Analogue Lovers

Today Layne was wearing a another cloche hat. He had no idea it was called an Eliza, but as he got closer he was aware it appeared to be made of wool. It was also a light beige in color and had a black bow on the side with a black stripe around the entire circumference of the brim. This time, her skirt and shoes were black while her wool sweater matched the color of her hat. Rather than pearls, she wore a simple gold necklace and matching earrings and a very dark-red lipstick.

He caught her eye, tipped his hat, and said, "Here's looking at you, kid."

"Mr. Lindemann! It's so good to see you," she said in a very happy tone of voice.

"You as well, Miss Warren," he told her. "And may I say you look as lovely as ever."

She thanked him then told him how much she liked his hat before saying, "But a gentleman never wears his indoors."

Lindemann smiled sheepishly and quickly removed it. "My apologies. In my haste to make a good impression on you, I forgot my manners."

She smiled and said, "You've already made quite an impression on me, Mr. Lindemann. There's no need to try so hard."

"Then why did you leave without letting me know when we would get together and dance?"

"I was already much too forward in suggesting such a thing. I couldn't possibly have set the time as well as the place." She smiled again then said, "A real detective—you know, like Sam Spade, would have tracked me down."

Ryan loved The Maltese Falcon almost as much as Casablanca and Sam Spade was Bogie's character in the movie which was about the search to find a valuable artifact by the titular name.

"Good point," he said understanding it was his role to do the asking and the finding. "Would this Saturday after closing be an acceptable time to meet you here?" he asked hoping to get back in her good graces.

"I believe that is sufficient advanced notice," she told him still smiling. "I shall look forward to it."

Layne browsed around and selected several more of his oldest albums as well as another classic book and again paid by credit card.

"I'm surprised you use a credit card, Miss Warren. It's so...21st century."

She laughed then said, "I'll ignore the slight, Mr. Lindemann. Honestly? I do love the '40s, but it's nearly impossible to be authentic in all areas of one's life with regard to that period of time. My focus is primarily on the values of the time with a special focus in terms of love and romance. My manner of dress simply reflects my inner, core beliefs."

"And the mystery deepens even more," he said handing back her credit card.

"Perhaps you'll take advantage of our time together this weekend to...better get to know me."

"I most certainly will," he promised her. "May I ask you just one question right now?"

"You may ask," she told him her smile still bright.

"I'm curious to know how old you might be," he said trying not to sound intrusive.

"A lady never tells," she said playfully. "I believe I once told you I am legally an adult. It would be best if we left at that, don't you think?"

"Fair enough," he conceded. "I was asking only to know whether I should plan to offer you a cherry Coke or a martini afterwards."

"I do love a good martini, Mr. Lindemann," she told him. "But just one, of course."

She'd outsmarted and outmaneuvered him. He still had no idea how old she was but he'd bet his bottom dollar she wasn't 21 yet. Then again, a dollar was about all he could afford to lose so for now, he'd have to settle for seeing her again, age aside.

He rang up his last customer just before 8pm on Saturday which was closing time, then began working through the day's receipts while keeping an eye on the door.

At 8:15, she walked in and Ryan's heart momentarily stopped. Her hat was very different from anything she'd worn before. It was a red & black, felt & lace netted-bow cocktail hat which sat on the left side of her long, dark hair styled much the same way Lauren Bacall's often was in the movies in which she starred.

Her neck and ears were bare letting the hat be the focal point from the shoulders up. Well, that and her smokey eyes and dark, red lips. She was wearing a vintage 1940s style burgundy Carmen half-sleeve wiggle dress with a pair of black suede peep-toe Lola d'Orsay pumps with what looked to be 4" heels. On her hands was a pair of black wrist-length bow keyhole gloves.

"Hubba, hubba!" he said as she walked in reeking of sexy from head to toe. "That outfit is...amazing," he said. He gave her the once over then said, "No...you look amazing! Wow!"

She smiled and thanked him. "Full disclosure. These are not originals. They're from a vintage clothing store I love almost as much as this store," she told him. "They have everything a girl like me—a proud anachronism—could want."

She set her clutch on the counter and handed him a record. "Swing music to Lindy by," she told him.

In her heels, she was almost as tall as Ryan and as they danced, he found himself looking into her eyes from just inches away time and time again. Between her vintage look, her own natural beauty, and the lovely scent of her perfume, he found it very difficult to concentrate and told her so.

"I'm flattered," she said demurely but also in a kind of sultry way.

"You're not making this any easier," he told her.

"Women are complex creatures, Mr. Lindemann. Were we simple, where would the mystery lay?" she said as they returned to 'jumpin' and swingin' as they danced the night away.

By 11 o'clock, Ryan was worn out and said, "Aren't your feet killing you in those heels? They're gorgeous, by the way, but they look...painful."

"Both genders have their crosses to bear, Mr. Lindemann. I will never be sent off to war while you will never know the agony of dancing in 4" heels."

Lindemann couldn't help but laugh knowing he would also never be 'sent off to war' but her point was valid for the period of time with which she was so clearly enamored.

"Could I possibly get you that martini now?"

"That sounds lovely," she replied as he took her hand and led her to a seat along the soda fountain.

"My apologies for the soda fountain being ten years ahead of your time period of choice," he said as he seated her.

"A woman must accept the bad with the good in all relationships," she said with a smile as he prepared her drink.

"Stirred or shaken?" he asked.

"Shaken. Lightly. And three olives, please."

He mixed the gin and vermouth, zested the lemon peel by twisting it in a perfect spiral then speared three olives with a wooden toothpick.

"No plastic. Very authentic," she said thanking him for the drink.

He sat across from her and raised his glass, "To the greatest generation?"

"Indeed!" she said touching hers to his.

She took a sip, leaving a pair of wide, red lip prints on the glass.

"Why am I expecting you to pull out an unfiltered cigarette right about now?" he teased.

Layne laughed and said, "I have tried it. But that's one aspect of the '40s I can...live...without."

Lindemann laughed too, then asked, "So where does your love of history come from, Miss Warren?"

"You're not wasting any time peeling back the proverbial onion are you, Mr. Lindemann?" she said with a smile.

"My father is a movie producer and when I was ten, he made a movie set in the 1940s. It was a war movie; one that very few people saw. I was out of school for the summer and being a naturally inquisitive little girl, I found myself asking question after question about everything I saw. From the old vehicles to the clothes they wore, everything was just so interesting to me. My father bought me my first cloche hat and a vintage dress and I was hooked."

"You're obviously very well-spoken which itself speaks of an excellent education. Where did you go to school?"

"I was in private schools from Kindergarten through high school; here in Seattle until my mother and I left, then in Los Angeles until I graduated just over a year ago."

"Thank you for answering a previous question," he said picking up on her clue as to her age.

"You see, there was no need to ask," she told him taking another sip. "Mmmm. Very dry. Just the way I prefer." She set her glass down then said, "And to what do you owe your fascination with the past, Mr. Ryan Lindemann?"

"I can't point to anything so obvious as a movie set, but I suppose it stems from some desire to experience a time when people were honest and friendly and...genuine. I mean, it's not as though those values don't still exist or that no one lives by them. It just seems that society has...gone off the rails. Everything seems so fleeting and disposable."

"Especially relationships," Layne offered.

"Exactly," Ryan said. "I'm not a religious person, but I suppose all of us crave stability to some degree. I really liked what you said about marrying once and for life. In my opinion, that should be the norm, but it seems to be the exception."

"My father's infidelity crushed me," she said with sadness in her voice. "The man who could do wrong had clay feet. For a while, I wanted to give...all of this up." She meant her vintage clothes and what went with it. "But I realized the values were just as solid and important as they were before he betrayed my mother. I vowed I would hold to those values—the rest of the world be damned."

"Are you a religious person, Miss Warren?"

"Me? No, not really. Spiritual perhaps. I do believe in fate, though. If that's God's hand, then so be it."

"Fate? As in...destiny?"

"Perhaps this is semantics, but I see fate as the cause of things beyond our control. Destiny is more the result of fate."

"You're not making it any easier to solve the mystery that is Layne Warren." She smiled as she took another sip. "I've never met anyone quite like you, Miss Warren," Ryan told her.

"Perhaps it's fate," she offered.

"You realize that under your own definition of fate, that could make you my destiny, right?" he told her with a raised eye.

"Que sera, que sera?" she said as she finished her martini.

"Come on, let's dance some more! Oh, you have my permission to wear your fedora inside." She grabbed his hand and pulled around the counter and said, "It looks makes you look even more dashing and...handsome."

"Hold on just a second," Ryan said stopping the runaway Warren express.

"Yes?" she said waiting for him to speak.

"On one condition."

"Okay. Name your condition."

"We switch from swing to something more...romantic."

"Why Mr. Lindemann, I barely know you," she said batting her eyes.

He walked over to the record player, pulled off the swing music album and put on Sinatra. He came back over to Layne, bowed at the waist and said, "Miss Warren? May I have this dance."

She curtsied slightly and took his arm. "I'd be delighted."

As Old Blue Eyes crooned, Ryan danced cheek to cheek with the mysterious and charming Layne Warren.

"So what does the future hold for you, Miss Warren?" he asked as he held her close.

"I believe that's up to fate," she told him in a way that said he hadn't been paying attention.

"Ah, yes. Fate," Lindemann said, the brim of the fedora just above the top of her forehead. "May I again remind you...according to your definition, that could very well make me your destiny."

She danced silently with him for a few seconds then said, "If you want to have any hope that it might, you should kiss me now rather than tempt fate."

"Only a fool would tempt fate," he said as he drew her right hand in close and softly kissed her for the first time. As he pulled back he told her, "You are now...destiny's child."

"While the word play is very charming, that group is much too modern for my taste. The sentiment however, is timeless."

"Do you ever let your hair down, so to speak?" he asked her.

"If by that you're wondering whether or not I ever talk, walk, dress, and act like girls my age the answer is 'no.' You see, for me, this isn't a charade. It's a true reflection of who am because this is what I value. The way we behave is almost always an outer display of our inner world." She paused then asked, "Why? Would you prefer I 'break character' and act 19?"

"Not at all," he told her never taking his eyes off of hers. "I just want to know as much as possible about you. That's all." He pulled her close and put his lips next to her ear. "You are the most amazing and fascinating woman I've ever met—of any age or...from any age."

She smiled sweetly and said, "I find myself thinking similar thoughts about you, as well, Mr. Lindemann. And if I may say, I don't find a single decade of separation all that problematic, as long as it's the man, of course, who is the older half of the couple."

"Are you referring to the '40s and '50s or to our own...chronological ages?" he asked smiling back at her.

"Were I referring to the former, I would be the elder, would I not?" she replied answering his question with a question.

Ryan stopped smiling and just looked into her eyes. "Where have you been all my life, Miss Warren?"

"I believe I may have still been in diapers when you were attending high school, Mr. Lindemann, so perhaps we should focus on the here and now instead."

Both of them tried not to laugh as they pictured the two of them when he was in high school. "Is it too early to ask you to call me, Ryan?" he inquired as they glided around the tile floor.

"Well, considering the fact that we've already kissed, I believe that would be acceptable...Ryan," she said her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Thank you, Miss Warren," he said as he held her close and softly kissed her again.

Her eyes were different somehow as their most recent kiss ended. She was no longer looking at his eyes but...into them. She placed her cheek next to him and quietly said, "You may call me Layne, if you like."

"I would like that very much...Layne."

The song ended and Layne noticed it was almost midnight. "I would like to thank you for the loveliest and most memorable of evenings, Ryan."

"Do you have to leave already?" he asked hoping she might stay a while longer.

"I'm afraid it's getting late and I should probably be returning home," she told him.

"I understand," he replied. "I'm disappointed, but I do understand."

"Thank you for being such a gentleman," she told him. "Then again, I would expect nothing less."

Her coy smile encouraged and emboldened him. "I would love to see you again, Layne. And soon."

"I would enjoy that very much. Perhaps you might allow me to make dinner for you at my father's home tomorrow night? I am a very good cook, I assure you."

"Why does that not surprise me?" he said almost rhetorically. "I'd be delighted to join you for dinner."

"I should inform you dinner is a formal occasion—the implication is, of course, that one dress accordingly."

"Coat and tie or tux and tails?" he asked.

"A suit is sufficient for dinner. But should we ever attend the opera or the ballet, please have your tuxedo ready to go." She was being playful, but he knew she was also being serious.

Ryan's head was spinning as he walked her to her car. It was dark and cold and only the street lights and the headlamps of the occasional passing car provided any illumination.

He saw the same classic car she'd driven off in and stopped next to it. "Studebaker. Not too many of these still on the road."

"It's a four-door Studebaker Champion. Vintage but not pretentious," she said as he opened her door for her.

"So...are public displays of affection allowed?" he asked as they stood face to face.

"Generally speaking, I frown upon them, but then, I have never met a man as charming and as interesting as you so I suppose a small display would be acceptable," she said again smiling at him.

He leaned down slightly and kissed her for perhaps a second. Just lips pressing together with no other touching.

She sat down and pulled her knees together then carefully lifted them inside. "Before I let you get away again, I'd like to set a date and time for our dinner."

"I was hoping you wouldn't forget," she told him. "My father and the Wicked Witch of the West..." She put her hand over her mouth and said, "That was very catty of me. True, but still catty." Lindemann laughed and she continued. "They'll be out of town over the weekend as Daddy's beginning another movie. If that's acceptable, then we need only choose a time."

"I'll see you tomorrow night at seven then," he told her rather than ask.

"I shall look forward to it," she said.

"Oh...are phone calls or texts...appropriate?"

"Telephone calls are acceptable. Texting however, is an intolerable form of communication. Emergencies aside, of course."

"Of course," he said in agreement. "Well, goodnight then, Layne."

"Goodnight, Ryan, and thank you again for a most pleasant evening."

He tipped his hat and closed her door then watched her drive off. He put his hands in his pockets as he watched the old Studebaker disappear and said out loud, "She's only 19, but you're in deep, buddy. Hang on to your hat." He reached up and pulled it low over his eyes before heading back inside and closing up for the night.

By 10am Ryan found himself wanting to call her but couldn't help but wonder if that was too much too soon or if perhaps it was something to be expected and not doing so a sign of disinterest. He forced himself to wait until 3 o'clock then dialed her number.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello? Warren residence. This is Layne speaking."

"Good afternoon, Layne. This is Ryan. How are you?"

"Ryan! What a pleasant surprise. I'm very well, thank you. And you?"

They chatted for several minutes about their date as well as the upcoming dinner before Ryan asked, "I do the love past, Layne, but I really don't know protocol all that well. For example, is calling each day too much?"

"Well, were we going steady, I would think a daily phone call might be about right. However, having had only one date, it might be a bit much," she told him.

"Ah, another excellent point," he said wondering if that was a hint or just a statement of preference on her part.

"That said, I wouldn't want to discourage further interest on your part so I'll leave it to your discretion and trust your judgment," she told him.

He told her he'd call again later in the week before thanking her again for her time and she in turn, thanked him again for such a lovely first date.

As he hung up the phone he realized that dating wasn't any simpler 70 years ago than it was now. If anything, it might even be more confusing. Then again, perhaps he just needed to give this some time, something he was more than willing to do in order to keep seeing the lovely and mysterious Layne Warren.

Lindemann suddenly realized he didn't own a single item of clothing that was period-specific, let alone from the '40s. Well, he had the Fedora and a leather jacket, but the latter was more of a '50s item.

Minutes later, he was at the only vintage clothing store in town where he bought pinstripe suit with wide lapels and a pair of Stacy Adams black and white wingtip shoes along with a belt and tie advertised with the suit. He'd have to dip into Ruth's money to pay for it but somehow he knew she'd understand.

He returned home and showered then slicked his thick, dark hair back and dressed in the very sharp-looking suit before once again pulling his hat low over his brow. He took a final look in the mirror, tipped his hat and said, "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

Thirty minutes later he was pulling into the Warren residence. "Holy cow..." he said as he pulled up what looked more like an estate than someone's home. "I guess that answers the question about money," he said to himself. Of course, that didn't mean Layne had money, but he was fairly certain she was at least better off than he was—financially speaking.