TheStarsAreRight:MeridonCaineChat

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."