It’s been nearly fifty years now, the details of that night a little hazy, but the sound of his voice, that sweet melancholy brings it all back.
Winter had settled in over the city, shoppers out in the early evening picking up trinkets for the holidays, last minute items for dinner. She’s standing on a corner in downtown Manhattan, waiting for everything and nothing.
It was too early yet to return to her fledgling Sanctuary. She didn’t want her staff to think she didn’t trust them. In the few weeks they had been in operation the group she had chosen had more than proved themselves to her. Now it was simply a matter of proving that to them.
A gust of wind blows up the street, battering the thin jacket she wore. New City wasn’t nearly this cold this time of year. Her extended stay there was making her soft.
“Frank.” Helen turns to greet the man making his way across the street.
“Not lost I hope.”
“Waiting for you.” She teases and he offers his hand.
“I hope you won’t take offense if I offer you a drink at my place.”
She smiles warmly and shakes her head. It wasn’t the evening she had intended but it beat standing on a street corner freezing while she made up her mind.
They exchange niceties as he hails a cab. She thanks him again for the studio tour he had given her that afternoon as they head uptown. As far as he knew she was a woman perpetually spoiled by the careful attentions of her wealthy father. She was enjoying the bit of freedom the role bought her as she slid her hand up the inside of his thigh in invitation.
It takes mere seconds for the elevator door to slide shut before she’s melted into his embrace. She’s so far gone already she hardly notices the breathtaking view out the window or the rows of books lining the walls of his living room.
She’s half naked, panting and breathless on his couch before she even registers the quiet sway of music from the record player.
“My newest recordings.” He whispers against her shoulder. She’s lost in the sound.
There’s the gentle hiss of the record player being shut off and Helen comes back to awareness with a start. “Will.”
“Sorry.” He sets the needle back in its groove and the music picks up again. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Just remembering,” she murmurs with a smile.
“Something good I hope.” He leans against the arm of the couch by her feet.
“Only the best.”