Chance Encounter Ch. 01

Dear Readers,

This is a sequel to a story that I wrote some time ago, "The End of Summer". It is written in such a way that you can enjoy it without reading its predecessor. If you could read the first part, however, it would enhance the experience of the second.

*************

He didn't know what he was doing in the department store, looking at men's shirts, but not really interested. Paul hated stores, but he hated airports more. It was just something to kill the time before leaving for Midway Airport. He had his overnight bag over his shoulder and briefcase in his hand. He looked around for a coffee shop as a place to change gears. Not finding one, he turned his attention back to the displays.

The meeting hadn't gone as well as Paul expected. The contractor was supposed to be ready and the state regulators should have been on board. There were still a lot of loose ends and loose cannons. No one had done their homework. It would mean more commutes to Chicago than he had planned on. It's not that he disliked the Windy City; he enjoyed it. The restaurants were the best; the population the friendliest. It was easier to root for the Bears than the hapless Lions. It was the commute that irritated him: the puddle-jumper from Saginaw, the switch in Detroit, the taxi ride from O'Hare or Midway to downtown Chicago.

"Comes with the job," he thought to himself. "I asked for it—I got it!"

He went back to searching through rows of shirts. He knew that he wasn't going to buy anything; he was just going through the motions. He was doing that a lot more than he would like, lately. That's why he sought the job he had. There was no going through the motions in it. After Sally's death five years ago he needed something to dive into. This position was just the ticket, and he was well-qualified, too.

There was a voice in the background. At first, he didn't acknowledge it because he hadn't expected any strangers to call him by name. When the sound drifted from his subconscious to the front of his brain, he quickly turned toward the source.

"Paul—Paul Crane?" the voice called out.

A woman, about his age, looked at him expectantly. She was thin, wore glasses. She had red hair with a few gray streaks in it. Some might say that she was a little plain-looking, but certainly neat and well-put-together. She looked vaguely familiar.

"You don't recognize me—it's Glenda Mahoney!"

Paul's first reaction was 'who in hell is Glenda Mahoney?', but a voice from his youth was shouting in the distance. Paul's mind's eye was driven back to a hot summer afternoon many years ago.

"Glenda! I don't believe that I'm looking at you. What are doing here? You look great—it's so nice to see you!" Paul clasped her hand, shocked at the pleasant surprise."

"I'm very happy to see you, Paul. I live in Chicago. I should ask you what you're doing here."

"Commuting," he replied. "I live in Michigan. I work for a chemical company up there. We had a meeting in Chicago today. Right now, I'm just killing time before my flight home. I'd much rather spend it with you going over old times."

"I can't," she told him. "It would be nice if I could, but I'm late getting back to the office already. Maybe if you get back this way ..."

"I'll be here in two weeks for a return meeting. Can I call you then?"

She gave him some information that he wrote in his daybook.

"It was nice seeing you, Paul. I've got to run."

She turned, hurrying out the door. Paul watched her disappear. He had always wondered what had happened to Glenda, the enigmatic girl who initiated him into the world of carnal knowledge in a wooded grove thirty-six years ago. Maybe he would find out.

Paul had no appetite left for shopping. He left the store and caught a cab to the airport.

*****************

Paul didn't mind the long trip back this time. Seeing Glenda gave him a lot to think about. He dusted off the old memory of his youth. She had followed him into a pine grove, where they lay on a blanket on a hot August afternoon and gave each other their virginities. It was during the summer after they graduated from high school together. After that, they went separate ways. He still didn't know onto which paths Glenda's life had led her.

As the turbo-prop bumped along the clouds, Paul ambled down memory lane. A few days after his encounter with Glenda, he rode off to State University. He played football and studied chemical engineering. He turned out to be pretty good at both.

Paul still worked for the same company that paid his way through grad school. He was named Vice-President of Engineering a year ago. It was a job that suited him. He had high professional standards; he was determined; he was a good leader.

At fifty-four he didn't have much to do, except his job. The kids were away at college. Five years earlier his wife of twenty-five years, Sally, had been killed by a hit and run driver. The devastating loss had driven him deeper into his work. Aside from that first time with Glenda, Sally had been the only woman he had ever been with. With her gone, no one else knew this. If a person were to speculate on the subject, they would surely arrive at the wrong conclusion. Paul still had good looks and an athlete's physique. His football fame brought celebrity. Those factors, and the casual sex mores of the seventies, would make one assume that Paul had many bed partners during his college years.

That may have been the norm, but for Paul, it just wasn't true. Studies and sports gave him little time for anything else. On top of that, in those days Paul had an introverted, not shy, personality. He was well spoken when called upon, but shunned casual small talk. He parsed and analyzed layers of meaning in every encounter. People respected Paul, but, except for a few close friends, it was hard to get close to him in those days. Sally later helped him out of his shell, without destroying the sincerity that made him the person that he was.

Many around him, including his children, encouraged Paul to search out female companionship after Sally's death. Paul had no interest. He still wore his wedding band five years after the sad event. No one would ever take Sally's place. With her gone, Paul was reverting to some of his old ways. He could not fathom an intimate relationship with emotional limits; the spaces of his deepest emotions were still reserved for Sally. He knew that Sally would be one of those encouraging him. She had always enjoyed sex, and taught Paul to enjoy it, too.

He could hear her lecture: 'Paul, you still have the looks, the shape, your health and plenty of money. You are only fifty-four years old. Find a woman that wants some fun, and have some fun with her. She doesn't have to be your soul-mate.' Paul knew it was the right advice, but letting go was so hard.

The plane was about to touch down for a landing. It occurred to Paul that by promising to call Glenda when he was in Chicago again he was, technically, asking for a date. He reasoned that she was probably married. He had, then, asked a married woman on a date. He should have thought of that. Clearly, he realized, he wasn't 'dating scene material'.

************

It was noon on a Wednesday. Paul felt the meeting skidding into oblivion. The men from the State Environmental Agency were just not getting the picture; perhaps it was a chosen recalcitrance. All their concerns had been resolved, but the go ahead on the plant was not forthcoming. It was not a complicated project; a plant to produce solvents used in the metals industry. Paul's company had a good environmental record, and the plan passed all the tests, and better. It wasn't even going to be built in Chicago; it was just a good meeting place for all the parties. The site was in a smaller city about one hundred fifty miles to the southwest. The local city fathers were all for the new plant. They desired the new jobs and added tax base. Paul guessed that the State guys just wanted to roll into the Windy City every few weeks for a restaurant tour disguised as a meeting, funded by expense accounts. Springfield was very nice, but it wasn't Chicago.

"Gentlemen, what more data can we give you?" Paul said. "We've satisfied your every request. You're still not in agreement. We have no idea at this point what your acceptance criteria are."

The lead man from the state straightened up.

"Actually, Mr. Crane, we have asked Dr. Arthur Hopkins from Concerned Scientists of America to consult with us. He won't be available until Monday. Maybe we could adjourn until then."

There it was! One sentence revealed all that months of meetings had left a mystery. It told Paul what he had to do. All the studies, reports and data in the world would not move the mountain until the great Dr. Hopkins had been dealt with.

Arthur Hopkins was the designated spear-chucker for a major competitor of Paul's company. When the new facility went on line, it would give Paul's company a big advantage because of lower transportation costs to the market. It was Hopkins' job to delay, diminish or halt the new plant. He would roll out one study after another that showed some environmental or safety concern. Paul considered Hopkins to be the king of 'junk science.' His only question was whether the State men were in the pocket of the competitor, too, or along for the ride in a 'c-y-a' exercise. Paul thought the later, but kept his mind open on the former.

Hopkins' arrival would have brought sighs of despair from less experienced men. Paul was actually relieved. He saw the end game in sight. He had dealt with Hopkins before. He knew just how to handle him.

After the State men left, Paul spoke to the General Contractor, who had been at the meeting, too.

"Get the Peoria Mayor and a couple of Council members to the Monday meeting;" Paul ordered. "... and the State Senator from the locale, as well. Brief them—keep them on board. I'll get our research people to free up some resources and get a professor from the University to support us. We'll have that permit soon."

The contractor nodded in agreement. Paul had his plan made. The Peoria folks would put political pressure on the State guys to get off the dime and the University professor would be counterpoint to Hopkins. Paul's staff could roll out studies that would surpass Hopkins' wildest dreams. He knew that the competitor would only pay for Hopkins' fees and studies until the cost of keeping the charade going was more than the costs of lost business. Paul's company could foot the bill, and as a VP, he had the authority to authorize it. It was expensive, but it was worth it to depreciate Hopkins' future value to anyone.

Paul knew that the process wasn't over in terms of time, but nearly at an end with respect to substance. Hopkins was always the 'last bullet in the chamber'. Paul hated doing business like this. He would have preferred a professional analysis, but he hadn't called the tune. Soon, he thought, he could turn this project over to a subordinate and keep track of it from a distance.

The meeting had been scheduled to go all day. After that, Paul planned a dinner with the contractor and a flight back to Michigan in the morning.

"Mind if I take a raincheck on the dinner, Paul. These meetings have put me way behind. I could use the time, if that's alright."

"No problem, Harry." Paul understood perfectly. "Can you drop me at my hotel before you take off?"

When Paul returned to his room he tossed his brief case on the bed. He wasn't even packed because he hadn't planned on the early break. It was past check out time at the hotel, and he knew that he would never book a flight until at least four. He decided to stay overnight.

His promise to Glenda had been nagging him. Her phone number was still in his daybook. Paul had mixed feelings about calling her. Surely, she was married or attached. He had no wish to complicate her life. On the other hand, she had given him her number with no qualifiers.

"I wish that I knew what all this means," he said out loud in the loneliness of hotel room. There was the reservation at the steakhouse. It would be a shame to waste it without a dinner companion. The worst would be that she would turn him down. Paul decided to make the call.

"Hello, Glenda? Paul Crane speaking. Sorry to call you at work. I'm in Chicago overnight. I thought that I'd call you—like we talked about a few weeks ago. Can you make it to Keefer's at seven-thirty? Eight? Alright—no problem! I'll be there before you. Just ask for me. Great! I'll see you then."

As he hung up the phone, Paul let out a cry of self-disgust and gave a mock slap to his forehead. He had forgotten to ask if it was going to be alright with her husband, or even if she had a husband. To him, it was further confirmation that he should never be allowed to roam unsupervised in civilized society. He wondered if he should call her back. He decided against it. He would make his apologies at the restaurant.

***********

Paul was in the restaurant, seated at his table, nursing a scotch-on-the-rocks. He had arrived for his reservation at the appointed seven-thirty. He could have shown up at eight, but Paul hated to be late or renege. He felt that he owed it to the restaurant to show at the stated time. It was a self-imposed, unnecessary burden, but Paul was set in his ways. He didn't mind because the atmosphere was relaxing, and he could hear strains of smooth jazz from the combo playing in the bar. It would be perfect if Sally were there enjoying it with him.

They wouldn't have wasted the atmosphere with idle chit-chat. If there was nothing to say, there was no point in saying it. She would sip on chardonnay while he savored his scotch. As the band finished a number they would glance at one another, share a comment about the music. The band would resume and they would fall silent again. It was a good feeling to just share the music and relax in the presence of the other. He knew that she felt the same. They needed no words. Time together had allowed them to forge that invisible-to-everyone-else communication.

Eventually they would order their dinners, to the relief of the petulant waiter. Sally would always have fish. Paul knew that part of the reason was that fish was the lowest-priced entree on the menu. They could afford to eat at a fancy restaurant every night if they chose. Sally never gave up that wife-of-grad-student frugality she had perfected in their early days. She always denied it; said that she just liked fish. It annoyed Paul for a time, but then, he realized that she just refused to release her hold on their just-married years together when they taught each other so much.

As he polished off his first scotch and ordered another, Paul reminded himself that he was longing for something in the present that only existed in the past. He relived those happy scenes many times over. It was his only way of touching her. For a person suddenly alone, there is a freedom of the imagination that is the cruelest prison of all. Memory blends into expectation. The past is lived again countless times, each repeat more soothing. It is a stifling comfort. It smothers new beginnings.

"Live your whole life, Paul, not just the first half," he muttered under his breath to himself. He knew that it would be Sally's advice, too, if she were there to give it.

He wished he could simply order himself to follow his own directive, like he did for scores of employees. He would never give up Sally's memory. He groped to find coexistence for the old and new. Like the engineer that he was, he set out to derive the equation that was so elusive. He knew the key variable was his own stubborn self. At any rate, he was convinced that his angst made him unfit company for prospective female friends.

The final thought sprung him from his reverie just in time to spy the maitre d' quickly approaching with Glenda close behind.

*************

Paul watched as the two approached his table. He thought that Glenda looked sharp. She wore business attire, a navy gabardine suit, with a simple white silk suit sweater underneath. Her clothing was well-tailored to fit her. A small gold lapel pin dotted the blazer. Other than the pin and her watch, she wore no other jewelry. The thinness of her youth had been preserved in her current years. As she drew nearer, he noticed that she wore small wire-rimmed glasses and a few wrinkles around the eyes. A few streaks of gray interrupted her red hair that was straight, cut to a length just above the collar of her blazer. In many ways, Glenda looked like the girl that he had known in his youth. There were differences, too. In a certain way, it was a blending of old and new.

Paul stood as the maitre d' seated Glenda. It was in the chair opposite him, each safe in their proprietary space. Before Paul could speak the waiter approached for Glenda's drink order.

"Vodka and tonic, please," she said.

"Glenda," Paul smiled, truly glad to see her, "where were we before we were interrupted?"

Glenda looked confused, since no conversation had yet started. Then the double entendre of his question dawned on her and she burst into laughter. Paul laughed too, a little surprised that his joke went over as well as it did.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, Glenda. I just thought that I'd get that out of the way up front. I didn't intend for you to interpret ..."

"Stop apologizing, Paul!" Glenda held up her hand like a traffic cop. "It's a nice memory," she assured him in a quiet voice.

Paul shrugged, and then nodded. Sally would chide him, too, when he took things too seriously. Paul had more apologizing to do, so he plunged in to get it over with.

"Glenda, I invited you without thinking about how it might effect your ..." Paul searched for the right word, "current relationships."

Glenda smiled laughingly and shook her head. "None to worry about" she answered. "See?" as she held up her ring-less left hand in proof. "I would have said something when you asked me a few weeks ago, if there was a problem," she continued. "Good old Paul—you were always thinking too much."

There was a short pause, each searching for something to say.

"I see you're married," she broke the silence, looking at Paul's wedding band. "Tell me about her."

"Sally and I were married for twenty-five years," Paul answered. "She was killed five years ago in a traffic accident."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" replied Glenda, and cast her eyes down at the table.

They said nothing for a time, sipping on their drinks. Paul knew that Glenda felt bad about bringing up Sally.

"It's alright, Glenda. I think about Sally all the time without anyone's help. Anyway, you had no way to know."

Glenda looked up and gave him a smile. It didn't solve the silence, though. Neither knew how to resume. Paul considered himself at fault. He reminded himself again how unfit he was for any female acquaintanceship. On a more concrete basis, he should have thought to cue her on the subject, or the wearing of his wedding band would be on false pretenses.

"It is a nice memory, isn't it?" Paul offered, trying to reset at the beginning.

"Yes," Glenda replied. "I think about it every once-and-a-while when I'm a little down and I want to make myself feel better."

That answer was more than Paul had bargained for. It deepened the sweetness of the memory, and implied a continuing familiarity, even if dormant for decades. It brought forth the battle raging in Paul's spirit—between the longing for the isolation of grief and the natural desire for one human being to touch another.

In the past, Paul would have fled to that convenient closet of sadness. He thought that perhaps the time had come to cease retreating. He would not, however, charge out in a single bold step. He decided to scout ahead and test the terrain for safety.