"Mind if I join you? There are no more seats." I looked up to see a woman of about 38 years standing close to my table.
"No, I don't mind at all," I replied with a short smile before returning to my book and coffee, not wanting to force her into conversation simply because there were no other seats available.
"Thank you very much. My name is Judith," she said once she was seated.
"I'm Royce, and it's nice to meet you." She held my deep brown eyes with her pale blue ones and I had a hard time looking away this time. Those eyes, eyes like I have never seen before fascinated me. Mid-length dark blonde hair framed a full, rounded face with pert, inviting lips. She was wearing a thick overcoat (which now draped from the back of her chair) and an oversized dark brown sweater. I imagined tight fitting, stonewashed jeans but I'd failed to notice when she was still standing. To my surprise, she lifted a foot up to the chair's seat and, sure enough, she was wearing stonewashed jeans. I unconsciously started to smile and she raised a brow.
"Excuse me?" she said inquiring.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I was just noticing your pants," I started to say.
"And, let's take a look at yours, too!"
"Excuse me?" I said, hoping it would work for me too.
"Stand up, please, so that I can get a look, too." She appeared to be serious and, here in Weatherstone, all sorts of crazies can pop up. So, embarrassed as I was, I stood up slowly, trying not to draw any attention.
"Nice pants: tan Docker's, well pressed, nicely filled."
I blinked and turned every shade of red imaginable. She just sat there and smiled. When my shock wore off, I quickly sat back down.
"Thanks," was all that I could mutter.
"No problem."
"Are you always this...direct?" I asked.
"Yes, aren't you?" Come to think of it, yes, I usually am but I did not tell her that. Instead:
"Maybe. Why?"
"Maybe I'll have to show you how I use directness to enrich our lives." I had no idea what she meant but I was starting to like it anyway.
"Maybe I'm interested in finding out; maybe not," I replied, hoping to be as cryptic as she was.
"You're interested, all right." And, indeed, I was. I'd never had such a bizarre encounter in my life but I was certainly interested.
"Finish your coffee." Not a request, but not quite a command, either. I didn't even bother to lift the cup.
"Take my arm and escort me to the door." Not even the hint of a smile, now. I almost felt like I was in trouble at school. (Maybe that's it - some kind of discipline trip she's on. Will I be in trouble being around her? Will someone get hurt? Will I care either way?)
She's short, less than 5'5," and my mild apprehension decreases. My common sense tells me that's a foolish thing to do, but, at 6'1," I find it difficult to avoid. A couple of tables notice our departure together but nobody seems to look curious. I stop just outside the door, which I'd held open for her, and she smiles.
"Very good." Just like an instructor would say it to a pupil. "Walk with me for a while."
She took my arm lightly and guided me to the right. She walked slowly, strolling actually, and, though it was pretty cold out, she didn't seem to notice.
Passing a small storefront art gallery, she asked, "What are your impressions of this artist's work? The entire gallery is dedicated to his pieces for this showing."
The gallery was closed for the night but I looked through the small window in the door and recognized some of the work. I'd seen it in a rather favorable article in the newspaper just after the exhibit opened. I didn't like what I saw.
"The artist, a man named LaJan, is difficult for me to appreciate; his vision is dark, troubled. I haven't heard any of the music but, if it's anything like the oils, sculpture, or photography, I think I'd pass on owning any of it. It's well executed but too difficult for my tastes." I was surprised and impressed by the amount of crap I'd just spewed off the top of my head. Judith seemed to be as well. Again, with one brow raised, she seemed to be assessing me. She looked at me for a long time before she spoke.
"Interesting," was all she said. I let her direct us away from the gallery and on down the street. My curiosity was steadily mounting so I had to ask,
"And, what do you think of 'the master's' work?"
"I like your answer." I couldn't tell if she meant she agreed with my opinion or if she was evading my question. I might have asked her about it but she turned and directed us down an alley. This particular one reeked of garbage and stale urine, left by the bums of the central city. It was also very dark. I didn't think I could come up with even one good reason to be there and I slowed down enough for her to notice.
"Not much further in than a few more yards. There's nobody else here. Do you believe me?"
I stood there for a solid minute (I actually counted it out in my head.) and she waited patiently, a look of complete calm on her face. I didn't hear a thing and I couldn't see anything dangerous so I took the risk.
"I believe you, but I'm still not sure that we should be here."
She smiled a small smile and took my arm again, turning into the alley. We stopped about 20 feet in, next to some dumpsters. She turned to me and put a finger to her lips to ask for quiet. I shrugged and looked around, expecting trouble, then seeing a little low movement. As tensed as I was, I couldn't help a tiny chuckle when I saw the kitten. It was snow white and peeking at us from under one of the dumpsters. I started to squat down but Judith stopped me. Three more kittens poked their heads out and, finally, a large, skinny female cat holding a fifth kitten emerged. The kitten she held was very small, obviously the runt. I turned to Judith and hoping that she would let me go to them. She gave me a little nod and I slowly squatted down. The white kitten ran to me immediately and the others followed. The cat set the runt down and meowed but didn't seem to feel threatened while the kittens ran between my feet, climbed my pants legs, and sparred with each other. Playing with them, I nearly forgot about Judith, who remained standing and watching. She never moved but she did smile when I looked up at her.
In a few minutes, she reached down and touched my shoulder, motioning for me to get up. I did, reluctantly, and she took my arm and carefully led us away from them and back out of the alley.
I felt the need to talk to her. When I started to, though, she shook her head. Only mildly disturbed now, I decided I could wait a bit for answers.
We walked quite a ways in silence, Judith still holding my arm, but a little closer, now. I saw a group of people in front of a liquor store about a block away. As we continued to approach them, a small scuffle broke out and voices were raised. Judith continued to walk towards them, noticeably faster than before. She led us to within 10 yards of them before I spoke.
"There is no way I can protect you from getting hurt around this."
"I would like you to get something for me to drink," she said calmly. I was amazed. My mouth was open but I couldn't think of anything to say to that.
"You will know what I want when you go inside," was all she said. Then, she let go of my arm and backed up to the building, apparently planning to wait for me outside. I looked at the four guys (they had stopped shaking each other around but looked none too pleasant. She remained perfectly calm and, again, I felt the strongest feeling that I was being studied, tested, or judged somehow.