Harold spoke up this time, clearing his throat, "Her name is Beatrice, my over-zealous wife of 25 years-as of tomorrow that is. I do apologize Mr. Kincaid, I have been attempting to control my wife's enthusiasm for that same length of time and have yet to determine exactly how one controls emotion that rivales the swell of a tsunami." Samson extended his hand to Harold and then to Beatrice and then graciously autographed the book. Harold lined up the camera to take a photo of his wife and Samson.
Samson seized the opportunity to once again speak to the nameless coquette, "Excuse me, miss, would you mind terribly to take a photo of the three of us together?" Eyeing him, she reached for the camera without giving a verbal response. As she was returning the camera to Harold, Samson pulled out Ginevra's Tour cards for the second time that day and gave one to the couple. "The best tour is in just a couple of hours. Even though this has been a traditional vacation for me the last eight years, I make a point to go on that particular tour to reacquaint myself with the city every year. I'd be honored if you'd be my guests today. Consider it my anniversary present to my biggest fan." Beatrice swooned as Harold accepted the card as well as the invitation. Glancing over Beatrice's shoulder, Samson was disappointed to see the woman who had captured his interest reading a small book instead of paying attention to him.
After chatting with the couple, all the while keeping Blue Suit in his peripheral vision, Samson realized they were coming to the last stop on the red line, in the Zattre district, quite a jaunt from his hotel on Cannaregio. Taking what he prayed would not be his last chance to speak to her, he said, "Miss beautiful-lady-in-the-sapphire-suit, should I not have the pleasure of seeing you again, I pray you have a beautiful stay in Venice and that you not don a Carnival mask thereby denying the world the experience of your beauty. However, I would be forever in regret if I didn't once again ask for your name."
Blushing, she smiled and replied, "Mr. Kincaid, I trust that I am not the only woman to have heard those words from you. Might I suggest that you find something more useful to pray for? Thank you again for the card. Have a wonderful vacation in Venice." Beatrice, having witnessed the exchange, poked Harold so hard in the stomach he doubled over, clutching his side in pain.
Not wanting give the appearance of a stalker, Samson decided to walk away, even knowing he would have to circle back around to that exact spot in order to catch a water taxi to his hotel.
(((Note to anyone reading: Would you like bigger chunks of the story each time, or is this a good amount to post?)))
Samson (Chapter One, Part Five)
"Oh, I am so sorry about that. That's not what I meant to give you." Was he blushing? Samson could feel his face growing warm as he practically ripped the tract out of the shocked woman's hand, replacing it with Gina's card. "This is the tour leaving in three hours. I'm not sure where you're staying...well, I hope you're staying in Venice anyway, but as I've said, I've been here many times and Ginevra knows her city. I don't get a commission or anything, I just want to make sure she stays in business. I mean, I'm not involved with her in any way, she's just a very good tour guide." The words seemed to be spewing out of his mouth like water out of Old Faithful. The last time he remembered this sensation was in high school when he asked Connie Phelps to the prom.
Willing himself to take a breath and slow down, he said, "My name is Samson Kincaid. Maybe you've heard of me? I'm a New York Times Best Seller? Hard-Cover Fiction. Actually I've been on the list several times." Samson continued to blather on about his various accomplishments and awards and failed to notice the girl of his dreams politely easing away. Not allowing her to escape, he extended his hand, "Forgive me, I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't throw it. Have a wonderful stay in Venice, Mr. Kincaid. Thank you for the bit of advice, and for the card." With that, a customs agent summoned her out of the conversation as Samson was beckoned by one on the opposite side of the room.
After quickly answering the official's questions, Samson hurried outside to catch the shuttle to the dock, where the rides to "The City of Bridges" awaited. Seeing the sapphire-suited beauty boarding the Agilaguna Line water bus, he decided not partake of his usual water taxi splurge and opted instead to join her, even without knowing which route this particular water bus would take. What he did know was that it would give him another chance to at least, hopefully, learn her name.
As the waterbus pulled away from the dock, every tourist-looking person with a suitcase had pulled out a map of Venice, except her. Unlike Manhattan, where the streets are in a grid pattern and logically named, Venice is a collection of winding pathways and approximately 400 bridges connecting 18 small islands. Priding himself in knowing the city well enough to give directions, something even locals struggled with, Samson confidently walked up to an older, obviously-American, couple who appeared to be having difficultly with their map. He introduced himself, asking if he could be of assistance.
Immediately the woman said to to the embarrassed looking man, "Harold, I told you it was HIM!" Then to Samson, "Mr. Kincaid, it is a pleasure to meet you. I've been an avid fan of yours since your first book Duality. I told Harold here I was certain that was you the moment we boarded the water bus. I have Four Hours with me; I haven't been able to put it down since Steve got the phone call from Renee that Sarah had been in the car accident. Oh! Would you mind terribly to give me your autograph and allow me to have a photo with you?"
Harold was obviously mortified but Samson couldn't have been more pleased, positive the object of his attention had not only seen this exchange, but was also well within earshot. "I couldn't be more pleased madame." Speaking a little more loudly than necessary to make sure Blue Suit could hear the comment directed to his smiling fan, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name, dear."
Willing himself to take a breath and slow down, he said, "My name is Samson Kincaid. Maybe you've heard of me? I'm a New York Times Best Seller? Hard-Cover Fiction. Actually I've been on the list several times." Samson continued to blather on about his various accomplishments and awards and failed to notice the girl of his dreams politely easing away. Not allowing her to escape, he extended his hand, "Forgive me, I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't throw it. Have a wonderful stay in Venice, Mr. Kincaid. Thank you for the bit of advice, and for the card." With that, a customs agent summoned her out of the conversation as Samson was beckoned by one on the opposite side of the room.
After quickly answering the official's questions, Samson hurried outside to catch the shuttle to the dock, where the rides to "The City of Bridges" awaited. Seeing the sapphire-suited beauty boarding the Agilaguna Line water bus, he decided not partake of his usual water taxi splurge and opted instead to join her, even without knowing which route this particular water bus would take. What he did know was that it would give him another chance to at least, hopefully, learn her name.
As the waterbus pulled away from the dock, every tourist-looking person with a suitcase had pulled out a map of Venice, except her. Unlike Manhattan, where the streets are in a grid pattern and logically named, Venice is a collection of winding pathways and approximately 400 bridges connecting 18 small islands. Priding himself in knowing the city well enough to give directions, something even locals struggled with, Samson confidently walked up to an older, obviously-American, couple who appeared to be having difficultly with their map. He introduced himself, asking if he could be of assistance.
Immediately the woman said to to the embarrassed looking man, "Harold, I told you it was HIM!" Then to Samson, "Mr. Kincaid, it is a pleasure to meet you. I've been an avid fan of yours since your first book Duality. I told Harold here I was certain that was you the moment we boarded the water bus. I have Four Hours with me; I haven't been able to put it down since Steve got the phone call from Renee that Sarah had been in the car accident. Oh! Would you mind terribly to give me your autograph and allow me to have a photo with you?"
Harold was obviously mortified but Samson couldn't have been more pleased, positive the object of his attention had not only seen this exchange, but was also well within earshot. "I couldn't be more pleased madame." Speaking a little more loudly than necessary to make sure Blue Suit could hear the comment directed to his smiling fan, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name, dear."
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