Beatrice met Henry James Ford III when he was in-town settling his family’s estate. She was a bank clerk by day and aspiring show girl by night. Hank, as his closest companions lovingly called him, worked in finance in “the Big City” but returned to personally ensure his late mother’s affairs were in order after her passing due to a lost battle with influenza. He came to her bank to retrieve her security deposit box (unbeknownst to him what he’d discover inside).
It was love at first sight for Beatrice, she’d never seen a man that young that put together and so assured of himself. She loved the way his hair skated across the top of his head and casually caught a tuft in the breeze on occasion. She couldn’t pinpoint his mood, but she enjoyed the thrill of trying to understand his demeanor. One thing she couldn’t shake, was the intensity to which he stared at her. His big blue eyes carried the weight of a 100 years lived, even in his youth.
Henry (Hank) was immediately hit with overwhelming feelings that this person he’d only just met - was the person he was meant to find. He tried to subside these intensities, after all, he wasn’t raised to have such deep feelings on display. He couldn’t help himself in taking in every bit of Beatrice. She was striking. She was the kind of beauty, that magnetized you to her, only magnified by her larger than life personality. Her fiery red hair was styled into soft curls and gently pinned to the side. Her dress danced across her figure effortlessly.
It would be years before they’d reunite. Beatrice made it her personal mission to get out of the small town, where they’d both met by circumstance. She took matters into her own hands and began searching for leads for shows in the city she could audition. Something ignited in her that day. Something she was always grateful to him for and something he’d never truly know how impactful it was for her. He inspired her to pave the way into a career she never even thought possible. If he was there in the city, she wanted to find him. But she had to be ready. She had to have herself together. To be the woman in the room that turned heads. What she didn’t know, was that even so long ago, for him, she was.
It happened again by chance. Call it fate. Call it serendipity. I choose to call it a second chance. Henry’s office bought tickets to the newest show with the best seats in the house (the theater was after all, one of their biggest clients). They meandered their way down the velvet aisles and were escorted front and center to a small round table that read “Denton and Ford Partners”. They had just as soon received their cocktails when the curtains opened and Beatrice in all her glory burst onto stage large than life and brighter than ever. She appeared in a dazzling floor length number with a feather boa to boot. She belted her songs with pride and delivered her lines with such ease you’d almost feel she’d been talking to you. Her personality leapt off the stage. Her exuberance carried the audience into laughter upon laughter and right into a roaring applause when the curtains closed for intermission.
Mr. Ford’s eyes widened the second they caught sight of his beautiful red-headed wonder. What she didn’t know, was he’d been searching for her from all those years ago too. He’d heard she left town but never knew what came of her. Figured she’d married some well-do lawyer and had lots of little red-head babies by now - but yet there she was. Right in front of him. She was pure magic. She was electric. It sent a current coursing through his whole body from stem to sternum. He couldn’t deny this intangible yet increasingly intense feeling that was bubbling up inside him.
He must have her. Or he must at least know, if she’d wed. Then he’d know for sure.
Final curtains closed and Henry quickly yet courteously excused himself from the table and made his way backstage. It wasn’t hard to get in, the door man manning the VIP section was flirting with one of the flappers and the flamboyance and pandemonium crowded around them. He took notice of each name on the dressing room doors. There weren’t many, but there hers was “Beatrice St. John.” And to him it lit up like a flashing sign. He nervously knocked on the door and all he heard was “who’s knocking!? Get in here it’s a party! we are celebrating!”
Beatrice was sitting at her tri-fold vanity mirror already in her after-party dress (she was known to have an outfit for every occasion) and was primping for the next affair! She didn’t see who entered but swung her legs around quick to reach for her champagne coupe on the side table near the couch when she looked up from her lashes and saw him. He was even more broad and magnificent than she remembered. He was the definition of dapper in his tuxedo. He cleared his throat but didn’t say a word. He just gave her his blue eyes. They were locked on her and this time there was no question in her mind, she had the upper hand. So she said the one thing she knew was at the tip of his tongue, “I waited for you.”
Part 2
Mr. Ford was escorted into the security deposit box room by what to any other person would be considered a threatening individual-but his time in the service gave him an almost sixth sense about people-to know well enough, this man was nothing more than a paid babysitter. The babysitter went to the boxes, pulled out number 122 and then led Henry into an even smaller room to give him his “privacy”. Hank took a large breath that filled his whole body, preparing for the unknown of his mother’s contents. He turned the key and heard a click.
He slid back the metal top to reveal a single velvet box and a stack of letters bound together by a single string of twine. He held the small soft box in his hand. Feeling the fuzz hit his fingertips, he gave way to the closure and saw the most dazzling intricately cut diamond ring. It was a marquee setting with a singular diamond-shaped 4 carat encased by smaller gems that seemed to dance across the band. He released the box and it snapped shut. He was bewildered, shocked and confused by what he had just seen. His mother, after all, had just been laid to rest with the ring his father had given her.
He’d only discovered the security deposit box by chance when he was cleaning out her old drawing room drawer. Mixed in between the charcoal and the thimble, he had found the very keys that led him here. So why was this hidden? He decided he had to read the letters. But only when he was sure he was ready to hear the truth. He left the room with the contents in his jacket pocket, as not to stir up any questions from strangers poking their nose in his business. He hastily fled the bank (but not-so rushed that it caused a scene. He really was not big on causing a stir, in general.) and into the town car where his driver was waiting. Still breathing heavy, he pulled the top letter out of the lining in his suit pocket and saw the very last line that read: This will be our last correspondence. I will always love you but I can’t keep on going like this. Goodbye my love.
Part 3
Beatrice giggled, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” as if to break the silence that filled the air. One would normally say it was awkward, if they had been there to witness the lingering between them. But that’s the thing: there was never an awkward moment between them, because even in in that moment of nothing, their impending love for each other was palpable. He chuckled and shuffled his feet and muttered “it’s been awhile” and a smirk framed his mustache perfectly. They sat and shared a bottle of champagne, swapping stories from lost time. Two seemingly perfect strangers bound together like long lost lovers.
The newly formed pair decided to head out on the town and make the most of their evening together. Well, Beatrice mostly decided. She always had this way of knowing the latest and greatest spot in town. She already had conjured a plan to talk her way into the newest club called “Georges”, and was frankly relieved when her Clyde showed up to help her on her mission. What she didn’t know, was at the tip of the hat he could have the best spot in the joint. But he played it cool and let her think she’d gotten them in with her charm. They heard the sounds of the Big Band’s instruments as they entered.
The reverb resounded off the walls as they checked their coats. He gave her one long look and one nod- and pulled her into the coat check closet to have a private moment. Under the champagne haze, jazz playing smoothly just out of reach, he held her face in his hands and brought it close to his. It was if they’d kissed each other every day for the first time for 50 years. The way they interlocked was so familiar, yet so passionate. He kissed her softly once, paying attention to how their lips felt on each other and then pulled back just to whisper, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” Caught up by all of him, she leaned in again. This time it was much more intense. He pushed her up against the wall, sliding her hands together with his. interlocking. She came up for air and realized if they didn’t stop now, her make up would be ruined and the whole town would be talking. They fixed themselves and took turns exiting towards the dance floor, sharing this little secret.
She quickly found them a round of old fashions and just as soon as downed hers when he reappeared, wrapping his arm around the small of her waist. It was just long enough to make her gasp for her breath but she thought she’d played it off well. He knew she didn’t, but he let her think she’d kept her cool. They danced all night. He threw her up in the air and around his shoulder and back again. They made the place come alive with their magnetic energy. They were an instant hit and they had the band in the palm of their hands, taking turns requesting songs all night. They bid an Irish farewell to the crowd and took to the streets of the city.
He walked her all the way to her brownstone. It was blocks away from his place, but he didn’t mind. They laughed, recounting their wild adventures and holding hands all the way home. They arrived at her stoop and she looked up at him. She’d forgotten just how much he loomed over her. Made her heart skip a beat every time their eyes locked. He kissed her goodnight and had started to walk away when he stepped back and realized, they’d be lost to each other again if he didn’t speak up. He said “hey, there’s this great little diner I know. It’s kind of a dive, but maybe we could meet up for breakfast tomorrow?” She, already ascending the stairs, said, “I’d be absolutely delighted.” Then she paused for a moment and said jokingly, “but what do I wear?”. He chuckled and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And that was the start of their forever.
Part 4
She woke up in a trance, feeling as though the previous evening was a dream, and truth be told- feeling that champagne. She glanced over at her vanity and fumbled for her watch which read 10 o”clock in the morning. She realized she’d slept in and almost missed breakfast entirely and that they had also never set a time. Deciding that luck was still on her side, she dawned a tailored periwinkle slightly-above-the-knee dress and wrapped a blush pashmina around her décolletage so he wouldn’t get the wrong impression and scurried out the door- in a ladylike fashion of course. On her way out she passed Brooks, the door man- a very bright spirit with an easy demeanor. They’d developed sort of a friendship over the years. He tipped his hat and wished her luck (he’d heard all about this gentleman caller before) as she made her way to the diner.
Hank, an early riser - even with a whirl of an evening like he had the night prior- was sipping his second cup of coffee, black and reading the New York Times. He had just as soon asked the waitress for the time when Beatrice made her grand reentrance. “You’re late” he said as he peered his eyes above his black rims whilst tilting his newspaper. “A woman must and I repeat must get her beauty sleep” she quickly fired back. He cut his eyes and smirked, trying not to giveaway his amusement. “So, what’ll you have?” He said quickly changing the subject. She glanced at the menu and tilted her head. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” He asked, knowing full-well he orders the same thing every day: black coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage links and a side of toast with jam. Easy. She responded “really just depends on my mood” “some days I’m an eggs Benedict girl.”, “some days, it’s French toast!” “some days, I really don’t know what I want until I hear it”. Mr. Ford, bewildered yet bedazzled really didn’t know what to make of this enigmatic woman sitting in front of him. She was nothing like him. And that scared him. He was a man of routine and order. She was spontaneous and carefree. He slid her a cup of coffee and watched as she loaded it with cream and sugar until it was perfectly to her liking. She sat pleasantly with a smile until the waitress came to take her order. He watched carefully as she lit up in conversation asking about each special then slipping into a side story about the woman, her marriage, children and grandchildren- all within the course of 5 minutes. She finally settled on, you guessed it- the same thing he was having, but added a side of French toast because he ‘simply had to try it’.
There they sat in a small window booth draped in red leather. The conversation was easy and heartfelt. It felt like he’d know her all his life, yet he wanted to know more about the wonder of a woman that dined across from him. He was captivated by her uniqueness and by her uncanny ability to be fully herself in any given situation. He craved that and he desired to know what made her tick.
Madam St. John often rambled when she was nervous, she practically talked the waitresses head off and then in a panic, decided it was safest to order the same thing as her company. She knew this was as a big deal, to be sitting across from the man who lit her soul on fire, once again. She knew this was their opportunity to take this from friendly to more than friendly- and she wanted it so bad it hurt. Beatrice hadn’t stopped thinking about what happened to the charming yet aloof man that appeared in her bank that day. She often pictured him in his navy blue suit in a sky rise with other some well to-do businessmen gathered around an office desk saying things like “next quarter’s markup” and “profit margins”. There he sat, finally, across from her- in a simple button down and khakis, staring at her with that same intense piercing-blue stare. She was swept up.
