Enigma
By JustJake051
Chapter One
"That's very clever," he thought to himself. "A sculpture displayed here in the salon. And it's amazing!" John Titan had walked into the salon area of the art museum and stopped instantly when he saw it. It was a statue of a woman, a beautiful blonde, seated at a small cocktail table, with a single martini glass sitting on the table. There, on the tabletop, was a Reserved tent sign. But the work was amazing, the woman so beautiful, he thought as he walked closer. The beauty stared distantly, piercingly, out into space. The workmanship and craft of the statue was incredible. It was plaster, perhaps, some plastic or maybe a mannequin, but he couldn't be sure.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Large breasts, long beautiful legs, short, blonde hair, perfectly styled and falling softly in front, almost like a veil that covered part of her beautiful face. Her makeup was flawless, beauty personified. It was a true work of art, he thought. Sitting at the small round table, her long tanned legs were exquisite, wearing a dark, tailored suit. Then she blinked and her head turned slowly toward him, her piercing blue eyes locked on him. It wasn't a statue or object of art. She was real! And she was staring at him. His heart racing, he suddenly knew how a rabbit felt the moment before the talons of the nearing raptor tore into it.
It was a charity event for the art museum. He and his ex-wife, Patricia, had been members of the museum, and he still received invitations to events. He didn't know why, but something told him to go that evening, attend this event. Yes, he was lonesome, but he wasn't interested in finding someone. No, no Internet dating for him. Patricia had hurt and damaged him far too deeply. Broke him, as a man. He didn't really care about any of it anymore. He was done. He was still hurting from the betrayal and the divorce. After seven years of marriage to a wonderful woman, he discovered that for the last four years, she had been cheating on him with numerous men. Some detective, he often thought to himself. With a Big Ten college degree, he could have been a lawyer, a doctor, anything. But no, he had to be a cop. He settled in the Windy City and had twenty years on the police force, a Detective Lieutenant, no less, and he couldn't even see that his own wife was a slut and using him for a fool. "Some detective," he thought.
Amicable was the word used at cocktail parties when people would describe their parting. But she ripped his heart out and destroyed what he thought was the one true love in his life, the perfect marriage. Now, the former police detective in his mid-forties, played at his investments from his forced retirement money, dabbled in the stock market with his police pension fund, agonized over his failed marriage and played chess as a hobby and a passion. Two bullets, one in his side and one in his shoulder, fired during a botched drug arrest, ended his career. Too damaged, HR had told him.
So, John Titan had to work hard at being idle, as playwright Oscar Wilde said. He was a big man, standing six feet two inches tall and had been a wrestler in college, winning a conference title and falling one point short in the national championship match. His temper and physical predilection sometimes got him in trouble as a cop, with complaints about excessive physical force. But he was cleared and was one of the most respected cops in Chicago. Now, he filled the late-night hours online, playing chess against people, computers, anyone who would play him. His username was 'Paladin', and he was good. Better than most. And he loved the game, lost himself in it, all those long nights when he couldn't sleep. Love the tactics, the strategy, setting the traps, detecting the gambits and trying to anticipate his opponent. And he enjoyed it most when it was a person, rather than a computer. Trying to figure out their next move, their next five moves, their weaknesses, that was his haven, his shelter. It was the perfect game for a retired cop. And he had several good online opponents, the best called himself 'Hell', as his username. He was good. And John enjoyed the rivalry, winning some, losing some. But it was always a brilliant tactical battle.
That night at the museum, people milled about and chatted, as he wandered through the museum and into the salon, where drinks were being served, and tables were set up. And there she was. She was solemn, sad, beautiful and alone sitting at a table with only the one chair, the Reserved sign resting on the table. A single crystal martini glass on the table in front of her, almost empty. Not the sculpture he first believed, but she was real, and he was now standing next to her.
"I'm sorry... I thought..." he stammered. "Sorry," and then he walked away. He exited the salon and wandered the galleries for several minutes, but his mind was elsewhere. It was back in the salon. She was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen, but there was something else and he knew he just couldn't walk away. He walked back into the salon, and she was still there. The martini glass in front of her had been refilled, but that was the only change as she sat unmoving, staring out into the distance.
"May I?" he asked.
She turned slowly and looked at him again. She stared at him for what seemed like an hour but was only seconds. And then she nodded, slightly. He quickly asked one of the wait staff for a chair and turned back to her. She was so beautiful, he almost couldn't believe she was real. His hand trembled slightly as he extended it toward her.
"I'm John.," he said, offering his hand. She didn't shake. He noticed there was no wedding ring.
A chair was brought over, and he sat. It was the most awkward he had ever been in his life, and he had seen it all. Murder, violence, torture, dismemberment, he had seen it, lived it. But now, that felt like nothing compared to the unease that she made him feel. She sat in silence, staring at him.
"Well? I'm John and you are?" he said, leaning slightly forward. Then it hit him. Her perfume. Dark, exotic, sexual, almost primal. He didn't know what it was, but it was certainly nothing that he had ever smelled before. Another long pause, as she continued to stare at him, sizing him up, perhaps. But making his discomfort unbearable.
"Helene. I'm Helene."
He ordered two fresh martinis, and they drank and chatted briefly, politely, for the remainder of the evening, about art and the museum. Nothing about her came up. She offered nothing in conversation about who she was. She was an absolute enigma. A mystery woman of such beauty he couldn't even comprehend it. Hurt? Damaged? There was clearly something behind her deep, blue eyes. Pain? Suffering? Anger? What, he wasn't sure, but something compelled him, pushed him toward her. He couldn't even tell how old she was. She could have been in her twenties or her fifties. He was totally at a loss.
He noticed one top button of her white silk blouse was unbuttoned, revealing a tiny glimpse of fine, white lace, covering her large breasts that curved softly upward. Her tight blue suit, with the short, fitted skirt, only made it that much more appealing. Conservative, businesslike, but, oh so sexy, he thought.
"I know you might think I'm way out of line here, but I'm wondering if we could have dinner, sometime? Together. Tomorrow? Whenever."
More silence and the hardened stare.
Chapter Two
The evening came, four days after the art gallery event, and John Titan arrived at the address she had given him. The house was huge, expensive, and incredible. She met him at the door before he could even knock. She didn't invite him in but walked directly to his car.
She was smart, educated, with a refined elegance, pure class, he knew that. She was wearing a white, double-breasted, midi-dress with formal satin lapels. She looked exquisite. A diamond choker was around her long slender neck, and John didn't want to even try and guess what that cost, but it was real. He moved quickly and opened the car door for her. Her dress was buttoned down to just below her hips, and when she got into the car, the bottom of the dress fell open and revealed her long slender legs, the white stockings with lace tops showing, and she made no attempt to cover them up. She could have stepped right out of a fashion magazine, he thought. She was the epitome of both class and sensuality. And John knew he was certainly out of his depth with her. He was a cop, an ex-cop, rather. Sometimes a politician, sometimes a thug. But he had been a damned good detective, until his wife shattered him, and he got careless on the job. But this woman, this woman was most definitely a class above.
Their dinner was incredible, but quiet. Helene spoke very little, leaving John to try and carry the conversation, which he wasn't very good at. He ordered a 2017 Twomey Pinot Noir, which went well with dinner, but the entire evening, John's eyes stayed glued on Helene. They chatted about art, the museum event and sipped coffee after dinner. She took a small sip of coffee, her dark red lipstick now marking the white China cup. Then, she looked at him.
