An un edited beginning

1.

Christ it’s windy at Logan, Larson pulled the collar up on his coat as he waited for his turn in the taxi line outside terminal B. January in Minnesota is brutal, January in Boston only brutal every couple of weeks, mostly it’s annoying. Slushy, slippery, white then dingy gray and windy like today. The wind is from the southwest, generally that means warmer temperatures. Wet and slushy and slippery at night. 

Larson checked in to the Ritz Carleton at the corner of Arlington and Newbury Streets, he was in his room and unpacked just after 4. He drank a scotch from the honor bar, his room is on the 5th floor on the Arlington Street side, as he drank the whisky, he looked at the snow covered Public Garden, on to the Common and the Golden Domed statehouse on Beacon Hill. He lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep. He was up at 6, showered and shaved, he put on a Brooks Brothers suit, black with a faint red pinstripe, white long point collar shirt a red rep tie with black stripes. He used the shoe cloth in the bathroom to buff his black, monk strap shoes. He looked in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door, he thought he looked good. He folded his lined raincoat over his arm, in case he needed it. He was in the 1st floor bar by 6:50, ten minutes early, sitting at a table for two under the window looking out on Arlington Street. The traffic is bumper to bumper outside the window. The car’s lights reflected on the wet street. 

The old waiter,Walter, in his starched white jacket brought a silver bowl of mixed nuts and a cloth napkin, “Will another party be joining you sir?” 

“Yes in a few minutes.”

 “May I bring you something while you wait?” Larson ordered a Johnny Walker Blue, water on the side. “Very good sir.” Walter was back in minutes with a silver tray. On the tray was a glass for the whiskey, a small bowl of ice with silver tongs, a water glass, a small crystal pitcher of water and the Johnny Walker served in it’s own 3 ounce decanter. At a traditional bar like the Ritz, you mix your own. it’s very, very old school. Walter also brought another starched white napkin, he set it across from Larson and smoothed it. “Is there anything else I can get you sir?” 

“Not at the moment, thank you.” Larson made his drink and watched the door, he was nervous, sitting here, waiting for her. At 7 there she was, she looked the same, better really after 12 years. Her hair is still long and shiny. She's wearing a long black wool coat, a red scarf. She’s looking for him. 

Larson stood and smiled at her across the room, Caroline Mackenzie smiled back. They met in the middle of the room. Caroline put her hands on his arms, looked Larson in the eyes and said,”It’s my Goddamned Viking Prince.”

Larson kissed her lightly on the lips and said, "It’s my Goddamned New Bedford fisherman's daughter.” They held each other for a long time in the middle of the room, surrounded by people. Some of them stared at their little reunion.

Caroline ordered a Vodka martini, very dry, from Walter, who said, "It will be my pleasure, mam."  

Larson couldn’t take his eyes off her, “No wine, you always drank wine.” 

“I still do, I need something stronger right now.” 

They finished their drinks and ordered two more. Caroline looked across at Larson, reached out and took his hand, “I have an idea, let’s get an appetizer, eat ,finish our drinks and then go up to your room and fuck our brains out , how does that sound?” Caroline looked sly and sincere at the same time, no easy thing to do. 

“I think I just came in my pants.” Larson said. 

“Save that for later Larson. How do oysters sound to you, we can get a dozen,”

“Make it two.” 

“Now you’re talking.” Caroline said.