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They turned her away for the last time. She would not have the strength, the will nor the time to make another attempt at seeing him, ever again. At the first, many years ago, she had scorned telling him her secret. If he wasn't interested enough to even look for her, so what? It was his loss. She'd manage somehow without any help from him. Over time she had read of his rapid rise in the corporate world, first in local daily papers, later in single-paragraph mentions in the occasional minor magazine, and finally on the covers of many prestigious publications. His bold pale eyes looked back at her again from the ugly-handsome face she once knew so well -- older, more polished, more self-assured, but harder -- much harder. The young smiling idealist had been supplanted by the success-driven achiever. She thought more than once she probably wouldn't like him very much anymore; but almost against her own will, she kept the clippings of his fame -- his notoriety -- in a safe place, just in case of -- well, just in case. But then she as well was younger, proud and full of stubborn determination never to ask him or anyone else for anything. And that pride and strength was sufficient for their needs for a very long time, until quite recently. Now it was another time, another situation altogether. Now she was forced to acknowledge her strength and determination were not sufficient to take care of everything by herself any longer. So with deep reluctance she had set about at last trying over and over to get past the barriers erected between him and lesser mortals, to no avail. For one fleeting moment in her desperation, she toyed with the thought of contacting some lurid rag sheet with her story; that would attract his attention, all right. But aside from the fact she simply couldn't do that, it would without doubt destroy forever her remote hope and prayer that he would now take over when she was -- soon, now -- forced to let go. If she wasn't important or demanding enough to reach past all the buffers against the public his hirelings constructed and maintained with consummate efficiency, perhaps someone with either more clout or simply more strength could. It would have to be soon. A half-baked plan was forming in her head, and armed with the local yellow pages, an old box of cheap stationery and a ballpoint, she started to flesh the strategy out into something that would work -- it had to work. She had nothing else. After looking long and searchingly at a particular category roughly in the middle of the yellow pages, she circled one entry and began to write on the first sheet of paper. It was a long story. It took several hours to tell it and to make her desperate request of a total stranger. As the sky outside began to faintly lighten with the start of another day, she laid down the pen and massaged her cramped hand. She began to read what she had written and then decided no, it would probably just make her dissatisfied with the way it was written, and she couldn't ever put this down on paper again. Best just to leave it the way it was, even if it did not convey exactly the gist of what she wanted to say. Rooting around in the cluttered dresser drawer where she kept bits and pieces of "useful stuff," she uncovered a plain white envelope, reasonably clean. After checking the circled business advertisement in the phone book one more time, she carefully entered a name and address onto the envelope, folded the closely written pages twice, inserted the thick packet, then dabbed water from the sink onto the flap -- her mouth was too dry -- and sealed the envelope. It was done and she was exhausted. All that still remained was simply to wait as patiently as she could until the local Post Office opened its doors so they could weigh her letter, affix the necessary first class postage, and she would drop it herself with immense relief in the slot. Carrying the envelope she walked to her bed; there was time for a little sleep before she could do this one remaining errand. For safety's sake, she slipped the fat envelope under her pillow as she kicked off her slippers. Tucking a once-beautiful afghan clear to her chin, she gratefully drifted off; the pain wouldn't let her oversleep. |