SIX 

                                                             By Joan Stephens

First Meeting 

Angry, upset, and humiliated, the fashionably dressed young woman stomped away from her seething and sputtering fiancé who was angrily leaning against his shiny red Mercedes Benz sports car.  The nerve of that man to think that he could dictate to her, Catherine Chandler, Charles Chandler’s daughter, what she should do, whom she should be seen with, and where she should go.  Did he think her a complete idiot?  She would choose her own friends.  What if Jenny wasn’t part of the society crowd?  I’m supposed to drop her?  No way!  Jenny’s a good friend: wise in the ways of the heart, smart and loyal.  She’d seen her through many broken hearts, and if Tom kept this up, would see her through another.

 In her outrage and resentment, she made an unwitting life-altering decision.  Automatically her feet took her to the nearest entrance to the park.  Muttering to herself, supremely confident in the protection her privileged station in life provided her, she decided to take a shortcut and stalked angrily through the darkened grounds.  Slowly the knowledge of where she was penetrated the anger-induced fog that she had wrapped around her: she was walking through the dangerously silent Central Park.  A tendril of fear began to curl in the bottom of her stomach, and she squealed with fright when she heard a twig snap behind her.  Foolishly, she froze.

 Before she could bolt in the direction of the exit from the park, a voice that sent shivers up her spine, said, “It is dangerous to be in the park at this time of night.”  The voice was soft and gentle, but in her fear and trepidation, she only heard menace and jeopardy.  She began to tremble and whimpered, “Don’t hurt me, please?”  So frightened that she could hardly speak, the words that tumbled from her lips were barely audible.  “I’ll give you all my money and jewelry, only don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

 “I won’t hurt you!”  The voice sounded much aggrieved that she would think that.  “I would never hurt you,” the unseen man assured her.  “You are safe; no one will harm you.” 

She’d never heard of a mugger or worse assuring the victim that they were safe and would be untouched.  She began to feel a little easier but was still wary of her possible rescuer.  “What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.  She still couldn’t quite believe that he was there just to protect her.

 “Nothing, only to see you safely through the park.” 

This time she noticed that the distinctive voice sounded like silk flowing over gravel and that she liked the sound of his voice, that in a strange way, it was comforting.  For some reason she believed him.  Almost giddy with relief, she brashly asked, “Do you do this for all maidens in distress?”  Gritting her teeth, she thought, What a stupid thing to say.  Embarrassed, she looked up at the night sky as if she could find the answer there.

He seemed to know she was embarrassed and, with laughter in his voice, answered, “No.  I seldom meet many maidens.”  His chuckle floated out of the shadows.  He asked a question in return, but his question was intended to make her think.  “Is it your habit to have a tantrum and then put yourself in danger?”  He had been on his way to his accustomed walk through the dark city streets, and with his acute hearing, he had heard the argument just outside the entrance to the park. 

Put that way, it sounded, even to her, as if she was a spoiled-rotten child.  “Pretty stupid, huh?” she agreed, glad that in the dark he couldn’t see her flaming face.  What she didn’t know was that with his extraordinary night vision, he saw all.  “I never thought  . . . ,” she mumbled lamely. 

“Are your parents alive?”  What did that have to do with the price of tea in China? she wondered. 

“Just my father.  I lost my mother when I was ten.”

 “And you still miss her.  The pain has never gone away.”

“No,” she whispered. 

 “Then think of the pain and grief your father would feel if something had happened to you.”

 Ashamed at how thoughtless she had been, she was unable to reply past the lump in her throat. 

“Your life is not your own,” he continued.  “Your actions impinge on everyone you meet like a pebble dropped onto the smooth surface of a pond.  The ripples created effect the smallest denizens as well as the largest.  You do not live in a vacuum.”

 For a moment she resented his censure, but clearing her throat, she had to agree with him.  There was silence, complete silence, and she began to be uneasy.  “Are you still there?” she asked, angry that her voice quivered like the schoolgirl she felt herself to be, being chastised for being late to class.

 “Yes,” came the whispery reply.  “Actually, I was wondering what could have made you so angry that you would so rashly walk through the park.”

 “My fiancé, Tom Gunther.  I was mad at him.  We always have to do what he says.”  The words tumbled out.  “He told me I had to give up my friendship with my best friend, Jenny.  Since she’s not socially prominent, he doesn’t want me to be friends with her.  He ordered me to drop her, and I’d had enough; so I stormed off.”

 “Loyalty is a much neglected emotion, it seems,” he said.  “You should be proud that you stuck up for your friend.”

 With his praise ringing in her ears, she started to meander toward the park entrance opposite to her apartment building.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she heard him following closely behind her.  

“Maybe he’s not the one for you,” his soft voice declared.

 “Oh no, he’s a great catch.  Even my father says so.” 

“You make him sound like a fish,” he chuckled. 

Laughing as she pictured Tom flopping on the end of a fishing line, she agreed.

 “Do you love him?”

 “Of course, I do,” she answered defensively. 

“You don’t sound too sure.  Be sure.  Love is the most beautiful and wondrous feeling in the world.  The right love can light up your soul.”

 Strolling toward the street with her unseen protector beside her in the shadows, she silently considered his words.  Tom’s love didn’t light up her soul.  In fact, it was just the opposite.  This man, whoever he was, had given her much to think about.  “Will you tell me your name?”

 “Yes, if you tell me yours.”

 “Catherine.” 

 “Catherine,” his voice caressed her name as he repeated it.  Pure one, he thought.  “Vincent, my name is Vincent.”

 “The conqueror.  What have you conquered lately, Vincent?”

 “Not much, I’m afraid.” 

“I had an uncle named Vincent,” she recalled fondly.  “He was my favorite uncle.”

 “Was?” the question hung in the air.

 “He was killed in a robbery.  They never caught the killer.  That’s why I joined the DA’s office.”

 “I’m sorry for your loss.”  She could sense that he really was.  He added, “You must miss him very much.”

 “Yes, I still do.  He always made me laugh.  Well, here we are,” she said as they approached the park exit.

 “I can go no farther, but I will watch you safely across the street.”

 “Thank you, Vincent, for seeing me safely through the park.  Will I ever see you again?”  She extended her hand toward the darkness in the shadows. 

A gloved hand came out of the shadows and gently took her proffered one, holding it tenderly.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

 “Can’t we meet for lunch or something?”

 “No!” he answered forcefully and dropped her hands, retreating further into the shadows.  “No one must know of my existence.  I only walk the night . . . occasionally.” 

“But why?  Let me see you?” she asked.

 “No!” he restated firmly, sounding almost panicky.

 “Why not?” 

“I would only . . . frighten you,” he said in way of an explanation.

 “After tonight, I don’t think you would frighten me.”

 “I cannot take the chance.”

 She wanted so much to see him but honored his obvious fear of her reaction.  “All right, take care, Vincent.  Good bye and thank you.”  Quickly she crossed the street and entered her building.

 Vincent watched and waited until he saw a light come on eighteen stories above the street.  That must be her apartment.  He sighed and turned to walk back to his home.  Suddenly he didn’t want to walk the mean streets and back alleys of the city.  How he wished he could see her again. 

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

 Closing the door, Catherine leaned against the wall between the door and the fireplace.  What a night: frightening but at the same time enlightening.  After pulling a stupid stunt that could very easily have gotten her killed or worse, she was safely back in her apartment, having had the most amazing encounter with her unseen savior.  He hadn’t let her see him but accompanied her to the edge of the park.  She wondered if he was disfigured in some way and had been ridiculed and shunned during his life, making him hesitant to show himself.  And that voice.  She would hear that voice for the rest of her days: strong, vibrant, caring . . . beautiful.  She sighed deeply, wishing she could see him again.

 As Vincent ducked through the Central Park threshold, he met Mouse who was on one of his finding expeditions.  “Hi, Vincent,” Mouse grinned at his best friend. 

“Hello, Mouse.”

“Good walk?” the tow-headed young man asked.

 “A very good walk,” the older man agreed.

 “Find anything good?”

 “As a matter of fact, I did, Mouse, something very good.”  Vincent’s eyes glowed with pleasant memories.

 Mouse looked around.  “Don’t see it,” he stated.

 “I left it Above; I couldn’t bring it Below.”

 “Oh, too bad.” 

“Yes,” he sighed, “too bad.”  Nodding to his young friend, Vincent continued on to his chamber, pausing to speak for a moment to all he met.

 About to enter his chamber, he reconsidered.  Father would be worried about his excursion Above and needed to be informed that his recalcitrant son had come home safely.  “Father,” he said as he swung down the short flight of metal stairs. 

“Ah, Vincent, you’re back.”  Father peered at him over the top of his glasses then took them off, placing them carefully on his desk.  Reading glasses were hard to come by in his world and were worth their weight in gold.  Attempting to smooth any ruffled feelings from their earlier argument, he asked conversationally, “How was your time Above?  Pleasant, I hope?” 

Vincent nodded as he took his customary chair, “Very pleasant.”  He was tempted to tell the older man about his encounter in the park, but Father was trying so hard to be agreeable about a situation that he was dead set against that his son decided to keep it to himself.  “There was a three-quarter moon, a slight breeze, and it was remarkably warm for an April night.  The park was almost empty,” he skirted the truth, “And I enjoyed the freedom of the night.” 

Placing a conciliatory hand on his son’s stalwart arm, Father appealed to him, “Can’t you cut down on the number of times you go Above?  For the sake of my poor old heart.” 

Vincent couldn’t help but grin as his chin settled on his chest, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face.  “Yes, Father, I will try.” 

“Good.  That’s all I ask.  I love you, son, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“I know and I am always careful.”  Rising, he bent and kissed the older man on the cheek.  “Good night, Father.” 

“Good night, Vincent.  Sleep well.”  Smiling fondly at the retreating back, Father put on his glasses and picked up the latest edition of ‘The Lancet’ that Peter had given to him, leaning back comfortably into his chair.  

Stretched out on his bed, Vincent was reliving the night.  He had found her.  The one woman that  Narcissa had said could love him.  When his friends began to find their loves, he had wondered if there could ever be one for him and had gone to the old, half-blind witch woman to ask if there was a chance for him.  She had looked into the waters and then had told him that, if he found the one for him, he had six meetings in which to win her heart.  The old voodoo woman had not told him that it was his destiny to meet this woman.  He deserved the joy and the pain of finding love.  And tonight after almost giving up–it had been so many years–he had found her.  He had known as soon as he  had seen her marching so determinedly through the night that she was the woman of his dreams.  Oh, could he make her love him?  He could not bend her will; she would have to find her own way to love.  With her face before him, he turned over and was instantly asleep. 

*    

The persistent buzz of her alarm clock finally penetrated the cocoon of sleep that wrapped around her.  She slapped at the off button, finally managing to hit it.  Groaning as she sat up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.  With another disgusted groan, she fell back into the bed.  Whatever had possessed her to set the alarm?  It was Saturday, for heaven’s sake.  As she laid there bemoaning her stupidity, she remembered the dream, almost a nightmare if not for her rescue by the unseen man.  She remembered his voice, how comforting it was and how safe it made her feel.  Oh, to hear that voice again.

 Well, she was awake.  Might as well get her shower out of the way and then have some toast and coffee.  She had enough work piled on her desk to keep her busy all day.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t be working on them long into the night. 

 While she was in the shower, the phone rang.  After four rings, the answering machine kicked in.  Tom Gunther’s contrite voice floated into the empty room.  “Cathy, honey, are you all right?  I’m sorry, darling.  I shouldn’t push you like that.  I just wish that you would be a little more judicious in your choice of friends for my sake.  Of course, you don’t have to give up your friendship with Jenny.  Just be a little discreet.  Ok, sweetheart?  Charles told me he was going to ask you out for dinner; so, I’ll call you tomorrow.  Love you.  Bye.” 

Dressed in a pair of stonewashed jeans and an old sweatshirt, Catherine noticed on her way to the kitchen that the answering machine’s call light was blinking.  She listened dispassionately to Tom’s half-hearted apology, and then with more interest as she realized that what had happened last night had  not been a dream.  She really had been rescued from a possible mugging or worse.  All of a sudden, her day was brighter, and she was in a much cheerier frame of mind as she sensed that the man could become a good friend.

 The phone rang again.  Hesitant to pick it up–she had no desire to talk with Tom right now–she let it ring until the answering machine came on, and she heard her father’s voice.  Shutting the machine off, she made an excuse for letting the phone ring so long, “Sorry, Dad, but I was in the bathroom.”

 Without a preamble, her worried father asked, “Are you all right?”

 Of course, Tom would have told him.  “Tom told you,” she said with irritated impatience. 

“Yes, how could you be so foolish, Cathy?  To go into the park at night?”  He was genuinely distressed.

 There was no way that she could tell him what had really happened, so she told him that she had really gone around the corner, hailed a cab, and went home.

 Slightly mollified, he said.  “Well, don’t ever do anything like that.  Please.  I worry about you enough, as it is.”

 “Don’t worry, Dad.  I won’t.”

 “Thank you, honey, I hate to be an old fuddy-duddy,”  his voice became soft and tender, “but you’re all I have, and I don’t want to lose you.  To ease my worried mind, how about dinner tonight?  At Delmonicos?”

 She laughed to herself that he would think of himself as an old fuddy-duddy.  Somehow that just didn’t fit him.  “Sure, Dad.  I’ll see you at eight.” 

“Eight it is.  Don’t be late.  Love you, honey.” 

“Love you too.”  Thoughtfully, she hung up the phone.  She didn’t like lying to her dad but this was a case of what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  Getting her toast and coffee, she began to make sense out of the pile of briefs.

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