PrologueNearly a week before Spencer Rice would die; he prayed a prayer that would startle the Lord. Some would argue that the Lord cannot be surprised, but those are the ones who diminish the wording of Matthew 8:10. As long as a person has free will, we will continue to shock, startle, and surprise the Lord. Those surprises may be good or they may be bad. On that summer evening, the Lord would be equally as surprised by Spencer Rice in New York as he was by the centurion in Capernaum.
Before the Lord could react to that heartfelt prayer, He was going to have to talk with Spencer. God was smart enough to know that people sometimes spoke words that they really didn't mean. He was wise enough to know that Spencer's prayer may have been worded differently if he believed the Lord would truly consider his request.
1"So tell me, Spence, how's the internet dating going?" Nathan asked.
Spencer dropped two quarters into the soda machine and pressed the Diet Coke button. The can tumbled down and awaited him in the bottom.
"The usual," Spencer mumbled, retrieving the soda and popping it open.
"The usual meaning -
'she doesn't meet my Christian, don't smoke, don't drink, 20 - 25 year old, don't cuss, no criminal background standards'?"
Spencer smiled as he sat down in the chair by the elevator. Nathan and Spencer had the whole 92nd floor to themselves as they did every Tuesday and Friday. They swept, dusted, scrubbed, and emptied the trash cans from 1:00am to 9:00am Tuesdays and Fridays. Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays were spent doing the same thing on the 44th floor.
As the shared owners of Sprice Custodial, they made their own hours and chose their own breaks. 3:30 and 6:00 were usually the favored times. And the topic of conversation for each of these breaks often revolved around Spencer's social life - or the lack thereof.
"Believe it or not, there are a lot of options out there that meet those criteria. I just..." Spencer started.
"You just desire perfection," Nathan finished.
Spencer shook his head and looked down at his soda can.
"I'm not like that at all. I'm not perfect, so I don't expect-"
"Oh, give it up already!" Nathan prodded with a laugh, "You're 28 years old, 6' 2" and you work out everyday. You could have your pick of the litter and you continue to hold out. What are you waiting for man? In a few years, you'll be bald and fat. Find someone quick!"
Spencer laughed. He wasn't ignorant of the way women looked at him sometimes, but he was searching for something deep. He wanted "forever". The last two women he was really attracted to didn't have anything deep to offer at all. Despite their Christian claims, their true colors were revealed after a few dates. Men got a bad rap when it came to looking for physical-only relationships, but women were often just as bad. What ever happened to the people searching for love? Did anyone believe in true love anymore? He was slowly losing his faith in the fairer sex.
"Let me guess, you're still too fascinated with Francesca Bride and no one will ever measure up," Nathan said.
Spencer rose from the chair and stretched. The conversation was taking a turn in the wrong direction. If only Nathan realized the depth of Spencer's bizarre grief.
"You are!" Nathan said, "We talked about this already, man. She's dead and you never knew her. She's been dead for decades. She was an old hag!"
Spencer shook his head as he started to pace in front of the elevator.
"Francesca is not affecting my dating life. But yes, I'm still bothered by that woman," Spencer said, "How could a woman believe that the only thing she succeeded in was
dying? She accomplished death and nothing else! She seriously said those words in her biography. She said she failed in everything from being a daughter, to being an actress, to loving, to cooking, and to even simply
living. She said that our lives are spent pursuing two things - sex and destruction. And the only thing she will have succeeded in is destruction."
Nathan laughed, but Spencer didn't find it funny at all. After watching a documentary on her film career and reading two biographies, Francesca Bride literally broke his heart.
"And this is the woman you swoon over," Nathan said, "
Spencer - the clean cut Christian is swooning over a 1920's alcoholic actress who pursues sex and destruction."
"I'm not swooning over her. My heart simply breaks for a woman that I wish I never would have read about."
"Because in silent films, she was simply graceful, stunning, and beautiful," Nathan said, "The benefits of a world without words."
"Exactly.""Without knowing the real woman inside, you fell in love with an icon from the 20's."
"But then I stupidly read two biographies," Spencer said, "I should have left her as a beautiful silent actress."
"An alcoholic who never loved anyone and was ultimately never loved," Nathan said with a laugh, "You discovered a woman who labeled herself a failure and died alone."
"Why do you feel the need to rub it in?" Spencer asked, "You make me wish I never confided in you. My heart seriously breaks for her. Did you know that she called up her brother one day and cried because she claimed no one in the whole world loved her? We're talking about that amazing woman in 'Courting Ellen'. What if I could have told her about Jesus? What if I could have held her?"
"You are a freak, man. The lady - if she was still alive - would be old enough to be your great grandma."
Spencer sat down in the chair again and nodded.
"I just cannot imagine someone as beautiful and successful as she once was becoming what she became. I just..." he fumbled for the words, knowing how crazy he sounded, "I just wish I could have ten minutes with her - ten minutes at the worst point in her life."
"Your problem is that you spend too much time worrying about others," Nathan said, glancing at his watch, "Francesca is dead, so how about worrying about those hurting women that are alive right now. Start telling today's beautiful women that Jesus loves them."
Spencer smiled and then finished off his can of soda. He squeezed the can and then tossed it onto his cleaning cart.
"Are we doing the bathrooms next?" Spencer asked.
"You get the north side and I'll get the south," he replied.
* * * *
The whole world was already in a rush to start their workdays just as Spencer and Nathan finished up. Their cleaning cart was parked near the elevator, ready to be stored in a closet on the 44th floor. Nathan nodded his head at the red-headed receptionist as Spencer tied the final trash bag. Spencer rolled his eyes.
"Hey Amy, you still single?" Nathan asked.
She smiled as she looked straight at Spencer. This had become a regular routine lately. It was clear that Amy had a crush on Spencer and it was also clear that Spencer had his own problems speaking around Amy.
"Single as ever and still searching for my
tall-dark-and-handsome to rescue me," she said, "Know anyone?"
"Just Spencer here," Nathan replied, "I think he qualifies if just he would stop turning red every time we talked."
Spencer shook his head as he tossed the bag beside the elevator.
"What do you think he'd say if I asked him out instead of the other way around?" Amy asked, causing Spencer to flush again.
"He'd say
'Why yes ma'am, ah think you're purty and ah'd like to make your acquaintance'!" he replied with a grin.
"I don't talk like that! When did I get a southern accent?" Spencer said with a laugh, "And when did I ever use 'purty' in a sentence?"
"Then why don't you tell me how you'd reply?" Amy said.
Spencer stepped over to the receptionist desk and offered up a silent prayer. He looked at Nathan and then smiled at the attractive lady before him.
"I'd like to go out with you if you don't mind exceptionally shy men who fumble for their words around p-p-purty girls," he replied, unable to conceal his grin.
She smiled broadly at him and then nodded her head.
"Then I'd say, how about tonight after work?" she asked, "I get off at-"
She appeared to be in thought - a little too long... bizarre. It was the extended all-encompassing silence that finally made Spencer step back and take note of something unusual. Amy, Nathan, and everyone else were simply frozen in place as though time had stopped altogether. He looked up at the clock and realized that the second hand indeed was not moving. The clock read 8:46 and the second hand was frozen on the five.
2"We need to talk, Spencer," a voice startled him from behind.
He turned to discover a man who looked to be of Arabic descent walking his way. The dark-skinned man with the curly brown hair smiled and placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder.
"Sorry about the way I just shut everything down, but I had to step in before you died," he said extending his hand, "Yeah, I don't look like the drawings. I get that a lot. But hey, I think Jim Caviezel didn't do too badly."
Spencer looked down at the hand being offered to him and then cautiously shook it.
"I'm sorry if I seem stupid, but who are you?" Spencer asked.
The man smiled and nodded as though he expected the question.
"Jesus Christ," he replied, "Lord, Messiah, Jeshua, or dozens of other names. You always called me Jesus or Lord though."
Spencer grinned at the man who appeared too casual in his response.
"No, seriously. What's going on?" he asked.
Jesus spread his arms out, reminding him of the frozen people all around him.
"No jokes here, my friend. I'm the one you just whispered to a moment ago. You asked me to take away your fear around Amy. Thirty-three minutes before that, you prayed to me in the bathroom, asking me to help you manage your checkbook a little better. You were getting worried about your spending habits. Two and a half hours ago you muttered a prayer of forgiveness over..."
Spencer fell to Jesus' feet. Jesus sighed and then knelt to the man in front of him. He reached out and grabbed a hold of Spencer's hands.
"I know you love me and respect me, Spencer. Now please stand up so we can talk," he said, smiling as Spencer cautioned a fearful glance at him, "We need to discuss your prayer from several days ago."
"I can't stand in your presence," Spencer said, dropping his face back to the floor.
"You are mine, Spencer and I already took your sins from you. I may be your Lord, but I am also your friend. If you love me, you will talk to me as you always have - as a friend and a companion," Jesus said, tugging him up from the floor.
"Sir..."
"As a friend," Jesus reminded Spencer.
Spencer cautioned another glance at Jesus' face and didn't understand how he was supposed to talk to the Creator of the universe as a friend and an equal.
"The same way you did in the bathroom," Jesus replied to the unspoken question.
This was the Creator in the flesh - the One who breathed life into Adam. The awesome...
"I know who I am and I'm glad that you honor me with your thoughts, but I need you to remember Isaiah. When I took his sin away with a coal from the altar, he spoke to me boldly. Your sin is gone, Spencer, so be my friend and say 'here am I, send me'."
Spencer finally smiled and nodded his head.
"Here am I, send me," Spencer said.
"Good. Now, that statement is the reason I'm here. I wanted to get with you just before your death. I have..."
"I'm dying?" Spencer interrupted, "Oops, I'm sorry, Sir."
"You are currently about nine seconds from your death. Amy was about to tell you where she wanted to eat tonight, but neither of you would ever get that chance -
well on earth anyway. She's mine also, so you would still get the opportunity in heaven," he said, already hearing the unspoken question, "A jet will be crashing into this floor, killing hundreds. By then end of today, thousands will be dead. Only five hundred and thirty of those are my children, but a hundred and twenty-four of them weren't mine before the sun rose today."
Spencer stared in horror. Jesus nodded sadly.
"You stopped time, though. Couldn't you just-"
"No," Jesus replied, "I
could, but no. As I said, 124 people who never knew me before the sun rose will discover what I have for them. Tens of thousands will search for answers today and end up finding hope in me. So many will come to me... it would simply be beyond your comprehension. In the midst of all the horror, the gates of heaven will burst open to so many of my lost sheep."
"I'm still going to die today?" Spencer asked.
"What I have for you in heaven is much better than anything here,
but..." Jesus said, "But we have the issue of that prayer of yours last Wednesday night. You prayed something that moved me, Spencer. I was literally astonished."
Spencer shook his head, trying to recall what he could have said.
"You were angry at me for ignoring someone - or so you said," Jesus stated with a smile.
Spencer's eyes flew open wide, worried that he had offended the Almighty Creator of the universe.
"No, I'm not upset at all. I've always welcomed honesty from my friends - always," Jesus said with a chuckle, "But you were absolutely, positively wrong. I never ignored her. Do you remember how you felt when you heard about her distressed phone call to her brother? Multiply that feeling a thousand-fold. I loved her, Spencer. Listen with your heart, Spencer and hear me - I
loved her sincerely. I wanted her so strongly. I loved her as no one on this earth ever loved her. I pursued her as no one else on this earth ever pursued her."
Spencer felt the tears prickle in his eyes as he saw the hurt in Jesus' face.
"I loved her dearly, but every attempt failed miserably. She hated me, Spencer. I sent so many people, but not only were they shunned - she might as well have spat upon them. And you know what? Through it all - through all that sin and hatred of hers, I loved her passionately. I loved her, Spencer," he said, "But ultimately I lost her. These people aren't just numbers to me. I loved each and every one sincerely and wholeheartedly. I pursued each with the same passion you read about in Song of Songs.
"And sometimes I lose, Spencer. Your Savior fails because I have created a friend with the freedom to choose. I love my friends, but I want them to willingly love me in return. I fail and it hurts me because I want each and every one of them. I think my love was described best in Song of Songs 8:6 when it says '
For love is as strong as death, its jealousy as unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away. If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned'."
"I'm sorry if I belittled your pursuit of her," Spencer said, "I was just so hurt by all those open doors I read about in her biographies. It just seemed like the opportunities were always there and if just someone could have said something to her."
Jesus shook his head.
"She definitely did a lot of searching, but she slammed the door when someone almost touched her heart. She protected her heart so fiercely. But now I wonder about something..."
Spencer remembered the remainder of that prayer on Wednesday. Jesus nodded his head as Spencer remembered his frustrated requests.
"You would consider something like that? That's not something you've..." Spencer started to say.
"Something I've done before? I'm not limited to repeating things I've done in the Bible. And I'm not limited to ideas of my own. I can be inspired because I created man in my image - I can inspire you and you can inspire me," he said, "You've inspired me, Spencer."
Spencer looked around at the frozen people. These people were caught in various states of indifference. One man was sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup - unaware that it was his last. Two women were discussing the contents of a manila folder - as though an outcome could be established. And Amy was considering a date tonight with a man who had wasted too much time already - and now it was too late.
"I'm here to say yes to your prayer, Spencer," Jesus said, "But it may not be in the way that you had hoped."
Spencer looked at Jesus, pondering the impossible. Jesus was telling him that he would send him back in time. Jesus was offering an answer to one of those unanswerable prayers.
"I'm not giving you Francesca Bride on a platter. I'm not even offering her to you during the high point of her beauty and her career," he said, "I still want Francesca Bride and I think you can succeed. If anyone could see her through my eyes, it would be you. It
has been you."
But at no point in her youth was she ugly, Spencer thought. He may be able to see her in loving eyes, but there would still be the worrisome issue of physical attraction.
"Do you think I created beauty by accident?" Jesus asked, apparently reading his mind, "Rachel was beautiful. Rebecca was beautiful. First I created man in my image and then I created a masterpiece in woman."
"But how would I..."
"I trust you, but I promise it won't be easy. At the worst point in her life, she was living in Manhattan prostituting herself out of her apartment. She was a thirty-nine year old jobless woman. She was a Hollywood has-been remembered by almost no one. She was on the verge of suicide and the alcohol only contributed further to it. The woman I offer wasn't beautiful."
He remembered all those statements from the book. She convinced herself that it wasn't prostitution based on the fact that she "chose" her companions. Men just took advantage of a woman in financial need and she allowed it to happen. When Spencer read that chapter, he just wanted to transport back in time and rescue her - but how?
"I've been known to send angels before. Divine intervention still happens, but people don't realize it sometimes. Hebrews 13:2 is clear on the fact that I'm still sending angels. But in spite of it all, I will not magically change someone's heart. The heart is controlled strictly by that person," Jesus said, "But I don't send people who have died and gone to heaven - which is where you are headed in 9 seconds.
"I don't want to send an angel to Francesca Bride in 1945. I want to send you, Spencer. I want to send someone who loves her in spite of herself. What do you say?"
Spencer looked down at the floor. Jesus was right in his realization that Spencer envisioned the 1920's Francesca Bride. That Francesca was beautiful and graceful. She shunned Hollywood in 1932 and Hollywood shunned her. It was all downhill from there. Jesus was offering to send him to a broken version of Francesca. Jesus was literally answering a prayer that he muttered in childish frustration.
"Didn't you care, Lord? Look at how broken she was then. If just you would have sent someone to her when she thought no one loved her. I could have told her all about you and then I would have loved her. I would have held her and protected her from all those abusive lovers. How can you let these things happen? She died alone in 1975 and she opened the door so many times. So many missed opportunities. Lord, she refused to lock her apartment, so she literally had an open door! Lord, if you ever see fit, I'll go. Send me back to her worst moments and I'll barge in myself!"Jesus smiled, watching that prayer twist in Spencer's mind. Spencer looked up at the Lord and then nodded.
"Here am I, send me," Spencer said.
3Spencer would have preferred to be planted right on her doorstep, but that didn't seem to part of the plan. Instead, he was deposited three miles away in the front yard of a rickety bungalow in need of a serious paint job. He looked down at his feet and discovered five cans of paint, a scraper, and three paint brushes. That was when the Lord's final words came back to him.
"Do you remember the coin inside the fish's mouth? I can supply your need, but first I need you to paint a house for me. Don't ask for anything - just do it as the Lord has requested.""But what about Francesca Bride?" Spencer shouted toward the sky.
No response came, but he swore he could hear a rumble of thunder in the distance. He shook his head and carried the cans of paint up to the house. Then he took the scraper and started scraping.
* * * *
It took him almost two hours to scrape the whole house. No one ever came outside to ask what he was doing or to thank him. Four hours after he opened the first paint can, the sun was finally starting to set. His hand was cramping as he stood on the porch roof painting around the upstairs windows.
"What's going on?" an elderly lady startled him from the driveway below.
"Uh... hello," Spencer said, peering over the edge of the roof, "Is this your house?"
The hunched lady beneath the wide hat chuckled.
"You paint a house and you have no idea who it belongs to?" she asked.
He shrugged and then smiled back at her.
"Who are you, young man?" she asked.
"My name is Spencer Rice and I was..." he began, wondering how to safely respond.
In all the jobs he ever had, he learned one universal thing. Do what the boss says and don't worry about it. If someone asks you what you're doing, tell the truth.
"I was sent over here by the Lord. I don't really know why," he said.
She stepped back and then took the hat off of her head. She looked up at him again with a furrowed brow.
"Who specifically sent you? Was it a church nearby?"
"Ma'am, I was simply sent by the Lord himself. I know it doesn't make any sense, but..."
The lady appeared to stumble to the ground. He set the paintbrush quickly onto the upturned lid and then climbed down the spouting.
"Are you alright?" he shouted, dropping to the ground by the porch.
"I'm fine, son," she said, kneeling on the ground and breathing heavily, "My heart skipped a beat and I felt like I was going to pass out."
He placed a hand on her shoulder as he knelt beside her.
"Tell me the truth, son. I just need to know who said something to you about my house."
"I swear to you that it was the Lord himself. I don't know you and I've never seen this house before," he replied, "I was told to paint without any questions."
She shook her head as she stared down at the gravel in front of her.
"The bank is coming to appraise my house next week. They want to scrap my house out from underneath me because they don't feel it's worth the four thousand I still owe. If they condemn it and tear it down, the insurance will pay the bank six thousand," she whispered, "I told no one about this. Well, I prayed about it, but I didn't expect an answer."
"Well, your prayer was heard," he replied.
"But I can't pay you," she said, "I don't even have enough to fix my house."
"The Lord will provide for me somehow."
She started to stand up. Spencer held onto her arm, supporting her as she rose from the ground.
"Where are you staying?" she asked.
He shook his head as he admired his partially finished paintjob.
"I don't know," he replied, "I'm at His mercy."
She turned to him and offered a look of confusion.
"Are you seriously not from around here?" she asked, "Are you seriously...
sent?"
He nodded.
"Then you are staying right here with me. If the Lord seriously sent you, then by all means, stay at my house."
He laughed, shaking his head.
"You will stay with me for as long as you are here. My name is Helen, by the way," she said, "Come on inside and I will cook you something to eat."
* * * *
"So you thought you were sent here for someone else?" she asked, setting a bowl full of clam chowder in front of him.
"I actually know for a fact that I was sent for someone else. I'm here because the Lord and I are in love with the same person and she needs to know this," he said, dipping his spoon into the steaming soup.
She filled her bowl and then sat down at the small kitchen table. He looked around at the modest furnishings in the house. The table was old and its finish was worn through. The chairs didn't match. The floor was in need of a new tiling altogether.
"So she is a lost soul? She doesn't know the Lord?" Helen asked.
He nodded, sipping the thick salty soup.
"This is really good," he said, "Thank you very much."
"So tell me what heaven is like. Are the streets paved in gold?" she asked.
"I'm actually not from heaven, believe it or not. I was nine seconds away from going there when the Lord pulled me aside. I was still alive just like you," he said.
"He saved you from death?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"Apparently I startled him when I prayed an angry prayer to him. I developed a childish fascination with an old actress from the 20's. I basically fell in love with her until I read her biography," he replied, "It destroyed me to learn that the woman who wore such an amazingly sincere smile would be going to hell after a horrible life."
"Ah, the era of silent films. It's easy to love people who don't speak. We can project whatever personality we want on them," she said.
"And here I was believing that Francesca Bride would live a full life filled with love and riches simply because she melted my heart in
'Brian's Girl'," he said.
Helen started coughing suddenly as she pushed herself away from the table. Spencer rose out of his chair and quickly rushed to her side. She put up her hand to stop him.
"Ugh... I'm f-fine, Spencer," she said, releasing two more gasps, "Oh my... You and the Lord are in love with Francesca Bride?"
He nodded, realizing that she probably would reprimand him.
"I don't know how much of this my heart can handle today," she said, patting her chest.
Tears had started to carve little streams on her cheeks.
"Francesca is my niece. She is my brother's daughter and I've been trying to reconnect with that girl for years," she said with a mild chuckle, "She won't have anything to do with me though."
"Wait a minute. You're related to Francesca?"
She nodded, trying to smile.
"What a small world."
4Evening passed into morning and Spencer found himself circling the house yet again with a cramped hand and a can of paint. He also found time to fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen as well as the continuously running toilet in the bathroom. It was finally when he was working at the back of the house that he discovered the coin in the fish's mouth.
Spencer was painting the latticework around the tiny back stoop when he accidentally knocked a whole portion of it free. He rushed inside and asked Helen for a hammer and some nails. She pointed him to the basement, telling him that her husband had kept all the tools in a drawer down there.
It didn't take him long to locate the cabinet of three drawers mounted beneath a counter loaded with saws, vices, and sanders. He opened the top drawer and located a thousand screws, hinges, and light switches. Then he opened the next drawer and discovered a million nails, match books, and candles.
He shifted through the drawer until he found four nails of the right size. It was then that he checked the bottom drawer. To his amazement, he found two small stacks of ten and twenty dollar bills. He grabbed them and stared at the stack of cash for a moment. Then he rushed up the stairs.
"Helen?" he hollered at the top of the stairs.
"In the living room," she replied.
He walked into the living room holding out the stack of bills in front of him. She glanced up from the blanket she was crocheting. She was puzzle not only by the stack of bills, but also by the grin on his face.
"What is that?" she asked, taking the pile of money he offered her.
"It was inside one of the tool drawers," he replied.
"Henry," she muttered, "His sister lost a lot of money in the stock market crash of '29. He didn't trust the banks anymore, so he started stashing the money in the house. I found a hundred dollars under our mattress after he died."
She started counting out the money on the blanket she had been creating.
"There's three hundred and seventy dollars here!" she said with a chuckle, "What kind of angel are you, Spencer Rice?"
"Hey, I was just looking for some nails to fix your latticework," he said.
He gave her an "awe shucks" wave and headed back into the kitchen and out of the back door. By the time he finished nailing the latticework back into place; Helen had appeared outside with her hat on.
"I think part of this money is yours, Spencer," she said, "I needed sixty dollars to catch up on all my bills and the Lord just provided for me. He also got my house painted, so I think this money is yours."
"No, I can't take it," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow, "You're providing a roof over my head and feeding me. That's plenty."
"I'm sure of it, Spencer. Besides, Francesca is in dire straights right now and I think she needs some financial help. Either I could help her..." she stated, holding out the money, "Or you could help her."
She's prostituting herself and convincing herself otherwise. This is the worst time in Francesca's life.He reached out and took the money. He counted out the full remaining three hundred and ten dollars. He then handed her a hundred and sixty of it.
"I will only accept if you take half of this," he replied, "If you do that, I'll feel alright about it."
She stared at him and then slowly nodded.
"And you'll still help Francie?" she asked.
"Definitely," he replied.
She took the smaller stack out of his other hand and left him with the one-sixty.
* * * *
By the end of the day, the house was fully painted and Spencer was ready to be on his way. He had been prepared to spend another night on the couch, but decided against it at the last moment.
"Are you sure you want to do this already?" she asked, handing him a clean pair of socks, "You haven't had a single moment's peace."
After the long hot shower, he was revived and ready to locate Francesca. His shoulders were still tense and his hand still felt a little cramped, but that didn't change his restlessness.
"Yes, but I'll probably come back to borrow your couch again if that's alright with you," he replied.
"My door is always open, Spencer," she replied, "And I'll be praying for your success."
With a hug and a polite good-bye, he caught a cab for the apartment complex on 49th Street. Helen wrote down all the directions he would need, though he still remembered the address from the biography. It would be easy to locate because there was a bar on the corner called "Rusty's" where Francesca was known to get her drinks paid for and if she was lucky, a few other bills in the process.
Spencer had the cabbie drop him off at the bar as it was already 9:15 in the evening. He stepped into the smoky bar expecting to find a place packed with a hundred patrons. Instead, it was a small bar of about five booths, a couple tables, and ten barstools. There were two pool tables, a piano, and a dartboard at the far end of the room. Spencer was one of only about ten patrons, none of which looked like Francesca Bride.
The portly bartender smiled at Spencer as he approached the bar. Spencer set a ten-dollar bill on the bar and asked for a Coke as he scanned the room.
"You lookin' for someone?" the bartender asked, pouring him a tall mug of Coca-cola.
"I was told I could sometimes find Francesca Bride here," Spencer said.
"Yeah, but I think she's indisposed at the moment," he said, "I think she had a bit too much and she's already in the bathroom."
Spencer frowned as he sat down at the bar.
"Is she a friend of yours?" he asked.
"Sort of, but I doubt she remembers me," Spencer said.
"I doubt she remembers any man after she tramples them," he chuckled before realizing Spencer wasn't smiling.
"Does that piano work?" Spencer asked, waving his hand toward two men playing pool.
"Sure does. Do you play?" he asked.
Spencer stared at the mug of soda in front of him. Then he slowly nodded.
"Play me a song, pretty boy," a woman said from beside him.
The drunken, haggard woman sidling up beside him made him want to leave all of a sudden. He didn't want to be found hanging around a bunch of drunks inside of a smoky bar. He was here to not only find Francie, but to do the Lord's work. This wasn't the place for a Christian man.
"I don't know that many songs of this era," he mumbled.
"Then buy me a drink and play me something classical," she said; her breath too close and suddenly smelling a bit like puke.
He examined the lady closer and saw a slight hint of Francesca Bride hidden behind that scowl and the furrowed brow. The long, salt and pepper hair resembled nothing of the Francesca of the 20's.
"Francesca Bride?" he asked.
"Do I know you?" she asked, taken aback, "I'm sure I wouldn't forget a face like yours."
"Wow, you are the greatest gemstone on the silver screen. You are the most beautiful woman to ever grace the cinema," he whispered.
"And you are a man after my own heart. I'm always fond of a young man that doesn't know how horrible of an actress I once was."
"Horrible? You've got to be kidding. Whoever filled your head with those lies needs to be shot. What about the way you kissed Dexter in
Courting Ellen? Or how about that time when you were attacked by those gunmen in
The Railroad Caper?" Spencer said.
"This man really watched my movies," she said with a raspy laugh, "Poor fella."
He shook his head and continued to smile at her. The bartender chuckled as he pushed Spencer on the shoulder.
"Go play us a song. Play Francesca a song," he said.
Spencer looked around and realized that these people were watching him. He turned to Francesca and took her surprisingly rugged hand in his. He was surprised also to note how short she was. He somehow imagined her to be a lot taller.
"Only if you'll tell me everything about Hollywood," he replied.
"Only if you buy me a drink."
"The bartender has my money," he said, turning to the bartender, "Sir, use my change for this fine Hollywood actress and get her whatever she wants."
It didn't seem right to be buying alcoholic beverages from Francesca, but he needed to find a way to get her to open up. If he harped on her for drinking right away, he may end up being pushed away.
He rose off the barstool and headed over to the piano. He only had a few songs committed to memory and one of them was a song he had already dedicated to Francesca in his own mind. He sat down at the bench and then tapped a few keys.
"You probably haven't heard of this song before, but I like it because it reminds me of someone I once loved," he said, surprised to see Francesca squeeze beside him on the bench, "I changed a few of the words."
With that, he played Desperado for Francesca Bride:
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow
Don't you draw the king of diamonds, girl
He'll beat you if he's able
You know the king of hearts is always your best bet
Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you cant get
Desperado, oh, you ain't getting' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time from the day
You're losin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You'd better let somebody love you, You'd better let somebody love you, before it's too late.He turned to her as he sang that last two lines. Her eyes were on his and just for a moment, he caught a hint of worry in those eyes.
"Who was she?" Francesca asked.
He looked down at the piano keys in front of him.
"A beautiful lady who was never satisfied. She was never happy with herself and never content with anything. Worst of all, she didn't believe in love," he replied.
"And she tossed you aside like a useless rag?" she asked.
How could Francesca not see herself in his own words? Was she that blind?
"Yeah," he replied, "Do you like the song?"
"It was beautiful, but I don't think it's a good song to dance to."
"Well, I don't know a lot of fast songs. I guess I'm just a slow-dance kind of guy."
"There's nothing wrong with that."
He looked over at her and realized that she had somehow already latched onto him, though he knew it would be temporary. One of her lifelong heartbreaking habits was to never stay with someone for very long - no matter how she felt about that person. His belief however that she would be an easy person to reach was correct. He started to stand up before she pushed him back down onto the bench.
"Play me something slow and sad."
He thought for a moment and then decided to play his favorite love song. He wouldn't sing it just yet, but he could at least play it for the moment. He slowly trickled out the sweet tune of "As the deer". She swayed beside him as he played the worship song. When he was finished, she seemed to relax beside him.
"That was really beautiful. Was it a love song?" she asked.
"Yes, a passionate love song actually," he replied, "You owe me some Hollywood stories. I want to know everything about the greatest actress of the silent era."
"Well, I don't know a whole lot about Clara Bow," she replied, "I only worked with her once."
"Now, you know who I was referring to being that I had a crush on your for years," he said, putting an arm around her.
"You said
'had' as in past tense," she said, turning to him, "Where did the crush go?"
He wished he could answer that truthfully. He wished he could say it faded when she started hating herself and those around her. The crush started to disappear when she started to abuse herself with sex and alcohol.
"I don't think I ever got over you, Miss Bride," he muttered.
"Let's go get us a booth, Mr..."
"Rice," he offered, surprised that he had not introduced himself, "Spencer Rice."
* * * *
While the clock swiped away two more hours, Francesca sipped martinis and regaled Spencer with many behind-the-scenes stories of Hollywood. He laughed at her witticisms and offered his condolences over her losses. Despite the documentaries and biographies he already studied on her life, she still managed to surprise him with a few of her stories.
"So why aren't we talking about you?" she asked, slurring a few of the words.
"I'm just your average guy wandering aimlessly through New York," he replied, "No much to tell from here."
"Aimlessly? I think not," she said, "How does my #1 fan
'aimlessly' walk into the bar I happen to be in?"
"Well, I was aimless a couple days ago maybe," he said with a shy smile.
She stared at him across the table. Her drunken gaze seemed to pierce through him.
"My apartment is just down the way. I'm a little tipsy and could use a sturdy gentleman to escort me home," she slurred.
"I'd be honored to escort you to your apartment before heading home myself," he stated.
She stood up and almost fell over. Spencer quickly latched onto her arm and walked her to the door.
"I'll bet you've got a sweetheart waiting for you at home right now," she said, pointing to the left, "My apartment is this way."
"You could say that, I suppose," he replied.
"All the good ones are taken," she grumbled.
"No, it's not that kind of sweetheart."
"So then you're free to come up to my apartment?" she blatantly asked.
Spencer's heart was breaking all over again. Where was that shining star from the silver screen?
"I can walk you to your door, Francesca, but as a gentleman who thinks very highly of you, I could never take advantage of your... your altered state of being," he replied.
She laughed, turning to the lobby door of the apartment building.
"You are a man of careful words, but let me tell you - I never have regrets," she said.
Another portion of his heart broke off and fell to the floor. He walked her to the elevator where she punched the up arrow.
"Imagine for a moment that you finally met John Wayne and learned how wonderful of a person he really was," he said, recalling that she swooned over the movie star, "Could you imagine how careful you would be around him?"
"Careful? I'd jump him the moment he stepped in my door," she said with a drunken laugh, "No regrets, Spencer."
Jesus wouldn't even be able to sweep up all the broken shards of his heart. How did someone not give up on this woman? He was already thinking of doing just that. The elevator opened and they stepped inside.
"Well, I finally met my John Wayne and I want something more than a roll in the hay," he said, forcing out a chuckle.
She nodded and pressed the #4 button. The doors closed and the elevator progressed upward.
"Your image of me is really skewed. I'm the most disgusting excuse for a human being on the face of the earth. You need to see me for who I really am. Do you know what I see when I look at you?" she asked, turning to look up at him.
"Please don't tell me," he whispered.
"I see a stupid sap who doesn't realize the difference between fiction and reality. You're very handsome and well built - I'll give you that. But that doesn't change how I see you," she said, "No offense."
"No offense?" he repeated with a laugh.
"Do you think I was as happy as I looked when I passionately kissed Jerry Struthers in
The Mad House?" she asked, "That man was making fun of my acting abilities just an hour before that scene. He hated me and I hated him. I'm not that woman you remember from the cinema. I'm not that respectable woman that demands kid gloves."
With that, she grabbed his shirt in her fist and pulled his face down to hers.
"I can read you like a book and I think it upsets you. Don't respect me, Spencer," she said before smashing her mouth sloppily to his.
Her drunken kiss was nothing like on the silver screen. Her teeth scraped against his as she forcefully kissed him hilariously. Perhaps she was trying to reenact a romantic scene, but in her drunken stupor, it was reminiscent more of a scene from Saturday Night Live.
Spencer wanted to reject her for a moment, but then he fearfully pondered the repercussions. He glided his hand behind her head and then attempted to slow down the kiss. She followed his lead and allowed him to give the kiss a slow, yet semi-passionate end.
"Francesca, you can't stop me from respecting you because I have a problem that I didn't tell you about," he said as the elevator door opened.
She opened her eyes wide and looked up at him.
"You're missing... parts?" she asked.
"No!" he said, guiding her out of the elevator, "Which apartment is yours?"
She pointed to the one labeled 401.
"First door," she replied, pushing it open without even using a key.
She tugged him by the hand, drawing him into the apartment.
"Now tell me why you absolutely must respect Francesca Bride," she said, dropping onto the large sofa with her legs sprawled immodestly.
"Have you ever felt that..." he started, "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning when you're sober."
"Talk um-bout wha?" she mumbled.
Her eyes were closed as she lay slain on the sofa.
"Francesca?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you fine to go to sleep?"
"Mmm."
"You look comfortable, so I'm going to-"
"No," she muttered, "You can respect me. Iz Okay."
"You don't want me to leave?"
"Take m'bed an' I'll sleep here," she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed and looking slain, "Peez don't lee."
He watched her for a moment and then cautiously made his way into her bedroom. He knelt next to the bed and prayed for twenty minutes.
5Spencer awoke to the feel of a blanket being tugged from his grasp. He opened his eyes to discover the haggard Francie standing beside the bed. She was tugging the sheets off from beneath him.
"Good morning, Francie," he mumbled.
"I was up for almost an hour before I discovered you in my bed," she said, "And I tried to remember how that happened. I remember you walking me to the apartment and then I guess I passed out on the couch."
"I was going to leave, but you asked me to stay," he said, sitting up.
Just then, he realized that he was only wearing a pair of underwear. He had expected to get up long before the drunken woman on the sofa. He quickly grabbed the pillow and held it over him as he stood up.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," she said, tossing the sheets and the blanket into a pile, "Well, except for the gigantic cross tattoo on your back. That looks painful, but very nice."
Nathan had designed a beautiful cross made of twisted thorny branches. When he was done with the drawing, it was as large as a full sheet of paper. Spencer liked it so much, he brought the drawing to a tattoo artist on a whim and asked for it to be tattooed on his back. He didn't realize until later that they could have shrunk the design on a copier before tattooing him. $300.00 later, he walked away with a permanent piece of artwork.
She walked over to him as he bent down to grab his jeans. He was facing away from her at the time. She ran her hand along the tattoo.
"Did it hurt?"
"The first hour was fine, but after that it started hurting. It took three hours," he said, tugging his jeans up.
She glided her hand down his back and eased it around his belly.
"You need to leave," she said.
"Yes," he whispered, inhaling a gasp as she hugged him from behind.
He could feel her breath on his bare back as her hands wrapped around his belly.
"Thank you, Spencer," she said, keeping a hold of him.
"For what?"
"For leaving," she said, "And... and for not saying what's on your mind."
"On my mind?" he asked, placing his hands on the arms wrapped around him.
"You're just a kid and I know what you expected when you found me at the bar. I'm sorry that I couldn't be-"
"Don't you dare," he said, twisting in her grasp so that she was facing him, "Do you know what I see when I look at you? You think you're so smart when you were insulting me last night in the elevator. You tell me I'm a stupid sap and that you can read me like a book. Well, I'll tell you what, Francesca - I can read
you like a book."
She stepped back and offered him a fearful stare.
"I see a woman who is so wrong. Do you even know how it feels to be right anymore? You're wrong when you put yourself down. You're wrong when you put your acting career down. You're wrong when you think people look down on you and you're wrong when you look down on others. You're wrong when you shut me out like you're doing right now," he said, grabbing a hold of her hands, "You're thinking I'm just a stupid man who doesn't know you at all.
"But this stupid man does know you too well. I see a woman who is afraid of being loved and liked for who she is. She's so sure that everyone has an ulterior motive or a hidden agenda that she won't see the truth. She's so sure that people CAN'T love her, so she invents hidden thoughts in other people's minds.
"My mind. You say you know what's on my mind, Francesca? Do you?"
She pulled her hands from his and then shook her head. Her look of fear had now morphed into anger.
"You said you were leaving," she said, "So please leave."
"You want to know what's on my mind? It's a sincere love for that woman who I discovered at the bar last night. That woman from the silver screen never left. She's still right there in your heart like-"
"Get out!" she shouted, "Get out of my room and get out of my apartment!"
"You can't get rid of who you are and that person is beautiful. I'm not the only one who knows this. I was talking to someone who loves you even more than I do and you won't even accept these truths. You WANT to be hated, despised, and abused. You want to be treated like-"
She leapt at him and punched him hard on the cheek. She swung again, but he grasped her hand. She tried to swing with the other, but he grabbed that wrist. Before she could kick him, he pushed her down onto the bed and pinned her beneath him.
"I'll scream rape and the cops will be here in less than a minute," she spat, squirming beneath him.
"But you won't because as much as you want me to shut up, you know I speak the truth. You can't get past the fact that I don't hate you and that I respect you. If you scream, I may be carted away and you'll never see me again," he said, "Scream it and I swear I'll wait just like this until the police arrive. Scream it right now."
She squirmed again beneath him, frantically trying to break free. Her refusal to scream however caused him to burst forth with a surprising sob. The tears sprung from his eyes, startling him as much as it startled her. She stopped squirming all of a sudden, staring at the anomaly before her. He let go of her wrists and dropped his face into her neck as he shuddered from the undefined sobs.
Her hands slowly found their way to his back as he continued to cry. She stared up at the ceiling, unsure of how to react to the unsual man in her bed.
"I..." she said, "I think..."
He rose up from the bed and covered his eyes, still trying to regain his composure. He turned and located his shirt on the floor next to his shoes.
"I should leave. I'm sorry if I said some things that I shouldn't," he replied, "But I spoke the truth."
Without another word from either of them, he donned his clothing and rushed out of the apartment. The tears would refuse to depart much of the morning as he roamed the streets of 1940's New York.
"I wonder about my mistaken beliefs, Lord. You knew that I had been envisioning an idealized disaster," he said, chuckling at his definition of her, "Yeah, I figured she would be about twenty pounds lighter and at least reasonably pretty, but what happened? She looks more like fifty-nine instead of thirty-nine.
"And I know I shouldn't be focusing on her appearance, Lord. And I have been seeing her with my heart. But that heart is getting trampled. I'm... I'm ready to give up already. Help me please. I don't know how, but please help me."
6Spencer returned to the bar at 8:00 to discover a much livelier crowd than the previous day. There were probably twenty or thirty people already in the smoky bar today. He settled in at the end stool where he was immediately greeted by a beautiful young blonde.
"Buy me a drink and tell me about yourself," she said with a tipsy smile.
The bartender approached with a mug of Coke.
"Piano Man!" he blasted, "This one is on me if you'll play us all a song."
He chuckled at that statement. That was another song he had commited to memory - Piano Man by Billy Joel. If he played that song, he'd have to hope people wouldn't remember. It was bad enough he had introduced Desperado before its time.
He took a dollar from his pocket and set it on the bar.
"This is for her drink," he said, nodding his head over his shoulder at the blonde, "Hey, is Francie around?"
"She was, but I don't see her right now," the bartender replied, "What did you do to that woman, by the way? She dyed her hair black and finally styled it. I think you convinced her that she can get the younger guys now."
He shrugged and then took a drink from the mug of soda. The blonde ordered her drink and gave him a surprised look as he headed toward the piano. It was there that he located a black-haired woman and another man kissing passionately in a corner booth. He didn't have to stare for long to see that it was a cleaned up version of Francesca.
His heart cracked a little further.
I think you can send me back to 2001, Lord. There's no hope.He turned to the piano and sat down at the bench. These people may not have been ready for rock and roll, but he was fed up. That was when he started hammering out
Don't Stop Believin' by Journey.
Just a small town girl, livin in a lonely world
She took the midnight train going anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train going anywhere
A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night
Working hard to get my fill,
Everybody wants a thrill
Paying anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on
Dont stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin
Streetlight people As he had started hammering harder on the keys partway through the song, he found himself surrounded by a small crowd of fans. That crowd included Francesca who had already pushed herself past the blonde busy bopping her head next to him.
"I thought you only knew a few slow songs," Francie said.
He turned to her and smiled in spite of his shattered heart.
"I like your hair, Francie," he said, "As always, you are very beautiful."
She accepted that as an invitation to sit down on the bench next to him. The man she had been with just shook his head and returned to the bar.
"Play us another song," Blondie said.
He shrugged as he cracked his knuckles and then started
Piano Man by Billy Joel. She swayed next to him as his fingers danced across the keys. He would then be forced into playing
Desperado,
Canon in D, and
As the Deer before Francesca would permit him to get up. This time however, she wanted him to sing the words to that love song she enjoyed from the previous day. He did so.
As the deer panteth for the water
So my soul longeth after thee
You alone are my hearts desire
And I long to worship thee
You alone are my strength my shield
To You alone may my spirit yield
You alone are my hearts desire
And I long to worship thee
You're my friend and You are my brother,
Even though you are a king.
I love you more than any other,
So much more than anything.
I want You more than gold or silver,
Only You can satisfy.
You alone are the real joy Giver,
And the apple of my eye."That explains the giant cross tattoo on your back," she said.
"I warned you that this was a passionate love song," he said.
"If you have that kind of passion for God, how can you still
'love' me as you claim? If you can read me as you claim to, then you also know that I'm a pile of sin and I have no intention of ever changing," she said.
He stood up and offered her a hand. She took it and allowed him to walk her to the bar.
"We both are piles of sin. There's not a single perfect person on earth right now. It's easy to love the Lord as I do because he loves me in spite of my sin. He loves you intensely and I know this for a fact," he said, sitting down next to her at the bar.
"No, I'm sure that's not true in the slightest. I am not only a disgrace, but I also despise your Lord for all that he has taken from me," she said with a grin.
She seemed to enjoy the fact that his jaw had dropped.
"I wish I could show you something. I wish you could see what He told me," he said.
"Oh, so he speaks to you differently than anyone else?" she prodded.
"Do you know that I saw you kissing a man in that booth over there and in spite of the pain I felt right here..." he said, tapping his chest, "I still love you. You demand all the attention of my heart. I don't know why and I couldn't understand it for a long time, but you DEMAND it. You took my heart from me long before I stepped into the bar yesterday."
"But you didn't even know me. You knew six fictional characters that I played in seven different movies," she said, "That's why I say that you don't understand the love you express. That's why I think you don't truly love me."
"Are you ready to be frightened, Francesca? I can tell you things about you that would frighten you. I can prove it. Sure, I was attracted initially by your beauty, but then I started to fall for that hurting little girl from South Bend, Indiana. I saw the little sister of Louise who only wanted to become a dancer when she grew up."
Francesca turned and looked at the apparition next to her. There was no way he should know her sister's name or even the town she came from. She lied for years, telling people she was from Kansas.
"I fell for the girl whose dance instructor told her that her legs were too short to ever dance gracefully. I fell for the seventeen-year old girl who slapped that dance instructor in the face and then told her mom that it was the other way around."
"No," Francesca blurted, her expression changing to one of fear.
She had never told anyone the truth of that story because it was too embarrassing for her. She had no idea that she would be willing to include that in an interview in 1968.
"I fell for the lady who cried in her studio trailer after stumbling across Elaina Richardson making jokes at her expense. I fell for-"
She pushed him and then ran for the door. Spencer rushed after her as she fled toward her apartment building.
"I wanted you to know who I loved," he shouted.
"You're a ghost. Leave me alone," she hollered back.
He reached her just as she flung the door open to her lobby.
"I'm real and I'm right here. I'm not in love with an icon from the movie screen," he said, holding onto her shoulders.
"No, you're an apparition. How could you know these things? I've told no one," she shouted, "No one knows what I stumbled on at the Paramount Studio. I cried alone!"
"You were never alone. NEVER!" he blasted at her, "Jesus was there the whole time and he was holding you."
She laughed at him as she shrugged his hands from her shoulders.
"The
'smile, Jesus loves you' speech!" she laughed, "You finally surprised me, Spencer."
"How do you explain what I know?" he asked.
"So, you're Jesus?" she snickered.
"No, but I know the Man. I've talked to him and I remember what he told me," he replied, "Would you believe that you brought real tears to his eyes before? I'm talking about the Almighty Creator of earth, the solar system, and the whole universe. That's the man who is in love with you."
She stared at him with a smirk plastered across her face.
"You're a freak, Spencer, and I'd like it if you left right now," she whispered.
"Explain what I know about you. Explain to me why I love you," he said.
"Apparently the same reason Jesus loves me - you're blind and ignorant," she said.
She rushed toward the elevator and pressed the button several times in succession.
"Do you discriminate against the love of a blind man?" he asked, rushing up beside her, "I'm not blind, but let's pretend Jesus and I supposedly are as you say. What's wrong with that love?"
"It's falsely given. I could be blind and think a nice guy is handsome when in reality, he's the ugliest thing on the planet."
"But your love was initially given to the ugly man based on the person hidden inside. Isn't that the true man?"
She turned and pushed him away from the elevator.
"Is that your answer to everything?" Spencer shouted as she rushed into the elevator.
"I HATE me and until you start hating me, I hate you also!" she spat, watching the elevator door close to separate them from each other.
* * * *
According to history, she was known to leave her apartment unlocked all the time. She hated getting up to answer the door. This was yet another dangerous trait of the self-destructive Francesca. Tonight however, her door was locked.
He knocked on it two hours ago, but she hollered a few choice words that he chose to not recall. He tried to ignore the strange looks he got from a few of the neighbors as he sat on the floor by her door.
Three prayers and three hours later, he heard the phone ring behind the door. He could hear her talking on the phone for a minute or so before she hung up. Without warning, she flung the door open that he had been propped against. He tumbled backward onto her feet.
"What is wrong with you?" she growled at him, "I could have you arrested for stalking an ex-movie star."
He stood up and looked down at the lady in the bathrobe. Her hair was matted down from a recent shower and her face was devoid of cosmetics.
"And you would finally be rid of the last man on this earth who truly loves you for who you can be," he said, grabbing her hand and lifting her palm toward the ceiling.
He looked down at the three scars on her wrist and then looked at her.
"That's three failed attempts to rid yourself of a world filled with hate. If any of those attempts had been successful, you would have learned just what hate was truly all about. Imagine waking up in a world without love - that would literally be hell."
She swallowed and stared at him.
"Why are you here?" she whispered.
"You don't ever want to hear my answers. I try to talk, but you constantly run," he said.
"I don't like it when you talk," she said in a hushed whisper, "Your words hurt me and I can't tolerate them. Can you just hold me without talking?"
He dropped her hand and then reached out and drew her into his embrace. He kicked the door closed, feeling the softness of her bathrobe in his arms.
"Is this how your Jesus holds me?" she asked.
"He once told me that his feelings are a thousand times more than mine. I would imagine he holds you a little tighter," he whispered.
"Can you stay here with me?" she asked.
He lowered himself to the floor and held her to his chest without answering her question.
7At some undefined moment in the night, they fell asleep on the living room floor. Spencer awoke to a neck cramp as well as a naked woman pressed against his body. She had opened her bathrobe at one point in the night to drape over both of them as a blanket.
I didn't intend on this - he thought. Now the Lord will surely strike me down.She groaned as she nuzzled her face into his neck. He stroked his fingers through her hair as he awaited the Lord's reprimand. He would probably wake up soon in 2001 with 9 seconds left to live.
"Spencer?" she mumbled.
"Yeah?"
"I dreamed about you last night," she said, drawing the bathrobe back around her as she pulled away from his neck, "I dreamt that you walked in on me as I was making love to this hideous monster. He had long black hair, strong muscles, and these hideous warts all over him, but he was better than... Well, anyway, you came in and interrupted me. You started screaming and yanked the monster from the room.
"You were treating me like a child as you reprimanded me, but I enjoyed it. I wanted you even more than the beast. But then..."
She propped herself up on his chest and looked down at the man beneath her. He stared into the dark eyes that never changed a bit from the silver screen.
"But then, you told me you were fed up. Just when I finally decided who I really wanted, you ran away. I couldn't stop crying. The warty beast seemed so disgusting to me and I finally stopped pushing you away, but then you ran."
He wished he could say something to her, but he was getting so scared to talk anymore. He was cursed with the reality that anything he said could cause her to run. Every time he said something, he would push her further away.
"Do you think that dream meant anything?" she asked.
"I think that I, like the Lord, have been doing a lot of pursuing. Unlike the Lord, I don't have a super-strength super-powered heart. Mine gets damaged pretty easily," he said, "I don't see myself running, but I don't know how much damage there is in store for me."
"What if I stopped pushing you away? What if..." she pondered, looking down at the man beneath her, "What if I got fed up and said
'Fine! I'm all yours'!"
He laughed, staring at the aging star above him.
"I'd probably nail the door shut and lock you away with me for the rest of our lives. You don't seem to like the world anyway, you we could just shut ourselves in together."
She laughed before giving him a light kiss on the lips.
"Do you realize how silly that sounds?
I'm a loner - you're a loner - so let's be loners together!" she said, "Imagine me trying to share my lonely
'I-do-whatever-I-want' life with someone else."
"Compromise is part of life. You share the hallway with your neighbors because it would cause friction if you didn't. You share the parking deck with others because you'd be in for some huge battles otherwise. Sure, it's not the same, but it still is considered compromise," he said.
"You really know how to test me, Spencer Rice," she said, rising up from the floor.
She drew the robe closed and headed off into the bedroom.
"Are you going to kick me out like yesterday?" he asked.
"Well if you plan on sticking around, I may have to ask you to fill my cupboards. I can't offer to feed you much at the moment."
"Lead the way to the grocery store and I'll pack your cupboards to the top."
He heard a chuckle rise from the bedroom.
"And what do you want in return?" she asked, "Men never offer anything for free."
"Then as a man, I simply ask for you to spend your day with me. I'm not too fond of being alone right now."
And that was the start of a day filled with breakfast at the local diner, grocery shopping, a trip to the carnival, followed by a movie at the local cinema. By ten o' clock that evening, they were strolling down 49th Street toward her apartment.
"Want to stop by the bar for a drink?" she asked, holding his hand.
"I don't drink. The bartender gives me a weird look everytime I ask for a Coke," he replied.
"Well I drink until I'm toasted every night of my life. Come on to the bar and play me a song," she tugged him.
There were a lot of things he'd like to free her of, but this was something she was chained to. He could envision a day that she would be free of the prostitution and the philandering, but the alcohol had a good hold of her.
"Come on," she said, tugging him again.
That was when she saw her Aunt Helen coming out of her apartment lobby. Their eyes met at the exact same time.
"What's she doing here?" Francesca whispered.
"Francie! It's been such a long time. You look beautiful, dear," Helen said, rushing over to them, "And Spencer, I just had to come by to tell you about the house. The appraisal went through and I'm keeping the house. Thank you so much!"
Francesca stepped back and released Spencer's hand.
"You two know each other?" Francesca asked.
"I painted her house for her," Spencer replied.
"He's a dear angel - literally," Helen said.
"My history..." Francie snarled at Spencer, "You set me up."
"What?" Spencer asked, surprised by the flush of anger on her face, "Helen never told me anything about you other than the fact that she was your aunt."
She shook her head and then ran toward her apartment.
"How could Helen have known all those things?" Spencer asked, running after her, "I was coming for you anyways before I stumbled across her."
"You're a sick stalker, now get away from me FOREVER!" she shouted.
That final word hit Spencer like a sledgehammer. He stopped abruptly and watched as she disappeared into the building.
Forever.8The nights passed into days as Spencer roamed the streets of New York. He stayed away from the bar and the apartment on 49th Street. As a mere mortal, he had finally run out of ammunition. He failed the Lord, yet for some reason, he didn't return to 2001.
Spencer prayed many prayers over the next few day requesting the Lord to release him from the project, but no matter how he prayed, he was drawn back to that verse in Song of Songs -
For love is as strong as death, its jealousy as unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away. If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.Love is as
strong as death and its jealousy is as
unyielding as the grave. The Lord wasn't going to yield because his love was as strong as death. Death was insurmountable and unavoidable. Even the rich cannot get past that obstacle. The rivers, no matter how powerful, cannot wash it away. Spencer was not relieved of his duties even for a moment. The Lord wasn't going to yield.
"I'm sorry, God," Spencer said, waving for a cab, "I lost sight of your goal and was only focused on my pain. From this point forward, I will do it solely for you."
* * * *
The cab dropped him off at the curb in front of her apartment. It was almost midnight, but he didn't care. He rushed into the lobby and darted up the stairs. He didn't want to wait for the elevator. Finally at the fourth floor, he located her door and twisted the knob. It was unlocked. He flung it open and rushed in.
"Francie?" he hollered, "Francie, we need to talk."
He opened her bedroom door, figuring perhaps that she had fallen asleep already. That was when his heart exploded once and for all. She was in bed with a long-haired, muscular man, only without the warts.
"Spencer?"
He closed the door and rushed into the living room. The tears were pouring down his face as he glanced around the room. What was he looking for? He wasn't sure.
"Spencer - dear Lord, Spencer. I thought you had left me forever."
He turned and glared at the woman wrapped in a bathrobe. She blurred behind the tears. He turned and rushed from the apartment. He dashed for the stairs and took them three at a time.
"Lord, I can't do it. I can't separate my own feelings. You called the wrong person for sure. I've failed both of us miserably," he shouted to the ceiling as he opened the lobby door.
He ran for the door leading out to the sidewalk. Outside of the building, he scanned the road for a cab. One had just pulled away from the bar down the street. He simply needed to get away as soon as possible. He ran across the street and turned to look at her apartment building one last time.
"I'm so sorry, Jesus," he cried.
Francie burst from the lobby door and glanced down the sidewalk in both directions. Then she caught sight of him standing across the street. She held her robe closed and then ran after him before he could disappear.
The squeal of the brakes turned everyone's attention to the car. Spencer barely had the time to form the word "No" on his lips. Francie had no time to react before she was flung up onto the hood and then over the side onto the road.
Spencer screamed as he dashed for the woman who was surely dead. She had flopped over the car like a worthless rag doll. The driver was already out of the car with his hand pressed over his mouth staring down at the naked woman on the road.
"Francie," Spencer cried, drawing her bathrobe closed.
He turned her face to his. There were two large scrapes along her cheek and her chin. She fluttered her eyes open.
"S-Spencer? Don't leave me," she whispered, "I'm sorry. C-come back t-to the apartment... and n-nail the door closed. I'm ready."
He could already see that her whole left leg was badly twisted and her hand was bent in the wrong direction. He was the cause of all this damage.
"I'll do that," he replied, kissing her on the lips.
"I-I don't think I'm staying. It hurts..." she said with a cough, "It hurts too bad. Do you think Jesus is holding me?"
"If you let him, Francie. Do you want him to? He loves you and he want to," he replied.
She stared at him for a moment as people started gathering around.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Do you believe he's the Son of God?" he asked her, "Do you believe he loves you passionately?"
"Yes I do," she said with a smile, "It hurts to talk, Spencer. I-I think I'll go to s-sleep."
"Wait, Francie," he said.
"What now?"
He laughed as she looked up at him again.
"Would you have accepted Jesus anyway?" he asked.
"I-I already did... w-when I begged him to bring you back to me yesterday. I prayed for a l-long time, but I keep messing up. I-I'm such a failure."
"No you're not, Francie. Not at all. You succeeded in the most important thing of all - you succeeded in death, which means you succeeded in eternal life."
He grasped her hand as she smiled at him. Then she released her last breath.
* * * *
The ambulance took her away as Spencer stood on the sidewalk crying. Thanks to his own stupidity, she would never live to be an old woman as had been originally intended. He was the cause of her early death. He turned and started toward the alley between the buildings. That was when the world changed before his eyes. He was now standing in front of the receptionist desk in the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
"Then I'd say, how about tonight after work?" Amy asked, "I get off at 5:00, so how about meeting me downstairs around then?"
He smiled at her, waiting for that inevitable end. He closed his eyes, fearful of what he would see in those last moments. It was fast and immediate.
He opened his eyes to that dark-skinned man with the curly hair.
"Well done - WELL DONE!" he simply said, reaching out his hand.
Spencer smiled and shook his hand vigorously.
"What, no dropping to the floor like last time?" Jesus asked.
"You're my friend, Lord," he replied.
"Yes I am," he said.
"Someone has been waiting up here for you for a long, long time. But she waited faithfully, telling all the others that she was already taken," Jesus whispered, nodding his head behind him.
There, standing in all the shimmering glory of the 1920's silver screen was the beautiful Francesca Bride. She held her arms open as she rushed after him. He captured her in his arms and spun her, laughing wildly.
"It took you long enough, my fair beau," she shouted.
"But think of how much longer we have now!" he replied.
"Eternity won't be long enough, but I'm sure we can make do."
The EndThe previous story was written by Christian novelist Scott Curtis (author of Mommy's Choice and Life Could be a Dream - these two books are available at many libraries and all online retailers). I hope you indeed enjoyed this novel. I write a lot of short fiction which I cannot publish simply because it is too short.
Gold rings are very different than gold nuggets because they are usually alloyed with other types of metal. They're usually near to the surface area and sometimes cannot be tuned out or chosen for with a notch filter even with the very best metal detector. By far the perfect place to look for gold rings is at the beach. Particularly in the shallows on the dropping tide at a common resort area. The reason is because many vacationers do not recognize that the cooler watercan make their fingers shrink and unsuspectingly drop their highly valuable ring jewelry.
