1 The Newsroom
No one whispered in the newsroom; everyone hollered. Not a problem hearing what twenty-some staff were complaining about, everything.
Winona, a young woman, 26, was bound
to be a copy editor at a New York newspaper. She began to read the morning
paper in the 6th grade before her father. While in the 8th
grade, she started to read the English dictionary. Completed it in the eleventh.
She had an unusual name, Winona,
traced back to a Sioux tribe, princess and daughter of Chief Wapasha III. The
girl was known to run like a deer. Her Indian name is ‘Four Hooves.’ Generations
later, her father was a judge, and her mother was a high school teacher.
An employee of the paper, Winona, marked up reporter pages with her red pen. She knew all the right words to arouse emotions. Corrections made; she approved the editing with her
print stamp of ‘four hooves’. Her tracks were everywhere.
Industrious, she worked day and
night, except on Friday, left the office early, and caught a flight out of
Manhattan to Cape Cod. There, she had a small cottage and art studio on a bay –
escaped the office chaos. An artist, she drew and painted the Cape’s wildlife, particularly the white-tailed deer. Indian blood still flowed
through her veins.
A man she never met was bonkers about her. He too boarded the one-hour shuttle to Cape Cod. He has been at it for a month, never said a word to her, yet is wild about the girl.
The jet, with two seats on either side of the aisle, is usually full. The object of this man’s affection boarded early,
selected the window seat over a wing, and had an escape door which she liked.
He never sat next to her, had no idea what to say, and occupied the aisle seat behind her. That way could see a bit of
his sweetheart in the separated space between the seats. The side of her head,
with long, honey wheat hair, is scrumptious.
Winona always carried a book and slipped it into
the pouch in front of her. If a man sat next to her, she would remove the book and place it on her lap. The intruder introduced himself, rambling on. She opened the book and began reading it. The admirer behind her noticed that she never turned the
pages. If a woman passenger sat next to her, the book remained in the pouch – it seemed
she did not like men.
His admiration for her soared when a man pestered her. Winona told him, "Get off my cloud."
On a flight, a woman called her by
name, Winona. Little did he know the name was of a Sioux Indian princess,
For two months, he struggled over what he
would say if he sat beside her. It had better be good, or that book would appear and be thought to be reading it, the end of their romance. He spent hours making a list, which must be right, crossed out the insipid remarks, not too long, and had to go with it.
Leaving nothing to chance, he became
familiar with the flight drill. Two snappy stewardesses delivered passengers' drink orders with peanuts. The airline knew when the small pack of highly
salted nuts disappeared, another cocktail was ordered. The policy, of course,
peanuts came with the drink. The company did not make tons of money on the
tickets, but on the sale of small bottles of booze bought for zip, plus a tad (good advertising), sold for a ransom. After all, they had you 25,000 feet
in the air, where else would you go? Two gulps, more peanuts, another drink,
please.
His love, the first one to board the jet, followed her. She sat in a window seat and snapped her belt; every other seat on the plane was still vacant. He stood in the aisle and said his first words
to her (not on his list, forgot his practiced line.) “Is this seat taken?”
She looked around, “Apparently not,”
her first words to him.
He sat in the aisle seat; premature
joy evaporated. She removed the book from the pouch and placed it on her lap.
It panicked him. He could not remember anything on his list, nothing, not even
the opening line. He felt moisture under his arms. List in his pocket, could he
sneak a look at it? No. Maybe he could go to the bathroom and look it over. No,
then he would have to say, ‘Excuse me, I’m going to the rest room, would you
save my seat?’ No way to start a love affair.
Knocked out of the saddle, ready to
ride again, in desperation he said, “What’s taking you so long to read that
book?” regretted, as soon as he said it.
She smiled, said, “What took you so
long to sit beside me?” His spirits soared. They laughed, ordered cocktails in
miniature bottles and munched their peanuts.
He said, “I’ll try to be mesmerizing,
so you don’t have to open that book.” She smiled again. He asked, “I overheard
a woman call you Winona. It is distinctive. Is it a family name or maybe a
derivative?”
She explained her ancestors from way
back were once Sioux Indians. They had a daughter with the tribe’s name of
Winona. She was known to spend much of her time living and running with
white-tail deer and the tribe called her “Four Hooves.”
The male deer hunting Indians were
not too enamored with her. They often saw her accompanying deer on their paths,
warning them of the hunters in their blinds, bow and arrows ready.
There was not much they could do
about it; she was a princess.
“That’s a beautiful story and name. I
think you are still a princess. My name is not as romantic.” Explained his
parent’s favorite movie was Casablanca. When born my mother wanted to call me
Humphrey. My father said, “no way,” so they named me Rick. Had I been a girl
you would be calling me Ingrid, or Elsa.
Rick asked, “How does a beautiful
girl with an exotic name like Winona spend her time in the big city?”
“I’m a copy editor for a New York Newspaper during the week and live with three longtime friends. On weekends, I am a
wildlife illustrator and retreat to my little house on the Cape. Hopefully,
someday, my weekend job will become my full-time occupation.” She hesitated and
said, “You’re not the Rick of ‘Ricks’ along the shore?”
He said, “Yes, on weekends. However,
on weekdays, I am a statistician for an insurance company. Friday and Saturday
nights, I spell Sam on the piano and help my partner out. In the near future, I’ll devote my full time to the restaurant business.”
She said, “My favorite song is ‘As
Time Goes By.’ Can you play it?”
“Yes, you can hear for yourself.
Could I pick you up at eight? You can sit beside me at the piano. I will be
playing it with all my soul, just for you. Then, I will procure a romantic
table with candlelight and a French wine to mellow us out. Live lobster was
flown in today, or we could dine on fresh fish, or maybe char-broiled filets, or
all three. After we sip rare liquor and close the gin joint up, I will drive
you home. If you invited me in to see your illustrations, I would go for it.”
She took a business card out of her
purse and wrote her home address on the back, said, “I’d love to.”
He said, “Winona, someday, a man will come
along, and you will marry him. He will persuade you to give up your job at the
newspaper and concentrate on your wildlife art. He will be around to encourage
and love you.”
“Who do you suppose that might be?”
she asked.
“I think it should be someone who
could play your favorite tunes on the piano.”
She replied, “I should hope so.”
Silence, the man did not know what to
say. In his wildest dreams, he did not imagine their conversation would go this
far. He was not sure, but he thought he had just proposed to her, positive
that it was not on his list. Now what? He had talked himself into a corner. He
thought of something and wrote a quote on a napkin.
“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by
nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.” - Ingrid Bergman.
He handed it to her. She read it,
smiled, and turned her head, leaning towards him. He moved forward and kissed her
lightly on the lips. They both felt a surge of arousal. She placed the book
back into the pouch. Put her head against the pillow, closed her eyes, and
rested her hand on the armrest. He covered it with his hand and closed his eyes. The nearness was provocative; they tried to calm down.
Winona, snuggled close to Rick,
seemed asleep. Suddenly she opened her eyes and said, “Before I forget, when
you pick me up and drive me to your restaurant, be sure to bring a bathrobe.
After dining, when you bring me home to see my cozy home and paintings, I will
want to be comfortable and change out of my gown into a bathrobe. You will want
to be comfortable, also, bring your bathrobe. I’ll show you the house, and we can
lounge around in our bathrobes.”
He said, “One question, will I wear
the bathrobe over my clothes or none at all?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, who wears their
clothes under a robe? I won’t. Let’s be comfortable.”
“OK, however, I will wear my socks,
forget the slippers.”
The plane landed. They retrieved
their overhead carry-on bags. Parting, Winona kissed him on the cheek, “See
you at eight, I’ll be waiting on my front porch, do not forget your bathrobe.”
Rick did not have a bathrobe. He
bought one on the way home, large enough to cover everything.
Not only did he have a new bathrobe, but he also borrowed his neighbor’s antique car, a Cord Cabriolet, which also had a rumble seat.
Sure enough, Winona was sitting on
her front porch when he drove up. She thought the car was so snazzy.
The house was smaller than he thought
it would be. The first thing she asked was, “Did you remember to bring your bathrobe?”
They arrived at Ricks in the
roadster. The evening being cool, she wore a shawl. Removing it in the
restaurant, she definitely had a Becall figure, sleek and slim.
Rick had a table smack in the middle of the
restaurant where everyone could see she was no eyesore. On the piano, Sam introduced her. He played “It’s Got To Be You.” Winona swiveled her hips to the
table.
Seated, she asked if the joint had a
specialty cocktail. It did, a ‘Skip and Go Naked,’
“Oh,” she said, “I’ll have one.” Her
toes were tapping, listening to Sam’s fingers dancing over the ivories. She
told Rick; I have a fairly good voice. Would Sam accompany her on the piano for
a couple of songs?
The answer being “Not at all,”
escorted her over to the piano. She carried her drink, said it would be a prop,
took a sip, placed it on the top of the black piano, and leaned her hip against
the side.
Sam played, and Winona belted out two songs, “Am I Blue” and “How Little We Know” in her deep, sultry voice.
Before the evening was over, she
agreed to ‘packing in the reservations’ by singing two songs at eight sharp,
that was it. Of course, Winona and Rick would dine together.
The restaurant cleared out before
midnight. The next morning, Sunday, the whapping of tennis balls could be heard
up and down the coast.
The Cord Cabriolet brought them home.
First thing, there was a half bath by the door. Winona suggested
Rick change into his bathrobe in there. She would change in hers. They would be
comfortable.
Exiting, she commented on how cute he
looked. It was not the look he was hoping for. He was not sure you could get to
first base by being cute.
As for her bathrobe, he noticed it
had few buttons.
The tour of the house was short,
noticeably short. It consisted of only three rooms: a living room, a bedroom, and a kitchen. The bedroom was converted into an art studio. It spilled out a tad into the living room, which was mostly filled by a king-size bed. It was the first
piece of furniture, and the only piece one saw entering the room. There were two
chairs. The bed acted as a couch, which you slept in, and everything else, yes,
I am not kidding.
The bed/couch/dining table faced a
large plate glass window overlooking a gorgeous bay of moored boats, sails
tacking among them, occasionally a collision.
The home was not a place for a party.
If so, it took place on the bed. The dress code was pajamas. Ideal for two in
their bathrobes, carrying on a conversation and watching the bay activity.
This night the two had hummers,
humming along. No question, the situation was ideal for romance. They kissed,
deep and long. The top button of their bathrobes is undone.