Page 7 of Phoenix Fire

“No. Actually, it had the opposite effect. You could say, really, it renewed my faith. It's like, well, like there is no fear of death so much anymore. It was like the experience gave me a glimpse of what death might be about, like, it's not a scary thing but a positive thing, an expanding kind of thing.” Suddenly, Jenny broke into a wide grin. “My goodness! It sounds really wacko just listening to my own words.”

“No, no, it's interesting. Death is not the sort of topic that people like to talk about a lot. For the young, and we qualify, we sort of adopt an attitude like we're going to live forever. Death cannot touch us. The older we get, I'm sure our mortality becomes more and more real for us. Your experience, your dream, whatever it was, may indeed have been some kind of message. I'm thinking that you should find comfort in an event like that.”

The waiter came with a relish tray, bread sticks, left menus, and took our second cocktail order.

After the waiter left the table, Jenny changed the subject. “So, what wakeful dreams do you chase, Mister Prince? It seems I should know more about the man who has taken some fairly personal liberties with my body. For which, of course, I'm eternally grateful.” She gave him another soft smile.

“You are entitled, yes. I'm mostly a real estate developer/investor type. You might say, I dream real estate projects. It's something I love to do, something for which I thank my grandmother and my late grandfather. They had a part in the early growth and development of Phoenix and the east valley.”

“Oh, are you related to the Princes in Tempe?”

“Yes. My father was the son of Manville Prince who donated land and helped in the early funding of Arizona State University and the Tempe area. My grandfather was John Wimsley. He and Grandma Myrena raised me and my brother.” Jason noticed Jenny's questioning look. “My parents died in an automobile accident when I was still in grade school. My grandparents raised my brother and me.”

“Wimsley? The same Wimsleys of Park Central, Biltmore, Scottsdale Ranch?”

“Yes. My grandfather had a hand in the development of those and other projects.”

“I'm impressed! Very! I've heard people talk of your grandparents all my life. They are really a significant part of the valley's history. You must be very proud.” Jenny's eyes glowed with genuine appreciation.

“I am very proud of my grandparents. I've been very fortunate to have had their guidance and love in my life.”

Before Jason could go on, the waiter came to take their dinner orders. The El Chorro was noted for its menu selections, particularly the prime rib. After a brief consultation with Jenny, Jason ordered the prime rib for both of them, along with baked potatoes, Caesar Salads, and escargots. During their escargots the waiter brought a carafe of the house Cabernet.

The couple dined while three gentlemen in tuxedos strolled and played soothing violins in the background. Jason and Jenny talked easily about their lives, past and present, sipping their wine, feeling the inner glow of complete satiety.

After dinner, Jason took Jenny to the Skylight Room to listen to the piano styling of Bib Torrini, a longtime favorite of the valley's night wanderers. There, high atop a downtown bank building, Bib's melodic ballads and show tunes added to the magic of their evening. They sipped cappuccino and requested their favorite songs. They were mellow in a way they would not have believed possible. They watched the people around them, some in various stages of inebriation, some attempting to perform vocals in accompaniment with the artist, some surprisingly good, some woefully unaware of their off-key performances.

It was all so good. For both of them, it was a night far exceeding their expectations. For Jason Prince, he felt a comfort level with Jenny that belied his usual cautious and cool demeanor in the social arena. For Jenny Mason, she, too, was much more open and less timid in her conversation and in her observations. The Skylight Room provided the perfect setting for completing their magical evening together.

Only when they stood on the threshold of Jenny's apartment did some of the awkwardness return to them. Each was conscious of the special bonding that had occurred during their evening and each was careful not to spoil the mood. Neither would make a careless move at this point. They kissed at the portal, a long, tender, clinging, without urgency, both knowing that on a future evening there would be so much more. There was time and they would build for those very special moments.

“It's been a beautiful evening, Jason, one I shall never forget. Thank you.” Her words were whispered in a contented sigh.

“We must do it again soon,” he whispered back. Then, conscious of the triteness of his words, he added, “I want very much to see you again, Jenny Mason. It has been pure enchantment.”

“Please call soon,” was her final whisper.

His hand gently touched her hair as their eyes lingered in the moment. “Soon,” he said, “Very soon.”

Then he was gone, and Jenny was alone.

Long into the night on her bed she listened to the nocturnal sounds around her, watching the frantic light dances of the distant stars. The moon was full and the distant mountain peaks were majestically illuminated and silently recorded all movement and thought. His face was there, strong and vital, his azure eyes sparkling, his lips parting and inviting, just below a brilliant white halo of the moon.

Just seconds before she gave way to sleep, she thought about the swiftness with which one's life could be altered. She could not imagine being very thankful to a streak of lightning, but, oh, she was. For some reason her mind conjured up an image of brightly serene butterflies and an enormous bowl of jellybeans.

Chapter Six

Carlton Prince signed the documents on his desk, his lips pressed downward at the corners, his brow furrowed, his darkly dull brown eyes a hard indifference.

The work had become so methodically rote and predictable. It was almost too easy. His mind was like a computer, absorbing corporate balance sheets and day to day accounting figures with a facility attributable to many years of experience. He could quickly and meticulously spot aberrations in corporate numbers games and just as quickly make his adjustments. He knew that he was good at his job and it was, despite its sameness quality, an activity that still gave him some modicum of pleasure. He had definitely found his niche in the world of work.

Carlton Prince shared his brother's good looks and physical makeup. Both were six feet tall with little body fat. Carlton's hair was light brown and thinning where Jason's hair was black and full. Both men had angular faces, possessed handsome Roman countenances, neither with a deliberate or conscious propensity for vanity. Jason regularly jogged, enjoyed outside activities to stay fit. On occasions of irritability and money matters, Carlton lifted weights and punched heavy bags at the gym. Jason was tanned. Carlton was pale. Carlton was casual and sometimes sloppy in his. Jason was a natty dresser. For the most part, all was right in their worlds of work. It was the emotional DNA that separated the two brothers and kept them from having a closer bonding.

While Carlton found a relative peace in his professional life, he was inured to the role of a malcontent. He was an inveterate naysayer and grumbler. He was convinced that his life was manipulated and programmed by uncaring parents, now dead, and a grandmother who clearly favored his brother. While alive, his grandfather was the only person who seemed to understand his worth and value as a human being. Oh, his grandmother had at times attempted a show of affection but it was clear upon whom she wished to direct most of her attention and love. Quite clear. She preferred Jason to Carlton, and it was unfair. Grossly unfair.

At age thirty-eight, Carlton Brainard Prince was a jealous and vindictive man. His handsome and slender physical features were offset by a downward turning mouth and his negative behavior. If the sun was shining in a clear forever sky Carlton predicted rain and dark clouds. If his grandmother showed him affectionate moments, he was wary of an underlying deceit. He was chronic in his negativism.

Carlton's secretary, Rita, rapped tentatively and entered his office. “Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Prince, but Mrs. Wimsley is on line three for you, and Mr. Logan wants to see you at 2:30 this afternoon about the upcoming shareholders meeting.” Rita was previously instructed to clear all calls with him. He wanted no calls put through to him without his screening.

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