by Gary R. Dobson


"Chapter One"


Rory David Munro stared out at Halifax, Nova Scotia’s harbor, through the rain dappled windows of his huge room, nestled on the 14th floor of the prestigious Grande Highlander Hotel. As he surveyed the scene, he noted the exquisite form of a tall masted schooner straining against the lines that secured it to the dock. Munro shivered in the solitude of his room as he observed the late October winds churning the waters around the vessel into foam capped marvels of intensity. "Perhaps I’ll stay in this evening," thought Rory as he pulled back from the window and turned his attention to the papers strewn across the desk in a corner of his room.

Munro had been contracted to deliver a series of lectures to the franchisees of "International Computer Centers" that was holding its annual convention in Halifax. Over the years, he had established himself as an expert in the field of franchise development and operations. Companies throughout North America paid rather substantial fees to have Munro deliver seminars to their franchisees regarding the business of local operations, sales and marketing.

This trip to the jewel of Canada’s maritime provinces was but one of 20 such excursions, to clients based across North America, he had made this year. Over the next two months, he was contracted to present seminars in a host of cities. There had also been inquiries from a number of European based firms, interested in utilizing his services, but he was still in negotiations with them and no contracts would be forthcoming until the middle of next year.

As the 6’1", well built and ruggedly handsome sales professional thumbed through a stack of papers on the desk, he let out a sigh and thought, "I really need to work on this material tonight, but, ah, I’ll get to it in the morning." Rory reached for a glass, stripped the paper covering from it and walked over to a credenza where he had placed a bottle of fine Scotch. He poured a shot of the exceptional single malt treasure into the glass and raised it to his lips. As the powerful warmth of the alcohol tantalized his throat, he turned and headed over to the huge bed.


Rory took another sip of the Scotch, set the glass on the end table and stretched his drained body out on the bed. As he felt the effects of the alcohol begin to soothe his taut muscles, a torrent of memories stabbed his heart with a vengeance. He desperately tried to turn his thoughts to a review of the speech he had given this day, but relief was not to be his. As he feverishly attempted to block her from his mind, the vision of Cynthia Miles entered and took control of his senses, once again. Rory’s body and soul began to shiver in the warmth of the hotel room.

As he silently begged the woman, he had shared love with for so very long, to allow him to finally recover from the torturous despair of their recent break-up, memories of Cynthia played havoc with his heart.

The soothing effects of the Scotch were unable to combat Rory’s journey back to the moment when his lover had stammered out the words Munro would not, could not erase from his soul. "Rory, I care for you, but can no longer be a part of your life. I’ve found another, someone who will be with me for more than a few days every two weeks. He loves me, Rory, and I am in love with him."


With those final, excruciatingly devastating words, Cynthia Miles turned towards their apartment door and left the shattered remnants of Rory’s dreams behind.

It had been 10 months since his love for Cynthia had been summarily rejected, but Rory had not found relief in that time. He had accepted speaking engagement contracts which were not ones he might have agreed to in the past, but at least they kept him out of Chicago, away from where Cynthia also resided with her new lover. He could leave the city behind, but memories of what had been, traveled with him and stabbed daggers into his heart no matter where he went.

It was only when he was on stage, delivering dynamic seminars to throngs of elated franchisees, that his pain subsided and he could concentrate on his work. Upon returning to his hotel room at night, however, the searing pain of his assaulted heart would return with renewed force and he’d endure yet another dream shattered sleep.


As the sweat drenched sheets of the bed chilled his body, his soul would be blasted with an inferno of memories, ones that would haunt him throughout the night. "Cynthia, you can’t do this! Oh, God, please give us another chance. We’ve been together for three years and I know we can make it work again."

In the morning, after the nightmares of his tortured sleep had exhausted his mind and body, he’d awaken and desperately try to prepare himself for another day of presenting superbly confidant and brilliant speeches to thousands of admiring convention attendees. They’d applaud the talents of this perfectly composed franchise expert who commanded their attention from the stage of power, fully controlled by Rory David Munro.

To the polished speaker, it was all theater and he was the accomplished director and actor of the play. In the stark loneliness of his hotel room, memories of Cynthia took control and, every night, produced the despair ridden script of his pain.


As Rory lay on the bed in his room, overlooking Halifax’s harbor, he reached for the glass of Scotch and downed more than a few drams of the precious single malt liquor, perfectly distilled in the highlands of Scotland. Trying to compose himself, he gazed about the room until his eyes came to rest upon the stack of papers comprising his notes for tomorrow’s seminar.

He dragged himself from the bed and walked over to the oak desk where a shaded lamp cast a subtle glow on the first page of a speech entitled "Local Marketing Plans and Procedures." Rory settled into the green suede covered chair and began to study his notes.

For over an hour, Rory poured over his speech, rehearsing the material he’d presented at least 100 times during the past few years. The words were as familiar to him as the final pleas he had deluged Cynthia with two months ago when he had made one last effort to coax her return. "Hi, this is Rory. Um, Could we get together for lunch and talk about.." Cynthia had interrupted his offer with a chilling reply. "Rory, it’s over and I’m going to marry Peter. Get on with your life."


As the click of the telephone receiver echoed through Rory’s soul, he realized that she would never return to him, yet still he’d have to cope with so many more nights of sorrow and need.

As Rory closed his eyes and began to once again try to push thoughts of Cynthia from his mind, the telephone on the desk rang with a chiming retort that caused him to instantly pick up the receiver and bark "yes, who is this?"

"Mr. Munro, good evening, this is Victoria calling from the concierge desk," responded the exceedingly pleasant sounding young lady.

"Oh, uh, yes, Victoria," answered Rory, immediately softening the gruffness of his voice. "How are you this evening?"

"Quite well, Mr. Munro, and I’ve got good news for you!"

"Oh," replied Rory while rubbing his eyes and trying to settle his nerves. "What would that be?"

"The other night, when you checked in, Mr. Munro, you asked if there was anything special that might be going on, this evening, in the city? Well, there is and I’ve got a ticket to a play, if you’d like to pick it up and attend the 8pm performance."

Rory thought about the offer for a moment and responded, "thank you, Victoria, but I’m a little tired and will probably go to bed early tonight."

"I understand, Mr. Munro, but the show will only last two hours and the theater is right around the corner. I really think you’d enjoy it, sir. It is a production of "Brigadoon" and is being put on by a very accomplished local group. In fact, my friend, Shona MacKenzie, is the lead actress and she obtained this ticket for me. And guess what? She’s offered it at no charge. We go back a long way and she’s very kind to me."

"That was good of her, Victoria," answered Rory. "Give me a minute, would you?" Rory cupped his hand over the receiver, took a deep breath and considered the offer. He really didn’t want to go out tonight, but the prospects of remaining in his room and getting an early start at enduring another night of painful memories regarding his break-up with Cynthia was much less enticing.


"Brigadoon", you say. Well, I’ve never seen the play, but have always enjoyed the film. Hmm, okay, you sold me. I’ll stop by and pick up the ticket on my way out. Thank you, Victoria. I do appreciate this."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Munro. I know you’ll enjoy the production. Shona is absolutely wonderful and plays Fionna even better than Cyd Charisse did in the movie! Mind you, I’m rather biased about my friend! Oh, and by the way, the dress attire is casual, so don’t bother putting on a suit. I’ll see you shortly."

Rory put down the receiver and stretched back in the chair. He had spent last evening attending the gala for the franchisees and had returned to his room well past midnight. Following today’s series of seminar presentations, he was exhausted and should probably try and get some rest rather than attending a play. He knew, however, that thoughts of Cynthia, tonight, were even stronger than they had been recently. There was no question, in his mind, that he’d not enjoy a pleasant evening in his hotel room, thus it made sense to venture out and try to relax.


As he had mentioned to Victoria, "Brigadoon" was a film he’d always appreciated and found to be uplifting. "Ah well," thought Rory, "even if it is only a mildly entertaining production, it will be better than sitting in this room going over a speech I memorized a long time ago."

Rory undressed and headed for the bathroom, stopping along the way to check the time. He had one hour to shower, shave, throw on a sweater and pants, pick up the ticket and get to the theater.

He grabbed a luxurious, white towel off of the rack and threw it on the gleaming countertop. Then he stepped into the shower, adjusted the hot and cold spigots and instantly felt the soothing jets of water massage the muscles of his arms, legs and back. He raised his face upwards and allowed the dancing waters to coat his features in a downpour of energy revitalizing power. Rory covered himself in a foam of soap suds and then quickly rinsed off while feeling the final remaining effects of the Scotch evaporate from his senses.


After stepping out of the shower, Rory toweled himself dry and then reached for the shaver. As he roamed the electric razor over his well chiseled face, he momentarily gazed at his body’s reflection in the mirror. To virtually everyone he knew, Rory David Munro was considered to be a very attractive man, at least 7 years younger than his age of 38. His taut body had been well honed by years of exercise and careful dieting. His eyes were a deep "Paul Newman-like" blue and seemed to twinkle when talking to friends and clients alike.

Rory reached for the blow dryer and began to groom his dark brown, wavy hair which was sprinkled with just the right amount of gray. He then brushed his brilliant white teeth which were very healthy, courtesy of the six month checkups performed by his dentist. Yes, everyone admired Rory’s appearance and he knew it was important to keep it that way if he was to continue presenting himself as a very professional and self confidant speaker.

He returned to the bedroom and put on a white, Scottish wool sweater, brown dress pants, socks and shoes. After briefly checking his appearance in the mirror, he pocketed his key, turned off the light bar over the bed and left the room. After walking down the plush carpeted hallway, he rode the elevator down to the main floor and then stopped at the concierge desk.


"Good evening, Victoria. It is great to see you again. Thank you for offering me the ticket."

"Oh, Mr. Munro," smiled the sparkling eyed and very attractive young lady. "The pleasure is all mine. I just know you’ll enjoy the play and, of course, the talents of my friend, Shona MacKenzie. She is simply wonderful along with being THE BEST veterinarian in town!

She’s been acting with our top rated local theatrical group for many years and is renowned from here to Cape Breton. And…hmm, look at the time! You’ve only got about 15 minutes so I’d better quit rambling on and let you go. The theater is right around the corner. Take a left out of the main entrance, walk a block and turn to your right. You can’t miss it. It is called The Royal Haligonian Theater. Here is your ticket. Please have a great evening!"


Rory bid the ever smiling Victoria a cheery thanks, turned towards the hotel’s main door and walked out into the cool and damp air of the night. Within five minutes, he was standing at the main entrance to The Royal Haligonian Theater where he momentarily stared up at the marquee. In huge block letters, ringed by what seemed to be millions of lights, the sign read "Brigadoon, starring Trevor Sinclair, Shona Leigh MacKenzie and Peter Johnson."

After standing in line for not more than a minute or two, Rory presented his ticket to a formally attired usher who then guided him into the dazzling and cavernous theater. Along the way, the usher pressed a glossy program into Rory’s hand and showed him to his assigned place in the middle of the fourth row.

After settling himself into a dark blue crushed velvet-like upholstered seat, Rory allowed his eyes to survey the auditorium. As he gazed skywards, at least ten majestic crystal chandeliers greeted his eyes in a blaze of light, against an ebony ceiling, blanketed with mirrored tiles.


The walls of the theater were a vibrant red and festooned, every 20 feet, with quite intense looking, gold leafed concrete lion heads. They seemed to be quite content staring out, with pride and dignity, at the, by now, completely filled auditorium. Rory was suitably impressed with the grandeur of the theater.

For a few minutes, the fifty piece orchestra went through its warm-up procedures, complete with a vigorous plucking of violin and cello strings, polite and somewhat muffled poundings on a variety of percussion instruments, a tinkling of piano keys and somewhat annoying bleats of numerous horns. Rory patiently arose from his chair and allowed a couple to pass by on the way to their seats.

Having decided to spend the remaining moments, prior to the overture being introduced, Rory thumbed through the program that had been presented to him. He scanned the front page, virtually covered with a slew of credits. Then turning to the cast section, he read the brief biography of the actor who would play "Tommy" in the production. "Trevor Sinclair," the program read, "is based in Saint John and has appeared in numerous plays presented throughout the maritime provinces as well as in the eastern United States. This accomplished performer…" Rory quickly lost interest in reading any further and began to turn the page.


Rory David Munro had dated numerous stunning women in his time. Many of whom had been or were still models of great note. He’d always appreciated the elegance and remarkable appeal of a truly spectacular and charming lady. None, however, absolutely none of them came remotely close to the extraordinarily beautiful woman whose picture was presented before Rory’s startled eyes as he gazed in wonder at the actress who was about to play Fionna. Shona Leigh MacKenzie’s photograph was the most enchanting sight Rory had ever seen. At that precise moment, the lights of the theater went down, the orchestra launched into the overture and the curtain began to rise. Rory struggled to catch his breath.

(Gary loves to hear from his readers so please email him)

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