Unlucky in Love
Chapter 1"Honestly, Stuart, why do you want to waste your time like that?"
It wasn't the first time she'd said those words, or something like them, but it was becoming more and more frequent. He remembered a day when she'd supported him, encouraged him even, but those days were long since past. Now it seemed all she did was complain. Stu sat down on her couch and wondered where it had all gone wrong, and he began remembering just what it was like in the beginning.
He'd first seen her across the park when he was out walking after lunch. She was so beautiful she took his breath away. Tall, statuesque and elegant. It was only later that he noticed her piercing blue eyes and the long, dark hair. He didn't know who she was, only that his very life depended upon meeting her. He walked as fast as he dared and began following her, trying to remain far enough away that she wouldn't think him a stalker.
She disappeared into Macy's and he hurried so he wouldn't lose her in the store. The next time he saw her was behind the perfume counter, demonstrating a new scent to a well-dressed dowager. He quickly moved away, to a display of multi-colored scarfs, and he found himself looking for one that would compliment her coloring. This is crazy, he thought, we haven't even been introduced. Somehow that didn't bother him and he kept searching. When he saw the rose-patterned scarf, he knew he was going to spend his hard-earned money on it. He had to. That was the only way he could meet her.
He paid for the merchandise and waited patiently while the dowager rejected one scent after the other. Finally she seemed to be satisfied with what his girl (his girl!) offered, and she made her purchase. He waited until the woman moved away, then gathered his courage and walked up to the perfume counter. "Yes, sir, may I help you?" Her voice was soft and gentle, the kind you heard once and never forgot.
That's when he noticed the blue eyes and knew that he'd chosen the right scarf. He cleared his throat. "Yes, Miss you may. Please have dinner with me tonight. I might die right here if you say no."
"Sir, I don't even know you."
He looked at her name tag: Connie Falconari. "May I introduce myself, Miss Falconari. My name is Stuart Bailey, and this is for you." He handed her the small package. She tried to avoid taking it, but he insisted. When she opened it she gasped with astonishment.
Without saying anything she removed the scarf from its wrapping and immediately draped it around her neck. Finally she queried him, "How did you know? I've been looking at this scarf for weeks, resisting the temptation to buy it. How did you know?"
"I'm glad you like it. It just looked like something you should have. Now, back to my question."
"What question was that, Mr. Bailey?" She didn't seem to be playing coy; she honestly didn't remember.
"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
She hesitated but a moment . "Yes, Mr. Bailey, I will."
He tried to speak but it took him a moment to find his voice again. "What time are you off?"
"Six o'clock."
He grew bold when it seemed she might be as interested in him as he was in her. After all, he was a good-looking young man, well-dressed, with impeccable manners and an air of elegance about him.
"Shall I pick you up here?"
"That will be perfect. I'll see you then, Mr. Bailey," and she extended her hand to shake his. Stu had to force himself to take her hand; he hoped he wasn't trembling. Her hand was soft and warm, and rather than shake he kissed the back of it. She smiled at him, and he thought his heart might burst out of his chest. He forced himself to smile back, then turned and left the store.
Once he was outside he had to lean up against the side of the building to keep from buckling at the knees. He'd never had anything like that happen before, and he'd never been so bold. He pulled out a cigarette, then his lighter, and flicking it open, watched the end of the smoke glow red for a moment. He took a long draw from the cigarette to see if he could calm himself down. By the time it was almost gone he was no longer shaking.
Why did this girl, this Connie Falconari, exert such a powerful influence over him? He'd dated a lot of women, most of them beautiful, and had never been affected like this. For whatever reason, she was something special, and he had to get to know her.
He'd intended to go back to the office, if one could call the little hole-in-the-wall that he worked in an office, but he saw no sense in that. There was nothing to do there, anyway, but sit behind his desk and wait for the phone to ring. And it had been doing very little of that.
For some time now he'd been trying to make a go of a new job . . . as a private investigator. He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up there, but somehow it suited him. He'd graduated college and gone on to get his PhD at Columbia, intent on becoming a Professor of Indo-European languages. He was well on his way when the war interrupted his life, as it had so many others. Because of his brilliance with languages and his willingness to take risks other men might not, he was recruited by the OSS. When the war was finally over the last thing he could envision for himself was a professorial job, tied to a desk and a classroom every day.
He soon ran into an old friend from those days before the war and somehow the topic of private investigators came up. Stu couldn't remember exactly how they'd gotten on the subject, but he was intrigued by what he heard. He spent days researching the job, and everything about it struck a chord in him like nothing else had. It was a well-known fact there was more crime than the police could handle, and very often investigators were needed for matters that wouldn't involve the police. Stu had a head for that kind of work, and he began taking the courses New York required. His years in the OSS had served him well, and most of the material he needed to know encompassed knowledge he already possessed. He applied for and was issued a gun permit and spent countless hours sharpening his skills with a weapon. There was one final step before being issued a private investigators license, and that was an exam given by the state. To no ones' surprise, Stuart etched a perfect score on the test.
He would have loved a big, impressive office, but that wasn't in the cards. Money was tight, so Stu found an established PI who wanted a second location and rented the hole-in-the-wall office he worked in now, and made the best of what he had. He considered the money he used to pay for an answering service well spent, and he had business cards printed and placed an ad in the phone book. Then he waited. And waited and waited. Slowly little cases began to trickle in from here and there; skip tracers and child support cases and the occasional divorce case – just enough to pay his rent and utilities. To save money he took to eating two meals a day, and on the days that lunch was the meal he skipped he went walking in the park. Today had been one of those days.
He spent another half-hour walking, only now he had a different problem . . . he'd spent today's dinner money on the scarf he gave Connie, and he'd invited her to dinner. Tonight. He didn't care. If he didn't get any more cases this month he'd just . . . he'd just skip paying the electric bill. This woman was too important to worry about what a dinner date might cost. And then another thought came to him. If he didn't have the money when the bills came due, he'd pawn his watch.
Instead of returning to the office he went back to his apartment. A third-floor walk-up, it wasn't much bigger or grander than his office. At least it was in a good neighborhood, something that couldn't be said about the office of Stuart Bailey, Private Investigator. Everything about tonight had to be perfect. He was already half in love with her.
He took a shower and stayed in it so long that the hot water ran out, which forced him to shave with cold water. Fortunately, this was one of those days when he managed to avoid cutting himself shaving. He had one clean white shirt hanging in the closet; he'd fully intended to go to the laundry to pick up his meager cleaning, but after his encounter with Connie in Macy's he'd completely forgotten everything but her smile. He pulled out the shirt; if he had to he'd wear it into the office tomorrow. Probably no one would see him anyway.
He still had some cologne left, and he used it sparingly. Then he had to determine a place to go for dinner. Someplace not too expensive, but with really good food. And quiet. It had to be quiet, because he wanted to hear every syllable she had to say. Chow Ling's on 42nd Street. Their food was always excellent, and it suited his wallet. That meant he would have enough to buy her flowers – no, a single red rose. Now that everything was settled, he slipped on his black suit jacket and headed for the door. He was surprised that he remembered to lock it.
On his way back to Macy's he passed Maroni's Flower Stand and stopped long enough to pick out a rose. He must have looked at every one before he found the one he bought – exquisite, perfect, as beautiful as Connie.
He checked his watch – five minutes of six. He didn't want to be too early; that would look desperate. He walked through the doors of the retailer's just as the clock chimed six. He went straight to the perfume counter – there was another saleslady there. "Excuse me. Is Miss Falconari here?"
"Oh, no sir, you just missed her. She left a few minutes early tonight. Is there something I can help you with?"
His heart stopped beating. Had she forgotten? Or worse yet, agreed to join him for dinner just to escape his unwanted attention? "Oh, no, thank you."
He turned to go back out the doors when he heard the sound of high heels running followed by that unmissable voice. "Mr. Bailey, Mr. Bailey wait!" In just a moment she was beside him. "I'm so sorry. I left five minutes early so I could clock out right at six and then got delayed by a time clock that didn't want to work. I was afraid I'd missed you."
He tried to speak but couldn't, so he did the only thing he could do – offered her the rose.
"This is for me? Oh, she's beautiful beyond words."
Yes, he thought, isn't she though?