"I'm waiting…for something different…something more. There's got to be more…there's just got to be," she reasoned to her friends. "I want thunder…and…I want roses…. That's all."
~~
It seemed to her like every mother's son in the metropolitan area had chosen to drive to work on that early August morning. The traffic pattern in the direction of Reagan National was absolutely horrendous. Now, that was a very common occurrence when you brought Virginians, Marylanders, and Washingtonians together on the roadways, but it seemed even worse on that morning.
'Helter-skelter' was her "pet" term for it. You could almost liken it to biblical time and the building of the Tower of Babel. The great tower had risen steadily toward the heavens, a monument to man's brilliance and his defiance of God's power, until a sudden heaven-imposed difference of tongues halted its architects and builders. Confusion, frustration and chaos prevailed. Nobody knew which way was up, or at least, none could express it. Likewise, those driving the metropolitan DC highways and thoroughfares appeared to hold opposing interpretation of driving instruction as well as driving etiquette. And, likewise, confusion, frustration and chaos reigned.
In the end, the builders of Babel had simply walked away, leaving their massive edifice to crumble under the harsh desert winds. Their contemporary counterparts weren't that bright, and no matter how you added that up, it amounted to a catastrophe just waiting to happen.
Michelle Paquin watched in silent dismay from the backseat of a taxi. Car horns blared in almost constant unison around her, punctuation to the annoyance felt at the crawl of the morning commute. A sudden edginess even crept into her. She hadn't the benefit of a car horn, so she settled on the offering of a silent wish of relief for those so much less fortunate than herself. That kind of benevolence came easily. She was headed out of the city for a time.
The thirty-four year old, non-profit professional was in dire need of time qway from the front lines of battle. Even though it wasn't the vacation she truly needed, the short business trip was certainly going to give her ample opportunity to clear her head and recharge her batteries. Everything in her life had been on hold for nearly a year and a half. Not that it mattered much. There was little else in her life aside from her work that brought such validation of self and satisfaction.
She worked her way through the crawling mass of humanity in the airport terminal mindlessly, as if it were second nature to her. Her pretty eyes careened from scene after scene of tender farewells and long anticipated greetings between lovers. Her mind filled on cue with thoughts of how unsuccessful she had been in that part of her life, at the pursuit of love.
The truth of the matter was that when it came to love, she clung steadfastly to the values and the traditional vision of family she had been raised with. She was well aware that most of those values and traditions had long ago fallen by the wayside for the rest of the world around her. Sometimes she wished that she could shed them too. Things…her life…would have been so much easier. It wasn't that she didn't know how to be bad, although her experience was limited. She just didn't know how to do it, and live in peace with herself at the same time.
The men she'd met only gave her greater cause to cling stubbornly to her ideals and hopes for something and someone much better. She wanted so badly to fulfill her deepest desires, but only with the right man. It was so very frustrating, but mostly, it saddened her. Especially, at times like this.
She walked through the heavy door at the head of the enclosed flight ramp, and let out a tiny sigh of relief. In a little less than two hours, she would arrive in San Antonio. She tried incredibly hard not to think about anything else as the line of passengers inched slowly down the ramp toward the plane.
~~
Constantine Mann settled into a plush, spacious leather seat in First Class, and quickly opened his morning newspaper. That was his usual routine on early morning business flights. He would browse the headlines for a time, have a quick cup of tea, and then, he would try to grab a few needed winks before he reached his destination.
Mann was striking, and often times, people were startled at first glance. He was black, and very tall at just a tad over six-foot-six. His head was shaven cleanly to a bald shine, and he was built like a marble god. Even though he sat fully clothed in suit and tie, it was easy to imagine, to visualize, the hard chiseled physique beneath. He was often mistaken for a professional athlete. It always surprised people to learn that he was in fact a corporate executive. It was a very frequent mistake that people made in their initial estimation of him. He had come to understand it, and he had grown accustomed to it.
He was breathtakingly handsome. His milk chocolate skin was unblemished. His face was lined just enough to indicate maturity. He had recently celebrated his forty-sixth birthday, but he did not look a day older than thirty-five. Dark sober eyes could cut to the heart of any matter, and a broad easy smile exuded confidence and excitement at the same time. He was very bright, and very articulate. He was easy-going and nurturing in manner, but he could also be steadfast, single-minded, or tenacious when he was required to be.
His greatest assets were his infectious sense of humor, and his calm, consistent manner. Both had served him well in his meteoric rise to the top rung of his corporation's ladder. He had served at the helm of the communications conglomerate for more than ten years, and he had enjoyed every single moment--the successes, and the failures.
He had been married once, but it had ended disastrously. He let the corporate world take over from there, and in time, he'd forgotten her. He had dated frequently since his divorce, but he wasn't certain that he wanted to venture down the path of love a second time. An ex-wife becomes ancient history with enough time and enough practice, but the pain associated with losing love lingers on for a very long time.
Mann had just drifted off into restful sleep, when the pretty flight attendant tapped his shoulder gently. His eyes snapped open, and he raised his head lazily until he stared into the pretty, sympathetic face. The woman apologized politely for awakening him, informed him that the flight would arrive in the city of San Antonio shortly, and instructed him to fasten his seat belt for the landing.
The black executive nodded slightly, and complied. He took a deep breath, stretched, and stared out the small window into the stark white sunlight of morning. Somewhere below him was San Antonio, the River Walk City. He had always enjoyed his visits, and he was looking forward to this one.
*****
The limousine ride to the hotel was a short one, but it was long enough for Mann to check in with his office, get a sense of how things were going without his presence, and leave a few important instructions with his secretary. He got the sense that all was going well. That meant that he could focus solely on the business at hand. It also meant that he could consider the possibility of taking a little R&R once his business was completed. That was his intent.
The River Walk Hyatt was a mammoth stone and glass building, with cascading fountains and flowing streams running throughout its entire lobby, and smelled heavily of chlorine. It was always crowded with tourists or conference participants, or both, but Mann liked it because of its locale. It was right on the Walk where shops and restaurants were in abundance. It was also a very short distance from one of his most favorite historical sites, The Alamo. The primary reason that Texas was Texas at all.
Mann was quite a history buff, and a firm believer that knowledge of the past was key to understanding the future. He also held a profound appreciation for those throughout American history that had displayed heroism, and he greatly admired the courage, the conviction, and the daring deeds of the old mission's defenders in the face of certain death.
He stopped at the hotel desk, but was quickly en route to his room, with his own bags in tow. It wasn't that he was cheap, but he really didn't believe in asking others to do the things that he was perfectly capable of doing himself, even if it was their job. He handed a folded five-dollar bill to the bell cap that approached him pleasantly.
"I've got it, thanks," he winked, and moved on the elevators.
"Thank you, sir," the young bell cap smiled, and tucked the money in his pocket.
Mann entered the glass elevator after a short wait. He pressed the button for the tenth floor just moments before he heard the soft, but urgent call.
"Hold the elevator, please!"
He slung his garment bag into the path of the closing door, and it slid open again. He nodded politely at the tall slender woman who stepped into view. The woman responded with a very clear look of uneasiness, and a long moment of indecision. The black man pulled the bag back to his side calmly, and found a sober smile to offer.
