💾 Archived View for spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › stories › fic7 captured on 2023-06-16 at 20:34:58.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A Chance Meeting in the Park
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
A Chance Meeting in the Park
by Joe DeRouen
Sam fed the pigeons every day, without fail. Today was no
exception. The sun shone down through the trees in accompaniment to the
warm gentle breeze of summer, but all Sam noticed were the pigeons.
A large stone dolphin spat water into the sky, some of it splashing
out of the fountain onto the grass surrounding it. None of it mattered
to Sam. He continued to feed the birds, the world around him but a
foggy, meaningless haze.
At least until SHE came into view. She sat on the park bench across
from Sam, reading Newsweek magazine. She crossed her long legs and Sam
could almost hear the rustle of silk underthings. Her tight red dress
clung to her like a hungry pigeon to popcorn, and her long, delicate red
hair brushed across her face in the wind. Cool eyes of blue gazed out,
taking in her surroundings. She couldn't be a day over thirty. Her skin
was a light creamy peach, unblemished by the ravages of the world.
A moment later, her surveillance finished, she went back to the magazine.
Sam was forty. He'd been married once, but his wife had left him
some ten years earlier. He'd been BORING, she said. She'd wanted
adventure, and Sam couldn't give her that. Good old Sam, she'd said.
Good old Sam was good for sitting around the house, going to church on
Sundays, taking in a movie now and then. She'd wanted something more, so
she'd left.
He'd dated sporadically since then, though no one ever really
piqued his interest. He'd had his career, and that was that. He'd been
at Miller Accounting firm for nearly twenty years, and had managed to
rise to assistant manager. He didn't need a woman.
Didn't need a woman? Who was he trying to fool? He'd managed to
fool himself for years, but deep inside he knew he didn't want to be
alone.
She turned her head away from the magazine, laughing as a pigeon
pecked Sam's grey loafers as if to say "Hey, we're hungry!" Politely
ignoring the moment's indiscretion, she went back to her magazine.
Sam tossed a bit of seed to the pigeon, enough to get it to give up
it's assault on his feet. Sam's hair was turning grey, almost matching
his loafers. He was getting old. He really wasn't happy at Miller
Accounting, but what else did he have? He didn't have a wife, and he
probably never would. Certainly no one would ever go out with HIM.
Definitely no one like the lady in the red dress across from him. He
couldn't help his gaze as it wandered to her, caressing her form like
the gentle rays of the sun touching the morning dew.
He could imagine how she saw him: old, out of shape, short brown
hair starting to grey, his lusterless blue eyes paling in comparison to
her own. Why, she probably wouldn't have noticed him at all were it not
for that hungry pigeon.
If he asked her out (now THERE was a laugh!) he'd get turned down
flat. He imagined it would go something like this . . .
"Er . . . excuse me, ma'am. I couldn't help noticing you, and . . ."
"Yes?"
"Er.. It's awfully nice weather we're having today, isn't it?" Sam
shuffled his feet, feeling more nervous than he had in years.
"I suppose it is. Did you need something, mister?" The woman in red
asked, looking annoyed.
"Well, as a matter of fact yes. Do you come here often? I've been
in this park every day for over ten years, and I've never seen
you here before."
"Look, mister - If you need something, ask it. I'm on my lunch
break, and I haven't got long. I have to be back to the office in about
fifteen minutes, and I really want to get a start on this new Dean
Koontz novel. Do you need something or not?" She gazed cooly up at him,
icy eyes with a hint of danger.
"Well . . . Would you like to go out sometime?" He asked in a rush,
the words coming out between ragged breaths.
"With YOU?" The woman laughed, then turned her attention to her
novel.
And that's where the fantasy ended. At that point, she'd laugh,
rise to her feet, and stalk out of his life forever.
If there was even a chance she'd say yes, he might do it. Might
actually ask her out. There wasn't a point to doing something that would
only cause you heartache, was there?
His thoughts were interrupted by her movements. She folded the
Newsweek magazine into her purse, stretching languidly across the green
metal park bench. Soaking in the sun's warm breath, she sighed, smiling
up to the sky. Reaching in her purse, she pulled a shiny-covered
paperback book out. Dean Koontz's TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING.
Sam's mouth dropped in shock. He couldn't be psychic, could he? He
didn't believe in that sort of thing. She must have had the book out
before, and his subconscious had picked up on it and used it in his
fantasy. Makes sense.
He was spending far more time than he should thinking about this
woman. He'd have to get back to the office soon himself, and why ponder
over what you can't have? Besides, even if she DID agree to go out with
him - and that would never happen - he'd find some way to bungle it up.
His thoughts seemed to lose focus, as he fantasized about how his dream
date might go . . .
"I'm glad you agreed to go out with me, Kelly. I've been going to
this restaurant for years, and they serve the best pasta I've ever
eaten."
"I'll do anything once, I suppose." Kelly yawned, surveying the
restaurant. It was dimly lit, and looked as if it hadn't changed in the
last ten years. She instantly hated the place.
"Umm . . . Well, would you like to order now?"
"We might as well. I have to wash my hair tonight, so let's order
something quick."
"The linguini in red clam sauce is really great!" Intoned Sam, with
an exuberance he didn't feel. This wasn't going at all well.
"Well . . . Great. I'll have that, then."
"Would you like some wine? This red wine is delicious." Maybe this
was going somewhere after all. Maybe the wine would relax her. He tried
to steady his shaking hands as he began to fill her glass.
"Sure, I'd love some . . ." She smiled for the first time at Sam.
The wine sloshed over the edge of the glass as Sam's attention
wavered to her smile.
"Oops!" He yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of half the
room. "Let me . . ." Reaching for a napkin, he managed to knock the full
glass of red wine into her lap.
"Eeek!" She screamed, leaping to her feet. "All over my new silk
dress! dammit, I KNEW I shouldn't have come!"
Yes, he'd bungle it up for sure. There was no doubt in his mind.
He hadn't been on a date in longer than he could remember. Why, he'd
probably forgotten how! If it wasn't the wine, he'd say something wrong
or forget to hold her chair for her, or something.
The rest of the world lost to the novel, her eyes danced through
the pages as Sam's eyes once again fell upon hers. She shifted in the
bench, as if sensing her admirer's gaze. Her black leather purse tumbled
from her lap to the ground below, revealing gold-embossed initials: KM.
In one swift motion, the purse was recovered and she was once again
buried in Koontz's prose.
Sam's eyes popped out of his head. KM? Her name was Kelly in his
fantasy. He couldn't have seen the purse; the initials had been facing
away from him. He shook himself, as if to force some sense back into his
tired frame. His imagination was working overtime. He must have seen the
purse after all, or just had a lucky guess. Besides, even if he WAS
blessed with a premonition of some sort, what did it matter? The
premonition was bad. His fantasies ended up with him wearing a liberal
amount of egg on his face. What good was that?
She placed the book face down on the bench, then rose to her
feet. Stretching, her form pushed fully against the confines of her
dress. Her black pumps showed off her well-developed calf muscles, as
she smiled into the distance. Taking a deep breath, she found the bench
again and went back to her book.
Sam's eyes caressed her body longingly. She was the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen, even more so than his ex-wife.
Almost imperceptibly, his surroundings once again seemed to fall away
and his mind was elsewhere . . .
"Kelly, will you marry me?"
"Sam . . ." She looked away from his eyes, focusing on a point
beyond him.
They'd been dating for two years. He'd asked her out and she'd
actually gone, and, even more amazing, enjoyed herself. They'd continued
to date off and on, never committing, but growing closer.
"Kelly, I love you."
"You know, that's the first time you've said that."
"Well, I DO. I've loved you since I first saw you. You are my
heart." He started to cry, swept away by the emotions he felt inside
him.
"Why did you take so long to tell me?" She found his eyes,
reaching out to touch his cheek. "I knew you cared for me. Dating anyone
this long has to mean something. But you've only kissed me a handful of
times. You've never come into my house. You've never made love to me."
"Kelly!" Sam blurted, looking away. "I've wanted to, lord knows
I've wanted to. Kelly, I've been so scared. I didn't want to scare you
off. I didn't want to lose you like I lost Sara . . ."
"I'm not her! I'm me, dammit! Never once have you held me, never
once have you taken me away for the weekend. Two years, Sam! I kept
waiting for you to do something - anything! - but you wouldn't."
"I was scared!" His tears fell freely now. "You're so beautiful. I
wanted you so much, I was afraid I'd lose you. That day I met you in the
park, I was terrified to ask you out. I managed to do that, somehow, but
I've been scared ever since. It took me so long to find you, I didn't
want to lose you."
"Sam . . ." Tears came to her eyes. "Sam, if you'd only said
something sooner. All this time . . . I've loved you, I've wanted you to
love me. You wouldn't even commit to dating exclusive."
"I haven't dated anyone." He said stiffly. "I've never looked at
another woman since I met you. I haven't wanted to."
"Why didn't you SAY something, Sam?"
"Kelly . . . If you don't want to marry me, we can wait. We'll
take it slow . . ."
"Sam, there's someone else. I didn't want to wait! He asked me to
marry him. Yes, Sam, he ASKED. And I accepted! That's why I asked you to
meet me here. To tell you."
He felt as though his heart had just died. "It's Gary, from your
office. Isn't it? I knew he had his eye on you . . ."
The world seemed to snap back in place, and Sam was on the park
bench again, pigeons all around him. The fountain was pumping water into
the air, creating little rainbows in the sun. Kelly - No, he reminded
himself, the woman in red - was still reading. His thoughts were his own
again.
"Kelly!" Shouted a thirtysomething man in a grey pinstriped
business suit, about thirty feet from the center of the park. His blonde
wavy hair didn't blow in the wind, as he walked briskly towards the
woman in red.
Kelly? His thoughts raced, his heart pounded. The world around
him seemed to come into focus, defining, gaining a crystal clear edge.
The fog was gone, replaced by a sharp awareness. He felt his muscles act
of their own accord, as he rose from his bench.
"Hey, Gary." She called, a voice so sweet it sent chills through
Sam's soul. "How was the business trip?"
He'd lost so much already. Sam stepped away from his bench, as
thoughts and images raced through his mind. Thoughts of his wife
pleading with him, of a childhood lost, years at a dead end job. Chances
not lost, but never taken. Decisions sidestepped in favor of fear. In an
instant, he made a decision.
"Kelly?" Asked Gary, nearly upon them. "I was wondering,
if you're not busy . . ."
"Excuse me." Smiled Sam, quickly putting himself between Kelly
and her advancing officemate. "Kelly, could we . . . talk?"
"Sam?" She asked, finding his eyes. She smiled.