She was the last person he expected to see in that watering hole. In retrospect, he should have known she would be there; he had known she recently moved to New York, and he knew that his luck would bring his biggest weakness to his weakest day.
He smelled her before he saw her. That scent that was distinctly her---not too sweet, not too strong, but able to linger on a pillowcase for days---wafted around him. At first, he thought the drink sitting in front of him had had a proximity effect on him; but after a moment, he remembered that alcohol would only effect his mind if he ingested it.
"Mr. Vi---John?"
He sighed and turned to look at her.
Time had been kind to Claudia Jean. Her face showed signs of ageing, but they were graceful signs. Her hair was darker, no longer the highlighted strands he had taken such pleasure running his hands through. Her eyes were more sombre; he couldn't see that light shining in their surface anymore and he wondered what had happened to steal that light away.
"So, did you sense some poor, old soul needed helping?" he asked wryly.
"Maybe I'm the poor, old soul seeking help," she replied quietly. After John snorted and returned to staring at his bottle of beer, he felt her hand on his arm. "What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.
"I'm... having a bad day."
Another failed marriage, a partnership in a law firm that he strongly disliked, and coming to the realisation that he possessed no sense of direction in his life all contributed to his going to that bar that afternoon.
She squeezed his arm. "Give me the bottle, John," she whispered.
"Claudia."
She squeezed again---not enough to hurt. He felt how warm she was and he had to fight an urge to bury himself inside her warmth and never escape.
"John," she murmured. "Please. No matter how bad it is, you don't want to give up something you've worked on for so many years."
He didn't move, nor did he say anything. When she reached for the bottle, he didn't offer any resistance. He knew she was right; he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him once the temptation was removed.
She took a drink from the full bottle and then waved her hand to get the bartender's attention.
"Scotch," she said curtly. "Neat."
"What kind---"
"Whatever you've got. I don't care," she interrupted.
John turned and looked at the woman. "It's early for scotch, don't you think?"
She gave him a sad smile and then she turned back to John's bottle of beer.
He put his hand over hers, since it still rested on his arm. "Claudia," he said quietly. "What's going on?"
She sighed. "It doesn't mat---"
"Yes, it does," he interrupted.
"Danny..." she started and trailed off. She sighed again and shook her head. "It doesn't matter, John. Really. I'm fine."
"You're definitely not fine," he replied. "And since you're helping me... I want to help you."
She smiled a little again. Then the smile faded and her eyes grew larger and wetter. Tears threatened to fall, to stain her cheeks.
"Danny's leaving me," she admitted quietly, before looking away. The bartender had put her scotch down in front of her, so instead of drinking the beer, she moved onto the stronger drink. After two sips, she continued talking. "I am apparently a cold fish... a career-driven, cold fish with no interest in starting a family. Actually, with no ability to start a family. And that is unacceptable."
"Claudia, I..."
"Don't apologise, John."
"I want to," he said quietly. "I've just been through another divorce. I know how painful it can be to lose your partner."
She looked up, eyes wide again. "Oh. John, I'm sorry. I didn't know... god, I must sound like such a---"
"No, you don't," he assured her.
He told her about how he remained faithful to this wife, but how she could not. He told her that he hated his job and he hated the person that he had become. He told her that he had gone to New York to meet with a client and that he had woken up that morning and discovered that he didn't think he could take it anymore.
She listened and nodded; when she spoke, she told him that he could change, that he could leave the law firm and find something to do that would mean something to him and to the world. She told him he could be a better person with so much conviction that he almost believed her.
And then, she told him about her own problems. Finding out that she had the worst odds that pretty much had ever existed for getting pregnant had destroyed Danny more than it had destroyed her; and that fact destroyed Danny all over again. She wanted to be a career woman---not a mother. Danny wanted a family. She did not.
She liked her job some of the time; she wished that she could do more to help people, but she wasn't in charge so she couldn't change much about that. Accepting a promotion, bringing her to New York, had been something that her husband wouldn't accept; it was hard enough to hold onto her in Los Angeles, but Danny had made his concerns about New York and its hectic pace perfectly clear. That had been the beginning of the end.
When she was finished talking, John threaded his fingers through her hand. "You are a strong woman, Claudia," he told her quietly. "You will get through this."
"But, what about---"
"If he wants you to be something you clearly aren't, then he doesn't understand you," he interrupted. "And neither of you would have been happy staying together if he convinced you to stop working and to be a housewife."
She sighed. "I don't want to work forever," she admitted. "I want to travel... I want to learn how to paint or knit or... I don't know, ski," she added, waving her hands around a little bit.
He smiled. "You want to learn how to ski?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." She turned her head and looked at him. Her lips stretched into a slow smile. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to be able to trust someone," he answered. "I... I want to share my life with someone. I want to do something that makes the country stop thinking I'm a bad man." He sighed. "I want to sit somewhere with my partner, watch a sunset or a sunrise, and not have to talk about how I'm feeling."
She smiled more. "I know what you mean," she agreed quietly. "We tried therapy before I moved."
"Oh... I've been there, too," he told her.
"Why don't you start a charitable foundation?" she asked. "You've always been able to raise money. You're a strong public speaker, and you understand foreign and domestic policy. Get behind something you believe needs fixing, and work on it." She sighed. "That's what I'd do if I was in your shoes."
John looked at her for a long, slow minute. Then, he swallowed and said, "I might consider it. If you come and work with me."
She blinked, surprise written on her face. "I didn't say that to get you to offer---"
"I'm not offering because you suggested it," he interrupted. "I'm offering because you're smart, quick on your feet, and I think you want to do something more meaningful with your life."
She asked about their history, if it would pose a problem for them; he told her it didn't have to if they didn't want it to.
He put a couple of bills on the table after checking his watch and realising that he didn't want to be caught in the bar during happy hour.
"Meet me here, tomorrow, at one," he said as he lifted himself off of the barstool. He smiled at her. "I'll be in one of those back booths. With club soda. Tonight, you and I will think about what we'd like to do with our lives... and if we have similar items on our lists, maybe we'll take this more seriously."
She smiled at him---the warmest smile he had seen on her face in a very long time---and agreed.
The next morning, the Times had reported that Claudia Cregg-Concannon and John Hoynes were working together. John cursed the bartender---he guessed that man with little or nothing to do in the afternoon on a Tuesday had been the source---and he fully expected his potential business partner to not show up to their rendezvous.
And yet, there she was. She had beaten him to the bar, a glass of wine in front of her that was partnered with a glass of club soda.
When he joined her in the booth, she beamed at him. "So, I wrote a list."
"Me, too," he admitted, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket.
They talked for hours, until they were both so hungry that they decided to leave and go off in search of sustenance. She linked her arm through his as they walked.
"Did you read the Times today?" she asked quietly.
"I did," he answered. "I didn't---"
"I know you didn't."
After a few blocks where nothing was said, she cleared her throat and said, "I resigned this morning. So did Charlie and Carol."
They stopped at a corner, waiting for the red hand to turn into a white man. He turned and looked at her. Her lips curved into a little smile---the one she used when she felt certain, when she was confident. He smiled, too.
"The bartender wasn't the source," he commented near her ear.
She shook her head. "Nope," she replied, before the light changed and she darted out into the crosswalk.
