Under the Elms

The cost of winning

He entered through a back door, and was silently led to a room beautifully decorated for a reception. While passing through that room, he took note of the details, pleased that his instructions had been followed to the letter. The next room, an oversized file closet, really, contained a new flat screen television on a stand and two serviceable padded office chairs. The television was already on, and a closed circuit feed from the adjoining board room was visible. Shaking hands with the people who escorted him into the building, he thanked and dismissed them, then took his seat, already searching the television for a glimpse of Her. His friend and general helper sat next to him. ‘Need anything, P?’ Kirk finally broke the silence.

‘Nah, I'm good,’ was the distracted reply. His eyes never left the screen. He had found HER. Even from behind he could easily recognize her.

He was in this place to congratulate and honor the recipients of grants he had anonymously awarded. Area music teachers were given the opportunity to submit proposals that would significantly improve the experiences and deepen the learning of their students. He had asked that the submissions be blind; he feared he would award all the money to Her if he saw her name on a document. Even so, he knew immediately when he held her proposal in his hands. Her voice was so clear in written form he could imagine her explaining the proposal; visualizing her gestures, the way she'd quirk an eyebrow if he interrupted with a question she felt was unnecessary. Even on paper, she captivated him.

The presenter had finished talking about the generosity of the anonymous donor, and was ready to announce the winners. The surprise for the teachers who submitted the grants was that he'd funded them all. Each grant proposal was unique, and each would clearly meet a need for their students. He was happy to oblige, and thankful he had the wherewithal to do so.

As each recipient was called to the front to accept their award, he caught himself inching closer to the screen in a vain attempt to see more. He was gratified to see true happiness and gratitude on their faces, but became more impatient with each name called.

Finally he heard Her name. This scenario had come to him as a way to see Her again after 14 long years. He hoped she would be pleased to see him when the time came. His careful inspection indicated that she wasn't wearing a ring on that important finger of her left hand. This corroborated the information he'd been given, information that inspired this entire process.

As he watched her gracefully accept the large dummy check with her name on it and join the others at the front of the room, he marveled at her unchanged beauty. In his experience, 37 year olds didn't look exactly like their 23 year old selves. His critical eye wasn't seeing any differences except in style of dress. Her attire proclaimed a creative yet conservative educator, instead of the dedicated free spirit he had loved and lost so long ago.

He hoped she was willing to give him another chance. As he signed the papers for his second divorce, her face had floated from memory to consciousness. Memories once again caused the regret he so often pushed away. This time the regret pushed him toward plans that would bring her back to him, if she was willing. He prayed she was.

Sofia Brown continued smiling for the cameras, but inside she was seething. Who in the world thought an evening reception on a school night was appropriate for elementary teachers? Most of them had alarms set for 4:30 a.m., and there wasn't a principal in the world who had the patience and nerve to take on a music class so they could sleep in. She was glad she hadn't bothered to put heels on; her feet were aching from teaching all day.

Pleasantries and photo ops over, the dummy checks were collected and the recipients led into an adjoining room for the reception. Sofia stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. This was the most elaborate reception for educators she'd ever attended. The donor obviously had serious money. Usually it was generic Oreos and lemonade, and napkins if they were lucky. This room was perfectly decorated with multiple touches of...purple. Oh, no. She  scanned the room. She was suddenly terrified.

She had successfully avoided him for 14 years, ever since the day he had crushed her heart. It had taken a lot of effort, avoiding venues he liked to frequent when he was in town. Their tastes in music were so similar, they should have run into each other at concerts. In her cowardice she had stayed away from many performances she would have loved. She just couldn't bear the thought of seeing him with someone else.  The last few years had gotten easier with him living in LA most of the time. She guessed she had let her guard down; she should have seen through this grant ruse. She wouldn't turn down the money for the sake of her students, but she didn't know if she had it in her to face him. 

Come on, Sofia, he's probably forgotten you. She looked down, smoothing the serviceable black pencil skirt that got her through most occasions. Her blouse was a riot of color, complementing her olive skin and curly black hair. She knew she looked pretty good, but much more ‘teacher-ish’ than when they had been...intimate. It was the only word that described being head over heels in love with your soulmate. She knew he looked amazing; Google sent her a notification every time a new picture was available.

This isn't like you, you're stalling, she reprimanded herself, as she ventured further into the room. Noticing a knot of people on one side of the room, she went the other way, in search of a glass of something to soothe her parched throat. As she neared the refreshment table, she froze when a voice behind her chuckled.

‘Looks like great minds think alike,’ remarked Prince, handing Sofia a cup of punch.

He did look amazing. It was funny, his clothing and hairstyle had changed, but his face looked the same. No wrinkles, no crinkles, just smooth, expensively cared for skin. A small mustache and soul patch were all that was left of the sculpted beard he'd worn when they were together.  His looks, however, weren't what had thrown her for a loop. She was suddenly surrounded by the scent that intoxicated her dreams night after night. Lavender and Prince. Realizing she was staring, she mentally shook herself, took the cup of punch. ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘I'm guessing I have you to thank for this grant?’

‘Yes, but I'd rather not talk about that. How are you, Sofia? It's lovely to see you again.’ Prince held out a hand to shake, hoping he could touch her again. He’d loved getting to say her name aloud. He hoped she would reciprocate. When she took his hand, he was secretly thrilled to see her eyes dilate, as he knew his were doing behind his ever present shades. The physical connection was still there. Now, if he could just rebuild the emotional connection he'd severed in his impatience and stubbornness years before.

‘I'm well, Prince. How are you? And would you mind taking off the sunglasses? They're a little off-putting.’ He reluctantly broke their physical connection to abide by her wishes, while relishing the sound of his name from her full, enticing lips.

‘I'm regrouping, working through a few changes. Happy to be back here full time.’ He wished he had kept the shades on; now she could see the desire-filled gaze he couldn't control. ‘Listen, people are starting to stare, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable.  Could I give you a call? Maybe we could spend some time together tomorrow evening?’

‘I'd enjoy spending time with you, but tomorrow evening is out. On Friday nights, I can barely stay awake.’ I wish I didn't sound so boring. Wait, did I just agree to see him? Crap. That wasn't my plan at all.

‘Cool. I'll call tomorrow, and we’ll take it from there. Nice to see you again.’ Prince put his shades back on and melted back into the crowd to meet another recipient. He was feeling exultant; his plan had worked. She hadn't made a scene, but then, she probably wouldn't have in the midst of the people who did the hiring and firing in her profession. More importantly,  she had agreed to see him. Ascertaining that she still had a physical attraction to him made him confident the next step would be easier than he’d feared.

Sofia stood stock still, her untouched cup of punch still in her hand. She mechanically drained it, placed it on the tray of a passing waiter, and quietly left the room. She was being overwhelmed by memories, and knew they were better processed alone.