Prologue

There were plenty of vacant seats at the bar. I was seated in my usual spot; from here I could see all the action and still maintain a certain degree of privacy. I was early, nursing a beer, waiting for the regulars to dribble in. I’m a newspaper journalist. Or at least I was until the paper began to experience a deluge of red ink requiring a paring back of its reporting staff. I was one of the lucky ones; however, at least I landed on my feet and found a position as a freelance journalist for a group of monthly and quarterly magazines. It wasn’t the reason I got into journalism in the first place, but at least it put food on the table, a roof over my head, and allowed me the chance to maintain my friendships with the people I had worked with for over fifteen years.

Those were the people who would be coming through the front door any minute now. It was nearly five o’clock on Friday, time to kick back, raise a glass or two, and complain about work before leaving the city for home. Being single had some definite advantages. I had nowhere to be and no one to answer to, so I could come early and leave late, and hopefully not alone.

Upon finishing my beer, I was just about to order another, when in walked one of the most stunning women I had ever seen. She was tall, exceptionally tall, wearing a short black dress and four inch heels. She was a brunette, her shoulder length hair framing her face perfectly. Walking down the length of the bar, she effortlessly slid onto the stool on the corner, giving me a really good view of her incredibly long legs. This women was no stranger to exercise, her shoulders were wide, her waist narrow and her butt appeared to be solid, no jiggles at all. She ordered a beer, took a sip and seemed to be lost in thought.

‘Now what would such a classy lady be doing in a place like this, ‘ I thought. ‘She’s got to be waiting for someone, or she’s a high class call girl, who’s hiding out, killing time before she has to go meet her “date” for the evening.’

Either way I knew in my gut she would not be interested in the likes of me.

I kept my eye on her, waiting for her to get up and leave or for some equally good looking guy to join her. When neither event happened, I threw caution to the wind and, picking up my nearly empty glass, sat down on the stool next to her.

“Can I get you another drink,” indicating that her glass was also nearly empty.

“That would be very nice of you Mr. Evans. I was wondering how long I was going to have to sit here before you decided to venture over. May I say it took you long enough; I was beginning to develop a complex. I thought maybe I was losing my touch.” I didn’t know what to say, which is very unusual for me. She was obviously here to meet someone and that someone was me. I must have had a puzzled expression on my face because after draining her glass she laughed, looked me straight in the eye and said,

“Drew, I can call you Drew right? Drew, I have been reading your stuff for quite a while, and really like your style. I have a story that I’d like you to write. It’s a biographical piece.” She paused for effect, and then continued. “It’s about my life. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and I think now is as good a time as any for people to learn about me.”

Skeptically I answered, “What makes you think that your story is so interesting that people will want to read it?”

She sighed as if she was expecting my response and said in a hushed voice,

“Well, I’m over two hundred years old and I’m not from this planet.”

“Check please.”