“We seek the fire of the spark that is already within us.”
Kamand Kojouri
Danielle would never know what made her stop that day to speak to the homeless man. She'd never been a truly heartless person or consciously rejected those who lived on the street. She had, however, harbored some deeply held latent prejudices influenced by her right-wing, conservative upbringing. Prejudices she was completely unaware of because they had been born of nurturing from birth. But the man she stopped to speak with would change her outlook, and her life.
It had been an unusually blustery, bitterly cold mid-December day in downtown Knoxville. The wind whipping down and around the streets and businesses kept the city's Christmas finery busy doing its job to remind anyone noticing what time of year it was. Few paused to admire them, however, as they hurried along the sidewalks bundled in layers and heavy coats on their way to work.
She had just stepped from the bus and turned toward the office building where she worked as a paralegal for a respected estate attorney when she saw him shuffle around the corner. Tall, unkempt, with long, tangled graying hair and beard, and wearing a ragged coat over several layers of equally ragged clothing, he didn't look any different from the other homeless people one encountered on any busy street. Yet, there was something about him that made her pause. For all his shuffling and filthy appearance, he seemed to exude a strange sort of noble aura. She shook her head but the impression remained. Intrigued, she'd walked over to him.
“Hello,” she'd said in a gentle tone, ignoring the stench that the wind couldn't fully dissipate, “Can I help you get somewhere?”
He had looked up and she had found herself staring into the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. A brilliant blue that reminded her of jewels. He had smiled vaguely, revealing a glimpse of strong white teeth, and she realized he wasn't any older than she was at thirty-seven.
“No, no, ma'am. Thank you kindly.”
He took a step forward and instinctively she reached out as if to touch him, and he flinched.
“I'm sorry!” She pulled her hand back. “Please forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.”
He stared down at her with a blank expression, but with those jeweled eyes snapping with fire.
“What do you want with me, ma'am?”
“I-I'm not sure.” She admitted with an apologetic smile. “I had just got off the bus when you walked around the corner and I felt the strongest urge to walk over.” She offered her gloved hand. “My name is Danielle, by the way. Danielle Stephenson.”
“I'm not interested in any do-gooder wanting to save my soul!”
“I imagine that's something we share in common. I'm not interested in anyone trying to save mine, either.”
He continued to stare suspiciously down at her as she stood there, hand still patiently and pointedly out held. Finally he accepted her handshake and she was a little startled by the firmness of the big hand's grip.
“Just call me Ben.”
“Hello, Ben,” after a firm squeeze and small shake, she released his hand. “It's terribly cold out here. Would you like to come inside to my office? Have a cup of coffee before you go on your way?”
He shook his head.
“No, ma'am. I have somewhere I need to be.”
She nodded.
“Okay, that's fine. Then you take care of yourself, Ben.”
He nodded in return.
“You, too, ma'am.”
And she watched as he shuffled on his way.
Matthew Guntherson, aka Ben, didn't pause again until he reached a certain derelict building and climbed through a broken window. Inside, a late middle-aged man dressed in well-worn jeans and a heavy bomber jacket was leaning against a wall with peeling, faded wallpaper.
“I was beginning to worry,” he greeted Matthew.
“Nothing to worry about. Just some last minute stuff come up.” He elected not to mention the encounter with the attractive do-gooder, Danielle. “So what gives, Henley? I was just settling in with my morning martini when word came you needed to see me like, now.”
“Word from on high. They're closing down the operation. You have three days to finish it up.”
“Three days? I'm just now getting somewhere with them!”
“Well, apparently they think nearly a year is plenty long enough. If you don't have enough to move on Randall Bellamy by now, they think it's pretty obvious there won't be any at all no matter how long you're out here.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah, I know, kid, it stinks.” Henley shrugged as he straightened. “But that's the way it is.” He eyed the younger man critically. “You look undernourished. Can I buy you a Krispy Kreme?”
“What? And be seen with a cop? In a doughnut shop no less? I still have three days to find something useful to hang on Bellamy, remember? I'm doing nothing to jeopardize that now!”
“Good! Then I'll see you in three days.”
Matthew watched as Henley left through the empty doorway, the boards of the porch creaking ominously beneath his sneakered feet, before turning away with a muffled curse. Three days! He'd been deep undercover for over ten months, living on the street like any other homeless individual. No days off. No showers. No clean clothes. No regular meals. No shelter, unless he was lucky enough to win the nightly lotto at the homeless shelter on Magnolia that would afford him a single night on a bunk in a room with a bunch of other smelly, lost souls, only to be turned out the next morning for another day of abject hopelessness. Matthew had been a cop for a long time, working his way up from foot patrol in Louisville, Kentucky, to his current rank of sergeant and an undercover officer for the Knoxville City Police Department. He was fully aware of and experienced with the sordid sides of life, but the stories of many of those on the street still had the power to shake him. Many were there as a result of their life choices. But many more were there through no fault of their own, and of those, some were just too damaged to ever be an active part of society. He'd learned the hard way not to judge books by their covers and assume to know someone based on the shallowest of impressions. He'd never forget what it was like to be seen for the first time as less than human because he wore rags and hadn't bathed as frequently as society would have him. He'd never forget the instant shame he had felt when well dressed congregations regurgitated from the depths of the churches in the city, righteously quick to offer a few bucks from their wallets but not so quick as to offer them lunch. If they were noticed at all.
His thoughts turned to Danielle Stephenson. A woman whose aura of class had been belied by her willful red hair that refused to be confined to a chignon, generously freckled nose and cheeks, and soft, kind, hazel eyes. Not beautiful. Nothing that common. Hers was a beauty coming from somewhere beneath the perfect makeup and expensive forest green wool coat. It was genuine and sweet, and greedily absorbed by the senses of a cop who'd seen far too much of the darkness of man. Military men and women had witnessed the wages of war in foreign lands. Men and women like him had lived the wars of the domestic streets. War was hell, no matter what its setting or purpose, and those who wore their uniforms and badges either visibly or hidden, were just as subject to the high costs of their efforts as any other soldier.
Matthew sighed and rubbed the back of his neck beneath his filthy hair. God, how he'd love an hour-long hot shower and a day or two in the king-size bed that waited in the warm apartment he hadn't seen in months; followed by a full course breakfast of bacon, eggs, ham, steak, biscuits, gravy, hash browns, and plenty of hot, fresh coffee!
Taking a moment, he closed his eyes and willed himself back into his street persona. Then climbed back through the broken window.
Danielle saw Ben again the next afternoon as she was leaving work. She'd thought of him much too often to have only met him once in passing. Her otherwise analytical mind had an irritatingly strong romantic streak that simply couldn't forget her initial impression of nobility around him. Looking across the street where he slouched carelessly on a handy rod iron bench, his filthy matted hair and beard moving in the cold winter breeze, she mentally shook her head. She had to be nuts to be finding any nobility there. Yet the other part of her mind insisted there was more to Ben than his appearance would allow.
Before she could stop herself, she took a quick look up and down the street then crossed it and stepped up onto the sidewalk beside the bench. His demeanor didn't change as those beautiful eyes watched her like a big cat watching potential prey but was too lazy to give chase.
“Hello, counselor,” he drawled, “Fancy meeting you here.”
“What?” She stared at him, confused. “Counselor?”
“Isn't that what you are? A do gooder lawyer? ”
“Oh!” She smiled ruefully. “No, I'm afraid not. I'm just a paralegal peon.”
“Paralegal peon, huh?” He looked away and scratched through his beard. “Don't think I'm ever met a paralegal peon before. Though I've met many a peon-peon in my time.”
“In your time?” Her smile was doubtful yet good natured. “Just how old do you want me to believe you are, Ben?”
His brilliant blue eyes seemed to twinkle from amidst the filthy graying hair.
“How old would you like me to be, Ms. Stephenson?”
“Old enough to know better?”
“Better than what?”
Danielle chuckled and unthinkingly took a seat beside him on the bench. Leaning back with a sigh, she fantasized briefly about hot sands and warm waters before realizing what she had just done. Looking up in surprise she found him watching her with a still, strangely arrested expression.
“Oh! I am so sorry!”
She started to rise again when he spoke, his voice low and quiet, heard only because she was less than two feet away.
“For what?”
Looking up, she paused as their eyes met. Despite their icy color, his were gently watchful.
“For invading your space without permission.”
“No apology necessary. Look, Danielle, why don't we dispense with any formalities and just be regular human beings sharing a bench?”
“Because you're not a regular human being, Ben.”
“Because I'm homeless?”
“No, because you may look homeless and act homeless.” She took a dainty sniff. “You may even smell homeless. But something's not meshing. Not true . It's like I'm staring at a face over a face.” Her hazel eyes turned shrewd. “You're not really homeless, are you?”
He remained lazily relaxed.
“What makes you think that?”
“I'm not really sure. Instinct, I think” She paused before adding with quiet confidence, “I've always been a good judge of character and you, Ben? I can tell you have plenty of good in you.”
He studied her for a moment and she had the impression she was being judged in some way.
“Alright then, how about I show you where I sleep down off Magnolia when I can't get into the shelter? Will that allay your doubts about me?”
“Do you mean where you sleep now, or where you sleep when you're not homeless?”
Suddenly she stiffened and her eyes grew wide as realization hit.
“You're a cop, aren't you?”
Well, damn! Though his expression remained sardonically amused, Matthew was, in fact, anything but. How the hell had she seen through his disguise so easily?
“What gave me away?” He asked sarcastically. “The chocolate doughnut sprinkles between my teeth? I really need to brush them more often.” He shook his filthy graying head. “I admit I've spent a lot of time in the company of The Blue, but it's never been as one of them.”
Which was the truth, as far as that went.
“I think you're lying,” she responded, “but I won't push it. No doubt you're on a case and it would be best if I just forgot about you.”
At that moment, a distinguished heavy-set man in an expensive suit emerged from the office building across the street. Seeing Danielle, he smiled and waved before getting into the backseat of an expensive sedan and allowing the driver to shut the door behind him. Moments later the car pulled away into the rush hour traffic and was soon lost from view.
“Who was that?” Matthew asked, already knowing the answer.
“My boss, Randall Bellamy.”
“Your boss, huh?”
Danielle nodded.
“Yes. He's an estate attorney.”
“Looks like he's a successful estate attorney.”
Again she nodded.
“He is. I've only worked for him since September, but he's been an institution around here for a long time. He's very respected in the community.”
“That's good to know,” there was no mistaking the sarcasm in either his voice or his suddenly glacial expression,“if I ever need help managing my millions.”
He rose abruptly to his feet, startling her.
“Well, Ms. Stephenson, it's been a pleasure but I have places to go and people to see. Maybe we'll run into each other again some time.”
And with that he turned and sauntered off down the sidewalk, turned left at the corner, and disappeared from view. Danielle was left speechless. What had that been all about? What just happened?
She remained on the bench a few moments later before the cold wind began to pick back up. Then she stood and walked away. In the opposite direction.
~
Two days later the chief pulled the plug on the investigation into Randall Bellamy's alleged fraudulent insurance racket using homeless men and women as policy owners who then disappeared, or turned up dead of “natural causes.” What had seemed like a sound lead on the police tip line had, in the end, proven to be mere whispers of innuendo and speculation, or more likely an attempt to discredit.
Matthew was philosophical about it. At least he hadn't managed to accumulate any truly strong evidence so it wasn't as if he'd had a whole lot more than his physical comfort and well-being invested. Instead, he'd walked away from his “home” of several months, leaving everything behind to be divied up in the way of the street, and went straight to his apartment. There he'd taken two steaming showers, pausing only when the hot water ran out. As he waited for the water to reheat, he'd ordered out for a cholesterol-laden meal, then he freed himself of several months of filthy, itchy beard. His hair would remain long, no doubt a needed part of whatever persona his next assignment would require. He'd scoured the odors of the street from his body and brushed his teeth until his gums nearly bled. Dinner arrived as he was combing his graying hair and he'd eagerly devoured the huge steak with its accompanying sides, a meal large enough to easily feed two. He figured his appetite more than made up for lack of a dinner companion. Then he'd fallen into bed, pulled the blankets over his head, and slept for almost twenty-four straight hours.
The following Monday he walked into the precinct and found himself nearly overwhelmed by the jovial Christmas spirit his fellow officers stubbornly cultivated in the face of their normally bleak jobs. From a speaker somewhere, The Muppets were singing We Wish You A Merry Christmas. At one festively decorated desk Kowalski was interviewing an attractive transvestite in a whimsical ugly sweater, while at another, equally well decorated desk, Beth Tipton, the most junior member of the team, was taking yet another statement from Mrs Crampton about the “hooligans” that kept tipping over her garbage cans and leaving her with a “godawful mess” to clean up. She reminded Beth once again that was something old people like her weren't able to do but with great difficulty and danger of breaking a hip should they fall. Mrs Crampton was at least seventy and well known for her strong fortitude. Not to mention her passion for competing, and winning, Akido tournaments against younger opponents.
“Hey Guntherson!” someone called, “Welcome back! You're just in time!”
Matthew grimaced as he collected the well seasoned University of Kentucky Wildcats mug from his desk that someone had thoughtfully decorated in his absence, and made his way to the coffee pot which, almost magically, was never empty. In the land of the University of Tennessee Volunteers, the mug was almost an abomination, but everyone was a good sport about it. Even when they were razzing him.
“In time for what?”
“Due to your long absence, you were named the lucky volunteer.”
Dread filled him.
“For what?” he asked again.
“You are this year's Santa Claus for the First Responders Ball.”
“Can't. I'm too skinny.”
“So is the real Santa until the missus fattens him up in time for the big night.”
“I have neither the missus nor the time to fatten up that much!”
For some reason, Danielle Stephenson's face appeared like a soft apparition from his memory. He'd thought of her a lot since their last meeting when he'd stormed off without an explanation. But how could he have explained to this woman he was so attracted to that his frustration over discovering the subject of an ongoing investigation into insurance fraud, and perhaps even murder, was the boss she so admired? That anyone closely associated with him was included in that investigation, even her?
“Guntherson!” The leutinent's deep voice barked from behind him. “In my office!”
Matthew sighed and took a quick slurp of coffee before setting down his mug.
Time to get to work.
~
The week passed quickly for both Danielle and Matthew. Christmas was only ten days away which helped spike theft of all kinds, including the annual appearance of the dreaded Porch Pirates, who brazenly helped themselves to boxes left by various carriers on porches and doorsteps. Often in the brightest light of day with someone inside the house.
As the office of Randall Bellamy, esquire, would be closed from Christmas to New Years Day, Danielle was kept busy meeting with clients needing to have documents completed and filed before the end of the month. Each time she made a trip to the courthouse a few blocks away, she found herself watching for Ben to appear somewhere along the street. Though she'd only met him twice he seemed to be taking up an inordinate amount of time in her thoughts. Had he been a transient, always on the move from city to city, state to state? Or had he become just another statistic of the dangerous streets? She hoped not, in either case.
At the same time she would be watching for him, however, she realized that she was “seeing” other homeless people for the first time. Not as many in this part of town as she was sure there were in other parts, which made her wonder why she'd been so blind to them because they stood out rather obviously from those wearing their respectability with entitled pride. There was the aged woman bundled much as Ben had been in layers of rags, mumbling nonsensically to herself as she pushed an old shopping cart piled high with what must have been the sum of her worldly possessions. Then there was a middle-aged man, even scruffier than Ben, wearing a worn heavy leather coat covered with military insignias and holding a sign that said he was a homeless veteran needing work for food. Only to be sent on his way by an impatient police officer. It wasn't that she was incapable of compassion. She had simply never given those like them much thought, and her conscience was feeling the oversight.
Her boss called her into his office upon her return from lunch on Friday.
“Yes, Mr. Bellamy?”
“Since we don't having anything pending this afternoon, I'll be closing up about two o'clock. I've already sent Miriam home.”
“Very well.”
“And, I have something for you.”
He handed her a long envelope bearing the name, address, and logo of his practice in one corner.
“This is in appreciation for all your hard work these past few months.”
She accepted the envelope with a smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Bellamy. This is kind of you.”
He grinned in response and relaxed back in his imposingly large executives chair. Danielle often thought it resembled more of a throne than a piece of office furniture.
“Not kind. Selfish is more like it.”
“Why selfish?”
“Because you're the best paralegal I've ever had in my employ and I want to keep you in my employ. Hopefully until we put ourselves out to pasture.”
“That's a long time.”
“Exactly.”
She chuckled and started to withdraw.
“Oh, and Danielle?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The missus wanted to know if you will be at the First Responders Ball tomorrow night.”
“I hadn't planned on it.”
“Then please plan on it. You work too hard not to go out and kick up your heels on occasion. And besides, my wife wants to finally meet 'the person behind the phone,' as she puts it.”
He handed her another envelope, this one a large square of heavy vellum.
“This is your invitation.”
“Thank you, again. I will be there if I can find something suitable to wear at this late date.”
“Good! Now, go finish up what needs finishing up then get out of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The next evening, Danielle entered the Grand Ballroom of the city's most prestigious hotel wearing a shimmery deep green sheath with a high neck and long sleeves. Her fiery up-swept hair revealed Mikimoto pearl chandelier earrings while matching pearl bracelets encircled her delicate wrists. She was unabashed elegance in appearance and cool, without being cold, in attitude, and many heads turned to watch her make her way across the room. Including Matthew Guntherson's.
He'd been attracted to her from the first, but now he found her simply breathtaking. He watched her as she was greeted by Randall Bellamy and a woman Matthew assumed was his wife, both dressed in formal attire and wearing pleased smiles as the two women were introduced. A passing waiter stopped to offer them glasses of white wine, followed closely by another offering an elegant selection of hors
d'oeuvres. Bellamy refused both while the women accepted and continued their small talk.
As the evening passed, both Matthew and Danielle circulated through the crowd, she unaware of his presence while he seldom lost track of her. He was uncharacteristically nervous as he gradually made his way in her direction, stopping often to speak with friends, colleagues, and those who supported the various charities and interests affiliated with First Responder organizations. Well groomed and attired as he was in his immaculate dress uniform, would she recognize him without his filthy, artificially gray-streaked hair and beard, and ragged street attire? She'd seen through the disguise easily enough. Had she somehow seen the man beneath as well?
It was nearly midnight when he finally had his opportunity to approach her. She had danced with several different men as the tuxedo-clad band had performed an impressive repertoire of classics, then finally begged off another offer and retreated from the ballroom in search of a quiet place to take a break. She'd found it in a quiet, softly lighted corner that harbored a few pieces of elegant, comfortable looking furniture and greenery. As he drew nearer he watched her lean back against her seat and close her eyes with a sigh
“Hello, Counselor.”
Her eyes popped back open and she abruptly straightened. Following the sound of his rich, baritone voice, she stared at him in confusion, obviously trying to place him. His dress uniform told her he was a member of the city police force but she didn't recall ever having seen him before.
“Excuse me, but do I know you?”
“In a way.”
She stared at him a little longer, then her hazel eyes met his brilliant blue ones, and widened in shock.
“Ben?”
“I was, for a while. But my real name is Matthew. Matthew Guntherson.”
Rising a little unsteadily to her feet she faced him fully with a doubtful expression.
“I don't understand. What's going on?”
He smiled wryly.
“Nothing now. But you were right. I'm a cop and I was working a case.”
“Then you disappeared.” Her confusion was giving way to irritation. “I was worried about you. I didn't know what had happened to you, if you had moved on or been injured on the street or even froze to death. I imagined all manner of sordid things that may have happened to you!” She eyed him closely. “What happened to your hair?”
He touched the side of his head where the thick sable length had been pulled back into its customary ponytail.
“It was dyed as part of my disguise. As soon as the case was closed I had it returned to its natural color.”
“It was quite an effective disguise.”
“Yet you saw through it.”
“Sort of.”
“Why sort of?”
She shook her head slightly.
“I just knew that something about you didn't ring true . There was something, I don't know, inherently good about you. Not at all what I would have expected from a, from a...”
“Homeless person?”
She nodded self consciously.
“Yes, I guess so. I'm ashamed by my assumptions about your character based solely on your appearance and the fact that you were homeless.”
“Many people think the same thing.”
“Maybe, but I try to be open minded about people.” She sighed. “It looks like I have some work to do on myself. You helped me begin, however.”
“How's that?”
“By being who you seemed to be. You opened my eyes and I started to see those living right in my midst and what their lives must be like.”
“You can't possibly know the truth.”
“No, you're right. I can't.” She gestured a little helplessly. “I earn my living helping people protect and bequeath their fortunes and legacies when there are those with neither. People who are ignored and despised, and who live on the margins.” She looked up at him, her expression earnest. “I want my skill and education to benefit them as well.”
Matthew smiled and took a step closer.
“I'm glad to hear that, Counselor.”
She grimaced then gave him a stern look.
“Danielle, please. I told you...”
“That you're just a paralegal peon.” His smile became a grin. “I remember.” He took a step closer. “So, Danielle, paralegal peon, esquire,” his grin widened as she rolled her eyes in exasperation, “what are you going to do about helping the unfortunates on the street?”
“I think I'm going to start by volunteering some of my time at Legal Aid. Then I'll see where that leads me.”
He nodded approvingly, his grin fading as his voice lowered to a murmur.
“That's an excellent idea.” He was now close enough that she could feel his body heat through the fabric of her shimmery green gown. “But do you know what I think we should do first?”
“No.”
He slid his hands down her arms and lifted them to encircle his neck.
“I think we should dance.”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes. Here. Now.” He slid his arms around her waist. “Just the two of us.”
From inside the ballroom they could hear the band playing some lively classic.
“What about the music?” she asked with a smile.
“We'll make our own.”
And he began to hum “Unchained Melody” as he led her in a slow circle while she laid her head against his strong shoulder. After a few minutes he drew back and gently lifted her face as his hummed melody gave way to musical lyrics.
“I've hungered for your touch,” his lips lightly brushed hers, “A long, lonely time,” they brushed again, “I need your love.” then he pulled her closer, until they were pressed together from breast to hip, “Godspeed your love...to...me.”
And at last their lips met, and held.
c. 2023
Unchained Melody lyrics copyright by Unchained Melody Pub. LLC
Written by Alex North and Hyman Zaret
A very interesting romance from multiple viewpoints. Beautifully written and coming to a satisfying conclusion except for a couple of things: was Randall Bellamy really involved in insurance fraud as expected? And, where is this budding romance going to take the two of them.
Therefore, I believe this may be the start of a novel because it's already approaching novella length.
Unfortunately, many of the homeless tend to be very bright people with bipolar or even schizophrenic tendencies that lands them on the street and even makes them unsuitable to live among society at all. I have been following some who have disappeared from prestigious universities only to be found years later on the street, the only place they feel comfortable in living. I cannot be convinced to join society again.
Every once in a while before I go to bed, I sing those lyrics… Only wishing I was as good as the Righteous Brothers.
Love is universal and not limited to the most perfect among us. In this collection of romantic short stories and poetry, love comes to those who are decidedly imperfect, who possess very real human flaws, scars, and challenges. Awaiting us as we are.
Erotic Interracial/ Reincarnation/ Suspense]
Gale Sinclair is a marriage counselor who has broken the cardinal rule of psychotherapy and fallen in love with his client, Zoelle Sutherland.
Danielle would never know what made her stop that day to speak to the homeless man. She'd never been a truly heartless person or consciously rejected those who lived on the street. She had, however, harbored some deeply held latent prejudices influenced by her right-wing, conservative upbringing. Prejudices she was completely unaware of because they had been born of nurturing from birth. But the man she stopped to speak with would change her outlook, and her life.
