Dear Diary, I'm In Love

by John A. Broussard

  She opened the folder on her lap so he could see a voluminous collection of automobile drawings. After he had looked them over silently for a few moments, she asked, “What do you think?”

  Could she have been the one who drew them? What would she think if she had, and he told her what he really thought? He temporized.

  “They’re not exactly what I would have done. Copies of some Japanese models, with a few modifications.”

  The deep-throated, husky laugh surprised him. “You’re being too kind. They’re amateurish, and they’re poor copies. But… they could mean millions for Hawthorne.” The grey eyes danced. Ral found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “There’s a startup Korean Company—Kawundai, Inc.—that’s planning to enter the auto market. What’s different, and this isn’t common knowledge, is that they’re fully funded by the South Korean government and have money to burn. These are their drawings. And, I will give them credit. They know this isn’t their area of expertise. To make a long story short, I was in Seoul last month. I convinced them to give us an eight weeks exclusive to come up with the advertising campaign. I know we can do the copy with no problem, but the artwork is something else. We need the latest, the best—something fresh and innovative. You’re it.”

  This was too much. Too good to be true. It was exactly the kind of work Ral would have chosen had he been free to choose. But the best was yet to come, and it came disguised as a series of problems.

  Cindy went on. “There is one problem, though.” She looked at him as though waiting for a question, but Ral simply looked dazed. “Because of all the new trade regulations and union difficulties at home, the South Korean government has sworn me to absolute secrecy. I’m to involve no one else except on that basis. If word gets out that Kawundai is hiring a U.S. firm and that their government is completely underwriting a private industry, they’ll catch hell from Washington and from their own unions. Right now, you and I are the only ones besides the Kawundai CEO who know about this arrangement. Are you still willing to work on it on that basis?”

  Ral nodded. This simply added a touch of excitement to work he loved doing.

  “Kawundai is planning a major promotion campaign, so we need to prepare a sample program for everything from tabloids and brochures to TV commercials and website displays. The more spectacular, the better. Which brings up something else. You’ll need access to most of our equipment,” she waved a hand in the direction of the work space, “but we can’t have the other workers know what you’re doing, so I’ll see that they’re cleared out by five. After that you take over. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a consultant working on a special project. Period. But that means you’ll have to do all of this alone and in the evenings. Can you manage that?”

  Another nod.

  She smiled. “You never did answer my question. When can you start?”

  Ral managed an answering smile. “Would this evening be OK?”

  “Right on! I’ll be here at six to fill you in, familiarize you with the equipment, the software, and anything else you might need. Then you’re on your own.” They rose and started for the door, their shoulders brushing.

  She turned abruptly and asked, “Can you have the finished product to me in six weeks?”

  The brief physical contact brought him back from thoughts of the work ahead to full awareness of the lovely woman walking by his side, and for that fraction of a second the euphoria he’d felt over the job dimmed. During that moment, he knew there was yet another problem here that he hadn’t fully thought out. But, as quickly as the shadow appeared, it vanished.

  His answer to the question was an upraised index finger. “One month,” he said.

  “Terrific! If you can have the drawings complete and ready to plug into the copy in a month, we’ll celebrate the day you turn them in. Pick your restaurant!”

  By five, Ral had not only settled in at the hotel and lined up three possible apartments for inspection over the weekend, but was already sitting in front of the computer screen in his luxurious office carefully examining the mock-ups of Kawundai’s offerings to the motoring world. Two pages of his legal pad were full of questions waiting for the only person who could answer them.

  Cindy arrived shortly after six, and Ral plunged into his questions. Most were answered. Some needed additional information from outside sources. By ten, Ral was ready to start. In parting, Cindy left her home phone number with the insistence that he call “anytime” should he have additional questions. Ral wondered what her live-in would think of a male voice on the phone at two am. He had noticed the lack of any wedding ring, but knew that anyone with Cindy’s looks would hardly be leading a single life. He shrugged at the thought, felt that such matters were not really his concern, and began putting his overall plan for illustrative material into effect.

  The weeks flew by. From the very outset he was spending ten hours an evening on the computers, at the drafting board, running the digital camera, pushing the limits of the state-of-the-art equipment. During the initial week, Cindy left him mostly to his own devices, but gradually she started to appear in the early evening, and he began to look forward to her presence. Their shared enthusiasm for the creative work broke through some of his natural shyness. And it was the breakthrough that brought back the hovering shadow he’d felt on that first day at Hawthorne.

  He timed his work to complete it one month to the day. The special performance was for Cindy, beginning at five. He handed her a pair of goggles, put on a pair of his own, and flipped on the remote, commenting that the technology was in the works which would eventually make the goggles superfluous. The seventy-five-inch screen shimmered with three-dimensional Kawundais flashing across tundra, up mountain sides, over sand dunes and, suddenly, straight toward the observer. Cindy flinched visibly, and Ral was amused at her reaction. The next hour was spent going through the completed proposal.

  “Terrific! Tremendous! Spectacular! Have you picked the restaurant? Tonight’s the night.”

  Ral didn’t pick the restaurant. The month had found him so engrossed in the design task, that he had settled on a small cafeteria near his apartment and had been more than content with that and takeouts. His knowledge of the city’s dining offerings was nil.

  Cindy vouched for the Citadel, and Ral soon realized it deserved the praise. Though virtually a non-drinker, he broke with tradition and joined her in a pre-dinner drink. The food that followed, accompanied by a smooth white wine, was delicious. His companion added to his enjoyment by her fascination with what he had produced. She was ecstatic at the month’s results and waxed eloquent over them.

  Was it the alcohol with its unaccustomed effects that did it? Or was it the fact that he was looking across at the lovely face flushed with enthusiasm for his work? Whatever the reason, he knew there was no point in putting off the revelation of what he had decided upon weeks before. In the midst of the excitement of the challenging proposal, he had been able to submerge his feelings. He knew that would no longer be feasible during ordinary work days. Better now than later. No need to put it off.

  For the briefest of moments he was tempted to tell her not only that he was leaving, but the reason for his leaving as well. The moment passed. He interrupted her as soon as the waiter had poured their coffee. “I guess I might as well tell you now. I’ll be turning in my resignation tomorrow.”

  The stillness that followed his statement surprised him. Even more was Cindy’s unbelieving and almost amused rejoinder. “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Her expression swiftly changed. “But why?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to explain why. “It’s a personal matter. I may go back to teaching. I’m not sure.”

  The silence stretched out. Cindy signaled to the waiter and ordered brandy, looking questioningly at Ral as she did so. He shook his head.

  More silence as she sipped at her drink, then suddenly she tossed it off. More moments passed before s
he said, “I was a damn fool.”

  Then a wry smile spread across her face. “Didn’t you remember me at all when you came to Hawthorne a month ago? Not even vaguely?”

  Ral tried to remember that day. Tried to remember where he had seen her before. “I did remember you from somewhere, but I’m not sure where.”

  “I was in one of your classes, seven years ago. One of your large ones. At first I thought you were a great teacher. And you were dealing with what I liked most—art, design, the new world of computer graphics. Then something else happened. I got a crush on you. Several times I was about to come by your office on some pretext or another, but I heard from other students how you were unapproachable. So I convinced myself it was just that—a girlish crush.

  “But it wasn’t that simple. Even after I came to work at Hawthorne and plunged myself into what has turned out to be a very successful career, I’d occasionally think of you. There have been men in my life, but none of the relationships were ever very satisfactory, and I began to wonder if there ever would be a satisfactory one. Then I heard you were thinking of leaving the university. That’s when I got the wild idea of hiring you.”

  Ral couldn’t keep the astonishment out of his voice. “You mean what’s-his-name was a plant?”

  A wistful smile hovered over the attractive features. “Sidney Karlo was an unwitting plant. As far as he knew, I was simply looking for someone to do a hush-hush proposal.”

  The ghost of a smile disappeared at the look on Ral’s face. “I guess I have nothing to lose by telling you that wasn’t the only deception. I cooked up the entire Kawundai proposal to entice you into taking the job. There’s no such offer. There’s no such company.”

  Ral sucked in his breath. “All that work…”

  She shook her head. “It was deceitful, but not meaningless. The work isn’t wasted. I know of at least a couple of major automobile producers who will vie with each other for that advertising program.”

  The whole idea was too much for Ral. “What was the point to it all?” His exasperation was unmistakable.

  “The point? Why, I think it’s obvious. At least, it is to me. I wanted to find out if you were my problem—to see if you were what was keeping me from having a satisfactory relationship with a man. I guess… I guess I wanted to see if I’d gotten over that ‘crush.’”

  “After all that, did you arrive at any conclusion?” The irony in the question hovered in the air between them.

  “Oh, definitely. No more crush. You see, what’s happened is that I’ve fallen in love with you… and now you’re leaving.” She stared down at her empty glass.

  He signaled to the waiter, pointed to her glass and asked for a brandy as well. The service matched the quality of the food. The waiter moved in quickly, poured the drinks and as swiftly moved away. Cindy lifted her head; her eyes were moist with tears.

  Looking over at her, Ral swirled the amber liquid around, reached his glass over to touch hers, then said, “I hereby withdraw my resignation.”

  ____________________

  THE QUEST FOR A SON-IN-LAW

  Friar Gwion had never become accustomed to the King's informality. Today, closeted with him and the guard-captain Talorg, there was little to indicate the presence of royalty. The King greeted them in his night robe and waved them to chairs as he sat back on a cushioned couch.

  “I imagine both of you know why I have summoned you.” The statement seemed to be a question. The Friar spoke for both of them. “Your Majesty wishes to discuss your youngest daughter's future?”

  The King smiled, showing the gap left by his recently lost front tooth. “The Queen's nagging has reached the ears of all at court. Yes, my youngest daughter has to be settled, and soon. I've reached the age where I crave peace and quiet, but if that one stays single much longer, the castle will become a shambles.”

  A trace of a smile crept over Talorg's face, a smile which he hoped the King hadn't noticed. That girl's future would have to be settled very soon. Just barely sixteen, her beauty was driving the male courtiers wild, and she had already teased some of them almost beyond endurance.

  “And, of course, there's the problem of Princess Gwenna.” The Friar decided it was best to come immediately to the real reason for the meeting.

  Sighing, the King nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately, Gwenna is the problem. At nineteen, she will have to be married off first. A stupid custom, but I suppose we'll have to abide by it.” Shaking his head, he added, “With her looks, we will hardly be overwhelmed with suitors.”

  Talorg felt the need for comment. “Princess Gwenna's contract would undoubtedly require a very large dowry, your Majesty.” Considering that his own and his men's wages were frequently in arrears, the finances of the kingdom were always of concern to the guard captain.

  “It is most unfortunate that Princess Gwenna is ill-favored, but…”

  The King interrupted the Friar's comment. “Ill-favored? You need not be so circumspect, Gwion. She is as plain as a pikestaff. And Talorg is right. We cannot afford the kind of dowry an even remotely suitable husband for her would cost us. And that is the rub. How can we find a husband for the wild one while Gwenna remains single and here at the palace?”

  “A nunnery?” The Friar's question sounded tentative.

  The King shook his head. “I have broached the subject with Gwenna, and she would of course do my bidding, but I know it is not what she wishes. My father forced me into enough unpleasant situations that I am not about to repeat his sins.” He paused, again shaking his head. “Why do men put so much emphasis on appearance, on rosy cheeks and pouty lips? Such were never my concern.”

  Talorg stole a glance at the Friar who managed to keep a straight face. Both were well aware the King in his younger days had been a thoroughly indiscriminate womanizer. Looks had indeed never been his concern.

  “Princess Gwenna has many good qualities, Your Majesty,” the Friar offered. “She has taught herself to read, and she can write as fine a line of Latin as any of my monks. She has composed hymnals and, as you know, she is no mean adversary when it comes to chess.”

  “All not worth a farthing compared to a pretty face,” the King remarked gloomily.

  The Friar knew the answer the King was seeking and felt the time had come to voice it. “There is no Church canon specifying that the older daughter be married first, so perhaps the solution is simply to find a husband for your younger daughter without regard to so peculiar a custom.”

  The King nodded. “And pity her poor husband. She'll raise more havoc at his court than an invading army of French soldiers. He may have to import a corps of those emasculated guards the Caliph of Araby surrounds his wives with. Nothing short of that will keep her in line.”

  He sighed, then went on, mostly to himself. “My older son, Cafolydd, spends his time hawking and has the minimal amount of intelligence needed to rule. My younger son, Tandru, is caught up in saintliness. And Gwenna, Heaven be thanked, has never once given me cause to complain. But, her sister…” He shook his head and added, “Why God wished her upon our household is beyond my understanding.”

  Smiling, the Friar commented, “With all due respect, Your Majesty, God can hardly be held responsible for your youngest child.”

  The King showed the gap in his teeth as he guffawed. “Right you are, Gwion. Had I not indulged in so much wine on that Shrove Tuesday, the Queen might not have seemed quite so seductive. And here I thought I had given up all such folly. But, so much for reminiscence and recrimination. Custom be damned! A husband for my youngest it shall be! Do either of you have suggestions?”

  “Prince Owain of Betwys,” Talorg said without hesitation. The Friar nodded in agreement.

  “My,” the King responded with amusement, “We are aiming rather high, are we not? I understand he is quite handsome; that royal princesses from as far away as Brittany are being offered to him. And his father's wealth is said to rival Midas's.”

  For the first time Talorg relaxed complet
ely. “One look at her will make him capitulate without a struggle.”

  The King turned to the Friar. “Can you make the arrangements?”

  “Of course. I know the King of Belwys's confessor. I will send him a letter this day.”

  “There will be no mention of marriage.”

  “Understood. Prince Owain will simply be invited to visit, for—let us say-a week. It will be a… a courtesy visit.”

  Turning to Talorg, the King said, “And you will be personally responsible for preserving order, which means you will see to it that several of the court ladies are in constant attendance upon the Prince's future bride. I want no sampling of the wares prior to purchase.”

  “Perhaps it would be simpler for some of my men to keep the Prince under observation.”

  “No! I do not want him spied upon, and I certainly do not want him to feel he is being watched. If he wishes to cavort with court ladies or chambermaids, that is his prerogative as an honored guest. Order your men to strictly avoid his presence and to look the other way should they inadvertently encounter him.” The king paused and smiled. “Except for his to-be wife, he is to have free run of the court—and the entire kingdom if he so chooses.”

  ***

  Since a large retinue would have put a strain on his coffers, the King considered it a welcome sign that only two retainers accompanied Prince Owain. The whispered feeling in much of the court, however, was one of disappointment. The crowds of hangers-on a royal visit usually entailed would have heightened the festive ambience.

  Nonetheless, the palace had a holiday atmosphere about it for the month preceding the royal visit. Adjacent to the feast hall a room, which served on occasion as a place to receive guests, had been specially decorated in anticipation of the arrival. The fragrance of scattered rose petals along with the scent of cinnabar filled the rooms and halls on the momentous day.