Chapter 1: The Party

Emma Foreman stood out among all the other women at the cocktail party. She was a Kate Beckinsale look alike. Tall, slim, and beautiful. She wore the little mid thigh black dress, black four inch heels, two strands of opera pearls, pearl studs in her ears, and a small watch on her wrist. Her long black hair was pinned up. She wore red lipstick & red polish on all twenty digits. She tried to listen to five men speaking to her all at once. She tried to pay attention but found it all but impossible. So she used the excuse that all women had since the beginning of time.

"If you don't mind, I need to use the ladies room." she backed away in a graceful manner. She found her place of refuge and sat in the stall. She let go just a few drops then spent time at the mirror to check her hair and makeup. Though she didn't do anything to enhance her pretty face, she took out a tube of lip gloss and added a little to her kissable lips. 'I could go for a nice little smooch right now, ' she thought, putting the tube away. But there wasn't anyone there that night to give her that smooch. Her recent breakup with Pete didn't upset her. He was an arrogant ass and felt she was better off without him. It gave her freedom but she was lonely in the two weeks since she severed ties with him.

Once outside, she did not return to the discussion group. Fortunately two attractive women had joined the bevy of men so she was not missed.

"Not so great a view," a man stepped up to her.

Emma looked across the street to see a building much like the one they were in. Apartments on the upper floors, stores on the ground one. She glimpsed at the street below and saw a shoe store wondering if there might be anything worthwhile. Not wanting to be impolite, she met his eyes. "No, not very scenic at all," she said. She looked upon a man, not attractive nor unattractive, a little shorter than her six foot frame in four inch heels. He had short wavy blonde hair with blue eyes, an average masculine face. His one nice feature, in her view, he was a stocky man. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, most likely strong biceps under his suit coat. His hair looked like a family of robins could built their nest there.

"Are you from here?" he asked. "By the way, I'm Tim Davis."

"I'm Emma Foreman, it's nice to meet you." Neither bothered to shake hands with the other.

"Likewise," he replied.

"To answer your question. I'm here in Chicago by way of Kansas. I attended the University of Kansas, you?"

"Right here in Chicago by way of Spokane. I attended Washington State."

"What do you do?" she asked.

"I look after my uncle's businesses, he's a quadriplegic." What Tim did not mention that his Uncle Bernard had Lou Gehrig's disease and he would be inheriting the conglomerate and its subsidiaries which he had not fathomed what his Uncle had built. Bernard had four marriages, produced a son who had accidentally killed himself by way of a drug overdose. Bernie, Jr. was set to inherit a great deal of wealth but the cocaine shortened a promising life and ruined his Uncle Bernard's future plans. He had always liked his nephew from his famous sister's side of the family.

"Is he ill?" Emma Foreman asked.

"He has Lou Gehrig's Disease," Tim Davis revealed. As a youth, he always admired his uncle because he was one adult that paid attention to what the boy had to say. He had taught Tim the game of chess. "It's very easy to learn but very hard to master," Tim recalled his uncle's words. No truer words were ever spoken about the game.

"I'm so sorry!" she replied.

"Yeah, he's suffering but he doesn't have to worry about his businesses. I am at the top of the heap but he picked some pretty good men and women to help run it. They've been a great help to me. More than they'll ever know."

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked, pointing to a small empty plush leather sofa. "I promised to make an appearance tonight for a special friend of mine. I was about to bail out but I have nothing better to do at home. These high heels are making my feet a bit sore."

"No problem," he grinned, happy that he had made one contact this evening. "I know that heels can be painful at times but they really enhance a woman's legs When she wears them."

They walked across the varnished wooden floor and claimed the seat. It was just large enough for both with about eight inches between them. She crossed her shapely legs, put her clutch purse down by her feet and accepted a glass of champagne from a lady in a maid's uniform.

"What do you do?" Tim asked.

"I'm a journalist. I work for the Chicago Tribune."

"Oh? What do you write about?"

"Mostly human interest stories. About people who have fallen on hard times or those who have pulled themselves up by their boot straps and achieved their American dream despite all of obstacles in their way."