The Interview Read online

“I think so. I dashed them away fairly quickly,” the writer said, “Most men find a crying woman a bit of a mystery… they may want aid, or they might want space. We weren’t married yet, so he debated with himself and picked the latter. Every other time since, though… he has jumped in to comfort me, so be at ease.”

  ”Good; the man’s human, then.”

  “Very.” The authoress smiled, the hat brim nodding along with her. “Once I’d got over my emotional moment, I looked over at James; I wanted to know, more than anything, why he’d picked me. There are patient woman aplenty, there are candid women world-wide. I didn’t consider myself all that pretty, considering my school nick-name, and as I looked at James he appeared calm, collected and rather virile in his slacks and polo shirt. He was looking out at the pasture lands in the distance and I couldn’t help but study his profile. He was awfully attractive.”

  “Now that’s something a lot of women can relate to,” Candace said, nodding herself. “I don’t suppose you asked him, I mean… why he’d picked you…”

  “I did…” the writer said, happily. “Don’t look so surprised… the man clearly liked honesty; the least I could do was capitalize on that, and find out exactly what I wanted to know.”

  “Ah,” the reporter said, writing furiously.

  “He seemed to be almost expecting the question, but it’s difficult to tell, really. James hides surprise so well; even after 25 years it’s a challenge to read him.”

  “I bet he’s a bit more readable to you, though, than the average Joe.”

  “Yes… that’s one of the perks of marriage,” the authoress responded; her smile looked quite radiant. “When I asked the question, it took a lot of bravery to utter it aloud, I can tell you…. I think my voice even shook a bit. James used one of my tricks and weighed the question some moments before answering. It was the longest twelve seconds of my life…”

  Candace didn’t bother trying to hide her interest. The writer on the bench next to her was a born story-teller; she’d taken a fairly mundane, normal set of circumstances and managed to weave a tantalizing tapestry that wrapped itself around the psyche, as well as comforting the soul.

  Sitting on the bench, the woman in the hat smiled in a highly satisfied way; the jaded reporter before her appeared to finally understand, at least a little, the alluring power real love bestows.

  “He only said this: ‘I never thought about getting married, until I met you.’ Then he leaned over and kissed me... and, not some little peck on the cheek either.” The writer smiled down at her book, her eyes misty. Candace sighed, feeling a bit emotional herself. “We married a month later,” the authoress continued, “… and I have been letting the man kiss me ever since.”

  “Wow, that is the best story yet…” the reporter said, setting aside her notebook. “Why haven’t you written that into a book yet? I mean, ‘write what you know’, and all that…”

  The writer’s smile appeared different as she heard this question, almost mysterious.

  “Regaling a tale verbally is a time-honored human tradition,” she said, plaintively. “Especially a story as personal as mine… a sacred story, if you will. It’s far better for it to be jotted down by another… even in something as everyday as an interview.” The lady writer’s eyes glowed with an inward amusement. Candace closed her notebook and capped her pen.

  “There’s nothing everyday about this interview, ma’am,” she said, earnestly. “Thank you so much for your time; I’ve enjoyed talking to you a great deal. More than most interviews I’ve taken.”

  “I hope my books make a bit more sense now,” the authoress said, with the same, steady smile.

  Candace nodded as she rose from the bench.

  “Your stories give a lot of women hope,” she said, looking the writer in the eye. “Myself included.”

  “A pleasure, Candace. Never let yourself lose hope.” The women shook hands, briefly. Candace took her leave, feeling a bit lighter as she walked back down the park walkway towards the entrance. The air smelled a bit sweeter all of the sudden, the sunlight itself even seemed to dance.

  Leaning against a nearby tree a businessman watched the reporter leave. Folding his paper, he draped his suit coat over one arm and ambled casually up to the bench. The woman in the hat still sat, smiling off into the distance, her book closed on her lap.

  “That was the best story I’ve ever overheard…” he said, sitting down on the bench. The woman looked up quickly at his voice, and then playfully scowled at him.

  “You… bah. I’ve used up all my words with her, and now none are left to rain upon your handsome, eavesdropping head.”

  James laughed, scooting closer to his wife; draping an arm behind her shoulders he ducked under the hat brim for a kiss.

  Fin

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