Between Friends - Song Story

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

For all we know

We may never meet again

Before you go

Make this moment sweet again

We won't say, "Goodnight"

Until the last minute

I'll hold... hold out my hand

And my heart will be in it

For all we know

This may only be a dream

We come and we go

Like the ripples of a stream

So love me, love me tonight

Tomorrow was made for some

Tomorrow may never come

For all we know, we know

………………………………………..

Two people sat in the shade of an awning that spanned the length of a little sidewalk cafe. Trees dotted the perimeter of the property, and gravel crunched as passersby made their way into various shops, some of them with packages that marked their day of marketing.

Napoleon Solo and April Dancer were in a little village in the eastern most part of Provence. Their mission was over, each of them glad to be rid, once more, of the imperative to save the world. Today, sitting in the cheery little cafe with the aroma of baking bread and fresh ground coffee, their world seemed safe enough.

A young woman passed by, the skirt of her simple linen dress billowing behind her as a breeze caught the hem and teased onlookers with one snap of air before settling down into its proper place. A whiff of something caught Napoleon’s attention, so much so that he smiled at a memory of another young woman who wore the same fragrance. It was amazing, to travel halfway around the world and capture a long ago memory on the whim of the breeze.

April saw the change in her friend’s expression.

“What are you smiling about? Did that woman capture your fancy Mister Solo?” Her own smile was dazzling, and it brought Napoleon back to the present. He could see her though, the girl from so many years ago.

“I think you’re blushing Napoleon! What just happened?” April had a sincere fondness for this man. Although he was her superior on the job, they had established a friendship that she knew would endure through the decades to come. To see the Casanova of UNCLE’s New York Headquarters sporting a blush simply because he thought a woman was pretty… Or was that what she was seeing?

Napoleon’s smile grew broader, his blond partner wasn’t the only one with secrets. April cocked her head to one side, she wasn’t likely to let this just go away.

“Darling, you know you want to share your little secret. I promise, on my honor and cross my heart…’ She laughed out loud and pointed her finger at Napoleon.

“You know you can trust me. I am a spy after all.” Napoleon had to laugh at that.

“Yes, indeed you are. And a very good one at that.’ He paused as the picture of a girl in a pale pink dress came to him, her smile as intoxicating to him now as it had been when he first met her. He sighed as he recalled the short history of their lives together.

“April, I was married once, to a wonderful girl named Jacqueline. I was smiling because…’ another sigh, another glimpse of Jackie laughing…

“She wore the same fragrance. I caught the scent when the breeze carried it. I guess the smile was just something automatic. I, well… It was a happy time for me.” April couldn’t help but notice that the smile had faded, replaced now with the part of his memory that wasn’t happy. She let him continue.

“We were young, I was in my sophomore year of college and she was taking a year to help her family; her mother was ill, cancer. Jackie felt as though she needed to be with her through the treatments and, well, you can understand.”

“Yes, of course. Did her mother recover?” April had her doubts, but the getting married part of the story is what most intrigued her.

“It wasn’t a sure thing, and that’s when we decided to get married. Jackie was putting her life on hold, and it occurred to me that one thing that would make her mother happy would be seeing her daughter get married.’ He smiled again.

“It was the fifties, marriage was the ultimate for all women; more so than it is now.”

April nodded her head in agreement. It wasn’t as though women didn’t still want to be married and have a family, but it wasn’t the only thing a woman might want in her future. She was proof of that.

“Anyway, I proposed, she accepted and we had a wedding. Her mother went into remission, which was wonderful. We had the beginnings of a great life together.” That sounded like a segue into something unhappy. April was a little hesitant to ask what happened next, but she ventured into it.

“How long, I mean… did you stay happy?” How else to phrase it? Napoleon’s expression became wistful, not entirely sad but he wasn’t smiling that smile anymore.

A group of women walked by them, straw bags in hand, filled with their purchases. They laughed and chatted among themselves, and one of them turned and looked at Napoleon, smiling as she passed by. He smiled in return, the professional smile of a man who turns on charm like a light switch channels an electric current. It lacked the emotion of the smile April had seen earlier.

“Umm… where was I? Oh, after the wedding.’ He smiled again, the one from before. April was amazed and grateful that he was willing to share this part of his life with her.

“We moved to a little apartment off campus, and I got through my sophomore year and started my junior year with a major finally in place. I had plans, and Jackie was going to register and start mid-term. It was all very middle America, post war, right on schedule… perfect.” Again, April was wondering what changed. Obviously the marriage didn’t last, because here he was and there wasn’t a wife anywhere. At least not one that cared if her husband romanced women all over the world.

“Just before Christmas, well, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Jackie was working in a little dress shop to earn some extra money. At the end of the day she closed up and started home; she walked since we only lived about a block away. When she started across the street she was hit by a drunk driver. Jackie was killed instantly.” April tried not to react, but her heart went out to Napoleon.

“I am so sorry, that must have been devastating for you.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know until after I got home. A policeman came to the door and offered to drive me to the hospital, he didn’t even tell me she was, um… already gone. I think he felt so bad for me that he let me have some time to adjust to the possibility. I don’t know. He was young too, newly married. I think it really affected him.”

This was just so awful, and April realized that for all of Napoleon’s romantic escapades, his telling of this part of his past revealed a man whose heart had been broken so early in life that everything after that was a reaction to it.

“What about the driver? Did they prosecute him?”

“Yes, but he didn’t serve his entire sentence. Good behavior is the doorway to an early release, and this was his only offense. He wasn’t habitually drunk, just that one night.” Another deep sigh of resignation seeped out. Somehow the cheerfulness of the day had been subverted.

“April, not many people know about this, I hope…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll not speak of it to anyone. Does Illya know?” It occurred to April that this might not have been shared between the two friends. Men were odd that way, whereas woman would tell everything in the process of bonding with other women. The genders had decidedly different ideas about friendship.

“Thank you. And, no… well, sort of. He just knows that I was married, it’s in my file and he’s read that. Sometimes we don’t need to share the sad things, it might compromise how we treat each other, or react. It’s just one of those things. You, however, caught me in a moment.” Now the smile returned, this time in gratitude for the woman sitting with him. April was a young woman with more wisdom and compassion than many her age. It had actually felt good to tell her about Jackie, a small piece of his own history safely shared with a friend.

The cafe’s owner had been watching the two Americans as they talked, observing their expressions and the obvious seriousness of their conversation. Now they were smiling, and it was her cue to approach.

“Bonjour, what may I get for you?” The lilt of her accent made Napoleon smile even more. He couldn’t help but think of Illya and his snobbishness concerning French accents.

“Bonjour Madame, comment ça va? I think coffee and croissants, some jam as well. Merci.”

Madame Poutou blushed slightly, such a handsome man. A pity his accent was so awful.

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