Old Ball

    She looked up into the camera, dark lipstick accenting a vacant smile.  Her green eyes surrounded by black eyeliner and maroon eye shadow showed no hint of her amusement.  As Craig watched her on the security monitor, she pushed a stray strand of maroon-black hair behind an ear that was pierced numerous times.

    "Hello," the Agency sent me?"  Her dark lips formed, "Can I come up?"

    "Yeah sure, no problem," Craig pressed the lift unlock to let her enter, "eighteen B, the one on the left."

    She entered the lift and pushed the button, there were no numbers; the elevator went to the eighteenth floor, the top floor only.  The lift opened into an expansive foyer, there were two doors at opposite ends, 'A' and 'B'.

    She knocked lightly on the door; it was opened by man that looked younger than he was she thought, late 40's she guessed.  He was attractive simply by the way he carried himself, his presence.  She liked the grey creeping into dark blonde hair.  "Hi I am Betty."

    He stood in the doorway, looking at her, calmly nervous.  "Hi."

    "Are you going to ask me in...?"

    "Oh yeah, sorry, Craig, my name is Craig, come on in Betty, sorry."  He moved aside and she stepped through the door, the entryway was tastefully decorated.  There was a wall table on which sat potted plants, family photographs, and a dark grey ceramic bowl containing keys, glasses and a wallet.  There was also an employment badge of some sort with a round disc attached.  "Can I take your coat?"  He asked.

    She looked at him to find his intense hazel eyes studying her.  For the first time in years she found a man's gaze discomforting, "Yes, thank you Craig."  She handed him her long, black felted coat, as he tried not to notice her body.  She watched with amusement as his eyes registered the loose black gauze over-dress and then the finer lines of the simple black, tightly fit single piece short dress underneath.  An inner satisfaction mixed with disgust within her as his eyes traveled down her body, stopping at her stocking clad legs and black stiletto heels.  Maroon painted toenails visible from the tips of her shoes.

  She cleared her throat and flustered him.  He tossed the coat over the back of a chair in the formal living room.

      He turned to her, his tan face slightly flushed, "Can I get you something to drink?  I think we have pretty much anything you might want, juice, wine, water, beer, something stronger?"

    "What are you drinking Craig?"

    "I'll probably have a scotch, unless you would prefer a good beer?"

    She gauged him, his body said beer, "Beer?"  She inquired with raised pencil thin, very black eyebrows.  He was taken aback but pleased that she had chosen beer.

    "Cool, do you like English ales?"  Craig continued looking at her pleased with her, the choice of beer.  He liked the black clothing, dark make-up and contrasting snow white skin.  It was what he yearned for, a change from his everyday conventional life.  There was a subtle, exotic, air that surrounded Betty that he found enticing, refreshing.

    "Sure that sounds good to me," she saw him visibly relax.  Betty noted his smile for the first time, white teeth exposed between warm, inviting lips.

    Betty wandered around the room unobserved.  There were pictures of a young family and young married couple. There was also a third young couple, the man obviously related to Craig.  But that was the only resemblance she could determine in the photos, except the ones of Craig with a very attractive woman about his age, clearly his wife.  They made an attractive couple.

    The furniture was overstuffed, all in muted earth tones, impressionist paintings were tastefully displayed, originals she knew.  The coffee and end tables were set with neatly arranged fashion magazines and art books.  More potted plants were scattered around the room, clearly placed for an unobtrusive effect.  It was a precise room.

    Craig returned with two pint glasses filled with dark amber liquid and handed her one.  In one swallow he drained a-quarter of his.  She watched as he obviously enjoyed and savored the ale.  He was dressed casually in a pair of faded Levis, a hole in one knee and a well worn red polo with a crest and 'HGRFC' embroidered on the left breast.  The shirt was unbuttoned but looked good on him as his chest and shoulders were broad, the skin visible was as tan as his face.  He was barefoot and his feet were almost the same shade brown as the rest of him.  His hips and midsection were probably a bit thicker than they had been when he was younger; he looked fit even with the slight belly she guessed he was constantly battling.  His face and eyes were impassive, with a hard vulnerability hidden deep.  He was a difficult person to decipher; it was a skill she had become very adept at.

    "Well Craig, what can I do for you?"  She could read him clearly when he let his guard down, but there was no hint yet of what he desired from her.

    "Would it be okay if maybe we just talked for awhile?"  He uncomfortably asked.

    Mildly surprised she replied, "Sure, that would be nice," and sat on a natural colored leather sofa. 

    He looked at her, then around the room, a blank expression on his face, "I don't particularly care for this room, how about in my office?"

    He was more difficult to interpret than she had first surmised.  Oddly, Betty found herself mildly disappointed at his suggestion, construing it as a request for 'The Secretary Fantasy'.  "What ever you like Craig."  He led her through a pristine dining room and an exact kitchen, down a hall neatly lined with more artwork, then through a door on the right.  One wall was a window with a view of the ocean in the distance, between nearby high rise buildings. 

    One wall had a fireplace, a fire burning in it, with two comfortable looking chairs, one well worn, and a table with a reading light before the fire. This wall also had artwork on it, but these were prints of sailboats, seemingly randomly distributed.  The wall with the door in it had photos, pictures of stars, space phenomena, and spacecraft, equipment she wasn't acquainted with, and group photos.  There was a leather couch against the wall that looked perfect for naps.  The remaining wall was bookshelves.  A clean wood desk was in front of the bookshelves, a single journal, a monitor and a keyboard on it.  The shelves were full of books, photos and a few mementos.

    "Do you mind if I look at your pictures and books?"

    "No, feel free," Craig responded, obviously pleased at her interest.  He sat in the worn chair and turned to watch her.

    Betty wandered about the room, pausing before photos or artist's impressions of spacecraft.  Many of the photos were of groups, most of the men wore ties, Craig was in all of them, but never with a tie on.  None of the pictures were labeled.  With her back to him she asked, "Do you own a tie?"

    He laughed, a melodious pleasant laugh, "Two, I've even worn one of 'em."  She turned in time to see the end of his smile and the warmth in his eyes.  She returned his smile, he blushed.

    She slowly walked past the desk, trailing her painted maroon nails lightly along the edge, feeling the warmth of the wood beneath her fingertips. International Journal of Theoretical Physics was the on the desk, well thumbed through.  She paused and opened it at random, glanced at the page and slowly let the pages fall back into place.  Closing the journal, she turned her attention to the bookshelves

    She read the titles; many were classics, many technical works that she didn't recognize.  The photos in the book shelves were much more personal.  The photos were predominantly family photos; many were of the woman she suspected was Craig's wife, when she was younger, some with children some her alone.  Betty came to a dirty white ball, shaped similar to a football but fatter, rounder.  She gently ran her fingertips over the ball, again with her back to him, she asked, "What's this?"

    This time it was a softer, quieter laugh before he answered, "It's a rugby ball."

    "Rugby," she mused, "isn't that a barbaric game?"  She rested her hand on the ball.

    "Depends on how you look at it I guess"

    Still with her back to him, "Why is this ball special to you?"  She turned to see him, still resting her hand on the ball.

    He saw the earnest, searching look in her emerald green eyes, her pale face with the dark maroon eye shadow and thick black eyeliner not really concealing the delicate features of her face.

    "I don't know, nothin' really special about it I guess," he lied.

    Betty knew he was lying, locked eyes with him and said nothing.  She remained looking at him until he looked down, ashamed, embarrassed.

    "Why is this ball special to you?"

    He looked up returning her gaze.  Betty could see the emotion playing across his face as he wrestled with an answer.  Discomfort settled on Craig's features.  "Nothing really, it was the ball used in my last match is all."

    She never stopped looking at his eyes, "When was that?"

    "Fifteen, eighteen years ago, something like that."  Craig was surprised at the seemingly sincere interest she displayed.  She turned back to the ball, picked it up and caressed it with both hands, absorbing the texture and energy.  Then gently, respectfully, she replaced it.  She continued to silently inspect the items on the book shelves, occasionally sipping her ale.  When she was finished she returned to the rugby ball.

    "Is it okay if I hold this for awhile?"

    Startled, Craig nodded; liking the interest she exhibited.

    She sat across from him, holding the ball in her lap.

    "Why have you saved this ball for so long?"  Very softly, "It must mean something to you." 

    He looked into the fire, lines of thought etched into his forehead.  He rose and turned the light off, returning to the chair he sat and looked at Betty, He had not expected her to be sincerely interested.  "It's just a ball, that's all."  His gaze returned to the fire, he played with the wedding band on his finger.

    Most men removed their wedding rings.  "I was just curious," Betty watched him by the firelight, the laugh lines and crows feet accentuated in deep shadow.  In the dim light, his face was mature, worn, weary of life.

    "I scored my last try with that ball," he mused, "half an hour later I was done playing for life," he stopped and looked her directly in the face, emotion strong in him.  A heavy sigh escaped him.  "It is just a ball, an old ball."  He was quiet, but kept his eyes on her, she didn't blink he noticed.

    She returned his gaze, softening hers.  Betty was again unsure what he wanted.  "You miss playing, why did you quit?"
 
    He smiled slowly, "I didn't, my body did, I was injured playing and my back was finished."  His voice wasn't smiling.

    "You miss playing?"

    Craig looked into her eyes, intently, searching.  She was receptive, guarded, but receptive.  He wondered if the Goth look was her normal everyday attire or if it was just because he had asked the Agency for a 'Goth Woman'.  He found her pretty; he liked the dark features against the porcelain background of her unblemished skin.  He guessed she was reaching an age where she was soon going to find it difficult to remain at the top of her trade.  He was attracted to her.  "Yeah I miss it, mostly the contact I guess."

    "It's a violent game isn't it?"

    "They say 'elegant violence,'" he countered, "but, yes it is a violent game, a lot of fun though."

    They were quiet for a few minutes, both contemplating the fire, "The pictures, your family and wife?"

    "Yes, my wife and our children, two boys and a girl."  Another silence of several minutes, "My wife is away for another of her 'girls need space weekends'."  Craig sighed silently.

    "Why am I here Craig, what do you want me to do?"  There was no tremor in her voice but Betty's heart was trembling.  She sensed a good man on the cusp of oblivion.

    "I am not sure," Craig looked at her wistfully.  "She rarely attended any of my rugby matches.  That always kind of bothered me."  He searched her face for a glimmer of encouragement, understanding.  "I just wanted her to be there, to be together," he looked back to the fire.

    Betty returned the ball to its spot on the bookshelves then stood behind the chair Craig sat in, her hands on the back of the chair.  Gently she ran a palm over his short cropped hair, "What do you want from me Craig?  Why am I here?"  She repeated.

    Craig leaned back into the chair his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.  "To talk Betty, just to talk is all."  He finished his ale in a single swallow.

    She quivered inside as a slight shiver passed down her spine, "Can I get you another?"

    He held the glass above his head, "Yeah, that'd be nice, thanks."

    When she had left the room Craig leaned forward and held his head in his hands, wondering, thinking of what should have been.  Betty returned to find him leaning forward; she stopped at the door not wanting to intrude.

    "Come on in," Craig said, "it's okay"

      She handed him the ale and sat across from him.  "What do you do for a living Craig?"

    Another small smile crossed his features, "I think of stuff.  Then sometimes we see if we can do what I think of, it's kinda' cool."  He again stretched himself, slouching in the chair.

    "You think of stuff?  What kind of stuff?  What do you mean you think of stuff?"  Betty was perplexed, uncharacteristically it showed.

    "I work in a 'think tank', I think of stuff, all kinds of stuff, all kinds of different stuff.  Sometimes my ideas work sometimes they don't.  Sometimes somebody finds them useful, oftentimes nobody does."

    Betty knew he was embarrassed but proud to be telling her this, she also knew he was amused at the confusion he was causing her, but he was flattered at her interest.  She was genuinely interested, "Where do you work?"

    "I have an office at the tank, it's a research lab, sometimes I work there, sometimes I work here.  Ideas come at different times.  Most of my good ideas come when I am on the water; they make sure I get plenty of time to be on the water."

    She studied him in the fire light, reached across the space between them and placed a hand on his knee.  "So, you're an important man'" she stated.

    He laughed, "That depends on who you ask."

    Betty snorted in disgust, "You are, you are important for your mind, and more I suspect.  Tell me something you thought of, tell me about something that worked and people liked."  She watched as he listened, she saw the reluctance and the fear return to him.

    He looked from her to the fire, "Oh nothing really, nothing much anyone but a few obscure people would know or care about."

    She watched him closely, experience telling her that he wanted to talk, but that he also needed to be coaxed into talking, gently coaxed.  "Oh, do you think people can't appreciate your accomplishments?  Or, be impressed with them for some reason?"  She paused, intently seeking his eyes and holding them until he looked away.  "Just because I may not understand what you have done doesn't mean I won't care, or see the significance of what you have done?"

    "No that's not what I meant,"  Craig quickly answered, he looked agitated to Betty.  "I guess I just wonder why anybody would be interested in what I do, or what I have to say outside my professional arena.  I mean nothing I do is interesting to anyone except, except... well me I guess."  She watched another silent sigh.

    "Your wife must be interested and impressed with what you do."

    There were several moments of silence before Craig answered, still looking into the fire, creases of pain deeply etched in the firelight.  "No, she doesn't care, she likes the money and the perceived prestige, but she would just as soon be with other people," again a silent sigh.

    "You never tell her what you have thought of?"  Betty was incredulous.  She went to the wall of professional pictures and artists renderings.  "What is this one?"  She pointed at a photograph of a small group of people surrounding a squat circular canister on a mountain peak.

    Twisting around to see what she was referring to, he smiled, "Oh that, it's a populated wide angle view lens, it was the first telescope with a view of more than three degrees or so.  That was a long time ago."

    She could see and hear the pride in him, "I am not sure I understand, what you mean by wide angle?"

    "When you look through a conventional telescope at the sky it is like looking through a straw, with that telescope it is almost like looking with the naked eye, except it's magnified of course."  He paused, wondering if he should continue, "It was used to find satellites where they weren't supposed to be," he lamely finished.

    Betty was quiet for a few moments, "So this telescope lets astronomers look at more of the sky in less time.  That makes it more likely to find life somewhere else?"

    "Yeah that's one use, we also made a smaller one, on a space based platform, a spy camera kinda' thing.  That was a challenge because we had to keep the mass down."

    "Wow," Betty came and sat across from him again.  "What are some of the other things you've thought of?"

    Her honest interest was apparent and amazed Craig.

    They talked for several hours.  She asked occasional questions, genuinely flattering him and expressing astonishment at different aspects of his life.

    "The ball is from a different life, when life was simpler for you."  Betty paused, intently gauging him, "You think your life is over?"  It sounded like a question, but it was a statement.

    Craig fidgeted in the chair looking everywhere but at Betty, "I suppose so."

    Without hesitation she answered, "You have lot of life left Craig, and from where I sit you have led a successful life."

    "We aren't sitting in the same place."  Several minutes of silence followed, Craig staring at the floor, Betty unabashedly staring at Craig.

    "What do you want from me Craig?  Do you want to fuck?  That is what you paid for, I am yours."

    He looked into her emerald eyes, "No.  I don't know.  I like this."  He looked into the fire.

    Betty thought she saw his eyes glisten before he turned to the fire.  She rose and stood in front of his sitting figure.

    "Is Betty your real name?"

    She reached to gently touch his cheek, "No."

    He let her hand rest on him, "If I asked your real name would you tell me?"

    "Yes," she whispered.