The jet-black Chevy Traverse sat parked on the driveway for some minutes, idle. Hank fussed with every connection and contingency -- plugging in cord after cord, typing in destinations and alternate routes on his mobile GPS unit, metering out bills by denomination in the event his EZ pass did not work on the tollway. Planning, contingency, forethought: all statements to control the random variable that was life itself. A part of Hank screamed out to embrace the haphazard, trust intuition.<i>Nonsense</i>, he reasoned. Such vagaries only courted trouble by not being ready when something went awry. He might be late, he might be delayed, he might miss his flight -- nothing could compromise the mitigation of effort to curtail chance. Nothing.<br/><br/>When Hank was a younger man, he would drive for hours to see Danielle. They would talk and laugh, make love and sing to the moon. When Hank left, he would always honk his horn twice just before pulling out of the driveway and heading into the wide world -- a last statement, loud and clear, that he loved Danielle and would pine every moment until their next reunion. Hank did not honk as he backed out in the Chevy Traverse; he made no gesture, no hesitation, not even a simple wave. The thought of bidding Danielle adieu never once crossed the man's mind. The thoughts that consumed his technical brain looked forward, probing in a perpetual state of minor anxiety. A principal once told Hank that the best project managers were a bit neurotic -- never happy not knowing that every little detail was buttoned down and accounted for. In the course of growing from a starry-eyed college kid to a serious adult, Hank had taken that advice a bit too seriously, applying it to more than just the conduct of delivering projects. Danielle wouldn't learn until later on that Hank -- despite all his apparatuses of earnest intent -- ended up missing the turn-off to the airport. At the time, Hank was speaking with the secretary of the partner-company's CFO, wondering politely is the busy man intended on calling him. The detour landed Hank that the terminal with only seven minutes to spare before the aircraft closed its doors for departure. He sat sullen, feeling quietly lost and confused that his mechanisms could only help but not save him.<br/><div style="text-align: center"><br/>
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</div></div><br/>Natalie York brushed her long, pale blond hair, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She controlled her breathing and practices her rehearsed glances, imagining the camera was on her and ready to capture her beauty. She went through a solid routine of looks from sexy, to sultry, to mysterious, to aroused. All had been honed to perfection; all Natalie needed was the opportunity to allow her talent and latent allure to captivate. That was why -- even when a little girl -- Natalie knew that she was destined to be a model. Vanity and discipline waged a unsettled war within the woman, and she courted every chance to catch that big break. The party that evening offered such chance, with rumors that the host was friends with a number of photographers and modeling executives who might be in attendance. Getting an invitation took real work, along with making promises she'd just assume not made. But, Natalie knew how these affairs transpired -- no party based on beauty would turn away gorgeous women. That was one reason why Natalie had offered to take Danielle out on the town.<br/><br/>The journeys they each took after college went in divergent directions -- she into the world of business and finance, Danielle into the world of domestic bliss. Though Natalie adored Danielle, she had to acknowledge an initial bout of jealousy at having landed a fine husband fresh out of college. Not having to worry about finding work and supporting oneself seemed like the dream life ... that was, until the sheen on Hank's shining armor dulled with each passing year. No one knew how much of a prison Danielle lived in than Natalie, knowing also the depth of her disappointment and frustration. Seeing her friend was a genuine treat, especially when out of the territory of the suburban enclave Hank has fabricated around her. Natalie had gone to visit them in New Jersey on numerous occasions. Hank always conducted himself well enough, being amicable and hospitable. Though, Natalie could never shake the hollow feeling in every aspect of their lives; she knew her friend's heart and it felt empty in the presence of her husband. When the topic of conversation veered from Hank and his accomplishments, Hank interrupted the discussion with inane questions or noted that it was getting late, implying the Natalie had overstayed her welcome. Several attempts to have Danielle head out on the town were sabotaged by Hank, and Natalie began to feel a base hatred for the man whom Danielle called her husband. Natalie knew she wasn't perfect, but she didn't need to impinge on other people's happiness to prop up a delusional vision of herself.<br/><br/>Natalie wanted to capitalize on Hank's departure and show Danielle a good time. She mentioned drinks at a great bar in Manhattan, keeping the news of the party to herself. Natalie planned on sharing that bit of information once Danielle had a few drinks in her. There was a fine line between genuine reticence and Stockholm Syndrome, in Natalie's opinion, and she worried her friend might dash the suggestion of the party outright out of habit. Being a sheltered creature made on more inhibited, and Natalie was determined to give her friend the exposure and freedom she deserved. Finishing her hair, she picked up her phone, balancing an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She tapped her message, a smile inching up her lips into a mischievous smile.<br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff99ff"></span><br/><span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff99ff"><b>NATALIE YORK</b><br/>
Hey Babe! Hank gone? You must be breathing easier. You still interested in coming downtown tonight? I really want to show you a good time ... one you'll never forget. &lt;3</span></span>