Thursday, March 18, 2010

Chapter One - Jules

Serendipity: chance, karma, coincidence, luck, fortune, accident, fate, destiny, design.
At one time or another we’ve all fooled ourselves into thinking that we are in control - that we are the ones running our lives. I used to think that. Maybe to some extent I was, but the truth is, the most delicious, most memorable moments in my life have happened serendipitously. Completely unexpected, unplanned encounters, that once experienced, changed my life forever.


I was late, so I ran for it- but really I had to. I live in Seattle - have done all my life. So it’s not like the rain is a surprise to me. I’m used to it. And like all true Washingtonians, I never use an umbrella because ‘What’s a little rain gonna hurt?’ There are, however, some days when the rain is… well … wetter. This was one of those lovely days. It soaked the back of my neck under my brown cotton crochet cap and dripped down underneath my summer scarf, soaking my coat collar. It ran into the top of my ridiculously high heels, (oh yes, we wear heels in the rain here in Seattle) and generally made me wet, cold, and miserable. I hate being cold. And wet. So I ran for it.

Darting between Virginia and Stewart Streets, I hurried down Post Alley. I dodged puddles and jay-walked because the thought of walking in an ‘L’ down to the corner to cross was ridiculous when there was this much rain. Running in the rain in high heels is something akin to leaping tall buildings for me, so I really should have been pissed beyond words. In fact, there was definitely some disgruntled muttering going on, but by the end of the evening it was completely replaced by a chance encounter and some great wine.

Despite my dash, I was still soaked by the time I made it to Kells, the Irish pub down the alley. As I ducked through the doorway, the familiar warmth and sounds of a traditional pub and the smell of great food enveloped me. – Kells is like the best bear hug you’ve ever gotten except it’s the people, food, atmosphere, and of course the Irish music and great beer and wine that wrap around you. It’s like coming home. Unbelievably, I was in luck and the coat rack just inside the door still had an open hook. I unwound the completely inadequate, and now soaked blue scarf from around my neck, dragged my sodden mess of a coat off of my shoulders and hung it inside the door, where immediately a puddle of water formed on the floor beneath it. Fortunately, Kells is always kept on the warm side, so the chances were good both my coat and scarf would be dry by the time I headed out again.

I put my name in with the hostess, Cairyn, and told her I was meeting someone tonight. She surveyed my saturated appearance and said, with absolutely no guile, “It’s no rainin’ oot there is it?” Cairyn is a direct import from Ireland, right down to the curly red hair and authentic accent. The Irish have a little experience with rain too, so we’d had this conversation before. Right on cue I wryly replied, “Nowat more then a lighyut dreezzle”, in my best imitation of her accent. Her blue eyes twinkled as I headed to the powder room to survey the damage caused by the rain. I passed the long bar against the south wall and hummed along to the celtic music playing softly in the background. This was a Friday night and the musicians (name) playing later tonight were one of my favorites. It would not be quiet around here for long.

I keep a quick make-up repair kit in my purse for after-hours business meetings, late-night trysts, and of course, torrential downpours. Exactly seven minutes later I emerged freshly made up from the ladies room ready to take on all comers…or at least meet my best friend and her brother for drinks and dinner. After the day I’d had, it would be in that order too. I quickly surveyed the room for my friend Laura. Not seeing her, I headed for the bar, slid onto the familiar polished stool, and ordered a glass of King Estate Pino Gris. Light, wet, and fruity. I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and sipping, rolled the delicate flavors of pear and honeydew around my tongue. Delicious.

Twenty minutes later the place was starting to fill up and I was onto my second glass of wine when the sound of Laura’s soft french voice brought me out of my reverie. “Darling Jules, so sorry I’m late.” If the wine had not already begun to mellow me, Laura’s voice would have done the trick. She is naturally one of the sweetest women I have ever met. It seems almost unfair that she should be beautiful too, but there it is. Laura has that indefinable ‘French’ thing – she’s just naturally gorgeous. I don’t think I have ever seen her wear more than a light dusting of powder and some sheer lip gloss, but she always looks sensational. My best friend and I are complete physical opposites. With Laura’s dark hair and olive skin, she’s the perfect contrast for my strawberry blonde hair and fair, freckled skin. I’m 5’ 9” and willowy tall. She’s 5’4” and all curves. Even our personalities are totally different. Laura is a vivacious extrovert, who makes friends easily. I tend to be more introspective and cautious. Somehow though, we complement each other and have remained best friends since we met in college.

Smiling at her reflection in the glass behind the bartender, I swiveled around and gave her a quick kiss on each cheek. “No problem. I started without you.” Laura grinned and shrugged out of her long chocolate brown overcoat. “This does not surprise me. What are we drinking?” I told her. “Charming.” she said ambiguously. It can be difficult to impress a French woman when it comes to wine. Laura is no exception, so I’ve long since given up trying. Though I’ve been to France twice, and enjoyed wonderful wines there both times, I admit I’m an amateur when it comes to the particulars. I do know what I like and often enjoy incredible wines produced right here in the Northwest. In fact, Oregon wines are some of my favorites. Laura’s been here long enough to appreciate our wines too, but she staunchly insists the French are the masters when it comes to producing wine. She has to say that. She’s French.

I caught Cairyn’s eye and raised my eyebrows questioningly. She nodded and motioned us to one of my favorite tables in a corner at the back. It had a great view of the stage. Laura and I wound our way through the tables to the back and settled in. “Where’s Mike?” I asked as she laid her coat across the extra chair. Her brother, Michele, ‘Mike’, is very much like his older sister. Habitually late. “He’ll be along soon.” Laura glanced at me coyly through her eyelashes. “He missed you.” I laughed. Laura’s brother was a very good looking but young twenty-six and had sustained a crush on me since we first met when he was sixteen. He was passionately vocal about it, so I had been a quite worried for a while. When I voiced my concern to Laura, she’d laughed and finally told me that Mike was not pining away for me as I had imagined. On the contrary, he’d had a string of girlfriends over the past several years and was currently dating a young legal secretary from the downtown Bellevue office where both he and Laura worked. I admit to being a teensy bit let down by this knowledge, but Mike continued to swear I was the only true love he would ever have every time we met, and somewhat mollified, I pretended to believe him.

As the pub filled, the noise level rose as well. Mike eventually found us and we spent a lively hour and a half enjoying our wine and dinner. At quarter to nine the band set up – by nine fifteen they were in full swing. More wine flowed. By the time the dinner crowd began to settle in for dessert and music, our party had grown to a happy and relaxed six. Laura, Mike, and I, plus Finn and his wife Claire, the owners of Kells, made up five. The sixth was an old friend of Kell’s from Ireland, a man I had never met named Ian. He was a definite ‘type’, tall, and thin, bright blue eyes, and very charming. His once vibrant red hair was just starting to turn to ginger with age, and I would have guessed him to be about 50. For the next two hours Ian and Finn traded stories about their youth growing up in Ireland, each funnier than the last, keeping us all in stitches. It felt good to laugh. Ian was an outrageous flirt. A little complement, a devilish wink, and every female he came in contact with was gone, Laura and I included.

Finally, just past midnight, Laura declared she was tired. She still looked beautiful, but I noticed the beginnings of faint, bruise-like smudges under her eyes. As this was definitely not typical of her, I asked her quietly if she was ok. “Of course Cherie, just fighting a cold,” she smiled widely at me and kissed me on both cheeks. Amid much protest, she and Mike headed home. Finn and Claire took off for the front of the restaurant to assist with the final two hours before closing. That left Ian and me.

“Finn tells me you are a great travel writer.” Ian grinned at me. “Where can I read your stuff?” I named several magazines I regularly contributed to, and he seemed impressed. “And what parts of our fair country have you written about?”

Amazingly enough, I’ve been to Scotland but never to Ireland.

“It just hasn’t worked out yet,” I said. “I had planned to travel to Ireland after Scotland, but I had to cut that trip short when my mother died.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ian offered genuinely.

I nodded my appreciation, my brow furrowing at the memory. “It was a few years ago now, and we were not very close, but thank you.” I picked up the cork from one of the bottles of wine we had been drinking and twirled it between my thumb and first finger rhythmically. “So anyway, I’ve just never made it back.” I shrugged, still looking at the cork. The wine, the candlelit corner and Ian’s charming attentions made for a perfect confessional. “Do you know… my life is very structured.” I sighed and looked up. “I mean I’m very responsible and I work really hard doing something I am fortunate enough to love. It’s just…,” I paused, searching for the right words, “I feel like somewhere along the way of pursuing my dream to travel I got off track. I do a lot of rushing about, from one commitment to the next. I don’t know that I do a lot of actual Living.” My own surprise at these words must have shown in my face.

Ian’s hands had been folded under his chin as he listened to me, but now he reached out and covered my hand loosely with his, large and calloused. It was warm and comforting. I felt the cylindrical shape of the cork on the table beneath my fingers as his hand weighted my own.

I raised my eyes and met his deep blue gaze. In for a penny …“I have always wanted to rent a house in the back of beyond, doesn’t really matter where, just somewhere a bit remote, and work on a novel. Take a block of time and disappear for a while. Silly, huh?” I said lightly. “A silly dream.” My face must have reflected my uncertainty.

A serious expression had settled on Ian’s face. “Dreams are never silly, sweet Juliette. Embracing our dreams and pushing the edges of our lives to make room for them is an integral part of living. You should go,” he said simply. “You should go and write and laugh and Live.” He sat back in his chair, taking his hand with him. My hand cooled where his had been. We were quiet for a few moments.

“If you’re serious,” Ian said eventually, “I know a place. I live in Dublin now, but my family has a small cottage just outside of Bantry in Co. Cork. No one uses it anymore – we have a property manager that rents it out to the occasional tourist. It is a bit remote, but it has all the mod cons. You would have quiet there, and it’s right on the coast, so you’d have the water too. Water is very conducive to creativity.” Ian reached across and lightly touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “You should go Juliette,” he repeated.

The prospect, no doubt combined with the wine and the company, was suddenly very exhilarating. “I should go,” I said passionately. Embarrassed, I looked back down at the cork. “Anyway, it’s something to think about,” I said and smiled warmly across the table at him.

Looking around me, I suddenly realized we were the only two people left in this part of the pub. Time to go. I looked down at the cork in my hand and clenched and unclenched my fingers around it, reluctant to have such a wonderful evening end. Sensing my mood, Ian’s gaze settled on my hand and he reached over and took the cork. The pen left by the server when we settled our bill was still on the table. He held the cork in his left hand, and wrote a few lines on the cork, turning it slowly as he wrote. Then he handed it to me and said “So you’ll never forget.” I started to read it, but then I spotted Finn and Catherine headed over to our table, and the moment passed. I dropped the cork quickly into my bag to read later. It was now past two in the morning and Catherine was headed home. She offered to drop me off at my apartment as it’s on the way to their house. Since I’d taken the bus and planned on a ride home from Laura, and since I was well into the wine, this was ideal. Finn and Ian would stay and close up. Ian walked us to the door and helped me into my coat. I wound my scarf around my neck and glanced out the window. Still raining.

“It was lovely meeting you.” I said inadequately and offered my hand.

Ian grinned and enveloped my hand in his. Then he reached across and lightly touched the tip of my nose again. “And you as well, my darlin’ Juliette.” Leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek he whispered, “Ireland awaits. Bring your dream.”

It wasn’t until I was home and in bed that I realized I hadn’t gotten Ian’s contact information.

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