<br><br><center>![364c916dd98050aaafead5744d1eb980--audrey-hepburn-pictures-audrey-hepburn-wallpaper.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmRNgDaoG1u9JVB4DB3q2dvmLtcsKqLLGcNJ1weKAV6cyW/364c916dd98050aaafead5744d1eb980--audrey-hepburn-pictures-audrey-hepburn-wallpaper.jpg)
Eileen Dunn aka  Audrey</center>



<br><br><center>*When I feel down, I change eras.*
—Pépé le Moko (1937)</center>






<br><br>I hold the birthday party for my five-year old niece on the Sunday at Stickley House and it comes off without a hitch. Adolph closes the restaurant for the afternoon and allows me to play the doting uncle.

There are clowns and face painting, pink and purple balloons, and all the cake and ice cream two-dozen little girls can eat.

Of course, Adolph is in his glory.

The sparkler-lit Birthday cake is presented with the ambience of subdued lighting and Adolph’s flair for drama. The little girls are delighted—and Adolph? Well, he just beams, basking in the oohs and ahhs.



<br><br> “It was a beautiful party, Paul—thank you.”

My sister, Carrie, hugs me, but really it was all Adolph’s doing.

“We’re going to have to find a woman for you, Paul,’ she chides, “it would be tragic for you to become a settled old bachelor.”

“Oh, you never know,” I tease, “there just might be someone waiting in the wings.”

“Really, Paul?” she enthuses, “I’d be so happy for you.”

I can see myself here next year with Eileen—actually, I can see forever with Eileen, if I let my imagination take control.

But first, I have to ask her out.



<br><br>The next week is hectic and I don’t see Eileen until the Thursday when she breezes in on a moody, wet afternoon with her country retro look. She’s wearing a brown Cahoots felt hat with floppy brim, belted trousers and a tucked-in button up.

My heart melts when I see her.

I make a bee-line for her, but am intercepted by a flustered Adolph, “Sorry, Paul, but could I impose on you to fetch me a bottle of Louis Roederer from the wine cellar—you know, the Cristal Brut 2005?”

“Sure,” I tell him. Eileen flashes me a lovely hello smile.

This is the day I am definitely going to ask her out.

<br><br>I head back to the stairs, navigating between boxes of fresh produce that have just arrived. I hate the gloomy cellars, but Adolph has amassed a formidable collection of fine wines that’s added to our reputation. I berate myself for taking him for granted.

I start down the stairs, but halfway my foot slides on what feels like a wet lettuce leaf and though I grab frantically for the railing I miss and pitch forward.

I literally see my life pass before my eyes.

<br><br>Suddenly, a hand reaches out of the darkness and pushes my shoulder. I fall sideways twisting my ankle, but avoid dashing my head on the concrete floor.

The next thing I know, Adolph and several concerned waiters are hovering over me.

All I can think of while I’m lying there, winded and bruised at the bottom of the stairs, is that a ghostly hand rescued me from certain death. But why?

I don’t whether to be grateful or terrified, but obviously, somebody or something wants me to stay alive.

<br><br><center>© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved</center>

<br><br><center>[Photo]( http://classicmoviegal.tumblr.com/post/76187527718/vintagegal-audrey-hepburn-c-1950s)</center>

<br><br>