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"New Town, Old Town"

by Morris Kaplowitz, (c)1996


Episode One: A Lake and Fountain

Go to Episode Two

Henry Jewell unlocked the door of his condominium on one of the upper floors of Heron House. He entered and threw his English tweed jacket on the upholstered chair he kept for the purpose, walking quickly to the large sliding glass doors which led to the balcony high above Reston's historic Lake Anne and it's famous floating fountain.

"I never tire of looking at that lake and the fountain," he said to himself. "It's an ordinary enough lake but somehow I never tire of looking at it." Henry Jewell was accustomed to the finer things and had lived in finer places, but he seemed unable to break the spell of this tranquil, but decidedly suburban lakeside location. Turning away from the expanse of glass, he walked toward the handsome cherry desk which dominated the living room and pressed a button on the answering machine. There were several messages. He hoped that one of them was from her.

"Hello -- Mr. Jewell -- I represent RIP Investments and I'd like to talk to you..." Henry Jewell punched a button and skipped to the next message.

"Henry, Harold. Need your help. Going to do something foolish. Call me."

"His compulsion to confess is upon him again," thought Henry, as he punched the button again to retrieve the third message.

"It's me. I'll be back tomorrow morning, Global 217, Dulles, 7:30. See you then...I love you!"

"At last!" he said out loud, switching off the machine. His gaze moved around the room -- the room upon which the two of them had lavished so much attention. The room with its tasteful, comfortable furnishings, it's paintings and prints, it plants and sculptures. Henry Jewell picked up a framed photograph of his beloved Thera and sighed. "I hope this is the last of it for a while," he said to the image in the silver picture frame. "I know you can't just sit at home indulging me with your presence, but there have been too many trips...too many...

" He placed Thera's picture gently back on the desk and returned to the balcony windows. His gaze wandered from the curve of the shops and condominiums at the head of the lake to the straight horizontal line of the dam at the other end. He looked at the water, which was a dull, gray reflection of a sky that promised rain. He thought of Eleanor LaRousse, and his grip tightened on the handle of the heavy sliding glass door. The thought was as gray as the water and as dreary as a rainy day in March.


NEXT EPISODE: Lucky With Words



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