TheStarsAreRight:MeriNote2
Even though it seems like a long time to wait when you get off the phone, the time goes by faster than expected.
By the time you get back from your trip with Carl - there is just enough time to get cleaned up and get ready for the evening at the Opera House.
The suit from the hotel fits reasonably well . . . at least Carl assures you it does, even if you can't tell the difference between tailoring and off the rack. It's stiffer than what you are use to, not at all rumbled, and the shirt is crisp and starched. Your shoes are polished mirror bright . . . and there is probably some trouble with the wing-tie, until Julian lends a hand.
Carl and Julian are like odd parents, sending their young man out for the first time. They fuss over you, both of them trying to put you at ease, and probably only doing the opposite.
Then it is time to go, out the door, down to the lobby, where the car and driver waits. There is a white box on the seat when you get in the back. Peeking inside you find a small corsage of white orchids. Hard to say whether that was Carl's idea or Julian's -- but a thoughtful gesture in any case.
The car speeds you across town, into the early evening traffic.
Sooner than expected, the streets turn familiar, and you find yourself outside of Meridon's office building. The driver pulls to the curb and stops. Getting out to open the door for you.
"Oh, hey, thanks."
Redland clambers out of the car awkwardly.
"Er, I think she must still be in her office. I'll, uh, go see if she's ready."
The driver gives you a little nod, and takes up a position next to the car to wait for your return.
He enters the office building and approaches the security desk. He gives his name to the guard waiting there. It appears he is expected, since, after checking through a list, the guard waves him over to the elevator. Jack thanks him and then bypasses the elevator to go up the stairs. Arriving at the floor where Meridon Caine's small office resides, he steps out and wanders down the hall to the door. He pauses for a moment, exhales, and then tentatively knocks on the door.
It's only a few moments until the door opens, and she stands there. Her honey-blond hair brushed back and held with two sparkling clips. A touch of lipstick, and some color at the eyes . . . but not much more.
The dress she wears is long, and draped across the front neckline, and without sleeves. Made of simple black velvet, it clings in the right places, Around her throat is wound a floaty chiffon scarf, also in black. She wears no jewelry, and for a few seconds the two of you stand in the doorway, just looking at each other.
She holds the door open a bit wider. "Come in . . . let me get my wrap."
Redland steps just inside the room.
The office is dim and empty, and she turns to walk over to the desk where her things lie.
The back of the dress plunges deeply, leaving a surprising amount of skin exposed. She picks up a fur coat, and a small beaded handbag from the desk. Then, turns back to walk towards you, the dress swaying about her ankles.
He watches as she gathers up her things, starts to speak and then falls silent.
A deep breath at the door as she looks up at you.
It strikes you, that she is just as nervous as you are.
Jack moves uncertainly before settling on a little wave. "Hello. It's nice to see you again."
She smiles, nodding. "You too."
He contemplates offering his arm, but instead takes a small step back as she closes and locks the door. "I like your scarf. It's fun... It ... looks really nice on you."
He walks beside her and they take the elevator on their way to the car. He smiles tentatively, "So, how did work go today?"
"Oh, more of the same. Lots of paper, and a goodly amount of researching to make sure that what people say is theirs is really theirs. Not that they'd deliberately lie . . . mind you. But there seems to be an epidemic of forgetfulness these days . . " bemused.
As they arrive at the car, the driver sees them coming and opens the door for Meridon. Jack holds her little bag for her, while she climbs in the car, then he crosses over to the other side and hops in himself.
At the car, she pauses for a half-second, to give you a look that is appreciative. "How lovely, " her voice is warm.
And once she is settled in, and the driver has you on your way again. She says,
"You're very thoughtful Jack. That's something I find I like about you."
He looks kind of embarrassed but smiles and kind of mumbles a "thanks", or "no problem" or some mixture of the two.
He fumbles around quickly for the corsage. He offers it up to her. "I'm not sure if this goes with your outfit, exactly." He looks sheepish. "Er, on top of that, I'm not entirely sure what you're supposed to do with it..."
Jack laughs. "I apologize if I'm acting liking a doofus. I guess I'm pretty nervous."
Your confession seems to relax her just a bit. "I'm nervous too. I don't . . well . . . go out much." For such a usually confident person it come out surprisingly shy.
She gazes at the flowers. "They're perfect. And traditionally, I think you're suppose to pin them on me . . . but . . that pin looks wicked sharp."
Redland laughs again. "No trust! Well, I always knew you were a pretty smart cookie. Perhaps you'll want to affix that yourself. That way you don't start off our ... er, that way you don't go to the show in a black and red dress."
He continues hurriedly, "But yeah, it can be hard finding the time (and inclination) to go out when you're working and whatnot. Back when I was teaching and researching, I'd just go home, do a little light reading and hit the hay."
He pauses for a second. "Oh, speaking of reading, I got this for you." He hands her a surprisingly, poorly wrapped package (surprising, because it's such a simple, solid rectangle. Despite this, masking tape seems to have been liberally applied). "In case you end up not being a fan of Smetana, I figure this can be a backup plan until intermission hits."
"Goodness . . .this is a night of surprises!" she sets aside the flowers on the seat, and takes the package, far more interested in it. "I'll love the music . . but I'm sure that this will be a delight as well." Then looking it over, with a smile. "Should I open it now?"
Outside the city lights and the landscape drift by. Inside the car here, it is an intimate cocoon for the two of you.
"Hmmm. Now, that's up to you... it's your present!" As she turns the package over, he exclaims, "Oh wait, don't look at that side. I wasn't sure how to get the paper to sit right, so I took some scissors and, well, that's how you get the mess you see before you. Who knew wrapping soemthing could be so tricky."
She stops in mid-turn, holding it carefully, amused by your sudden concern. Then lies it flat on her lap, to begin to tug away the paper.
"You know, I can't remember the last time someone brought me a present. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised really, I don't generally have the time or the inclination to socialize with people, and you rather need to do that . . . for exchanging gifts, I mean." Then, she looks up with a concerned frown.
"I should have brought something for you."
Jack says, "No, no. I'm actually not sure what the proper protocol is for ..." He waves his hands vaguely. "This. ... Hmmmm. On the other hand, my birthday is coming up later this month ... hint, hint."
As she opens up a copy of 'His Last Bow' by Arthur Conan Doyle, he continues, "Ah. Good. You've destroyed all traces of the abominable wrapping job. No one can prove anything now."
They arrive at their destination more quickly than Jack had anticipated (or desired?). He quickly pops out of the car. The driver, seeing how eager Jack is, allows him to open the door and help Meridon out.
"Oops, one second." He leans back in and grabs up the scraps of paper and idly stuffs them into his pocket. He then turns to the driver and says quietly, "Er, sorry, do I tip you now? Oh, and how much?" After squaring things away with the driver, he hurries back over to Meridon.
This time he hesitantly kind of half offers his arm to her. He whispers, "Did you see the look on our driver's face when he first saw you? I think he's trying to figure out whether I'm famous or rich."
She glides out of the back, remembering to pick up the flowers from the seat, along with your gift.
Jack falls silent, heart fluttering.
Then, slips her arm through yours, fingertips lying lightly against the back of your hand. "You're both, of course. For tonight." you can see that your words both please and embarrass her a little. There is a delightful bit of color that rises up into her cheeks.
The walkway in front of the theater is thronged with lots people going in. There is everywhere the glitter of jewelry, the mingled scent of a hundred different expensive perfumes, cars pulling up after yours, to let couples out. Luckily the two of you are not jostled, everything seems polite. Just busy, with an undercurrent of excitement in anticipation of the music.
They show their tickets to a man at the door who points them in the right direction. They make their way to their seats (which, since this a part of the evening planned by Jack, not Carl, are merely adequate). When they arrive, Jack sadly relinquishes her arm, half laughing to himself, thinking, "What am I, 16 years old?"
There's a bit of confusion as you get settled. Trying to arrange the concert program, flowers, book, handbag, wrap, and yourselves, without dropping something on the floor. The room around is full of the murmur of conversation, the hall drenched in a golden light from crystal fixtures set high up above.
At length everything seems to have a place found for it, and she spends a bit of time fussing with the flowers to get them pinned on just so. The stark white of the blossoms make a striking contrast against the black velvet.
She leans in towards you to be heard against the noise of the background.
"I'm not actually sure . . but do you prefer Redland . . . . or Jack?"
Jack looks somewhat surprised by her question. "Thank you for asking. I can't remember the last time anyone has. I prefer to go by Redland. I guess because the name 'Jack' is just so common, well, at least in Britain. 'Redland' is kind of an odd name, though (my real name is Jack Redmond), so a lot of people prefer to call me 'Jack'."
He pauses for a moment as if considering. "I don't mean for this to sound rude or prying, but I've been wondering. Meridon Caine is, literally, the greatest name I've ever heard. Did you choose it for yourself?"
A low, sweet laugh from her, as she shakes her head. "No . . . I'm afraid not. It's an old English name. My father . . was a professor of eighteenth century literature. It was troublesome while I was young, when all the other girls were named Beth, or Susan, or Jane. I always wanted to be a Jane . . but my father was right when he said I just needed to grow into my name."
She tilts her head to look at you. " Redland . . . " thoughtfully. "Where does that come from?"
"It was something my younger sister, Julia, used to call me, to tease me." He reflects for a moment, looking a little sad. "Strange that I can't remember what about that name would annoy me. There must have been some incident. ... She was the only one who ever called me that. Anyway, when, uh, when she passed away, I kind of took it on as a ... tribute to her, I guess." He shakes his head and chuckles. "Now, well, I like that no one else shares my name. I like to be different, even in silly ways like my name."
A touch on the back of your hand. "I'm sorry for your loss." she says quietly. "I think it's a wonderful way to remember her." then a bit brighter, "Redland doesn't flow off the tongue . . but I think I can get use to saying it." there is a serious note here, along with a bit of friendly teasing.
He smiles at her (he seems to be smiling a lot). "Yeah, it'll grow on you ... admittedly, kind of like a fungus, but all the same ..."
Redland glances at the stage briefly. "I've not actually seen the entire opera before. My understanding is that it's a light, comedic affair." He continues, "Some of our musicians at university played a selection of Smetana's music a couple of years ago, and I really enjoyed it. Hmmm. I'm afraid I never asked if you enjoy this style of music. Do you have a particular preference?"
"I do like this music. Though I have to admit that I don't know much about it. My father often tried to elevate my standards, when I was younger . . . but of course then, it didn't take. I often wished I'd paid more attention. So this will be a treat for me. Especially if you can round out what appear to be somewhat slender program notes."
Her attention is focused on you, one finger idly tracing circles on the cover of the book in her lap.
"Hmmm. Let's see. Well this definitely isn't a 'serious' affair, like Der Ring des Nibelungen or anything. As a broad overview, it's primarily the story of three people: a young couple in love who are kept apart by her parents and the nice young man (who is also kind of a doofus) that they want her to marry. There's no..." He pauses. "Oh wait, I believe the opera will use the German translation (instead of the original Czech). Do you speak German? If not, it's actually a language in which I'm fairly proficient, so I can keep you abreast of what's happening, as it's happening, if you like."
She laughs, shaking her head. "No . . . no . . . no German, or anything else for that matter. Just simple, plain American. So - yes. Giving me a running narrative would be helpful. Though I'm hoping that I'll be able to follow along with most of it." a thoughtful pause, that holds a trace of amusement.
"I'm guessing that the nice young man, does not get the girl in the end?"
"Well, I don't want to ruin anything for you, but, yeah, I wouldn't get too attached to the idea of the nice young man getting the girl. Which is too bad, since I always cheer for the underdog... Of course, the problem with that strategy, is, well, there's a reason they're called the underdog...
"Anyhow, I'd be happy to give you a running narrative." He chuckles, "It'll give me a chance to impress you with what a, um, sophisticated fellow I am."
Another laugh, this time more subdued. "I've a fondness for underdogs." She settles in a bit more comfortably, voice turning a bit more serious. "You don't have to impress me, Redland. I like everything about you, as you are."
Redland ponders for a moment and suppresses another silly quip. "Thank you. That's nice to hear."
He continues quietly, "I don't know if you suspected or not, (and it's kind of embarrassing to admit), but the main reason I wanted you to set up that meeting with Mr. Usher, is that I hoped you would be there, so I could see you again. I..." He falls silent.
She regards you with a blink or two. And in the quiet that follows, you begin to think that you have floundered into a mistake.
"Really?" honest surprise. "I hadn't realized that you'd taken that much notice of me. " from any other woman it would sound like a gambit for a complement. Or perhaps even a reproof. Yet, somehow you understand that there is a core of truth in her words. She is not accustomed to attentions . . . and in some ways . . is as uncertain as you are.
"I'm glad you did though."
"When we first met, (while I was virtually a beggar after my meeting with the Dark Pharaoh), you were so ... I just ..." He gives up in frustration. Then he chuckles wryly, "Then when you didn't show up to the meeting with the New York Fae or the meeting with Mr. Usher, I had to suck it up and abandon all (well most) pretense at subtlety!"
"It wasn't my meeting to attend." she points out. "I was simply asked to make the arrangements. Still and all . . . perhaps it was for the best. After all, you might not have ever asked me to the opera had I been at those meetings. They would have been filled with all business, with no opportunity for being social."
"Yeah, you had no real reason to attend, but I could always hope. Of course, that was just my way of playing it safe. I'm too often ... cautious. That's the nice word for it, and caution can be a fine thing. Taken too far, though, it becomes timidity or cowardice, and that's no way to live. I'm glad it worked it out this way, too."
He seems to think of something, abruptly. "Oh, shoot. You just got off work, and I'd meant to ask you before we came here. Are you hungry?" He looks back at the stage again quickly. "I'd be happy to snag you something to eat before things start up."
"Oh no." she says. "I'll be quite fine until afterward. It will give me a reason to spend more time with you - instead of having to say good night right away." She's watching the stage now as she speaks. And there is an odd bit of shyness to her words, for one so usually self-confident.
"Ah, good. I had Ms. Swift set up a dinner reservation, just in case. I wasn't sure how long you'd want to be out, since I was assuming you'd have wor..."
Redland breaks off abruptly, as it looks/sounds like the opera is about to begin. He reaches down to check his watch, only to recall that he'd decided not to bring it with him.
He says quietly, "Oops. It must be later than I'd thought."
Indeed - the house lights flicker a time or two, and the conversation levels begin to drop rapidly. She settles in a bit more, one hand on the book to keep it on her lap, and the other reaches over, to lay a light touch on your arm. Which will remain throughout the performance.
"Good." she murmurs, "I think there's some sort of tradition about having dinner after an opera." quick glance over to you, and as the lights begin to dim, she seems softened, gentled from the brisk and business-like woman you encountered before. "Thank you for this." she says.
And then all attention is focused forward on the stage.
Act 1 of the opera commences. It is a little unusual, insofar as there is little action on the stage (relative to a normal opera), making it somewhat difficult to detect what is happening, if you cannot understand the exposition. Redland finds himself compelled to translate a bit more frequently than he had anticipated, leaning in close to Meridon to translate exactly what has been said, when he has time, or to give a synopsis when the speech is moving more rapidly.
He checks around to make sure that the other guests aren't irritated by his actions, but as far as he can discern, no one is disturbed.
He frequently glances over at Meridon, trying to determine whether or not she is enjoying herself.
When you lean towards her to translate, she tilts her head towards yours. The scent she wears is exotic, a sort of sharp, incense-like perfume, smoky . . . perhaps sandalwood. Once when you are pointing out the relationships between the characters, she nods, and her hair brushes your cheek.
She does not seem at all put off by your closeness, and in fact will ask a brief question or two in a whisper, when she is not quite sure she has things straight.
All in all - the answer seems to be yes . . . the music and the events unfolding on the stage seem to capture her interest, and the persistent touch of her hand on your arm seems to indicate that she is enjoying your company as well.
Although he's had a bit of a tough time concentrating on the opera, Redland finds that he's thoroughly enjoying himself, as the first act winds to a close. When the lights come back on, he speaks quickly.
"I can't recall the last time I've had a night at the opera. Do you know how long the act breaks last? Are you doing alright ... following everything okay? Do you want to get up and stretch a bit?"
"I think about fifteen or twenty minutes . . ." she looks through her program. "Is there another break . . .?" distractedly turning pages, "It doesn't seem to say."
Redland thinks for a moment. "I believe so. To the best of my knowledge, it has three acts."
A glance up, a little embarrassed - though you're not quite sure why.
"Oh. Well then . . ." looking about at the milling crowd in the aisles. "I think I'd rather wait until the second break then . . . if you don't mind?"
Redland seems pretty content with where he is. He glances around as well, though he doesn't notice anything in particular.
"Sure. Whatever works best for you." He tries out a quick smile. "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere. I think the 1st two acts are relatively short. The 3rd act is a bit longer, I believe."
A nod in agreement. "I hate it when everyone is all crushed together. The lobby will be full of people trying to get to the bar for their champagne. Though they'd never call it that . . . . just to avoid trouble with the law." bemused.
"Is the performance living up to your expectations? Never having seen this before, I have nothing to compare it to."
"I'm surprised people would flaunt the law like that. I've always felt that, as long as the law doesn't require you to do something immoral (or forbid you from doing something actively moral), it should be respected, even if it is idiotic." He stops, thinking that, perhaps, the short period in between acts is not the place for him to start ranting about philosophic-type issues.
Raised eyebrows at your comments, but no response ... after all, what can one say?
"Er, I've actually never seen the opera before, I've just heard the music from some university players. I won't claim to have the best musical ear in the world, but I think it sounds quite nice.
"Oh no!" a bit breathless with enthusiasm. "I want to see how it all turns out. And the music is really lovely." she looks at you with a hopeful expression, hoping you aren't really serious about leaving early.
"I must confess, I'm eager to see where they're going with it. After all, while I guess we know who the bride is, we're at the end of act one, and she hasn't even been bartered yet!" He ponders for a second, "I mean, I'm just not sure why Jenik would agree to a 'bartering'. Or is it Marenka who will make that decision? Ah well, I guess we'll have to stay around to find out."
A couple of blank moments while she looks at you - and then an amused grin. "Oh. You're teasing me . . aren't you? You didn't mean to leave early at all. For shame Redland . . . you had me worried for a moment."
"Ah. That would be the much-maligned 'British humour'. A phrase that has been described by many as a contradiction in terms, which is doubly true when practiced by one with ... exquisite, ... comic timing, such as myself ... Did I say, 'exquisite'? I meant, of course, unfortunate."
He looks around in surprise as the lights indicate that the second act is about to begin.
"Hmmm. I could have sworn that fifteen minutes hadn't passed. Apparently my normal timing is just as bad as my comic!"
"How about you? Are you getting ready to make a break for the exits?!"
Meridon breaks into laughter, shaking her head. Some of it directed at your words . . . though a good bit of it at herself as well. When she manages to catch her breath, she says,
"Oh, my! I'm sorry. I guess it's a measure of how little I have to do with real people . . that I didn't realize that you weren't serious." She gazes at you while settle back into your seat, still amused. "I wonder what else I missed? You'll have to figure out some sort of hand signal or something, until I get up to speed."
"Uh oh. I think that'd be the 'blind leading the blind'. Or maybe more like 'In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king'.... Dang. There has to be some cliche to fit the situation.
"Oops. Looks like we're about to begin again. Maybe now we'll get the answers we've been denied so long."
Meridon is still chuckling to herself as the lights go down, and the second act overture begins. "I can barely wait to find out!" she whispers, her touch returning to it's usual place on your arm.
{The bride, Marenka, attempts to 'poison the well', by disguising herself and tricking her arranged husband (Micha's son, Vasek) into thinking that his proposed bride is a fiend. {Also, the bride is finally bartered during the second act, with the prospective groom, Jenik, coming to a deal with the nefarious marriage broker. However, he inserts a curious stipulation, that only 'Micha's son' may marry her (hmmm. I wonder how that'll play out...) {The act ends with people thinking that Jenik is a wretch.}
When the second act ends, and people begin to rise up (going for the booze?), Redland turns back to Meridon, "Hmmm. I think the music was a bit weaker there. However, I thought the plot moved along rather nicely. What did you think?"
"I agree. Every time Jenik is on stage, there's this undertone in the music. As if we really ought to think he's a scoundrel." She rises, and will certainly take any offered assist. "Of course, as these things usually work out - he'll be the hero, and good will triumph."
An odd, briefly sad look from her. "It's too bad things don't work that way in real life." -- As they walk, Redland speaks cheerfully, "Hmmm. I'm not sure. I was thinking that the music was indicating that he was cunning... and you should trust my opinion on that, you know, because my knowledge of Czechoslovakian musical allusions is unparalleled."
-- He continues in a more contemplative fashion, "As for real life ... I don't know. I do know that I'm feeling more optimistic than I have in a long time. I'm not sure if I'm good, but I am cunning. I think that'll be enough for Jenik, and I think it'll be enough for me." He smiles at Meridon. "Whether or not I am good, I intend to do good."
The crowds are a bit thick to navigate through, and her touch on your arm turns to a tighter grasp in order to keep from getting separated from you.
It opens out a bit more in the lobby, where there is more space, and the high, vaulted ceilings arch upwards. She nods towards a stately palm in an over sized urn. "Would it be too much to ask for you to get us something to drink? I'll meet you back there, by the plant." -- "I'd be glad to get you something. I'll be back in a sec." He starts to go then turns back. "Er, what can I get for you?"
-- After getting the drink order, Redland moves off quickly. As he walks, he glances back over his shoulder.
If you are looking in her direction - she's making her way towards the Ladies Lounge - a form clothed in black against the pastels and bright colors of the other women.
The lobby bar is crowded with a crush of people. They do offer other things besides the usual prohibited liquor. So iced tea or lemonade, along with hot coffee and tea is available. Meridon's desires run to something cold - but she wasn't exactly specific as to what. (Along the lines of "Oh - anything is fine.")
Busy looking back at Meridon moving through the crowd, Redland runs into an older lady (who luckily isn't carrying any drinks).
"Oof. I'm sorry. It was totally my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Redland decides that he'd better concentrate on the task at hand, namely getting some beverages. He waits in line and decides to grab an iced tea and a lemonade, figuring he'll take whichever one Meridon decides against.
He glances around a bit as he walks back towards the plant (though making sure this time to watch where he's going).
As he waits by the plant, his thoughts wander and he twice almost takes a sip of the lemonade before catching himself at the last second.
It will probably seem a lot longer than it really is, before you see her coming back through the crowd. Lipstick freshened, and her hair neatened. Her eyes are only for you, and with a grateful smile, she'll take the iced tea, to sip at it.
"That was quite a crush." even amongst all the people here, it seems as if the two of you are alone on your own island. "Thank you so much for this, it's just the right thing."
"Ah. I'm glad," Redland says, "Plus, I was secretly hoping you'd choose the iced tea!" He takes his long-delayed sip of lemonade.
"So, I've been enjoying the opera. It seems fairly 'light', which I think is probably good for a first date." He stops abruptly, flushes slightly, and his mouth goes dry. There is a brief, heavy pause, while he thinks furiously. He then speaks rather quickly.
"Er ... Well, it's probably a foregone conclusion what will occur with the young couple of Jenik and Marenka. However, I am curious as to what will happen with young Vasek. I find that's often the case in novels and plays. That is, the potential outcomes of the minor characters is often more compelling than the 'stars', because their fates are so much more uncertain."
"I agree. You can always assume that there will be a happily ever after for someone in these operas. But it's anyone's guess what's next for the others. One could write a whole new opera on Vasek's future, I suspect. And - it could be a romantic comedy like this . . . or something terribly tragic."
She takes a drink, and then regards you over the rim of the glass. "Redland . . . I know I shouldn't make any presumptions . . ." there is uncertainty in her tone, and a sort of odd awkwardness. "So . . if I'm over stepping some boundary line, please let me know. I won't be offended, and it won't change our friendship. But . . " she takes in a deep breath, as if to steady herself. "I would like very much for this to be a first date. Because that would imply that there would be a second . . and possibly a third . . ."
The people around them are beginning to make their way back to the main room in preparation for the third act. Redland is only vaguely aware of what is going on around him, as he is flooded with a kind of strange adrenaline.
"No, that's not presumptious... I mean, I would like that, too."
His hands are moving of their own accord, twisting his drink around in circles.
"I was kind of hoping that... that is, I told Carl that I needed a break and that I didn't want to work while I was here in New York, just in case..."
"How wonderful!" clearly delighted at the prospect. "How much time do you have? Is there something you'd like to see while you are in New York?" She takes a couple more quick sips from the glass, as a waiter hovers nearby to collect your glassware.
Redland is still speaking a bit quickly, a bit at sea with what is happening. "Just you... uh, that is to say, I hadn't really thought about it. Hmmm. I had considered going up to NYU to speak with an acquaintance about some research (and to maybe plant the seeds for a possible job, when the time of troubles is passed). That probably wouldn't be too exciting, though. I'd be happy to do whatever you recommend. Oh, I'll be here for xx days before I have to head out to the Pentheus field test."
He pauses in an effort to stop rambling and collect himself.
"I suppose you probably have a lot of work to do." He smiles bashfully, "But I'd be happy to spend whatever time you had for me doing whatever you'd like. Heck, if you need someone to file papers at the office, or whatnot, that'd be fine with me. However, I also don't want to impose or make you feel like you have to entertain me or anything. I do have things that I could do if you're busy or just getting sick of the sight of me!"
"Hardly that . . . I haven't seen nearly enough of you yet. And I do have work. But my hours are quite the opposite of most everyone else, due to my clients - ah - special needs.
"Generally speaking, my day hours are fairly free."
"Hmmm. There's all sorts of things we could do. Since you're available during daylight hours, we could play some tennis. Let's see, I think both the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Giants have opening day home games, if you enjoy baseball.
"We could go to the zoo, if you enjoy that kind of thing. Or maybe check out Coney Island.
"I like to play games, so we could always play some chess, checkers, cards, or other games of that type.
"We could head out to the beach or maybe a park.
"We could visit some museums for some culture or a penny arcade for some pinball (and put Bentham's maxim to the test).
"I could pretend to be a gentleman and find out what you enjoyed doing..."
He looks around at the dwindling crowd.
"Er, we could watch act three of a play..."
She looks around, startled and embarrassed. "Oh no! We'd better hurry before the lights go down. People in the seats around us are going to be annoyed." She slides her arm through yours.
"You see? I was so fascinated by what you were saying, that I lost all track of time."
The two hustle back to watch the remainder of the opera. The music has just started up as they enter the main theatre and they guiltily skulk back to their seats.
{After some consternation arising from Jenik's apparent betrayal of Marenka, the logic behind Jenik's strange phrasing of the marriage contract is revealed when he addresses Micha as his father. Jenik and Marenka reconcile and are happily married. Vasek, not surprsingly, gets jobbed.}
The audience seems to have quite enjoyed the performance, and there is a general aura of good feeling in the air.
As the two of you work your way towards the exit, she slips an arm through yours. It seems simple, and natural. as if you've know each other for years, rather than for a day or two. The exiting crowds make it too noisy to talk, and it takes some navigation to avoid getting stepped on, or bumped by other people.
"Poor Vasek. . ." she says. "I wonder if he ever finds someone. . . "
Redland says brightly, "He seemed like a nice fellow. I tend to think that things will work out well for a guy like that. At least, in my version of the continued story, it does!"
Walking arm in arm, Redland remains a bit flustered by Meridon's nearness, as he continues, "Say, are you hungry? We could go have dinner now, if you liked. Or we could walk around for a bit, if you prefer that."
