The Interview (2 page)

“
Some readers, like myself… and perhaps we’re just a bit jaded, but we wonder…. well, it’s hard to believe that like your characters, you’ve only ever loved one man.”

“
Loved? Yes; I have only ever loved James.” The woman in the hat seemed perfectly serious. Inwardly disappointed, Candace made notes, wondering how to dig further.

“
What about a crush?” she inquired after a moment. “Perhaps, in school? Was there ever a boy you liked?” The authoress seemed to consider this a moment; Candace leaned forward, hoping the woman as not toying with her.

“
There was one,” the writer said, after a moment. “No soul is completely impervious to a tentative emotional attachment… especially when you’re young.”

The reporter perked up at this statement; pushing her blond hair behind her ear, she picked up her notepad again.

“
Now that sounds like a long, interesting story,” she remarked, trying not to sound too eager. “Finally, some dirt…” Candace thought, making certain her pen was working.

From under the brim of her hat, the authoress watched the reporter’s every move; her smile did not fade.

“
When I was quite young, elementary school, I met Ben,” she began, “… a boy who stole my breath away just to be in the same playground with him.” Candace began writing, busily. The woman in the hat relaxed against the bench, looking up into the blossoming trees across the way. “He had golden-brown eyes, brown curly hair and all the girls in four grades had crushes on him.”

“
I bet he liked that, huh?” Candace asked, smiling. The authoress shook her head.

“
Not at all,” said she. “He possessed a solitary nature; the attention was merely a nuisance.” The writer smiled a little at the recollection. “The others boys were a bit jealous of this, as you can imagine; they ribbed him a great deal. My heart went out to him because of it, you see; I was treated the same way all through school. Everyone picked on ‘Ugly’.”

“
Ugly?” Candace repeated, looking up from her notes. “No way… they did
not
call you that in school!” The authoress chuckled, nodding.

“
They did indeed.”

“
Wow… I bet they wouldn’t now,” the reporter said, smiling as well. The woman in the hat let out a small sigh; it was not a sad sound, more one of wistful reminiscence.

“
Yes… funny how that works,” was her reply. “But then ‘Ugly’ I was… and Ben being the rather saturnine soul that he was picked up on it; I don’t know why but he reached out the hand of friendship towards me. It was kindness, I think… such as no one had ever shown me.”

Candace nodded, writing less and listening more; she’d involuntarily sat forward a little, like a child at story-hour. The writer’s voice held a calming rhythm, her words easy, unfaltering… elegantly moderated, yet nothing was hidden away. The authoress on the bench did not appear uncomfortable talking about thus subject in the least.

“
Our parents became good friends so they came over often; his older sister was hired to watch myself and my little brother and Ben would usually come along; he loved walking in our woods, watching for animals. He’d point out tracks and different plants to me; sometimes we’d sit by a creek and say nothing for hours, and it was perfectly comfortable. Later on he began to find interest in automotive things; I watched him and his father re-build car engines. There was always something useful to learn around Ben.”

“
Sounds idyllic,” the reporter said, with a small sigh. The authoress tilted her head a little to one side, still gazing at the trees.

“
For children, it was,” she replied. “As we grew into teenagers, however, Ben began to naturally find the company of boys his age more desirable. My crush on him--as the term goes--remained strong; even though we spent hardly any time together. No other boy could get my attention, and when Ben was busy with cars, motorcycles and paint-ball I would be at the library with my only real friends... books.”

“
Ah, now that make sense,” Candace said, smiling. “Most writers I’ve interviewed were kind of social loners and they all like books better than people.”

The authoress chuckled.

“
Well, that depends on the people,” she returned. “By the end of high school I was finally starting to look like a girl; along with some other boys Ben realized I was still alive and began talking to me again; I let him drive me home each day from school in his classic Ford truck.“

“
Nice… a guys’ car, for sure,” Candace said nodding to herself.

“
It only got eight miles to the gallon,” the woman in the hat said, shaking her head. “But, it was a nice-looking ride; he was so proud of it, you know, re-built it himself with his father. That year Ben showed me how to change the oil, how to change a tire, the fuel filter, spark plugs… we spent a great deal of time talking about automotive parts.”

“
Wow, you must have liked him a lot to put up with that,” the reporter said, making a face.

“
I’ve always like learning,” the writes responded, smiling. “Besides, all the girls in school all envied me that year. Ben was taller than most boys in school and broad shouldered; he won awards at various school track meets; I cheered him on from the stands; it was a wonderful time. He even asked me to the Prom.”

“
First date, huh? Aw, that’s so sweet…”

“
It was. My father sat in as a dance chaperon and rode in the truck with us, but we still had a good time… a hilarious time. For all his athletic ability Ben was a terrible dancer, but then so was I. We looked ridiculous together and it didn’t matter. No one else mattered.”

The authoress paused a moment, her smile faded a little. Candace leaned forward again, her pen again ready to write.

“
Then came Graduation and after, Ben enlisted in the Marines.” The reporter’s eyes grew wide but the writer continued her tale. “Everyone was shocked, except me. I was merely heartbroken that he was leaving; I felt like one of my arms was being severed, or something equally horrendous, as teenage girls are wont to do.”

“
Did you ever see him again?” the reporter inquired, vastly curious; she was fully entrenched in the story now.

“
Yes, before he left for training. I was sitting by the creek we’d loved to walk by so many times… he sat down and we just watched the water for an hour.”

Candace looked puzzled.

“
That’s it?” she asked, not bothering to hide the chagrin in her voice. The writer found this amusing and chuckled merrily for some moments.

“
Ben was not a great talker, which was inevitably his downfall... with me anyway.” The reporter seemed heartened by this information and re-took up her pen. “After sitting in pleasant silence, he asked me if I liked him,” the authoress continued. “I told him he was too intelligent to not have noticed that I did. He smiled at me… a real smile; one he did not show often. He said he wanted to be in the military for a couple years, to get some things out of his system. I understood this, somehow; I think I always knew he’d never be mine, yet I hoped--back then--that he would. I offered to write to him, but he said the other guys would rib him about that and likely steal the letters anyway. He kissed me on the cheek and embraced me for a long time. He asked me to wait for him. I said I would.”

A slow, rising feeling of sadness washed over Candace as she sat, listening. She felt a bit foolish for having assumed the woman before her had led some perfect life. The sage calm she exuded stemmed from real experiences and quelled dreams, despoiled hopes and disappointment… like anyone else. Not a juicy tale, but a common one all the same.

“
I guess he never came back,” she said, half-hoping she was wrong.

The authoress gazed off in the distance, nodding a little.

“
Four years passed; my friends all dated extensively, but I did not once go out anywhere, not even in a group. I wasn’t anti-social; I just wasn’t interested in ‘making out’, especially with someone I didn’t care a fig for. It seemed illogical and I was content to wait for Ben.”

“
So, how did you end with James?” Candace asked, wondering if James and Ben were really the same guy. That would be an interesting angle; visions of ‘witness protection’ or ‘special forces identity change’ came to her mind.

“
I was introduced to him at one of my parent’s anniversary parties; they’d invite business associates as well as friends to their soirees. Everyone had a good time at those gatherings... full of music, food and just the right amount of dancing. I sang and played ‘If I fell in Love With You’ for them on the piano; it was their favorite song. They danced a lovely, slow waltz to it.” The writer let out a sentimental sigh. “After that my father brought James over for me to meet.”

“
That’s a good way to meet a guy,” Candace mused, aloud. “So, did he sweep you off your feet? Was it love at first sight?”

The woman in the hat shook her head.

“
No. He was just another man in a suit to me. An annoying man in a suit… he kept talking to me and following me around the hall. He listened to my conversations with my parent’s friends. Finally, he asked me to dinner; I refused. Then, he did something no one else had done…”

“
What?” Candace asked; as she spoke she leaned forward a little, her eyebrows elevated.

“
He asked me ‘why’,” the authoress told her.

“
That’s… an odd question, alright. What did you say?”

“
By then I had figured out that men respond well to straight-forward answers; I told him that my heart was taken and any time or money he’d spend on me would prove fruitless.”

There was a pause.

“
Well, what did he say?” Candace asked, impatient to know the rest.

“
Nothing, actually.”

“
Nothing?”

“
My dear you sound a bit like an echo…” the writer said, smiling.

Candace straightened her posture a bit and cleared her throat waiting for the lady to continue. “He stood and thought about that for a moment then moved on to another person to talk. I figured that like all the others, he’d been successfully warned off by my candid answer.”

“
But…” Candace suggested, hopefully. The writer smiled.

“
But, as I found out later, he began questioning my parents about me, who I was seeing… all kinds of things; he asked them for my friends’ phone numbers; he began peppering my closer acquaintances and relatives with questions, especially about Ben. A few weeks later, he sought me out at the library.”

“
Studying?”

“
No; re-reading Jane Eyre. I was bored.”

“
Ah… well, did he say anything?”

“
Not at first. It took me some time to notice his presence, actually. He kept completely silent, pretending to read an old copy of Forbes. After awhile I saw him; by then my friends had informed me of the annoying man who kept interrogating them about my likes and dislikes. They clearly had neglected to tell him how much I dislike interfering strangers.”

The reporter laughed.

“
Yeah, that’s on everyone’s hate-list,” she said, smiling. The authoress nodded, her smile well recovered.

“
I shot the man my best ‘go away’ glare and settled back into the book. A few seconds later, he sat next to me on the reading couch.” Fascinated, Candace made half-legible notes, keeping her eyes fixed on the writer’s face. A warm glow had replaced the slightly sad expression the woman’s had worn when peaking of her childhood crush.

“
He waited for a minute, but I paid him no mind. I couldn’t concentrate on my book, not with the man watching my face like that. I was just about to change seats when he spoke.” The authoress sat turned her head, matching the reporter’s gaze fearlessly. “James is an intense man, you know He speaks directly and likes sizing folks up; when he looks you in the eyes, you can tell he’s reading you, measuring your reactions. It unsettled me a bit, at first.”