CHAPTER 1– THE BEGINNING

The Captain began with Maggie Fox, a beautiful 24-year-old transplant from Dallas, Texas. By all accounts, Maggie was the salt of the earth. Anyone with eyes could plainly see from the pictures of her that she was a real stunner. At five foot eight, a hundred twenty pounds, long blonde hair with the most beautiful dark brown eyes, one had to wonder how long it had been since she’d actually had to purchase her own drink at a bar or in a nightclub. Probably quite some time, given the fact that Maggie had rarely frequented bars. She was said to have loathed the club scene and preferred spending an evening in with friends. Alternatively, Maggie would often just spend the evening by herself with a cup of chamomile tea and a New York Times Best Seller. She had been casually dating several men, all of whom were enchanted by her mystifying combination of beauty, kindness, intelligence and charm. Whenever Maggie walked through a door, the room seemed to tilt in her direction. There was always something very special about Maggie that seemed to make everyone take notice. Tragically, the Captain was no exception. 

He finally laid eyes upon her as she otherwise blended in with the rest of the pedestrian herd meandering through Broad Street, in the heart of the financial district of downtown Boston. There she was, walking toward Faneuil Hall on an unseasonably cool summer afternoon in August, without a care in the world. Watching her move, flesh and blood, he decided that her yearbook photograph did not do her justice. No, not at all. She was on her lunch break shortly after 1:00 p.m., holding a Gaia’s Garden Salad bag in one hand, and a paperback novel, Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres, in the other. He wondered what kind of gluten-free, low-cal dressing was her pleasure. Raspberry vinaigrette? Perhaps. He followed her as she crossed Broad Street and headed toward State Street in the direction of Quincy Market. She was wearing pure white pants, a petite size four, with a tantalizing sheer aqua blouse that revealed the faintest presence of a summer breeze in the air. Shame, she would think, on any man who would dare take notice.  He imagined that she would park her privileged ass on one of the outdoor benches at Quincy Market. Before sitting, of course, she would begin lining her throne with the prophylactic wads that she’d snatched from the napkin dispenser at Gaia’s Garden in order to protect herself from micro-organisms left behind by the hoi polloi. He remained ten-steps behind as he followed her. And then, seven. Then just five. Don’t get careless! My, God! Only three. Caution went to the wind.  He, the Captain, caught up to her. Finally, he caught up to her. Yes! He was a mere two feet away, and as he closed the gap and continued anonymously beside her, he reveled in the scent of it all. He was close enough to read the inverted tag from the collar of her blouse when the moment was then interrupted - so imperfectly. So rudely. Maggie’s cell phone rang. She answered it with beaming white teeth and wide, smiling eyes. “Congratulations,” he heard her say, “I told you! That is so great! Congratulations, hon! I just knew that he would ask you! Have you guys set the date yet?” 

The Captain smirked and knew that the balance of Maggie’s telephone conversation was moot. He knew that the date of her girlfriend’s forthcoming nuptials didn’t matter. He knew that the color of the bridesmaid dresses was of no consequence, and that there would be no need to order a dress for the Special Day in a petite size four. For he knew, then, that Maggie was living on borrowed time, and that he, the Captain, was to call the note. Now, the fun begins, he thought, barely able to corral his euphoria. What shall be my way in? How shall I make her acquaintance?  

Moments later, a matronly bookstore clerk, whose younger, care-free days remained well camouflaged by the passage of time and an east-coast relocation, approached a remarkably handsome man in the Romance Novel section. 

“May I help you find something, sir?” she asked from behind her sensible, oversized horn-rimmed disguise.  

“Yes, please,” the man replied politely, “Corelli’s Mandolin.”