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The Runaway

James Montgomery met her by chance. Sure, for a while he'd been hearing the sounds of door opening and closing, he had seen the windows being wide open, the faint sounds of music from the flat next to his, but he had never found the time to introduce himself to his new neighbour – his work schedule of eighty hours a week did not leave him much time for socializing.

Now he regretted it. She was gorgeous, magnificent, painfully beautiful – even more so than the movie stars he worked for. Her hair was dark and shiny, her face impossibly perfect, her eyes the bluest he had ever seen. To match her head, her figure was as voluptuous as they come. She was either born under a lucky star, or making a whole team of plastic surgeons very, very happy indeed.

James realized he was staring at her open-mouthed and quickly checked himself. "Hi," he said, hoping that he sounded like a well-mannered man and not an infatuated teenager. "I'm James Montgomery, your neighbour."

"Hello," she answered in a deep voice. "I thought that might be the case," she smiled, "seeing you standing at the door and so on – "

"Ah yes," he remembered. "Listen, I've got to go, but maybe I could see you this evening? I mean, getting to know each other and so on – "

She looked surprised. Why did she look surprised? With this face and body, she surely received such offers each morning, noon and evening, every day.

She smiled again. "Of course," she said, "I'll be happy to."

"Then I'll be there at eight to take you out."

"Good," she agreed and entered her flat.

"Wait!" James cried, while he was locking his own door. "What's your name?"

She looked at him. "Bess Shore," she said.

James left for work, feeling that eight o'clock couldn't come soon enough.

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He wanted to take her to a fancy coastal restaurant, but she preferred something more inland. Fortunately, James knew all good places – it was a tradition for a successfully divorced woman to have a lunch with her lawyer after the divorce was a fact, so he knew where to bring the extraordinary Bess Shore.

"So," he asked, "what do you do for a living?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "This and that," she answered and then, clearly willing to change the topic, she asked, "What about you?"

"I'm a lawyer," he answered. "I specialize in divorces."

"Oh." Bess looked bewildered. She studied his strong face, blond hair and trimmed body with a renewed interest, as if she were examining some strange animal. She seemed fascinated. "The place where I grew up, there is no such thing as divorce. You should tell me more about it!"

Now, it was his turn to shrug, but she seemed to really be waiting for an answer, so he said, "Well, I specialize in the cases of women married to rich and influential husbands. I'm trying to give them a fair chance in the separation."

Her fascination grew. "Really?" she all but squealed.

He blinked, a little taken aback by her enthusiasm. Surely she must have heard about the divorces of rich and famous? It was a common knowledge nowadays that separation often turned out to be a very costly pleasure.

"I feel for these women," Bess said, her eyes flashing a hint of anger. "It's terrible to be completely dependent on someone with power and feel helpless, while he does whatever he pleases."

She must be a trophy wife, James thought, or must have been. Unfortunately, there was no way that he offered his professional help. It would be incredibly rude of him to speculate on such private matters on their first meeting that he really hoped to turn into a date. He couldn't understand her husband, though. Surely it should be enough for him to stare into her eyes and be in her company? Surely that should be enough for every man on this planet. Unfortunately, he had met with too many women like her and he knew the signs. Her husband not only held the purse but he had affairs, too. The idiot, James thought.

"So," he said, "what are you doing in California?"

She sipped of her wine. "Oh I decided to travel," she answered. "I wanted to clear my head and decide what I want to do with my life."

He started to give a supporting answer, but his words were drowned in the terrible roar of the ocean – the ocean that was two miles from them. The waves must be terrible, to produce such a noise.

The sea went on for a few minutes. "Christ," James said when he was finally able to hear his own voice again, "that storm must be a bad one. Thanks God that you didn't want to go by the shore."

"Yes, it's a bad one," Bess agreed. Her face had paled slightly and James patted her hand reassuringly. At first, she stared at his fingers as if they belonged to an alien or something but then relaxed, clearly enjoying the contact.

"It's been going on for more than a year," James said. "And it keeps worsening. The sea is merciless. Poseidon must be very angry at something," he joked.

"Yes," Bess agreed, "I suppose he is. Now, what should I order?" she added, reading through the menu.

She was cheerful and charming, enjoying her new neighbour's company and even practicing her newly acquainted skills in flirting. She liked his intelligence, his sense of humor, his polite manners. She liked everything about him. And she was happy.

But later in the night, alone in her flat, she stood by the open window and listened with a sinking heart at the terrible clash of the distant waves – the song of anger and fury and beneath, an undertone of hurt and despair. Never before had the sound of the waves given her such a great sadness.

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A few days later…

"Six hundredth floor," Poseidon barked, although he knew that the guard at the front desk knew that this floor was the only one that he was interested in. By the way, the gut didn't say so. In fact, he nodded and said, "Yes, Lord. Of course, Lord," hoping that he won't give cause to the Sea God to show him his horrifying trident.

Poseidon assumed his true godly form as he stepped out of the elevator and took the main road in a few impatient strides. The nymphs who happened to be on his way quickly retreated, but he stopped one of them as soon as he saw that the throne room was empty. "I need an audience with Hera," he barked.

The girl gave him a terrified look, but one of her sisters came to her aid. "With all respect to you, Lord, it's not possible. Lady Hera does not see anyone unannounced."

"She will see me," Poseidon growled.

The poor girls looked unhappy, terrified and thorn, trying to determine whether they preferred Poseidon's anger to Hera's, or the other way round.

The arrival of the most important goddess on Olympus saved them from actually having to make a choice.

"Now, now," Hera scolded. "What are you doing to these poor girls, trying to scare them to death? Is this some new fashion, or what? If there is anything I truly dislike, it's the lack of manners and you, brother, know it well."

Poseidon had neither time not patience for his sister's games. "Where is she, Hera?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he finally lost the last bits of control. "I know that you know!" he bellowed. "Where has she gone?"