Timing Is Everything by Greenbeans Part One The door slammed behind him as Rich raced up the stairwell. He was last as it is and missing the elevator didn't help. By now his morning charge had become a regular occurrence. Bursting through the door to the fourth floor, he continued on until he reached his little "office" -- a crammed cubicle no larger then a prison cell. "You're late," Steve leaned over the top of his office. "Wonderful grasp of the obvious," he muttered. "The boss has been by. She wants to see you," Steve passed over a cup of cold coffee. "Thanks," he gulped down the liquid breakfast quickly, trying not to taste it. After the sour breakfast he approached the boss's door. His solid rap was replied with a call to enter. "Ah, Mr. Stine, it's nice of you to join us this morning. Sit down." He promptly did as told. She didn't give him a second glance as she finished with the papers before her. She was a stunning young woman, especially in the red dress she wore this morning. Her shoulder length permed hair spoke of a playful side few men had ever seen. She had an intelligent face that could not tell of her true brilliance. "Now," he snapped to attention at her single crisp word. "How many times late have you been this week?" "Twice, I believe." "And you realize that this is only Tuesday?" "Yes, but --" she raised an elegant eyebrow at his hesitation, "but I was confirming reservations at your favorite restaurant for our anniversary." She threw back her head and laughed. "It's only been a month!" "The best month of my life Emily Bennett-Stine," he grinned broadly with pride and love. She was certainly a catch for someone like him and he didn't want to lose her for anything. "Some say that you married me just so you could get away with being late," she walked around her desk, then leaned casually against it. "Marriage has its advantages," he admitted. "Once the loan goes through and we move to the house on the west side -- no more excuses. I will see to that!" "Yes, ma'am!" He playfully saluted her. When Rich returned to his desk, Steve kicked under his desk against his legs to get his attention. "Of Kelley & Bennett, you certainly picked the right one to marry," he whispered. "Wouldn't you have worried if I tried to marry Kelley? She's almost seventy!" He replied. "No accounting for taste." Rich groaned at Steve's stab at humor, for both were accounting clerks. ***** Dinner was scheduled for eight. Emily looked at her watch -- 8:15. He was late -- again. Ah, but she would change that. She absently patted the package on the table. She had not forgotten either. It pleased her to no end that Rich had not. He may be late, but he was not forgetful. "Lack of time management skills!" Her father had decreed when he met Rich for the first time. He was enraged when he learned for their intentions to marry. Fortunately, Rich had avoided alienating him further by arriving to his own wedding just in the nick of time. Her mind went back to her gift: a finely crafted gold watch. She lifted it out and carefully examined the etching on the band: Timing is Everything. It had been for them. She checked to see if the timepiece was still in sync with her watch, which was in time with the clocks of Kelley & Bennett. Those with the New York Stock Exchange. Everything perfectly in time. "Madam?" The Maîte d' waited at her side, a bottle of wine in hand. "No, thank you." He left with a small bow. Maybe she should have if Rich was going to be much longer. ***** The man in question was sleeping quite soundly when the phone rang. "Rich? Are you alright? I've been trying to get a hold of you," Steve's voice crackled over the bad line. "Yeah, I'm fine. What do you want?" He asked, still groggy. "What do I want?! You asked me to wake you. If you're at home, then you're late for dinner with the boss." "Shit! I've gotta go. Thanks!" He hung up the phone and dove off the couch. ***** 8:35. This was the latest he's ever been. Did he actually forget? "Madam," the Maîte d' was back, "I am embarrassed to say this, but if you do not order I must ask you to move to the bar." "Will I get a table when my husband arrives?" He shifted from one foot to the other. "Never mind. I'll leave," she picked up her things and left a message at the front desk for Rich. She would go over to his place and see if he was there. ***** Rich spun the tires of his VW Bug as he raced for his late dinner engagement. ***** A chill went down her spine. One thing she could never get used to was the ghetto Rich called home. Then again, most of the city was a ghetto. "Come on," she groaned in annoyance. The light turned red and she was the only car around for blocks. There was a thump against her door. It swung open violently and a gun entered. "Get over!" A burly voice ordered. "What the -- !" She was stifled by a backhand across the cheek. He shoved her over into the next seat. Most other women would have submitted for fear of their lives. Emily Bennett-Stine is not one of them. She kicked straight out, heel pointed acutely. The carjacker let out a whoop of pain as she dug the heel in deeper. He dislodged the foot by breaking the ankle. Fortunately, that was not her only weapon. Talons reaped across his face leaving a distinct pattern. He roared in anger. Swinging around, he fired his weapon into the head of the now late Emily Bennett-Stine. ***** Rich slowed down because he spotted police cars up the way. As he passed slowly he read the licence plate, and his heart stopped. Parking on the side of the road, he ran to the nearest officer. "Emily?!" "Who are you?" The officer placed a firm hand on his arm. "Richard Stine. That's my wife's car," he pointed to the vehicle that was the subject of attention for several detectives. "This way, Mr. Stine," his face was solemn, but his eyes spoke of deep sympathy. "Detective, this is Mr. Stine." He looked Rich over and sighed deeply, "Show him." It had to be bad, but not dead. Oh God, please let her not be dead! The officer pulled a sheet aside to reveal Emily's perfect face marred by a single bullet hole. His heart sank into his stomach while he sank to his knees. Head in hands he wept. Male pride meant nothing to having his only pride and joy dead. "Mr. Stine, I'll take you home," the officer offered after several respectful minutes. He was in no condition to drive or protest. He followed silently. Arriving home, he fell onto the couch. The very couch he had slept on earlier that caused him to be late. If only he had not been late! He would have spent the night at Emily's and she wouldn't have come out here. Is there no mercy? Part Two He woke up the next morning, and remembered. His head pounded. His heart pounded. He had dreamed that Emily was still alive and that they had spent a romantic evening together. If only that were true. He rolled over to look at the clock. He was late for work. Work? How could he think of going to work? It was the only home Emily and he had ever shared. It was their home. He would go, she would want him to. The door slammed behind him while he sluggishly climbed the stairwell. He wasn't late for the elevator, he wanted more time to gather strength when he pushed through the door to the fourth floor. "You're late," Steve looked over the top of his office. "Yeah," he trudged over to his desk. Papers he thought he had finished yesterday were sitting there. "The boss has been by. She wants to see you," he passed over a cup of his awful coffee. "What did you say?" He nearly dropped the cup. "The boss wants to see you. You know, your wife." "Can't be, she's dead," he stammered. "Not unless it's been within the last ten minutes." "You're serious?" This must be a cruel prank, but even Steve wasn't the insensitive. "You're not. Hurry up!" Steve sat down with a huff. ***** He walked slowly up to the door to her office. His solid rap was answered with her sweet voice bidding him to enter. "Ah, Mr. Stine, it's nice of you to join us this morning. Sit down." He did as told, never taking his eyes off her. In his mind, he saw the image of her with the horrid blemish to her absolute beauty. "Now," his thoughts were shattered when she spoke again. "How many times does it make this week?" "Three, I believe." She gave him an odd look. "Three? Church does not count." "Ah, right--" he looked into her deep green eyes. "Rich," she walked around her desk to sit besides him, "are you alright? You look a little pale." She placed a testing hand on his forehead. He grabbed hold, pulling it down to his check. He perfume lightly scented the air. It was her! He leaned into her hand and kissed her palm. "Rich!" He looked up to her. She smiled at him! "Not at the office." "I don't know how, or why, but I'm the luckiest man alive!" He kissed her hand again. Her eyes glowed at his praise, but it was the truth. He loved her! "I made reservations for your favorite restaurant," he reminded himself that he needed to actually do it. She threw her head back and laughed. "It has only been a month!" "The best month of my life Emily Bennett-Stine," he smiled softly at her. "Some say that you married me just so you could get away with being late," she playfully tosled his hair. "Marriage has its advantages." "Once the loan goes through and we move to the house on the west side -- no more excuses. I will see to that!" "Yes, ma'am!" He reluctantly returned to his office. She was alive, but how? "Steve, what's today?" "Tuesday. No wonder you're always late." Tuesday? He was reliving Tuesday! He would be on time. Oh yes, he wouldn't let her come to his apartment and --. The unthinkable was left as that. ***** Rich hurried home after work that day. He wished, again, that he had the foresight to leave his formal wear with Emily. But it didn't matter, he would arrive to their date before she. He laid out his clothes on the bed and rushed into the shower. He gave himself a quick, but thorough scrubbing, but in his haste to get dressed he slipped and fell. A trickle of blood ran along his brow as he lay unconscious next to the toilet. ***** Meanwhile, Emily waited in a better part of the city for her tardy husband to arrive. ***** Rich groaned. The throbbing in his head made the walls shake -- at least in his mind. He made it to the sink to wash his face. Why was he in such a hurry? He dabbed blood off, and allowed his eyes to fall in and out of focus. His reflection in the mirror looked grizzly. The he saw the clothes laid out on the bed. Oh God! How long had he been out? With as much haste as possible he slipped into his clothes. Then ran out the door with his shoes untied and shirt unbuttoned. "Please start you piece of junk!" He rapped the hood of his Bug on his swing in. It started after several minutes of protest. If only he wasn't too late! ***** Emily unknowingly began he fateful trip to Rich's apartment. ***** Rich held his tongue when his car puttered and died. The fuel gage refused to give and inch, centimeter, any measure that would get him closer to Emily. The nearest gas station was blocks away. Maybe if he met her before she got too far... He ran. In the distance was a set of headlights. Emily? He ran faster. He has to make it, just has to! He watched her stop at the light and the carjacker come out of the shadows. "NO!" He lunged himself at the man. Startled at being caught, he spun around in time to catch Rich's fury in the face. The man moved to draw his gun, but Rich -- with the holy wrath of a man possessed -- caught his arm easily. With a twist he was on the ground, blood trickling from the claw marks on his face. "Richard!" "Drive away and get the police!" He ordered. The carjacker was down, but who knows how long Rich could hold him? Hopefully, as long as love-induced strength powered him. ***** "You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Bennett-Stine," a officer pointed to the carjacker in the back of his car. "We've been trying to catch this loon for months." "Thank you, Officer." He waved her off. "We did nothing. Feel lucky you're married to such a brave man. He arrived just in time."