<br><br> <center>*Once you hear the details of victory, 
it is hard to distinguish it from a defeat.
― Jean-Paul Sartre*</center>

<br><br><center>
![J.S._Grimaldi_(as_Scaramouch).jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmX4U4rWaGMg2gRppjffKh1yWXBPaT5v1ZXESFGyqdcrRW/J.S._Grimaldi_(as_Scaramouch).jpg)
*Scaramouche*</center>

<br><br>I was elated to evade the trap Shanon Holmes set for me, but it gave me no pleasure to tarnish the reputation of a war hero even if it meant saving my own skin.

I didn't know Maine Blair but I did know Paul Hellyer and had great respect for him. 

In his later years, Hellyer was held in disrepute by the media for his frank disclosures about the alien presence, but for me, he still retained his dignity  and credibility and because of his close association with Maine Blair, I would extend the same grace to him.

So, as much as I regretted casting doubts on Blair's credibility, I could still take some solace in the fact I dodged a bullet, both figuratively and probably literally.

<br><br>When I drove home that January afternoon, I was bone-tired―exhausted no doubt from worry about being drawn into matters involving national security and relieved  I was able to deflect the impact of Blair's intended disclosures by luring him into a discussion of the alien presence.

I had to shake my head in wonder though that two powerful men in international affairs would get enmeshed in such a curious and controversial subject.

I didn't question their competence but their judgment, but then again, I had learned over the years not to hold tightly to things that were outside my experience.

<br><br>It was just past three, chilly and sunny, when I pulled into my driveway. 

 Ordinarily, I'd go for a jog, but needed to decompress and reflect on the day's events and for me, the best way to do that was with wine before the fire.

But no sooner did I sit down when I received a text from Shannon inviting me to dinner at *Scaramouche Restaurant* to review the day's session. 

My first response was to beg off claiming exhaustion, but knew I'd have to confront her sooner or later, so there was no real point in putting it off.

*Be there at eight*, I texted back and skipped the wine in favour of a long, hot shower.

<br><br>*Scaramouche* had an excellent reputation for French cuisine but their pasta bar was equally famous. I looked forward to enjoying the latter if I still had a stomach for food after Shannon's inevitable testy review of my interviewing tactics.

"Glad you could come on short notice, Cole―I'm sure looking back on today you can guess my reaction."

"I think the interview went rather well," I smiled, talking a seat opposite her. 

I was grimacing  inwardly, although outwardly maintained an air of nonchalance. Nevertheless, I make a quick note to self: 

*The pasta bar is probably off the menu.*

<br><br>"What possessed you to get into weeds on the Roswell controversy when the topic was natural resources?"

"I simply followed Blair's lead," I parried, "If you replay the tape you'll see he raised the issue―I didn't."

"But you must have realized you were coming dangerously close to undermining his credibility?"

"I wanted Blair to dictate the terms and that was the direction he chose to take. I didn't want to patronize such a decorated war hero."

<br><br>She sighed and looked heavenward, "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know―I can't look inside you."

Her eyes flickered for a moment and seemed to register surprise. She grasped the nuance of my meaning.

"You're clever, Cole, I'll grant you that. Alex is still chirping about the switchboard lighting up with reaction from the audience. You got a bigger response than either of us anticipated. But you colour outside the lines―that gives me heartburn... Still, I always seem to have trouble with the good ones," she smiled cynically.

<br><br>At this point the waiter showed up and politely enquired, "Is madame ready to order?"

"I'll have steak tartare and another whiskey sour."

"And monsieur?" he asked obsequiously.

"I'll have the ravioli and a glass of cab sav."

"Excellent choice, monsieur. You will not be disappointed."

Shannon arched an eyebrow. "Really, Cole―ravioli?"

"It's one of their signature pasta dishes that's won awards."

She shook her head in disbelief." "You amaze me."

<br><br>Later that night, I was back before the fire with a glass of cab sav reflecting on the day's events.

Things had turned out better than I expected or deserved, I mused.

A cold rain was ticking against the windows  and I was curled up beneath an afghan feeling sheltered and safe.

But was it worth it after all to stray outside my comfort zone for a few dollars more? I sensed deep inside it wasn't.


<br><br>Shannon Holmes was not a lightweight actor―even her choice of restaurant signalled a deeper meaning.

A scaramouche was a stock character in commedia dell'arte. The name means literally  "little skirmisher". Is that how Shannon viewed me―someone she could trifle with and win?

But a scaramouche can also be clever or stupid depending on how the actor chooses to play him. If the play's the thing, as Hamlet would say, who was Shannon trying to trap―Maine Blair or me?

Yes, that was the question.

<br><br>I finally decided she was trying to trap Blair. 

There was a passage in Pascal's Pensèess wherein he described a scaramouche as a person "who only thinks of one thing. The doctor, who speaks for a quarter of an hour after he has said everything, so full is he of the desire of talking." 

That seemed to certainly be the case with Maine Blair whose tongue became his undoing.

My head was beginning to swim with all the possibilities.

And yet I couldn't escape the fact I had tugged on a thread and the entire garment of the universe might come undone as a consequence.

I had been dealing with weighty figures, and people in high places don't make misjudgments. There was something more to come―I just knew it.




<br><br> <center>To be continued…</center>

<br><center>© 2021, John J Geddes. All rights reserved</center>

<br><center>[Photo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scaramouche#/media/File:J.S._Grimaldi_(as_Scaramouch).jpg)</center>
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