avail. Finally, with the help of a university professor friend, he'd gotten what he'd been looking for. Only to be greeted by the beep of an answering machine.
He'd left three messages: asking her to call; asking her to dinner; asking her to meet him this evening for the televised finale, given that Millennium Eve would be his last official day with WNN and he'd be leaving for the States shortly. His last invitation was days ago and he'd heard nothing. Yet, he'd sincerely believed he'd made a favorable first impression. He'd
felt
the chemistry.
His feet were in no way as light as his heart as he tripped over squatters in the stairwell, nearly taking a nasty fall. Undaunted, he pressed his way out into the square, fearful he'd lost her in the crowd. But there she was, waiting for him, smiling with those appealingly full and sensual lips. He reached through the last barrier of people and drew her safely to him. Wrapping his arm snugly around her shoulders, he worked their way back to safety, shielding her protectively from the buffeting crowd.
Struggling once more past the loiterers in the stairwell, at last reaching the sanctuary of the makeshift WNN news room, he closed the noise and turmoil behind them. Turning to her inside the door, his eyes were aglow with delight and adrenaline.
“I didn't think you'd gotten any of my messages,” he said, still out of breath from his exertion.
“I hadn't until yesterday,” Anke explained. “I live in Jerusalem, you know. I was here all week.”
This was good, Feldman concluded. She hadn't been ignoring him. “It's great to see you, Anke, you look wonderful!”
And she did. Her thick hair was straight now, pulled back loosely and held up with a simple clip. It didn't appear as if she were wearing makeup, not that she had any need. Hers was that exceptional complexion with the healthy gleam of a natural tan.
It intrigued Feldman how each time he saw her she looked so different and yet so gorgeously the same. There was a versatility to her beauty that slipped dimensions. Tonight, she exhibited a more casual, girlish demeanor. As he looked into her face, he saw a sweetness, almost an innocence, that made her feel far more familiar than their brief acquaintance gave him any right.
“So you live here in Jerusalem?” Feldman confirmed. “Where?”
“Yes. On the North Side, but I keep an apartment in Tel Aviv when I'm attending classes.”
A rather expensive arrangement, Feldman surmised. “How did you find me here in this crowd?”
“When I got your messages”—and she laughed at this, perhaps finding Feldman's somewhat awkward invitations amusing—“I tried to reach you at your office and they told me you'd be out all day. They were kind enough to give me your location here.”
From over Feldman's shoulder came the mischievous voice of Breck Hunter. “So, Anke, you decided to come spend the last hours of planet earth with us?”
Anke looked past Feldman and smiled. “Sure. You seem to have the best seat in the house.”
“Catered, too,” Cissy McFarland added, and was introduced holding a bulging paper sack. She invited their new guest to join them in some kosher box dinners.
On the way to the dining room to join the rest of the crew, Cissy held back, elbowed Feldman's side and whispered up to him, “She's gorgeous! Where did you find her?’
Feldman shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly with a sly smile.
Over bagels and sandwiches, and thanks to Hunter and Cissy's unrestrained curiosity, Feldman was able to fill in some important gaps about his new acquaintance.
“So tell us a little about yourself, Anke,” Cissy suggested.
“Yeah,” Hunter intruded, grinning, “the standard stuff. You know: age, weight, measurements.”
Cissy shot the brash cameraman a scowl.
‘I'll give you a partial answer.” Anke laughed, taking no apparent offense. “Twenty-seven.”
“And are you married, engaged or otherwise attached?” Hunter persisted.
“Give her a
He'd left three messages: asking her to call; asking her to dinner; asking her to meet him this evening for the televised finale, given that Millennium Eve would be his last official day with WNN and he'd be leaving for the States shortly. His last invitation was days ago and he'd heard nothing. Yet, he'd sincerely believed he'd made a favorable first impression. He'd
felt
the chemistry.
His feet were in no way as light as his heart as he tripped over squatters in the stairwell, nearly taking a nasty fall. Undaunted, he pressed his way out into the square, fearful he'd lost her in the crowd. But there she was, waiting for him, smiling with those appealingly full and sensual lips. He reached through the last barrier of people and drew her safely to him. Wrapping his arm snugly around her shoulders, he worked their way back to safety, shielding her protectively from the buffeting crowd.
Struggling once more past the loiterers in the stairwell, at last reaching the sanctuary of the makeshift WNN news room, he closed the noise and turmoil behind them. Turning to her inside the door, his eyes were aglow with delight and adrenaline.
“I didn't think you'd gotten any of my messages,” he said, still out of breath from his exertion.
“I hadn't until yesterday,” Anke explained. “I live in Jerusalem, you know. I was here all week.”
This was good, Feldman concluded. She hadn't been ignoring him. “It's great to see you, Anke, you look wonderful!”
And she did. Her thick hair was straight now, pulled back loosely and held up with a simple clip. It didn't appear as if she were wearing makeup, not that she had any need. Hers was that exceptional complexion with the healthy gleam of a natural tan.
It intrigued Feldman how each time he saw her she looked so different and yet so gorgeously the same. There was a versatility to her beauty that slipped dimensions. Tonight, she exhibited a more casual, girlish demeanor. As he looked into her face, he saw a sweetness, almost an innocence, that made her feel far more familiar than their brief acquaintance gave him any right.
“So you live here in Jerusalem?” Feldman confirmed. “Where?”
“Yes. On the North Side, but I keep an apartment in Tel Aviv when I'm attending classes.”
A rather expensive arrangement, Feldman surmised. “How did you find me here in this crowd?”
“When I got your messages”—and she laughed at this, perhaps finding Feldman's somewhat awkward invitations amusing—“I tried to reach you at your office and they told me you'd be out all day. They were kind enough to give me your location here.”
From over Feldman's shoulder came the mischievous voice of Breck Hunter. “So, Anke, you decided to come spend the last hours of planet earth with us?”
Anke looked past Feldman and smiled. “Sure. You seem to have the best seat in the house.”
“Catered, too,” Cissy McFarland added, and was introduced holding a bulging paper sack. She invited their new guest to join them in some kosher box dinners.
On the way to the dining room to join the rest of the crew, Cissy held back, elbowed Feldman's side and whispered up to him, “She's gorgeous! Where did you find her?’
Feldman shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly with a sly smile.
Over bagels and sandwiches, and thanks to Hunter and Cissy's unrestrained curiosity, Feldman was able to fill in some important gaps about his new acquaintance.
“So tell us a little about yourself, Anke,” Cissy suggested.
“Yeah,” Hunter intruded, grinning, “the standard stuff. You know: age, weight, measurements.”
Cissy shot the brash cameraman a scowl.
‘I'll give you a partial answer.” Anke laughed, taking no apparent offense. “Twenty-seven.”
“And are you married, engaged or otherwise attached?” Hunter persisted.
“Give her a
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