Time Double

Camilla Valentine was the most beautiful girl in the world! It’s what Hawk Delano Thomas thought. “Camila, Camilla! I’m here.” There was a modesty in how Camilla Valentine was dressed, but a touch of glamor in her smile. Hawk was going to hug her even if in public view, that glamorous woman who was coming to Hollywood with the ambition to become a black movie starlet. But then he had a change of mind since there was luggage in both her hands, and it would be awkward and clumsy. “Hawk,” she said, marveling at Union Station, this timeless edifice of travertine marble and lovely sheen of highly polished dark wood walls and entrances and low hanging brass and crystal chandeliers creating a superb network of brilliant light; with strikingly tall square-shouldered windows of clear, clean glass, and shiny floors. There was tremendous movement in Union Station. It was a late day in Los Angeles, and the station’s rhythm was at a peak: a relentless flow of folk on the move. “You look so pretty, Camilla. I mean, you certainly do. “Thank you, Hawk. It’s nice to hear after such an—” “Arduous trip?” “Yes, she smiled. “A very long one,” Camila said with particular emphasis placed on long. Just the tone of her voice aroused Hawk. The voice, perfect tone, weight, projection, but, to be exact, not much of any regional influence even if Camilla Valentine was from Freeport, Oklahoma. Possibly, soon, she would explain to him that patent aberration: her being so obviously unaffected by Freeport, Oklahoma’s distinct regional dialect and diction. It would be comparable to him, a born and bred Californian somehow capable of being unaffected by Oklahoma’s fierce, gripping winters. “I’m so excited though.” “As well you should.” Hawk could feel her breath, as if it were a cool breeze descending over him—he was so innocently swept up in her excitement. There was the roar and grind of the trains in the distance in this world famous station, arriving, braking stiffly and noisily on the old, heavy tracks, and the trains departing, their tonnage ponderous, and then the full blast of a scream-pitched whistle yanked down by the master motorman signaling another trip out Union Station had begun; tickets punched, the train on a tight schedule, and the tracks clear and squared away for further people transport. Hawk saw a look of welcomed relief on Camilla’s face—probably pleased that the outbound train was leaving the station without her.