A Class Act

I rented my new apartment with some reservations. It was bright and sunny but located next to a concert hall—lots of noise, I feared. But I needed something affordable, and I needed it quickly.

Tess, my friend since grade school, was impressed. “Laura, just look at this,” she marveled, holding her hands outward to indicate the sunlight beaming into the living room’s four windows. “What more could you ask?”

"A date this weekend would be nice,” I countered.

Having just married her childhood sweetheart, Tess exuded enthusiasm about life in general and saw the positive side of all situations. I’d been the maid of honor at her recent wedding and figured she’d return the favor, had my plans gone as expected.

I’d pictured myself at the altar with Charles, my beau all through high school. But once he moved away to attend college, his interest in me waned—quickly it seemed—and my dream of an upcoming wedding faded. Finally, he admitted he’d found someone else.

I decided to put any reservations about my new digs aside and count my blessings, forego complaints, and concentrate on the task at hand—moving my stuff!

Tess, while totally dedicated to helping me get settled, hadn’t given up hope that I’d find romance again. “You might have moved to the right place,” she remarked as we loaded the last two boxes onto the elevator. “I’ve noticed a lot of guys our age walking around.”

“Rock musicians,” I grumbled. “Rockers tend to keep late hours, and I have to get up early for work. I’m already worried about the noise in that joint keeping me awake.

When we reached my apartment, the door across from mine opened and a tall, nice-looking man walked out, leading a dog on a leash.

He introduced himself and his canine companion. “I’m Julian Helmer, and this is Sigmund.” He pointed downward toward a small mixed-breed, who was wagging his tail happily. “Welcome to the building.”

I introduced the two of us and patted Sigmund’s head, I couldn’t help noticing his master’s chiseled features and friendly smile but also that he was carrying what appeared to be a guitar case.

Tess gave me a knowing look as man and dog made their way toward the elevator. “If he’s one of those musician types,” she said once he was out of earshot, “becoming a night person might not be such a bad idea.”

“You’re happily married,” I reminded her.

“I was speaking for you.”

“Make yourself useful,” I ordered, pointing to a box of knick-knacks in the middle of the floor.

Tess looked thoughtful as she arranged the items on my etagere. “Maybe he named his dog after Freud.,”

I gave her an eye roll. “He doesn’t look like a psychologist. Let’s order a pizza and forget my love life—or lack thereof.”

* * * * * *

The weekend arrived, and Saturday afternoon was unusually noisy on the street below. I assumed the featured band must be a popular one, because there was a long line. I’d found it strange that I hadn’t seen Julian’s name on the marquee. Just as I decided he might not be a rock musician after all, I ran into him in the hall.

“Nice to see you again, Laura,” and following a brief exchange, “I’m off to the theater,” shattering my new image of him as an accountant or a plumber. “I’ll be free tomorrow afternoon. Maybe if you’re not busy, Sigmund and I could show you around the neighborhood.”

I was tempted to say yes. His dreamy smile was even more intoxicating than when I met him the first time. Before I could manufacture an excuse my cell rang and Tess’ number appeared on the screen. As I punched the green button, he waved and walked toward the elevator. “I hope to see you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Tess wanted to know.

I gave her an account of what she’d just interrupted.

“Timing was never my best feature,” she quipped. “So, when’s the big date?”

“He’s not free until tomorrow afternoon—of course.”

“You’ll give him a chance I hope.”

“I’m not sure. I want to sit with my date, not stare at him on a stage into the wee hours.”

* * * * * *

I awoke the next morning to bright sunlight. It promised to be a beautiful day. I decided to explore the neighborhood myself but first pick up coffee at the café across the street.

As I entered, I heard a familiar voice call out, “Mocha latte super,” and who was peering at me from behind the counter but Julian.

“Hi there, neighbor” he said with a major grin. “What can I get you?”

“Just coffee,” I stammered, “large.”

“One super,” he called out to the fixer. “That’ll be two-fifty,” he informed me, holding out his hand for payment. “We’re running a special today,” he said in a hushed tone. “Any large beverage includes a neighborhood tour—that is, if you don’t mind waiting ‘til my shift is over. I’ll be free at two. I’ll pick up Sigmund and knock on your door.” Before I had a chance to decline, he was taking the next order.

I decided to put my reservations aside.

* * * * * *

It was a good decision. We strolled down the street, Sigmund in tow, until we reached a smaller theater, a playhouse with a marquee with guess-who in top billing—Julian Helmer.

“So this is the theater you were hurrying off to?” I asked with a gasp. “You’re an actor?”

"I’d like to think so,” he said with a splay of hands. ”I work at the café four mornings a week, and I perform here on Saturday and Sunday nights.” Before I could express my admiration for his ambition and hard work, he impressed me further. “I teach classical guitar on Wednesdays.”

Sigmund whimpered and pulled on the leash. “My first play was about Freud,” Julian explained. “I found Sigmund roaming around alone—no leash, no collar—the day it opened.”

I couldn’t wait to pass that tidbit along to Tess; how she’d love knowing she was right.

“Tonight’s our final performance, and we’re sold out,” Julian said, “but you could join me at the cast party afterward. It’ll start around nine, if that time’ll be good.”

I hoped my giddiness didn’t show as I answered: “That time will be perfect.”

♥♥♥