to supply you with Gatorade and paper towel?"
"...and that's how you earn your wings." She had forgotten how soaked she was and marveled that she still did not feel a chill. "If it were only that simple."
"How did you get out?" he said being suddenly serious.
"I screamed."
"He let you out when you screamed?"
"Not at first. He threatened me and then I grabbed the lamp on his desk and threw it at him."
"You knocked him out, took the key from his trousers and made your escape?" he offered.
"I wish...the chord of the lamp caught it before it hit him and the damn thing swung back and caught me on the shoulder." She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a purple blotch with a cut and some blood.
"I have some aloe for that." He dug back into one of his bags producing a tube of aloe, opened it, squeezed some of the gel onto his left hand and then stopped short of applying it to her wound. "I'm sorry, you probably want to put this on yourself...considering the circumstances."
She gazed at him and thought 'who was this completely considerate...and handy man. She offered her shoulder to him. "It's okay." He applied the aloe to her wound.
"So, how did you get out?" he again stepped back to his original position.
"When the lamp hit me, I got so mad I told him my brother was a football player and would break both of his arms!"
"Did he believe you?"
"He just said 'you don't have to make such a big deal out of it, I was only playing'...then, the bastard opened the door! He was laughing like it was some kind of a joke.
"Some joke." The man said solemnly.
"Do you have any food in those bags of yours?" she said more lighthearted than she expected to feel.
"Not in the bags, but my favorite coffee shop is just up the block."
"Do angels eat lunch?"
"Now, that would be telling you more than you need to know." He said.
"It would be my treat...oh, what am I saying? I'm soaked to the bone, jobless and my shoulder...well my shoulder was aching. Are you sure that gel you put on my arm was aloe?"
"Says so on the tube," he pulled it out and showed her.
"I am very hungry...it's strange, that's the only thing I seem to feel right now."
"You would think there would be a gambit of emotions possessing you right now, considering what you've just been through." He said shaking his head and breaking into a smile. "Follow me, I'll take you to my coffee shop, I understand the ladies room there is kept quite clean...or at least that's what I've heard."
She walked with him down the block. The only sound she heard was the squishing sounds that her slacks and shoes made as she made her strides.
The man opened the door for her and led her to a booth beside the window. "This is my booth, the ladies room is right over there."
She thanked him and walked to the ladies room, looking back one time to catch the man smiling at her with a strange gleam in his eyes.
When she returned to the booth, the man was gone. In his place was a much younger man, also wearing a blue blazer. He calmly motioned for her to sit opposite him in the booth.
"So, what will it be? This place makes an omelet that many would describe as..."
"Heavenly... " she offered.
"Now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" he chuckled revealing a pair of almost irresistible dimples.
Like a Queen on a Throne
Standing in an antique gallery, she wasn't sure how she had ended up there – it was her lunch hour and she had walked past this shop hundreds of time, but this was the first time she actually walked in...as if heeding a beckoning call, silent, but forceful.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" a man was standing next to her. He was commenting on a wing chair that was right before her. She had aimlessly wondered through the shop and when she saw the chair she stopped, and now she was standing in front of it.
The man continued, "Wing chairs always make me think of thrones."
She studied the chair; "It's the wrong color."
"What do you mean?"
"The fabric needs to be blue." She said emphatically.
"Like royal blue? For a queen?"
"Yes, that was the color of my throne." She started "I'm sorry – I don't know why I came in here today but, for some reason I had to come in" she stopped for a moment, slightly embarrassed at what she was saying, "Please, don't mind me."
"Now it's my turn to be sorry. I think I just stepped into a private story." He said trying to lighten the moment "were you...rather, are you a queen?"
She laughed, "No, just played one on a chair like this one."
"It must have been a pretty special chair."
She turned to study the man. She looked him up and down. He had a curious look on his face...a kind look as well.
"What bought you here?" she asked.
"I dabble in old furniture; more of a hobby than an avocation" he said.
"You've seen this type of chair before" she asked, experiencing an unexpected connection to him; she felt like she had been transplanted into some other dimension, but it felt so comfortable that she didn't want it to stop. He must have felt something too.
"Would it be possible for us to meet again?" he said, as if reading her mind.
"We will" she said without any thought, "tomorrow, same time?"
They did meet the next day and each day after that for a couple of weeks. During those meetings she told him the story of when she was 3 years old how her mother gave her mother a wing chair. At 3, she thought it was a throne and she was the queen. The chair would continue to be the primary fascination for her on each visit to grandmas. When she was 16, her parents divorced and she was spending time with both her mother and her father who was living in a nearby town. Her mother had taken ill and tragically died soon thereafter and, that same year, she lost her grandmother.
She spent the next few years living with her father full time. There were no more trips to grandmas and when she did collect herself enough to inquire about the chair, no one seemed to know where it had gone. It seemed to have vanished. When she was 19, her father fell in love and re-married. From then on she had been on her own.
During the two weeks that she had met the man in the antique gallery, she had told him this story and had even been able to share a few pictures of 'the chair' with him.
They loved each other's company and after those first two weeks, they saw each other daily, not at the antique gallery, but at her place, his place, company events and at every opportunity. They were a couple.
The day of her 33rd birthday, he showed up at her door even before she had had a chance to make coffee.
"Close your eyes." He said as he walked in and positioned her in the center of the room.
"Is it a surprise?" she asked coyly
"What do you think?"
"Okay, wise guy, I meant that as a rhetorical question...what's that moving on my leg?"
"It's your cat." He said calmly, "keep your eyes closed."
"I don't have a cat," she said dryly, but of course she did.
The man had to laugh.
"I think we've established that the surprise is not a bird, chipmunk or something from the rodent family." She continued, "Or the cat that you insist I have would be all over it."
"I love trying to surprise you. You make the lead-up more entertaining than the surprise." He said "I need you to stand here with your eyes closed for just a few seconds while I get something"
"Is it a new car?" she teased.
"Did I even suggest that we're playing 20 questions?"
"You didn't have to," she laughed again, "that was one, and I have 19 more. Does it use batteries?"
"No." he said as he dashed out the front door and reentered as quickly as he could. "Are they still closed?"
"I'm getting tired of this." She sighed.
"Well, than here, have a seat...your majesty."
He sat her down and said "you can open them now." She didn't.
"I'm not going to open them because I want to ask one more question. Am I sitting on a wing chair with blue fabric?"
"Yes, you are."
"One more question before I open my eyes. Is this the same chair from the antique gallery that you had reupholstered?"
"No, it isn't." He said tenderly as he took her hand. She gripped the hand tightly.
"You...you found it?" her excitement caused her to open her eyes. She jumped up and looked at it in disbelief.
"I couldn't say for sure; I followed every possible lead. I even found your grandmother's estate record; it didn't lead to any furniture. But I did find this one, completely by accident, at a Salvation Army store" he explained.
"That doesn't matter, I love it and I love you." She said wrapping her arms around him. Then she remembered something. "I was a bad girl when I was 10 and I took a knife and put the letter X inside the left front leg of the chair." She knelt down to check, but stopped herself. "Of course, if it's not there, I'll always know that this was a beautiful effort from the man I love to give me back a piece of my past, but only...an effort. If the mark is there, then I'll know that it was more than an effort, but the actual chair."
"Which will it be?" he said expectantly.
"I think it would be best to leave that for my next birthday."
She never did look; not the next birthday or the next. She was now with the man she was meant to be with and they formed their own family. She had a daughter who also started sitting on the chair pretending to be a queen.
One day she told her daughter about how she too, would sit on a chair very much like this one, pretending to be a queen. She also told her about the time she took a knife and made an X on one of the legs.
Later that same evening, she heard from the kitchen, her daughter in the front room; "Ouch!" her daughter screamed.
She rushed in to find her daughter on the floor next to the chair sucking her index finger.
"What's wrong, darling? Did you cut yourself?" she got down on the floor next to her child.
"I cut my finger" her daughter winced.
"How?" she said, putting her arm around the girl "what did you do?"
"I made an X on the leg" the daughter said pointing to the leg of the chair with her good hand.
"Dear; what made you do that?" Let me see your finger."
As her daughter held her cut finger out to her mother, she said "I wanted this to be like your chair."
"Oh, honey; this chair is perfect...and now, it's more than perfect."
We've met before
They had been dating for 6 months and from the moment they met, both of them were convinced that they had known each other before, but they just could not put their finger on where or when.
At a dinner party one night, she again told her story. "We were both 20 years old living in different parts of Atlanta. We went to different high schools and I went to Georgia Tech, he went to University of Georgia, but...in 1989 we were both doing spring break at Daytona Beach, the exact same week."
"But there might have been half a million kids there." The host, who had heard the story before chimed in, as he always did at this point.
She looked at her boyfriend who was unusually silent at this point in the story. He just smiled.
"Yes, that's true," she continued, "but that's the best we can do. Don says that we were both so drunk that week, it's very possible that our memories are blurry."
"What about your theory about the CES Show in Las Vegas?" the host said on cue.
She looked at Don for his input, but again, all she got from him was this wry smile that had been going on since this telling of the 'story' had begun.
"That was in 1995. Don was staying at the Four Queens, I was at the Hilton, but you would have thought we would have remembered the meeting. We've pretty much ruled that one out."
"So the saga continues." The host said clearing the table. "Two people who were born in Southern California and grew up in two separate cities both move to Atlanta with their families when they are young, go to different high schools, different colleges and then meet online and fall in love under the premise that they had met in a former life. It's a great story even if there might not be a concrete solution, but you two are great together...whether you did meet before or not. I'm afraid I have to catch a flight very early tomorrow morning, so I'm going to say goodnight."
As the couple walked to their car, she grabbed his arm "I'm beginning to wonder how important this really is."
He opened the door for her and kissed her. "It may be and it might not, but I'm glad we met this time and I'm not letting go."
"At least our relationship is built on a solid foundation, not superficial like most people." She laughed.
As they drove home she mused "You didn't participate in our story tonight at all. All I got from you was that cat-ate-the-canary smile you've seemed to have mastered."
"Hmmm remember that box that my sister sent to me on Wednesday?"
"Was it piles of unmarked bills?" she said in mock excitement. "If it is, I want to buy an island."
"I know when and where..." he started
"In the Caribbean; somewhere near the Bahamas?"
"No, us, I know where and when we met."
She stopped laughing "Well tell me...no, don't tell me. Now that you know I want to see if I can figure it out"
"Okay, I'll answer all questions and I'll give you hints along the way. The first hint is it's a picture of us."
"This is so exciting, we were right all along." She squeezed his arm causing him to veer the car slightly.
"Hey, calm down...my sister sent me a scrapbook and there is a picture in it of us...together."
"Was it a picture that one of us had someone take?" she said getting in to the game.
"No, we didn't ask for the picture. It was taken by a professional photographer...and there was a caption under it that was a mistake."
"Caption...was this in a newspaper?"
"Yes it was."
"Was this something that we should be embarrassed about? Did we do something wrong? Was this while we were drunk in Daytona?"
"That's a lot of questions, but no, we weren't drunk and we didn't do anything wrong."
"How about the part about being embarrassed?"
"We might have been, but the people around us wouldn't have been. They would have seen the whole thing as cute...or more accurately as 'darling'."
She remained puzzled for a moment and put her hand on his face. "Darling is something adults say about children. Pull over, let's park by the river...I don't want to go home yet, not until we finish this."
He pulled the car where they could see the river and turned it off. "I'd like to start necking now, but we have business first."
"That's right...darling." She chuckled.
"Do you need another clue?" he asked
"No, the darling part may be enough for now. We had to be young."
"That's right" he said urging her to continue
"The picture was in a paper...the only one we used to get was the Pasadena Star News."
"That's the one." He smiled broadly.
"And the caption was a mistake..." she said closing her eyes, trying to recall some forgotten childhood event.
"I'm going to give you one last one...it was my first kiss...other than from my mother."
Slowly she realized what it was. "We were at some event to find the junior princess and prince of the Rose Parade and there was a boy that I thought was so cute that I kept hanging around him until a photographer told me 'get close to him so I can take your picture. Then he told me 'put your face next to his' and that's when I kissed him...you were that boy."
She kissed him now in the moonlight and he spoke quietly "we were eight and the next day they put that picture in the newspaper mistakenly proclaiming us the princess and prince of the Rose Parade."
"We're just picking up where we left off." He said shaking his head. "How does it feel to have the mystery solved?"
"I'd like to replicate that scene...with a picture of us now."
"That's the rest of my surprise for you. " he reached to the back seat of the car and showed her a framed picture ...black and white and side by side of them last night in an identical pose.
"So that was the reason for posing for that picture last night...I thought you were being goofy."
"I did it for the picture, but I was hoping that the pose would jar your memory."
"It certainly does now, my mistakenly crowned prince."
"At your pleasure, my mistakenly crowned princess."
The Bellhop Prince
Every time she saw him in his bellman's uniform, standing tall and proud, she couldn't help but wonder why this man, who couldn't have been much older than 35(an odd age where most of the bell hops were either working their way through college or retirees) seemed to take such delight in his position. He was self-assured and seemingly cut out for bigger things; but there he was; always the smile; never forced; warm and friendly, suggesting a stature far beyond his position. Not to mention that she also found herself strongly attracted to him.
She had come to this hotel only a couple of months ago to take charge of event planning. As a result of her job, she would only catch a glimpse of this fine gentleman once or twice a day when she had business in the lobby. She looked forward to those occasional opportunities to observe this 'mystery man' as she had come to think of him.
"Harold is an enigma," the desk manager said one day when she had asked about him, "there are several stories floating around about him, but I couldn't tell you how much truth there is in any of them."
"Aren't you just a bit curious?" she asked.
"Sure, but the man is a hotel's dream; I don't want to find out something that I wish I hadn't."
"A dream...or an anomaly" she said catching sight of 'Harold' pushing a luggage cart behind a family of five through the lobby." Without another word, she found herself following the family who was following Harold. She watched as he loaded the luggage into their awaiting SUV. He finished the task and tipped his cap to the family and quickly turned to reenter the lobby before there was any time for the issue of a tip to come up.
As he re-entered the lobby, she stood in his way, making sure that he had to either come right in front of her or purposely avoid her. To her surprise, he walked right up to her.
'You're Ms. Harrison, the new event planner. I'm Harold; I'm sorry I hadn't welcomed you to the Regal before; you might call this my first chance. I hope you're enjoying it here."
"I am, thank you" she said extending her hand "I've noticed you; I'm told that you're a hotelier's dream."
"Who have you been talking to?" he said chuckling "one of the guests, I hope."
"It was the desk manager; I think his name is Stuart."
"Just doing my job; is there something I can do to help you?" he said seeming like he had expected this impromptu meeting.
"Actually, there is" she began.
"You know, if it's going to be something that takes me out of service, I'd have to clear it with the management..."
"Nothing like that; it's my curiosity more than anything" she said feeling that strange feeling one gets when one is walking into a surprise party meant for you.
"Oh; I see" he said smiling broadly.
"Harold, I can't help but wonder...oh, never mind, it isn't important" she said thinking better of the question she had in mind
"If you are asking me why I'm a bell hop...all I can say is 'it's my job'."
"Yes, I understand that..." she started, not knowing where she was going.
"I could tell you a story, but I don't want to bore you" he said with a hint of a flirtation.
"I wouldn't be bored; I guarantee it."
"Or" he said "anything I tell you might be just that; a story. I have to confess, I've noticed you as well; I'd rather not begin our relationship with fabrications."
"No, don't do that. Meet me at the bar after you get off; I don't care what time, I'd like to talk" she said hoping that he would not offer any resistance.
"I am only saying yes because it's you. I'm off at 9."
At 9, she sat at the bar, a gin martini half-finished in front of her, expecting to meet the out-of-place gentleman; still in uniform, but instead the man who took the seat next to her had a blue polo shirt and khakis; athletic, slender and...so good looking.
"Ms. Harrison..."
"Please, call me Courtney..."
"Alright, Courtney; this is the first time I have had drinks with any of the employees..."
"We haven't gotten that far yet; you better order and catch up." She signaled the bartender who was lurking close by.
"Bourbon...on the rocks" he said making eye contact with the bartender. The bartender poured the drink and placed it in front of him within seconds.
"This is better" he said to her tipping the glass in a mini toast and taking a drink, "now we are official. By the way; you look wonderful." He said without a hint of self-consciousness.
"I was going to say the same for you." she said saluting him with her martini glass and taking a drink.
"Thanks; I'm glad you asked me out."
"Is that was this is? I thought it was just two co-workers unwinding." She said holding up her olive on the little plastic spear.
"Then I guess we should start...unwinding, that is."
They both drank in momentary silence until she motioned to the bartender to bring a second round.
"I'm going to make sure you loosen your tongue...I hope you don't mind" she said finishing her drink.
"I can't think of anyone who I'd rather take advantage of me" he said finishing his drink and putting his hand on the newly arrived one.
She placed her hand on his before he could lift the glass. "You're not going to leave this bar as the mystery man...I'm not going to let you."
He looked at her hand on his and smiled. "Anything I tell you tonight; you have to keep between the two of us."
"That bad, huh?" she looked at him expectantly.
"It's not 'bad', but you have to promise."
"Do I have to swear on something?" she said lightly.
"Your job," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.
"My job; what is this?" she said losing the lightness in her voice.
"Probably a mistake...well, no, I'm getting to a point where my charade may have played itself out." He said thinking it over.
"What are you talking about?"
"Being a bell hop has given me a unique and valuable perspective of how guests perceive this hotel. I'm just not quite sure I'm ready to abandon that special viewpoint yet."
"I'm confused," she said "what are you, the house detective?"
"Something like that" he began.
"I didn't know hotels still had detectives..."
"They don't" he said dryly.
"So, what are you; a spy for the competition?"
"I can tell you're not going to let this go without getting what you want" he said taking a drink.
"You are getting to know me, and yes, I'm all ears...spill it" she said not taking her eyes off of his chiseled face.
"Do you like baseball?" he said as if he was going to start to tell a story.
"Sure, but what does that have to do with..."
"Well, I love it – so much so that I spent 18 years in the minor leagues."
"You're a ball player..."
"A catcher" he said quietly.
"You mean like Kevin Costner in Bull Durham...say, didn't he play an ex catcher in Tin Cup as well?"
"Yes, I believe he did..."
"So, you called all the shots while the pitcher got all the credit?" she laughed as she picked up her phone and Googled him; and there he was with a picture of him standing on the mound with his arm around another player, who she guessed must have been a pitcher. "I see you're not trying to tell me a tall tale" she said showing him the picture.
"Great shot" he said looking at it, "my lifetime batting average was 2.13; never got called up...until 6 months ago when my father died."
"Your father died and you got called up?" she pondered, trying to piece the story together in her head.
"I got the call to come home...to this hotel." He continued.
"Just who was your father?" she said beginning to see the picture.
"He owned this hotel" he said as if that was the end of the story by giving her a knowing look and then picking up his glass.
"This is...your bar...your hotel..." she said slowly, "and...you're my boss."
"Can you ever forgive me?" he said, acting shy for the first time.
"And I had my heart set on a romance with an ex pickpocket who had gone straight by being a bell hop...or even better, a pickpocket that continued his vocation as a bell hop." She feigned a sigh "my dreams are completely shattered. You cad" she finished with a warm laugh.
"Yes, I've ruined everything, haven't I?"
"Yes, you have" she gazed into his eyes, "you can earn my forgiveness, however."
"I was hoping..." he started.
"You're going to have to meet me every night, for the time being, right here at your bar; this one, the one in your hotel."
"That sounds easy enough."
"And, you have to make me a promise that you'll keep your secret a bit longer...at least until I say it's okay to reveal it to others" she said sternly.
"You've got me hostage; a happy one, if there is such a thing; but, why?"
"You know how people are; they talk. I want to be dating the mystery man bell hop, that's much more fun for gossip than dating the big boss; and...you keep your valuable perspective; works for both of us...don't you think?"
They did meet every night for the next few weeks. There was talk and they both found it enormously humorous. One night when they met at the bar, a man appeared, she recognized him immediately as the team mate she had seen in the picture she had Googled. He introduced himself to her and then asked: "I'd like to have you arrange an engagement party for me."
Over the next few weeks the ex-team mate worked out all the details with her and the date was set.
The night of the party she found it very strange (and somewhat alarming) that the entire staff of the hotel was in attendance along with the other guests. As the crowd gathered around the podium, her bell hop prince took the stage.
"I want to thank you all for coming tonight, but first I have an announcement" The crowd gathered around "When the owner of this hotel died several months ago, there was named a new owner; the man's son. That son is me."
The crowd buzzed. Many congratulated themselves for having suspected all the time; many were in complete shock.
Courtney made her way to the stage in a frantic rage; "What's going on here; this is supposed to be an engagement party; what are you doing?" she had grabbed her prince and was trying to pull him off the stage.
"I know this isn't what you had planned" he said, managing to hold her in place, "But, it is what I have been planning...will you marry me?"
"Yes, of course, but you can't just crash this event..."
He pulled a box containing a ring out of his pocket and dropped down on one knee. A hush fell over the crowd. She looked at all the people and they were all fixated on her. "Oh" she said realizing that she had planned her own engagement party.
The Bread maker
She made bread. She also made rolls, cake, cookies and bagels, but she really considered herself a bread maker. There was a man 8 years ago taught her the art of bread making. She fell in love with the art and then with him.
Each morning she awoke at 4am to arrive at the bakery by 5 where she applied her craft. Her social life consisted of occasional early dinners with co-workers or meeting the best friend of the man she loved for drinks. The friend wanted more out of the relationship, but she couldn't see him as any more than a brother just as the baker couldn't see her as anything more than a sister. Seeing the friend made her feel connected to the man she wanted like a semi-comfortable form of torture. But, her six day a week labor in the bakery was where she diverted her passions, putting all of it into the making of a perfect sourdough.
The bakery was a kitchen with a large window separating it from the counter area. Customers could watch the bakers while at the counter and could even see most of what was going on in the kitchen from the 9 tables that were in the area in front of the counter.
She went about her work each day, unaware that there was someone watching her. She was being watched each morning at around the same time. He was a customer who started coming in about 2 years ago. He noticed her the first time he came in as he caught a glimpse of her through the window. He was taken by her calm focus, her tall but slight frame and what looked to be a hint of joy that showed on her otherwise stoic face as she worked the dough and formed the loaves. The second day, he watched through the window, but this time he waited to see if she would come out to the front of the store. That day she didn't, but as the days went by, he got to see her a bit closer as she would deliver trays of bread to the racks behind the counter, grab a cup of coffee and then return behind the window. Once or twice he was able to catch her eye. He always positioned himself close to the kitchen door. He'd always smile at her although she would barely notice and politely smile back when she did...but oh, so briefly.
That went on for several months – an occasional exchange of very brief smiles, but nothing more. He would dream about her at night and then watch her each morning.
She would dream as well. Her dreams had been filled with her longing for the baker who only saw her as a sister; the man who taught her the craft that she now employed with a passion that had nowhere else to go. But, over the last few months, another man appeared in her dreams. She couldn't make out his face, but she would always see him smiling at her from afar. Recently, the dreams about her baker mentor would be more about the man smiling at her than her desire for the man she could not have.
Today was as always. She was bringing a tray of perfect sourdough loaves to the racks behind the counter, but instead of turning to get a cup of coffee or to return to the kitchen, she stood motionless. She felt a presence that caused her to gasp for air. As she turned towards the counter, the smiling man was standing there. Slowly, she turned to him and caught his gaze. She didn't smile back, she looked at his smile and it felt so familiar. Then she saw the man for the first time...at least it felt like the first time. He was about her age, pleasant looking with sandy hair that looked just a bit longer than it should have been, but that smile.
"I was hoping to one day introduce myself ..." was all he could muster. The day had finally come; face to face with a woman he had watched every day for two years and dreamt about for just about as long.
He noticed her green eyes; they cut into him like a sonic blast. He had gone deaf and mute, he thought as he just stood there hoping to hear and speak once more.
"Who...are you?" This is not what she meant to say. She really wanted to say "Please, tell me who you are because I know you, but only from afar and only in my dreams".
"Joe" he managed, amazed he was able to speak again. "I'm very happy to..."
"Happy"? she said with wonder.
"Happy to finally meet you"
"What do you mean, finally?" She was momentarily puzzled by this. Hadn't they met so many times before? No, they hadn't, he had been a presence for months, but, no, they hadn't really met. "Oh, I understand, finally..." she said as she moved to where there was only a counter between them.
He was able to collect himself just enough now. He was overwhelmed by the beauty he saw in her face and the joy he felt that he was actually standing face to face with this elusive fixation. She was real now and he wished he could bring himself to act in a way that wouldn't appear to be so awestruck.
"You come in here every day, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"You've been watching me"
"Yes. You are a passionate maker of bread. I noticed that the first day, two years ago."
She smiled at him and he somewhat sheepishly smiled back.
"I am glad to finally meet you after all this time."
"So am I" she extended her dusty hand to him and he took it. "I'm Belinda. Please meet me here at 2, I have a feeling that I need to get to know you."
"I can do that; I'll take a late lunch." He slowly let go of her hand only because he knew he had to. He didn't want to let go. The brief time they had touched both of them felt something enormous.
"See that you do." She turned to return to the kitchen.
When 2 o'clock came, she took off her apron, dropped it in the laundry bin and he was waiting for her behind the counter. After that meeting, she no longer dreamt of the baker who had taught her to make perfect loaves. They barely spent a moment apart and it too was 'perfect'.