MUCH ADO IN 2022

"It's a very good morning, Charlie; do you have good news to match it?"

The chuckle was proud with just a trace of triumph. "I do indeed. Part came in last week and the tires got here this morning, and young Todd just finished the test drive and he is strutting around a little bit now. Your car will never growl like a panther, but its purring like a kitten now. Ready to pick up anytime."

"Thank you, Charlie. I really like the Mustang, but I guess I miss MY car. I'll be over at lunchtime." She paused a moment in thought. "Oh, Charlie, could you please have Mona call Tom Henderson? And let him know he can pick the car up at your place? I don't have his number."

"We'll do better and drive it over. Any guy here would buy me a beer to drive that car. See you later."

"Good bye, Charlie."

Jimmy and Judy were pleased to drop her off before they took off for lunch at Gershon's Deli. She settled up with Mona, paying what she could and arranging for manageable payments from her next five paychecks. Before she departed, she left a quite heart-felt 'Thank you' card on the passenger seat, along with a small box which contained, carefully swaddled from harm, one of Mrs. Hawkins' lemon mousse tarts, which she had made under instruction the night before. She patted the hood of the Mustang and said she was going to miss it, though she felt a little foolish for doing so. Then she drove back to work.

Traci was hard at work one afternoon a few days later when a familiar voice startled her.

"Hello, Eileen."

Surprised, Traci looked up from her arrangement board.

Tom Henderson was standing next to Eileen's desk and they were smiling at each other.

"Hello, Tom. You are looking well."

"And you grow more beautiful by the day." That got a beaming smile. "I was running some errands and thought I would stop by. Might I have a minute of Miss Smith's time?"

"Of course."

"How is my order coming?"

"I am attending to it personally. It will be ready the day after tomorrow."

"Splendid. The world traveler has departed the Dark Continent and is in one piece."

"Thank goodness for that. Doc Martin will be vastly relieved."

"Hopefully we will get a chance to talk later."

"I'd like that."

Then he had turned and walked toward her. She glanced to her left. At Mr. Henderson's entrance, Judy had sat up straighter, and her ears had pricked up at the conversation.

Mr. Henderson nodded politely at Judy, and then said, "Traci, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Henderson," she said in a small voice, which she hoped at least had a professional tone.

"It is indeed. Sorry about the late notice, but I was hoping you would have dinner with me this evening. Nothing big or fancy. I will have to give up the car soon, and thought you might like to take a last ride in it with me."

She was taken aback, but saw Judy slowly nodding her head over her arrangement board, and a quick flick of a glance showed Mrs. Grant giving her a wink. Slightly against what might be her better judgement, she found herself saying, "That would be very nice, Mr. Henderson. I do appreciate your kindness."

"I'll stop by the Hawkins House at seven then." And with that he was gone.

Neither Judy nor Mrs. Grant said anything, but Judy raised her eyebrow and grinned. Traci felt her ears reddening, and bent to her board and ignored her. As soon as it got to 2:30 she escaped to the safety of the Library.

"That was very nice of Mr. Henderson to take Traci to dinner," Judy ventured, trying to gage her boss's reaction.

"Tom Henderson defines nice, Judy. And he always does the right thing." Then she smiled slightly. "And he is always looking toward the future."

"It's almost like he's adopted her; like she's one of the family," Judy continued fishing.

Eileen looked at Judy with a slightly severe expression.

"Judy Miller, if you say one word to Miss Smith about Mr. Henderson, your life will become as miserable as only your mother's best friend knows how to make it."

"Yes, Mrs. Grant." She started to ask a question, and then her eyebrows shot up. "You don't mean?"

"Not a word."

"No, Mrs. Grant," she grinned.

As she got ready that evening, Traci talked to her mother, who was someplace near an Alaskan glacier, apparently. While she did not have a large wardrobe or numerous accessories, she tried to put together something at least harmonious that would make her look mature, sophisticated and modest. He mother was intrigued by her description of Tom Henderson, and embarrassed her by, at first demanding, and then wheedling details out of her. She never missed a weekly call with her mother, since she loved her, but never talked for more than twenty minutes if she could help it, because she could be a pain.

"Yes, Mom, he is a widower with grown children, probably about my age. He is a very nice man, who has been kind to me and made me feel welcome in a new place. Come to think of it, that could describe just about everybody here."

She looked through her small jewelry box. She only had a half dozen pairs of earrings, but she wanted to project an image.

"Yes, Mom, I know what you always say. You always say it is just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man... but you still married Dad when he was as poor as a church mouse, and now has more patents than you can shake a stick at, and a dozen published books. And you and he fill up your passports every year.... And you take all the credit for 'inspiring him to achieve his full potential.'... Yes, Mom, I could hear you talking on Bridge night."

Traci held up the zircon and gold stud earrings and looked critically at herself in the mirror.

"Yes, Mom, I guess I did know that when Dick Van Dyke was 86 he married a 40-year-old woman and they seem quite happy."

She looked at her four pairs of dress shoes. She debated on the flats or the low heels. Mr. Henderson was so much taller than she was, that an extra inch wouldn't make much difference, and she loathed high heels, so she opted for her most comfortable flats. She continued to listen to her mother with half an ear.

"Yes, Mom, I do know Harrison Ford was 68 when he married a 46-year-old woman. He is my favorite actor."

She held her dress up and looked in the mirror. Good, it went to mid-calf, and the color matched the shoes well enough.

"Mom, Mr. Henderson is not a movie star.... Yes, I do know that Cher is 76 and dating someone 40 years younger.... For me to do that, I'd have to date a guy 12 years before he was born."

The neck of her dress wouldn't show any significant cleavage, and she debated on a necklace. She had several. Long enough to lay on the dress, or short enough to show on the skin just below her neck. She would go with the fine gold chain and the small cross with zircons on the arms, and a small garnet in the center. The small dot of bright color pleased her.

"Of, course I'm being infuriating on purpose. When you try to run my life, haven't I always dodged you like a bullfighter in the ring?... I thought we both enjoyed it?... See I made you laugh."

She sat in front of the mirror and looked at her hair. Normally she pulled it back to keep it from being annoying when she was working in her arrangement board at work. When not at work she just let it hang. She glanced at the clock and decided she had time enough to put it up, like a mature, sophisticated woman.

"He calls me, 'Traci', Mom, and I call him Mister Henderson. And he has never flirted with me in the slightest.... And I really think the topic should be closed, Mom.... Alright, I admit that if he were 30 years younger and unmarried, I would find some way to get him to ask me out; but we would probably just decide to be friends afterwards. Are you satisfied now?"

As she laid out the pins and combs she said, "I have to run now, Mom. Say 'Hi' to Dad for me, and give him a hug.... Love you, too.... Bye."

She shook her head as she hung up and took out her Bluetooth. The hair would take some concentration, and, despite what her mother had told her, she never deliberately made a caller wait."

Tom Henderson called at the front door of the Hawkins House on very nearly the tick of seven, and Mrs. Hawkins opened the door and had him sit in the hall on the same bench his parents had sat on as they waited to check in on their wedding night as she rang Traci's room.

Traci appeared in minutes, dressed demurely and avoiding Mrs. Hawkins perfectly neutral expression. Mr. Henderson rose at her appearance and acknowledged her with a nod and a smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Henderson."

"A very good evening to you, Ms. Smith. You look quite nice this evening."

"Thank you. You do, too."

Mrs. Hawkins, looked at Tom in mock severity. "Not too late, mind. And I lock the door at ten, though the key is under the pot of buttercups on the porch rail."

"We shan't be out late," Tom smiled, and handed Traci the car keys. "The car has been sulking since you left."

Traci's smile was genuine as she took the keys. "Good night, Mrs. Hawkins."

Under Tom's directions, Traci raced the car across the town and up a switchback road which climbed a high hill on the opposite side of town. At the top was a broad parking lot, a platform building on stilts which had a broad spread of panoramic windows facing west. There was also a rambling garden alongside the restaurant and banquet hall, which was bounded by a dozen strategically scattered cottages. "What are those?" she asked, as she parked close to the restaurant entrance.

"Those are little getaways for married couples to get away for an overnight or a weekend, to celebrate an anniversary, birthday or other event; or just because." He chuckled and looked wistful. "Rebecca and I would come up to just get away."

The view from the mountaintop restaurant was spectacular, especially at sunset. Looking back over the town, she thought she could make out the shape of the Hawkins House perched near the base of the cemetery hill. She promised herself to try and pick out the restaurant's lights on the hill tomorrow night.

An impeccable waitress with a broad smile for Mr. Henderson took their orders and delivered a strawberry daiquiri for her and a VO & Seven for him. She firmly promised herself only one drink, so she sipped it sparingly.

Traci became vaguely nervous when she saw there was a dance floor, but he never asked her to dance. The place was classy enough to have quiet music so that people could actually talk while dance or sit without having to shout in each other's ears.

After their elegant appetizers were delivered, Traci decided to grab the conversational bull by the horns. "You never told me about the owner of the Mustang other than he was out of the country," she prompted, carefully sipping her drink, which she could tell was a bit stronger than she was used to.

He gave her a wry smile. "You've got me there. Guy's name is Robert. He is a really great guy. Eagle Scout. Black Belt. Athlete. Scholar. Instead of a Jack-of-all-Trades, he was pretty much a Master-of-all-Trades. Valedictorian of the high school. His dad wanted him in the family business. He wanted to go into medicine. They - butted heads - about it for several months. His mother, a saint of a woman if ever there was one, intervened and reminded her husband that he hadn't moved into HIS father's business either. So, grumbling, he sent his son off to Pre-Med, Medical School, and finally residency for Family Practice. Unfortunately, his mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died about six months before he finished his residency. Before she died, he promised her that he would use his new skill to help people. So when he was done, he signed up for Doctors Without Borders for two years. He needed someone to look after his Medical School graduation present, so I volunteered."

"You must know him very well for him to trust you with that car."

"I've known him pretty much his whole life. I was even his Scoutmaster." He paused and seemed to carefully consider his words before speaking. "His whole life he had just a few girlfriends. Funnily enough, they were all extremely similar in appearance; extremely. But none really quite worked out, not the sparkle he was looking for. So it wasn't like he left a wife or fiancé or girlfriend behind when he raced off to Africa for two years. I am sure he will find who he is looking for one of these days, though," he finished with a broad smile. "Now I do idly wonder how you made your way to our small town."

Traci sipped her drink, giving her time to think and hopefully making her look more sophisticated than she felt. "I grew up in a small, sleepy university town. Both my parents were professors. I have a brother and a sister. My sister is in Guam. And my brother lives in Naples, Italy, with his Italian wife and her huge Italian family. My parents retired as early as they could, and travel a lot. I got my Bachelor's and Master's degrees in graphics design at the same university my parents taught at. I was top of my class. When I graduated I went off to the big city to be successful. But I found that I had a different definition of 'successful' than my co-workers. I was worked hard, never acknowledged, and never did break into whatever clique seemed to be pulling the strings. I didn't shove in, push in, or lean in. I tried to be noticed by doing lots of good work. That just got me racking up significant overtime. I was left behind by people who were better schmoozers than I was; but not a better layout designer. It took a few years for me to wake up and smell the smog. By that time, I was ready to scream the classic line from the British TV show, THE PRISONER."

"I am not a number; I am a free man," Tom quoted with a smile.

"You know it!"

"The BBC was responsible for some legendary shows, and some legendary flops. That was one of the legendary shows. I never missed an episode."

"I saw it on DVDs."

"I still cannot decide what the final episode symbolized."

They were still taking when their meals were delivered, and the conversation only slowed down because both parties had to take turns chewing.

The meal was exceptional, and the company stimulating. Traci worried a bit about how to react if Tom, Mr. Henderson, asked her to dance, but he ignored the dance floor and kept up a steady flow of questions and anecdotes.

"I think I know the answer, Traci, and pardon my nosiness, but do you have a boyfriend or significant other?"

Feeling a flash of uneasiness, which she hurriedly dismissed, she decided to be honest without being too direct. "No. I haven't really gotten into the dating scene here. Most of my contemporaries seem to have the eligible men all locked up, either already married or exclusively dating. I may have to resort to an on-line matchmaking site." She smiled brightly. "But I would definitely put in my profile that I have no interest in moving from my new home town."

"I'm relieved to hear that, Traci. You have fit in so well that you would probably have people looking through the high school yearbook to pick you out."

She chuckled and looked out the windows overlooking the town. "I had two almost-relationships in Chicago. One was a guy who turned out to have ulterior motives. He was a better schmoozer than I was, but not a better designer. He wanted to pick my brains and steal my work to give him an advantage in the fight for recognition. I told him what I thought of him, and he slunk away with his tail between his legs. Then I ran into a guy at the library, and we seemed to get along well. We went out for two months. He, well, tried to rush the relationship, shall we say, and I am not the type to be rushed. Then I found out that I was only one of several interests he was pursuing. We certainly didn't have a formal exclusive agreement, and he had every right to date whomever he wanted, as did I, but everything he said and did was to let me believe I was the only one he was dating. That was a big turnoff for me. After that, I had the odd date here or there, but they were either obviously incompatible, or they wanted to finish the first date, well, in the bedroom. That didn't happen. It was very discouraging for a woman who wants a real relationship."

"I'm sorry you've had such poor experiences, Traci. But Chicago's loss is our gain, and I have to feel good about that."

They had deserts and coffee, and chatted about the library and its next funding request. Traci enjoyed the dessert but noted that Mrs. Hawkins' version wsa better - and she knew the trick to making it.

She drove the car back to the house, zooming through the streets at just over the speed limit. Officer Elcott just waved as they flew past. She thanked him for a wonderful evening, and was mildly relieved that he did not walk her to the door, but did wait until she was inside before pulling away. The time was well before ten, so the key was not necessary, and Mrs. Hawkins and Jason were playing a classic board game with a couple who were staying a few days to visit relatives. She kibitzed for a while, and then went up to bed. Before she pulled the curtains, she peer out into the dark, and was pleased when she saw what she was certain were the restaurant lights. She got ready for bed, and read herself to sleep.

The next day started like any other, though Judy brought in some cinnamon rolls from her mother, and Traci nibbled at one while nursing her coffee as she wrestled with a commercial conundrum as to arranging a series of posters that were to go up along Main Street. The bell jingled.

"Good morning, Tom." Traci started. Tom had just walked in the door. He flashed her a smile but went over to Eileen's desk. Eileen smiled at him. Actually she beamed at him. "Picking them up in person, are you?"

"Of course. Something this important demands personal attention."

She pulled out a stack of cards and envelopes. Smiling he admired the artistry and quality. "Works of art, as always."

"Oh, Mr. Henderson, what a smooth talker you are," she teased coyly. To Traci's surprised eyes, she seemed to lose several decades just smiling up at her client.

"May I deliver a couple personally?"

"Of course."

He took out two invitations, and pulled out an old fashioned fountain pen and jotted down a few lines, put them in envelopes, and addressed them with a flourish. "Just a moment," he said.

Then he turned, and, to Traci's embarrassment, he walked to her desk and almost shyly slipped on onto her desk. "Ms. Smith, I am having a little party at my house this Saturday. I would consider it a tremendous personal favor if you would come, for a least a little while. You can certainly meet the few people you haven't already run into in our small town," he chuckled.

She could almost feel her mother behind her, with crossed arms and tapping foot, as she had been lectured pointedly on 'manners.' "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Henderson. I, I shall certainly consider it."

He nodded happily and walked back to Eileen's desk. He set the second envelope carefully on the front of her desk, and then slid it slowly across the top of the desk until it touched her fingertips. "Eileen, I would be most happy if you would come to my party on Saturday."

To Traci's eyes, her boss's entire body lit up. "Tom, I would be delighted."

The rest of the week went smoothly, and Saturday morning was bright and sunny, though Traci was a bit distracted over breakfast, answering absently as Jason was filling in the paper's weekend crossword puzzle.

"You seem preoccupied, dear."

Tracy started. She had been helping Mrs. Hawkins with cleanup after breakfast, and had been distracted by the whirling thoughts in her mind.

"What? Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Hawkins. Mr. Henderson invited me to a party at his house today, and my mother always told me to take something to a party, but I confess I have no inspirations. I don't think a bottle of wine or a bag of chips would be appropriate."