“Don’t you think I’m a trifle old to
be ‘fixed up’ with some woman? Besides,
I’m used to being alone.” Hal Stensson
gave his mother an aggrieved look. Ever
since he’d been widowed he’d been treated to periodic attempts on her part to
see him ‘settled’ as she called it.
Never mind that he’d lived quite happily–well, with a minimum of angst,
since his wife died, fifteen years now, he recalled. The real disappointment was that Josh was
working for a large IT company in Portland, much to his regret. It was painful to have him so far away,
especially as he and his son had always been close. But, as Josh and Hal agreed, he had to go
where the job took him.
At the same time these thoughts occurred, he
was trying to deflect his mother’s genteel wangling of a date for him. Someone she called Marian, which had an
ominous, dull sound in itself, Marian the Librarian. That was pretty much his mother’s speed, and
what she might plan for him. The woman
would have to be a knockout to overcome that name, he told himself
irrationally.
“I’m not exactly fixing you up,” his
mother continued. “She’s new to town,
and the last time I played bridge with her mother, she mentioned that Marian
was interested in getting acquainted since moving here after her divorce.” Hal’s mother lowered her voice to a near
whisper as if someone might be listening at her front door. “He was a drinker and a rounder, you know,
and Marian stayed with him until her two girls graduated from high school. They’re in college now. Apparently, there’s money somewhere so she’s
not in dire straits, or anything.”
Hal sighed. He knew his mother. She’d not let up until he complied with her
wishes. “When is this little outing?”
“Saturday night. We’ll meet for early dinner at Merchants and
then go on to the ballet. Jane has
already gotten the tickets. I think with
your sister and Don there, it won’t seem so much like a date. A kind of family party. You like her mother, I know.”
He nodded. “Yes, as old gals go, Nancy is rather a
charmer. Let’s hope her daughter takes
after her rather than her father. A
captain of industry with the jaw to prove it.”
Hal’s mother took the jibe well and
merely laughed. Adele looked like aging
royalty as she sat in the gold bergère
chair in her living room, petting her little dog, the papillon Louie, who was
happily squashed beside her. Adele Stensson’s
blue cashmere sweater exactly matched her eyes, and her hair was still mainly
light brown with only a sprinkling of silver.
Of medium height with a only few tell-tale signs of arthritis in her
fingers, she looked younger than her years.
She was Norwegian while Hal’s father had been Norwegian with one Swedish
grandsire, who provided their surname.
Hal’s parents were originally from Minnesota and had arrived in
Nashville soon after their marriage.
Although Hal favored his mother in
his looks, he had his father’s coloring, commonly called “black Norwegian” with
very dark hair and blue eyes. His
father, deceased for six years, had had a printing company that he’d bought
into when an army buddy had made the offer.
Hal had grown up immersed in the sound of presses and the smell of ink
but chose the writing side of the business until his employer, the Nashville
Banner, went out of business. It
was, he occasionally reflected, a sign of the times that even now with his own
city magazine that he published monthly, he rarely saw those things that were
part and parcel of his father’s business.
So with a few more details to
arrange at what was to be a date, no matter what his mother called it, Hal left
for his own house, a few blocks away in the historically important neighborhood
of Foxhill. His place was an early 20th century but still significant
design called a Craftsman bungalow, while his mother’s house was a two-story
1850s Italianate with mansard roof, bracketed window heads, and high ceilings.
On the way home, he had to admit
that his few independent forays into that strange world of dates and
relationships had definitely bombed, the only word for it. Never considering himself a lady’s man, he’d
gotten less and less interested in the pursuits and the necessary repartee
when nothing seemed to click. He and his
wife, Chrissy, had met in college and like so many romances in that rarified
atmosphere permeated by hormones and set in a cloistered environment, they
married shortly after graduation. They’d
had a strong attachment that Hal believed could never again be duplicated. It was that sense of belonging wholly to one
another, almost from the first encounter, that he had not found again, even
with seemingly suitable women.
His last date was over a year ago
with Paige Crowell, now Geitner, and should have worked. They were of the right age; they had fairly
common interests; and she was a lovely woman.
Yet he knew on that first date that it was falling flat. And then he heard from Tessa Wenger that the
woman had married less than six weeks after he’d taken her out!
A couple of years before that, he
had even dated Tessa when she’d first started working for him. She, too, had married shortly after
that. There’d been other abortive attempts
in other years. Maybe he had turned into
a misogynist without noticing, and women were telling him so. That was all right, as far as he was
concerned. It set up fewer
expectations–for himself and for the women who crossed his path. He would patiently suffer this setup by his
family, for he knew it would be a fleeting encounter. The chances of him and Marian hitting it off
were quite slim.
There were compensations in living
alone, he reflected, letting himself into his neat and spare bungalow. He’d
always liked the neighborhood, and though he and Chrissy had raised Josh in an
outlying area of Nashville, after her death he decided Foxhill would be the
place where he might live out his remaining years. For one thing, the houses were interesting
and varied, not only in design, but also in age and size, so there seemed to be
something for everyone. Further, the
restoration atmosphere and the homeowners association engendered a community
spirit not found in most neighborhoods.
He appreciated that.
On the negative side, it was close
to the projects and occasional gang members might wander into the area, but
with a vigilant Neighborhood Watch on the lookout, no ruffians would stay
long. Large families seldom lived here,
he reflected. It seemed one- or
two-child families sent their youngsters to a boarding school or maybe a day
school if they were able to transport them.
The nearby public schools had little to recommend them, unfortunately. Friends had to be imported for play times and
parties. But once ensconced in Foxhill,
almost no one wanted to leave. Its
historic houses and mellow brick sidewalks with tree-lined streets lent a
homey, old world ambiance and made the place unique.
The next morning Hal was having
breakfast at a restaurant near his magazine office. He was soon joined by his second in command,
Juliet Norman, who handled every detail he forgot, with tasks assigned to her
that he usually avoided, such as those of an office manager. Reporters he had, along with a circulation
manager and an advertising assistant who helped him with his own advertising
efforts, but he detested the day-to-day arrangements about staff problems and
bills, which Juliet managed very well.
“I think I’ve got someone to do both
jobs that we’re needing done,” Juliet said, cutting her french toast into a
messy plateful of bite-sized pieces.
“Both jobs? I thought we just needed a typist.?”
“True, that’s what I was after
initially,” Juliet nodded in agreement.
She was a brusque woman in her forties, squarely built. She and her husband had both retired from the
army after twenty years and had a boy and girl in high school. Her name, Hal often thought, seemed a kind of
reproach to her parents, for she was hardly the delicate romantic.
“She applied for the typing post,”
Juliet continued, “and her test was remarkably good. But when she was filling out some forms, she
pointed to the corner of my office, which was its usual filthy mess, thanks to
Daniel’s frequent absences, and said, ‘I can clean for you, too, if you’ll let
me stay a couple of hours later two or three times a week, and I’ll do a better
job than that!’ Well, I agreed, and
she’ll do it for the same money as our errant college boy. I texted him and gave him the bad news.”
“Does this woman know anything about
publishing?” Hal wasn’t questioning his
lieutenant’s judgment, but he was curious.
“She is new to the field, but she’s
very keen. Took a couple of English
classes, as a matter of fact, to sharpen her writing skills. But in Romania, she was close to getting a
degree when she immigrated.”
“Romania! Who is this paragon?”
Juliet gave her hearty laugh and
said, “I don’t say she’s a paragon.
She’s something of a character, but as I say, she’s eager and a good
typist as well. She’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t, not for a minute. What’s her name?”
“Mihaela Forenscu. She’ll start work on Monday.”
“Fine.” But he finished his breakfast in a kind of
dread at meeting someone who saw dirt in corners and offered to clean it up.
Chapter
2
Early November evenings in Nashville
could be chilly, so it wasn’t surprising to see both Nancy Lankford and a woman
who was obviously her daughter wearing light furs over their shoulders. Nancy wore an old fashioned ermine stole,
while the younger woman had on over her dress a mink vest that exactly matched
her thick chestnut hair, worn in a bob.
They arrived at the front of the restaurant at the same time as Hal and
his mother but came from a different direction.
“Perfect timing,” Nancy exclaimed, greeting
her friend Adele with a hug. “I want you
two to meet my daughter, Marian Keeler.”
Marian held out her hand, first to
Hal’s mother and then to Hal, who tried not to register surprise. She may not have been termed a knockout, but
staid and insipid in looks Marian definitely was not. She was a little taller than her mother,
about five-foot six or seven with a slender but curvy figure, wearing a long,
green wool sheath slit at the knee. Hal
noticed a diamond bracelet when they shook hands. In the light of the marquee, Hal saw that
Marian had beautiful topaz-colored eyes and a creamy oval face that just missed
being beautiful. She didn’t look forty,
but he suspected she was actually older than that.
Amenities were exchanged, and then
Hal opened the door for the women to enter the restaurant foyer where the light
was considerably dimmer, more intimate.
The group was immediately shown to a table upstairs where Hal’s sister
Jane and her husband Don were already seated.
For a few minutes there was a flurry of introductions and people moving
here and there as they settled into their seats around a rectangular table for
six. Hal sat at one end, and his
brother-in-law at the other. Sitting to
Hal’s left was his sister and to his right Marian. She was looking around at the historic
setting with interest.
“I’ve heard of this place, but as
many times as I’ve visited Nashville, this is a first for me, so it’s a real
treat.” The hostess handed out large menus to them.
Promptly, the beverage server arrived
and took their orders, and amid general conversation about the history of the
hotel, they were all served wine with the exception of Hal’s mother who always
had iced water with lemon.
“I’m afraid I don’t know where you
moved from,” Hal said to Marian, after ordering Steak Frites as his
entrée. Hal’s sister asked for a baked
chicken dish, while Marian ordered Mushroom Papparello, which was, according to
the waiter, a Merchants’ specialty.
“Atlanta, for most of my married
life. I have two daughters, one of whom
is going to William and Mary while the other is at Davidson. It seemed the perfect time to make a real
break with my former life.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy Nashville. It’s always been our home,” he gestured to
his sister, who now joined in the conversation.
“Yes, if there’s anything I can do
to help you get acquainted, Marian,” Jane offered, “any clubs I might introduce
you to, for instance, I’d be more than happy to do so. Are you in Woman’s Club?”
“I have been, but several years ago,
and for now, I’m going to take my time and see what I might like to be involved
in, but thank you for the offer. I’ve
been a professional volunteer for years,” she said with a laugh. “I was the
wife of a member of the U.S. Polo team and playboy extrordinaire. I had few options for doing anything other
than managing a household and taking care of social obligations.”
“So were you college trained for a
career?” Hal said, in between sips of
tomato bisque.
“Yes, sort of. I graduated from
Sweet Briar with a degree in, of all things, Sociology. I had some thought about helping the
displaced, the homeless. But after I
married, my life took a different turn, and I sort of settled, you might
say. I became as much of a dilettante as
my husband. I’ve been quite useless,
except for taking care of my girls. I am
a good mom,” she said with definite nod of her head. Then she looked at Hal with an amused
expression and said, “But I can’t cook or iron or sew or do anything very
practical.”
“Like the lilies of the field–they
toil not neither do they spin. You’re
quite nicely arrayed yourself,” he said with a polite little bow of his head.
“I really don’t think that passage
was referring to the likes of me,” Marian laughed. “That eye of the needle thing is probably
more applicable.”
“And now,” Hal said, with an
appreciative smile, “you want to do something significant with your life?”
“I’d like to continue my work with the
homeless, only professionally. To that
end, I’ve applied for a job at the Nashville Mission.”
As if the words carried an electric
charge, everyone’s attention suddenly was focused on Marian, and her mother
cried, “I’ve told her that’s not a proper thing for a woman to be doing. Dreadful things go on there, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, Mother,” Marian said, shaking
her head, “I think it’s perfectly safe.
I’ve looked it up on-line and visited it when I was here prior to my
move, and I think it would be a very interesting place to work.” Then she turned to Hal and said, “But enough
about me. I know you’re a publisher of Cityscape
magazine, and I’ve seen copies of it at Mother’s. How did that come about?”
And for the remainder of the meal,
the conversation centered around Hal’s venture, the stories he’d covered, and
his personnel, until the few who had succumbed to a sherbet and ice cream
dessert were finished. He felt he hadn’t
talked about himself that much in years.
In order to simplify matters, Hal picked up the bill for the party,
which was fine. He had few expenses in
his bachelor life, and this was an unusual occasion. He felt strangely happy and full of well
being this evening.
“We’d better hurry to TPAC,” Hal’s
brother-in-law said, snapping shut his cell phone,“since it’s nearly time for
the curtain. I’ve ordered a taxi to
drop us off there and pick us up after the ballet, so we won’t have to either
walk or move our cars around. I just
checked with the cab company, and it’s out front as we speak. How does that sound?”
Everyone congratulated him on his
forethought, and the group moved to the sidewalk where one of the roomier cabs
awaited them. Hal and Marian were the
first to get in, which required crawling into the far back seat. He went ahead and helped her to get situated,
both of them laughing at the awkwardness of SUVs. Hal was very pleased the way the evening was
progressing. He couldn’t fault his
mother for her manipulating this occasion.
So much for Marian the Librarian.
After Swan Lake, a nice but
familiar performance for most of the company, they exited the taxi at the
various places where their cars were parked.
Hal and his mother were the first to reach their parking garage. He’d had little opportunity to be alone with
Marian to set up some further meeting, but he had found out she had purchased a
condo somewhere on West End, and believing they’d gotten along well, he planned
to find her number and give her a call.
He couldn’t claim sparks, exactly, but she was a lovely woman as well as
intelligent and interesting. Going
against his habitual lack of momentum when it came to such things, he decided
she was worth pursuing to get better acquainted.
“So what did you think?” Hal’s
mother queried as they drove home. “It
wasn’t a bad evening, was it?”
“No, Mom, you did good. Actually, Marian’s something of a puzzle, a
pretty one, for sure, and you know I’ve always liked a mystery, so I may have
to check her out further.”
Adele clapped her hands
together. “I knew it! I just had a feeling about this. So you’ll be asking her out then?”
“I think I will. Of course, I don’t know if she’ll be
interested in going out with me.”
“What girl wouldn’t? Of course, she’d be pleased as punch.” She got out of the car in her own driveway
and leaned in before closing the door.
“Let me know what happens.
Promise?”
“Yes, my dear, I’ll keep you
informed. Now scoot. It’s past your bedtime.”
But what surprised him the most was
that he couldn’t wait until the next day, but called information and got her
number as soon as he was inside his house.
He hesitated a moment before ringing her, wondering if she stopped at
her mother’s or had he even given her enough time to reach her place. He punched in the number resolutely and was
gratified to hear her low voice answer, “Hello?”
He knew he sounded a bit gruff when
he asked her if she enjoyed the evening, but that was him, and she surely knew
that by now. In fact, she made it easy,
saying she was glad he called since she wanted to know if he’d like to go with
her to an exhibition of medieval religious icons and objects from the
Metropolitan Museum Cloisters collection--if he hadn’t already been.
She explained further as if having
to tempt him. “Mother’s seen it, and
I’ve read up on these items, which are supposed to be fabulous. Does that interest you?” She laughed then, rather self-consciously, he
thought, which was rather endearing.
“Sure, I’d like to go, and no, I
haven’t yet been. Good idea.” They agreed on the following Saturday
afternoon at 2:30. After wishing her a
good night, he rang off and sat for a moment, wondering about her–she went
straight to the point, that was for sure.
He normally gave a wide berth to socialites, particularly wealthy ones
since their lives had little in common with his own. But Marian seemed different, iconoclastic, he
thought, despite the fur and diamonds.
That business about wanting to work at the Nashville Mission, for
instance, was what? A genuine interest
in helping the underclass? Or was she
merely getting off on playing Lady Bountiful?
Time would tell, and for now he was willing to take that time.
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