The Playful Lady

The work was over. Henry Mohlenrich returned to his hotel room to pack up for his departure the next day. It had been a busy trip, but now he had finished the final presentation to his client and it was time to relax just a bit. Tomorrow morning he would fly back home, a flight of a couple of hours. He was really in no great hurry. It was Thursday, a weekend was coming, and for a bachelor of 43, with no family other than a dog at home and a sister in a distant town, no particular excitement was in the offing. Henry worked with numbers and dollar signs, as a partner in a small accounting firm, and his only hobbies were a bit of gardening and his occasional travel. Tonight he would enjoy a leisurely dinner and then retire to his room for a bit of TV.

He finished the packing. He checked his ticket, placing it in his coat pocket. Wearing his accustomed two piece suit, he walked out of the hotel looking for a quiet place for dinner. A block or so down the street he found it - a small restaurant offering Greek cuisine - one of his favorites. The Thursday night crowd was not large, and he entered and was directed to a small table at one side. The table was set for two.

"You are alone, sir?" the waiter inquired. "Indeed I am," was the reply. "Just a table for one."

Henry made a menu choice, ordered a carafe of wine, and settled into his seat for a quiet meal.

After taking his time over the food and wine, he requested the check. He withdrew his wallet, producing a credit card, which he presented to the waiter. A few moments later, the card was returned to him. He stood up, replaced the card into his wallet, and left the restaurant.

Henry checked the cash in his wallet before replacing it in his pocket. A bad habit, he knew, in a public place, but one he had never shaken. He had less than a hundred dollars, more than enough for his requirements, as most of his expenses were handled on credit cards. He began to slip the wallet into the pocket of his trousers.

Suddenly he jumped abruptly and turned, as a very loud crash of metal sounded behind him. As he looked where he had been a few moments earlier, he saw the aftermath of a two car collision, as one of the two vehicles careened onto the sidewalk and came to rest only a few feet away.

Henry watched the scene for a few minutes, partly out of curiosity, partly out of a duty to help should there be injured parties. It soon became evident that no one was hurt, and two angry drivers emerged to confront each other. Henry watched for a few minutes, then decided he had better things to do and returned to his hotel.

He entered his room, thankful to have escaped what might have been a serious incident, and sat down to peruse the TV offerings.

On a whim, he decided to recount his cash and reached into his pocket.

He felt for his wallet. It was not there.

He quickly glanced about the room. There was no sign of the wallet. Alarmed, he began to search the room more thoroughly. He opened the door and checked the hall. He felt all of his other pockets. There was no sign of the wallet.

Back where the collision had occurred, a small crowd had gathered, not unusual for the scene of a collision. The crowd somewhat obstructed the traffic on the sidewalk, and a middle aged woman tried to push her way through, attempting to get to her car parked a short distance down the street.

Frankie Dumont managed to get to her car. Frankie was 49, a bit matronly, that is to say, somewhat overweight, not terribly tall, and with her brown locks showing just an occasional touch of gray. She opened the car and started to get in, when she noticed something lying in the gutter just under the side of the car. She reached down, and retrieved what appeared to be a wallet. She quickly looked about for a possible owner, but seeing none, took it with her into the car. She started the car and headed for home.

Henry was a bit shaken. He hadn't lost a wallet before, but now that seemed to be his misfortune. He wasn't terribly worried about getting home; his ticket was still in his coat pocket, and the hotel already had the imprint of his credit card for the bill. But he was distraught at the prospect of having no cash other than a few coins, and at having to go through the ritual of reporting the loss of his credit cards, drivers license, and other items he carried with him. At best, it was a nuisance, even if survivable.

Henry retraced his steps to the restaurant where he had eaten, searching every step of the way. He inquired at the hotel desk, and at the restaurant. He got little encouragement. A missing wallet, whether dropped or stolen, wasn't likely to make its way back to its owner intact. He contemplated making a police report, and calling in to report lost credit cards. Clearly he was annoyed and upset. He was, however, still able to get home in the morning. He decided he would wait until morning to report the loss, hoping that somehow the wallet might turn up.

Frankie sat down in her apartment to examine the wallet she had found under her car. She first looked at the cash it contained, which came to exactly eighty four dollars. However, there were also several credit cards, business cards, and a drivers license, all bearing the name of Henry J. Mohlenrich, who, according to the business card, was an accountant. The business card bore an address and telephone number of a small town in Ohio, several hundred miles away.

Frankie meditated on what to do. Her innate honesty told her she must return the wallet, but how to do it? Clearly the owner was not a local resident, and there was no local address. She could turn it in to the police, but would that effectively get it back to its owner?

Frankie thought for a bit. From the papers in the wallet she knew what the owner looked like, where he lived, and what his occupation was. Frankie also was just a bit of a dreamer. She tried to visualize the man whose wallet she held. She knew he was 43, just a few years younger than herself. From the picture he was wasn't bad looking.

Now, Frankie was quite a bit of a dreamer. A divorced mother of two grown children, she hadn't really had men in her life in recent years, at least not in any big way. Mostly, she kept to herself socially, except when she visited her children. She had a few friends, mostly female, and operated a small clothing store with a female partner, which allowed her some freedom in her working hours.

She fantasized just a bit about Henry. It would be interesting to meet him, just to see what he was like. And, surely, he would be grateful to her for returning his wallet; if, indeed, she could find him. That might be quite a challenge. She picked up the telephone, and dialed the number listed on the business card.

Not surprisingly, there was no answer. It was an office number, and it was now late evening. The office would, understandably, be closed. She saw another number, probably a home phone, and tried that. There was no answer there, either.

She was about to give up until morning, until she noticed a scrap of paper stuffed into the cash compartment. On it was written a phone number, one she couldn't recognize. She dialed it.

After a number of rings, a sleepy response was heard.

"Yes?" a male voice inquired.

"Excuse me," Frankie began, hesitantly. "I am looking for a Henry Mohlenrich - is he there, please?"

"Why would you call for him here?" the somewhat annoyed voice answered. "I haven't seen him since this morning. He's probably gone home by now!"

"I am sorry, but I need to reach him, and all I could find was this telephone number - do you know where I could find him?"

"No, he doesn't live around here, and I suspect he's left, probably to go home. But he was staying at, let's see, the Alcazar hotel, I think."

"Thank you", Frankie replied, hanging up.

The Alcazar Hotel. She really had no idea where it was , but she went immediately to the telephone book. Within a few minutes she had found the address. She realized it was just a few blocks from where she had found the wallet. Maybe he would still be there!

She looked at the clock. It was past eleven at night. She wanted to deliver the wallet in person, but going out at this hour did not seem like a good idea. If she called, and he was still there, he might come and get it - but she hoped to meet him, at least briefly, and she could hardly invite a strange man into her apartment at midnight! She decided she would wait until morning, and then try the hotel.

Henry was up at six, finishing his packing before going down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. He ate quickly, knowing he needed to report the missing wallet and credit cards before leaving. Returning to his room, he called the local police.

He was quickly informed that he needed to come to the police station, to make a formal report of the loss. The person on the line was not encouraging, "The chances of it being returned are very small, so we suggest you cancel all the credit cards that may have been in it. About all that will come of your filing the report is that you may need it for an insurance claim."

Henry decided he needed to file the report, anyway. The station was only a few blocks away, so he decided to walk there. He set out promptly.

Frankie called her partner, to advise that she might nor be in to the shop today, or if she arrived, it would be late. An unexpected bit of personal business, she pleaded. Then she drove to the address she had found for the hotel. She parked in the parking lot, and went into the lobby. At the desk, she inquired, "Would you have a Mr. Henry Mohlenrich registered here?"

The clerk quickly checked his register. "Yes, we do. Shall I ring his room?"

"Please do", she answered.

A few minutes later, the clerk informed her, "He doesn't answer. However, he's due to check out this morning. Probably he will be back shortly."

"May I wait in the lobby?" she asked.

"If you wish," the clerk admonished, gesturing to some empty chairs.

Henry ran into more trouble than he had expected. A number of people were at the station, also submitting reports of various incidents. By the time he had his report filed, almost an hour had passed. He knew he was going to have difficulty making his flight. He hurried back to the hotel.

As he entered the lobby, he checked at the desk. "I'll be in a bit of a hurry to check out - can you have my bill ready as soon as I go up and get my bags?"

"Of course, sir. But, there's a lady waiting to see you. She's sitting over there." He pointed toward Frankie.

Henry, flustered at his lack of time and financial distress, wondered at the woman's purpose. He looked at her, deciding he had never met her. Quickly, he moved in her direction and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Henry Mohlenrich. I understand you wanted to see me?"

"Why, yes, indeed!" Frankie replied, rising and extending her hand in greeting. "I don't think we have ever met, but I do believe I have something of yours. Did you possibly lose a wallet while you were here?"

Henry's heart skipped a beat. This was surprisingly good news, but at an awkward time. He had just reported the loss to the police, and now was in danger of missing his flight home. He smiled at Frankie, and inquired, "Why, yes, I did. Last night, in fact. Did you find it?"

Frankie produced the wallet and held it out to him. "I recognize you from the picture on your drivers' license. I found it last night, under my car, just a short distance from here. It took me until this morning to locate you. Please look it over - I hope everything is in it!"

Henry quickly reviewed the contents. The cash was there, the credit cards, everything which should be. "I don't know how to thank you - I never thought I'd see it again. In fact, I just completed making a police report on the loss. Just now, I am about to fly home, and I'm not sure I can even make my flight. Here, let me give you a reward--"

He started to take some bills from the wallet, but Frankie put up her hands in protest. She explained that she lived nearby, and just wanted to see him get his property back. She went on to add a bit about herself, the shop where she worked, and why she was parked on the nearby street last night.

Henry tried to be polite, but now he was sure he would miss his flight. He tried to cut her off. Frankie seemingly understood. "You're going back home to Ohio? I'm going to Cleveland, myself, but I'm driving. I had hoped we could have a short time together, over coffee, maybe? I don't want you to go away with an unpleasant memory of our community." Then, as an afterthought, "I do hope you will tell the police you found your wallet - I considered turning it in there, but I thought it would be better and faster for you if I brought it by in person!"

Henry thought a bit. He didn't want to seem ungrateful, but now time was a problem. He did owe this lady his gratitude. He mulled over what he should do. "To make the report, I would probably need to get back to the police station. It's about eight blocks, and I'm probably already too late to make my flight. I'm sorry, but I really need to work on how I'm going to get home, now--"

"Let me help you," Frankie interrupted kindly. "I am in no special hurry. I would be glad to run you over to the station, for you to make your report, and then take you to the airport after, if that would help."

"There may not be any more flights today. A small town airport doesn't have a lot of service!"

"Do you need to call someone at home, first? They may be looking for you."

"No, the only one home will be my dog, and he doesn't answer phones. I live by myself, so there's no one to pick me up, either - I have to make my own way."

"Then would you like a ride, perhaps? As I told you, I need to drive to Cleveland, and I really do know where you live - it wouldn't be far out of my way, or I could drop you at some place from which you might catch a bus or something." Frankie knew perfectly well she had no plan to drive to Cleveland, but she had invented the story as a plausible excuse. She really wanted to prolong her visit with Henry, and she didn't know exactly why. He seemed like a decent and safe person, and what she knew of him from the contents of his wallet intrigued her a bit. She saw an opportunity for a bit of an adventure, something she seldom had in her life, and she had decided to pursue it.

They talked for a bit, and he accepted her offer of a ride; first to the station, then to his home town. She fibbed a bit about having relatives in Cleveland she had planned to visit. He checked out of the hotel, brought his bag to the car, and they went to the station to report the recovery of the wallet.

It was a warm day, and as they started the car's air conditioner provided some comfortable relief. While Henry was in the police station, Frankie waited with the car. Outside of Henry's view, she slipped her hand under the dash, reaching for a fuse compartment. Carefully she selected a fuse and slipped it from its holder into her purse. When Henry returned, she started the car again.

It was approaching ten thirty as they headed out of the city. Henry was feeling profoundly indebted to this strange lady, who had retrieved his wallet for him, driven to his hotel in person to return it, and now was going to considerable inconvenience to make his way home as easy as possible. Frankie felt just a bit of anticipation at how she could turn this encounter into something memorable. She felt safe with Henry, who didn't seem at all threatening, and, after all, it was her car and she was in control. After a few minutes on the road, she remarked, rather apologetically, "Looks like the AC's out again - it's a bit temperamental. Do you mind driving with open windows? You're not going to need a coat today!" Henry accepted the mechanical failings of his hostess' vehicle with a shrug. "What does it matter?" he asked. "I'm comfortable."

The two relaxed in each other's company. Henry had dressed for travel, no longer wearing his accustomed suit, but now a short sleeved shirt and comfortable slacks. Frankie had dressed in a casual but comfortable skirt below a brightly printed casual blouse. They talked casually, but not excessively. Neither was really a great conversationalist, but they exchanged views on the passing scene and just a bit of themselves. As the noon hour approached, Frankie suggested they stop and pick up something they could eat in the car as they drove. A hamburger emporium was spotted, and they went in, picking up burgers and drinks. "Large drinks, please", Frankie had insisted, "because I do get thirsty driving, and it's a warm day, especially since we don't have cooling."

They returned to the car and both entered. Henry courteously held Frankie's large drink for her, as she started the car and began to drive. After a few moments, she said, "I'll take my drink, now, thanks" and reached for it. Henry put the large cup in her hand. The hand didn't close, and a moment later a subtle upward gesture of the open hand sent the drink spilling all over Henry; his shirt, pants, legs - all were soaked with liquid.

Frankie screamed an apology as she brought the car to a stop. "Oh, that was so - so clumsy of me! Never drink and drive, they say- here, we've got to do something about this mess."

Henry trried to make light of the situation, but he was soaked, and the soft drink was all over his clothes, leaving not only huge wet spots but colorful stains. He got out of the car, and tried to let himself drip onto the ground.

"Here, I've got some paper towels in the trunk", Frankie offered. She obtained a roll of towels and began to soak up the mess on the floor, as well as try to help Henry dry himself off.

"Well, "Henry remarked, "it was a warm day, you wanted big drinks. At least I got a good cooling from that - look, ice in my shirt - and I think there's more in my pants!"

In a few minutes Frankie and Henry had dried up the car. The seat, fortunately, was plastic and the liquid did not soak in. Henry, however, was a mess.

"You can't go on like that!" Frankie observed. "You can't ride in wet clothes! And anyway, we've got to get those clothes washed - otherwise your things are likely to have a permanent stain!"

"I can get put these in the trunk, and wear some of the dirty stuff I shoved in bag", Henry suggested.

Frankie rejected the suggestion instantly. "It was my fault, and I insist on making it right. You shouldn't have to sit in wet clothes, or go home with soaking clothes that are going to be ruined!"

"What can we do? There isn't much choice!" Henry observed.

"When my kids had an accident like that, I just had them take their things off and I got them right into the washer immediately. Say - there's probably a laundromat in the next town. I could wash your clothes for you - probably wouldn't take over half an hour! Please let me - I feel responsible, and you look miserable like that!"

Henry mulled over in his mind the proposition. She was probably right, and, anyway, he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Well, OK - but what do I wear while you're doing the laundry? I'd better get some of my old stuff from the bag in the trunk!"

"No," she objected. "There's no place for you to change except here in the car. You certainly can't do it outside along the highway. It's going to be hard enough for you to take those things off in the car and put them back on after they're dry - I just can't put you through changing twice! Anyway, there will surely be some place I can park - I'll just find the most private place I can, and you can cover yourself with the paper towels while I do the wash. Now it would be a good idea for you to finish your drink, before it spills, too!"

Henry was a bit shocked by the idea, but he could think of no sensible alternative. He took the suggestion on the drink, and began to consume it. It was indeed quite a large container. Why, he thought, did she need to get such a big size? His thoughts returned to his wet clothes.