She stops dangerously close to
him as he instinctively turns towards her, allowing the streetlight to
partially reveal his face. Neither speak as she scans his face for a
glimmer of hope. It's been two weeks since she abruptly left for Monte
Carlo -- two weeks that now seem like two years.
He squints slightly while taking a drag
from his cigarette, revealing new lines around his eyes. She has seen
the effects of stress on his face before. Now she knows the answer
before asking the question.
The driver has darkened the
headlights and left the engine running, just as she requested. The
drizzle has stopped and she removes her hat, allowing the streetlight
to illuminate her face. He almost breaks a smile as he scans every
subtle curve, but his frown quickly returns.
"Is
it true?" she asks, breaking the silence between them. The question
drifts off into the fog as she watches his eyes. "It's true, isn't it?"
He flicks his cigarette onto the wet sidewalk. He stares at her for a moment, clenches his jaw
and drops his gaze to the ground. "Yes. Yes, it's true."
She steps closer to him, pressing her palm against his
stubbly cheek, "I'm not sure I can go through this again. You remember
the last time this happened; the pain, the sense of loss, the wasted
precious time."
He shares her anxiety: "Don't worry, this will all work out."
She bites her lower lip, "I'm not so sure, some things in life are irreplaceable."
He smiles: "We'll get recommendations; we'll find another hairdresser."
Smiling, she slides her arm around his, "Let's go home."
As they
turn towards the vehicle -- the headlights immediately illuminate the
couple. The driver glances across the street for a split-second, then
smiles as the man and woman climb into the rear seat.
As we watch the
limousine disappear into the fog, a neon sign flickers to life in a
storefront window across the street:
'THE ONLY CONSTANT IS CHANGE'