Masked Strangers

  I was nervous, my hands a little sweaty. I didn't know why. I was dressed in costume like everyone else at the Halloween party. No one knew me except my new best friend Patti, a vampire, who stood next to me as we surveyed the scene.

 "Told you," she said, "this company party is always a wild affair. Fairytale characters, clowns, monsters or all kinds—mingle! You're the only blonde witch here. You're bound to attract loads of attention. I've got my eye on the gorilla."

With that Patti took off across the crowded room, leaving me alone.

What a huge house! I should drift about, I supposed, take a chance and explore. But I wasn't good at doing any of that anymore, a major problem that had developed recently in my life. 
Without warning, a swashbuckling pirate sailed up to me, wearing a mask with one eye bigger than the other. "Witches are supposed to be ugly," he said, "but me thinks behind that mask is beauty. I mean, just behold your long blonde hair."

I blushed behind a mask that covered my eyes, nose, and cheeks. I reached to make sure my pointy, black witch's hat remained perched firmly on my head, and then I smoothed out my long, black, filmy skirt. I said, "The blonde hair could be a wig, you know, attached to the hat. This witch could be bald. A knot on her head."

He laughed at that—a warm, throaty laugh, which charmed me and made me believe he was not an evil pirate. He was tall and broad-shouldered; and, I guessed, behind that mask and costume lived a hunk of a man.

"New at Hamilton Electronics?" the asked. "The first time at our esteemed CEO's Halloween house party?"

"How could you tell?"

"When your vampire friend ditched, your body language indicated you were lost."

I nodded. "Only two months with Hamilton."

"Single, going with someone, married?"

I stepped back.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "I've got to ask. It's the only way to avoid"—he paused a moment—"an embarrassing situation. I wouldn't want to hit on the bosses wife."

I smiled. "Are you hitting on me, Mr. Pirate?"

"Just trying to know you as best I can—until midnight when we demask and reveal ourselves."

Should I be honest? Should I take a chance? Just a year ago I'd been jilted practically at the altar. But why not take this chance? I could walk away from Mr. Pirate before midnight, if I chose, unrevealed and unharmed. "Single and unattached," I said.

"As am I!" said Mr. Pirate. "This is going to be a splendid evening."

We drifted into the dining room. At the buffet table we loaded up paper plates with tiny hotdogs and chicken wings, celery sticks and baby carrots. We sat on folding chairs against a wall, ate, and commented on the spectacular costumes.

"How long has the CEO been throwing these Halloween parties?" I asked.

"For five years, at least. That's how long I've been with the firm. Probably years before that."

"Very generous of him."

"He gets a kick out of it, I guess."

When Mr. Pirate gallantly rose to dump our empty plates, the Lone Ranger, sauntered up to me, thumbs hooked in his gun belt, and said, "Are you alone, Ma'am?"

Before I could decide what to say, he grabbed my hand and whisked me into a cluster of dancers, holding me a little too tightly, I thought. "Married, single, or going with someone?" I asked.

He loosened his grip but didn't answer. When the music stopped, I found Mr. Pirate sailing up to my side again, as the Lone Ranger galloped away. "Arrrggg!" growled Mr. Pirate. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Once more I smiled behind my mask.

Just before midnight, though, I left Mr. Pirate's sight: I went off to the restroom. I stared at my ugly witch mask in the mirror. If I were going to ditch Mr. Pirate, now was the time to do it. We'd had a great time together. He was charming, but...what to do?

When I returned to where I'd left him by the grand piano, he wasn't there. My heart beat at panic speed. Maybe he'd ditched me! That's not what I wanted.

But suddenly he appeared, a glass of champagne in each hand. "To us," he said. "Soon, masked strangers no longer."

We drank, and at the stroke of midnight, along with everyone else, we ripped off our masks.

"Cory Eastman," said, Mr. Pirate. "I'm with the Accounting Department." He grinned. "Glad that beautiful blonde hair is real."

I caught my breath. I'd never seen such deep blue eyes, and his raven wavy black hair made his eyes even bluer.

"Brittany Howell. Graphic designer. Glad we're rid of those masks."

With that, he wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug, and I hugged him back. I knew he was a chance I just had to take.

­

The End

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Mission of Mercy

"Is that him running toward us?" Rachel asked, as we jogged side by side along the bike path. "Blue muscleman shirt? Blue shorts? The man you're dying to meet?"

He was nearly fifty yards away, but I'd recognize Jake Crosby's gait at any distance. We'd been jogging past each other at six-thirty in the morning for nearly a month.

"That's him," I said.

"Wow! Tall. Broad shoulders. A Greek god. Adonis."

I breathed deeply and evenly, trying to focus on the crisp autumn air, the colorful leaves, and the sunny blue skies.

Suddenly Adonis appeared to be pulling up lame. He slowed to barely a walk and hopped about on his right foot, while gingerly lifting his left foot, the toe barely touching the ground.

Rachel and I slowed to a stroll. Jake had stopped and was bending over, vigorously massaging his left calf.

"You all right?" I asked, as we halted in front of him, all of us puffing.

He stood straight, balancing himself mostly on his right leg. "Got a bad cramp. Happens when I don't stretch enough before taking off."

"My friend Ellen's a nurse," Rachel said. "Maybe she can help."

"Nothing to do but relax," I said. "Rub it out."

"Hi," he said to both of us. "I'm Jake Crosby."

Rachel and I introduced ourselves, and then he said to me, "I've seen you before—I mean, besides on this bike path."

"Mercy Hospital," I said. "In the hallways and elevators. I'm a nurse. Obstetrics."

He nodded slowly. "I'm in food service management. New guy in town."

His blue-eyed gaze sent a warm shiver through me, but I recovered nicely, I thought, and said, "There's a bench under that oak tree. Maybe you need to sit down."

While Jake hop-skipped to the bench, Rachel grabbed my elbow and whispered, "This is your chance, girlfriend. Rub that cramp out of his wonderfully muscled calf. He's yours."

"Don't be silly!"

Jake was sitting on the bench, massaging his left calf with both hands now. He winced again and looked up at us, obviously in distress.

"Where's your car?" I asked, and sat down next to him. "Mine's about a mile west."

He pointed east. "About two miles that way."

"Think you'll be able to hobble back? There's no way we can drive a car here."

"I'll be fine."

"Well," Rachel said, "you guys are on your own." Flashing me a smile, she took off.

"She must be in a hurry," Jake said, and leaned back to stretch his left leg.

"She lives about not far from here. Her kids are probably up. Her husband's making breakfast, and she always wants to get back before they destroy the kitchen."

"You have a husband and kids to jog home to?"

I didn't hesitate. "Single," I said.

"Me, too."

"I knew that." I felt a little sheepish. "Lot's of gossip goes on at the hospital." Then, "How's the leg doing?"

"Still tight." He gave it a few more rubs. "This your day off?"

I nodded. "Every other Saturday."

A little breeze blew, cooling me off.

"Mine, too," he said. "How about if I walk you to your car?  It's closer, you can drive me back to mine.  I'll take you to breakfast."

I blinked. I felt thrilled: Saturday morning breakfast with a guy I'd longed to meet. Couldn't get any better than that.

"All right, " I said. We stood and I added, "I wouldn't put too much pressure on that calf—you sure you're okay?"

"I can make it."

But as we got up and shuffled toward the bike path, Jake suddenly stopped. He seemed to hobble worse than ever. He faced me, a painful look on his face, and shrugged helplessly. "I don't think I can go much farther."

"May be a severely pulled muscle. You might have to see a doctor." I guided him back to the bench where he plunked down.

"I feel stupid," he said, shaking his head.

I stood over him, hands planted on my hips. "Sit there. I'll be back in fifteen minutes with a wheelchair. We'll get you home so you can at least rest that leg."

"A wheelchair—no way. If I keep rubbing this out—"

"Rachel has a chair at home. Her husband used it when he had back surgery—sit there."

"I can't let you do this."

"What other choice do you have? Do you think you can drive?"

"Of course. My right leg's okay."

 "All right. Sit there," I said again. "Nurse's orders. I'll be right back."

He smiled at me though his pain. "I'll see to it that you eat free in the cafeteria all week. All month."

I shook my head. "This is a mission of mercy. No payment required."

"You've got to at least let me take you to breakfast—or dinner—sometime. I insist."

I started to stretch a bit, getting ready to leave. "All right. Maybe we can work that out."

"It's a deal," he said.  Count on it!"

And so I sped off in the sunshine on my mission of mercy. For Adonis. I felt loose and joyful enough to run a marathon.

The End

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