Coincidence by Design

By W. Scott Mitchell

Being unwilling to pay the required price for the leading role on Broadway, Leslie never envisioned the chain of events she would set in motion having destroyed the empire of Producer Lawrence Preston. Before December 19th comes to a close Jessica, Leslie, Kevin and Wallace will find their daily lives intermingled not only with each other but also with their place in time

• Language: English
• Publisher: W. Scott Mitchell
• Release date: Dec 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311960542

W. Scott Mitchell

W. Scott Mitchell came of age during the cultural revolution and movements that dominated the 1960's. It was not until the late 1990's when he began to write fiction. He incorporates an aspect of philosophy and psychology into each of his novels. The subplots are discussed on his website for readers to consider as they review his works. He believes the subplot is an important part of the work. Mitchel hopes to attract readers who examine everyday human character as the focus of attention to larger social and personal issues within the subplot. For example, in "Emily's Last Obsession" sexual content is used not for the sake of sexual content, but rather to demonstrate betrayal, self deception, and psychological instability. In the novel "Coincidence by Design", a mystical experience is a tool to examine life after death. If you enjoy a glimpse "into the mind" of the character, then Mitchell offers an interesting opportunity. However, if you are looking for "shoot em up...blow em up" every three pages, then you might want to look elsewhere. "My background allows me to develop characters who must confront issues common to us all. Reflected in my novels are the twists and turns we often take in life. However, the predictability we crave is often missing. I invite you to post your comments and questions on my website at http://wscottmitchell.weebly.com/ or on my Facebook page."

Book preview

Foreword

On December 19, five strangers will depart New York’s Penn Station on a train that is little more than a relic from a bygone era. Their appointment with destiny has already been written into the ledger, but like so many journeys, their destination is all but certain and the path is never straightforward.

Scott Mitchell offers a story of romance, suspense, and mystery that carries the reader beyond emotions and actions into the world of thought provoking outcomes. Contemporary social issues intermingle with the ideas of free will and destiny. The twists and turns allow us to question the motives and authenticity of the people our characters meet along their journey.

Coincidence

By

Design

Third Edition

W. Scott Mitchell

Copyright 2011 W. Scott Mitchell

Visit the Author online and share your reading experience

http://wscottmitchell.weebly.com/

Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Other Books by W. Scott Mitchell

Chapter I

Battery Park in Lower Manhattan

Throughout the day, gray clouds hovered over New York with an imposing aura of impending defeat. At least that was Leslie’s interpretation of her situation as she sat quietly on the green park bench in Battery Park, oblivious to those who passed her by. Her attention was focused on the docks while she waited patiently for the ferry that would soon arrive from Long Island. Leslie sat for perhaps twenty minutes with her stare alternating between the dock and her gloved hands folded in her lap. Leslie was so absorbed in her thoughts that she ignored the cold winds blowing in from the water. With her coat wrapped tightly at the waist and her blue wool toboggan pulled over her ears, her cheeks were all that revealed any reaction to the cold.

She was unaware of the older man who came and stood behind her, until the sound of his voice broke her silent vigil. Ah, a gloomy peace this morning doth bring.

Leslie looked up, but did not turn her head to face her acquaintance. Could it be that the master thespian has left the glamour of the theater district to join us poor souls in the real world?

His Scottish accent held a tone of self-confidence as he replied, Ah, fair maiden, some of my finest hours were spent upon the great stage. I play so many parts that, on occasion, I forget just which part I am playing.

Her reply was swift. Have you ever given any thought to what might become of you if the stage were no longer an option?

He answered her question without the slightest hesitation. My dear young friend, I will always have a stage. Not always an audience with thunderous applause, but there will always be a stage upon which to perfect my craft.

He moved from behind the park bench before taking his seat next to Leslie. She stared at him for several seconds until a broad smile replaced her somber expression. Her friend was wearing a dark blue robe and cone shaped hat with white stars randomly scattered about both. He held in his right hand a magic wand made from a kite stick and a yellow plastic star.

What on earth are you doing in that outfit? She asked with a sympathetic smile.

He crossed his legs revealing his worn tennis shoes before responding, Merlin has spent the day promoting the virtues of Broadway.

Leslie looked deep into his eyes as she replied, My dear magical Merlin, Broadway has no virtue anymore.

He began to wave his wand around in small circular movements. So it would seem. I read in the New York Times that Lawrence Preston is in a most unfortunate mess.

Leslie was both cold and quick in her reaction. I suspect his problems are no worse than he deserves.

Merlin continued to watch his wand. The newspaper said an unnamed aspiring actress may have been responsible for having started the collapse of his empire. He has been fired from his latest project.

Leslie was dispassionate when she replied, My father once said that if you don’t want to get dizzy, then don’t ride on the merry-go-round.

Merlin nodded, That must have been a child’s version of the old saying… what goes around comes around.

She paused to eye his costume before changing the subject. How long have you played the role of Merlin? You’ve been playing the part of a magician ever since I first met you.

Don’t be so quick to typecast me. I have played many significant roles, although I must confess, most of them lacked fanfare or great notoriety.

She looked away at the Long Island ferry as it approached. Then maybe you should give up acting and leave New York.

With her face was still turned away, Merlin took his wand and touched lightly on the top of her head. Just like you are getting ready to do?

Maybe I am. She replied with a tone of resignation.

He took a deep breath and considered her answer. I’m sure you know Lawrence Preston has ties to organized crime. In the most literal sense of the word, he’s an evil being. The aspiring actress who tangled with him would be wise to exercise due caution.

Leslie turned to face her magician friend. Maybe the aspiring actress doesn’t care any more. Maybe she thinks the dream wasn’t worth the run for the roses. Maybe she realizes that the ride was just not worth the fare. Maybe she understands that what she really wanted just isn’t available.

Merlin glanced at the ground. Perhaps she never looked in the right place for the right thing. Perhaps she never knew there really could be magic on Broadway. Perhaps she didn’t know that faith would be rewarded.

She smiled slightly as she replied. Tell me master thespian, does your wand possess enough magic to help an aspiring actress find true happiness?

He rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in the palm of his hand. Yes, I believe it does.

Leslie looked off in the distance before she replied, I wish that were true. I don’t like the real world anymore. Life’s not the way I always thought it would be. My Dad made me fight the good fight, yet I still get my teeth kicked out.

She turned to face Merlin. But I didn’t surrender.

And you never will. Merlin replied with a smile.

Merlin placed his arm around Leslie as they sat in silence for several minutes before Leslie stood and faced him.

He looked at his watch and then smiled. If you are going to meet Kate, then you really should be going now.

His comment surprised Leslie. How did you know I was going to meet Kate?

He also stood and started to walk away. You must have mentioned it during our conversation. Yes, I am quite sure you did. In any case, have a lovely afternoon.

###

Times Square, New York

Henry walked to the intersection of Forty Seventh Street and Broadway. He wore a dark blue train conductor’s uniform, his shoes shined to perfection. His short black hair, blended with shades of gray, lay partially hidden by his toboggan. Henry paused briefly, pulling a gold watch from his lapel pocket. The watch and the chain it was attached to were, like his shoes, objects that gleamed in the lights of Times Square.

He gazed across the street at the discount ticket booth. The line stretched down the block as people waited for an opportunity to purchase tickets to their favorite Broadway shows. The ticket booth was a gateway to the stars, the lights, the musical sounds, and the magic of Broadway. This small red and white plywood box of a building would be little more than an eyesore were it not for the implied prestige held through its association with Broadway Theater.

And what a gateway this ticket booth was. For it was here that those of lesser means could afford tickets to see the same shows which attracted heads of state, chairmen of the boards and others of society’s elite. Still, in this line wealth could buy no better position.

Men of greater means viewed their discount tickets as simply taking advantage of the laws of supply and demand. Despite personal interpretation, this small wooden ticket office was an equalization of opportunity. It was here that Wallace spent his afternoons passing out playbills for various theaters. He always had a quick joke for the men, a flattering line for the ladies, and a bit of magic for those that believed.

Henry first peered to his right and then his left. He turned and began his journey up Broadway. He paused briefly to look at the marquis of the theater when he heard a voice come from behind him. Maybe one day they put your name up there.

Henry’s attention remained focused on the marquis, but his voice revealed a note of skepticism. Maybe that’s true, but not today, Wallace. I most definitely have more important matters to attend to.

Time and New York winters had taken a toll on Wallace. His six foot-two-inch frame was now more than slightly bent. His beard, like his hair, was gray and thin. The skin on his face once tight and secure was now wrinkled and worn. His brown pants were falling over his shoes, sagging at the waist. His blue flannel shirt was drooping over his once broad shoulders. When Wallace spoke, it was in a quiet and almost labored tone. Despite his fatigue, his head still held high with dignity.

To be sure, Wallace was a deceptively intelligent man. While he lacked a formal education, he was quite observant, always paying close attention to his surroundings. He knew something about each play on Broadway. He was also much taken with current events. It was rare for him to miss the evening news programs, but quite common for him to yell at the broadcaster when he found the news objectionable.

Wallace loved Times Square and Broadway. He was given to the arts and had a love for the blues and jazz. Few plays ever opened that Wallace did not see at some point in time. He had met a number of the performers and many knew him by name. He especially enjoyed sneaking into a theater to listen as the pit orchestra rehearsed. Many evenings came and went with Wallace wandering from one theater to another staring wishfully at the performance posters on the front of each building. He always felt he missed his true calling in life, but accepted his fate with a touch of class.

Wallace leaned back and eyed Henry from head to toe. He looked a little suspicious of his friend as he asked, What are you doing with that uniform on? You ain’t been a conductor for fifteen years now.

I am taking the old Southern Crescent down to New Orleans tonight. Henry replied.

Wallace appeared confused. The old Southern Crescent? That train has not been on the tracks since nineteen seventy nine.

Henry nodded in agreement. That’s right Wallace, but tonight that train is going to make a very special run. Come with me. We’ll get a hot dog and sit on a bench for a while. I want to talk to you.

They continued to walk down Broadway until they reached the vendor’s cart. Perhaps it was the hot salty pretzels, or maybe the smell of onions, but whatever the attraction, a vendor’s cart would always catch Henry’s attention. He would meet Wallace three or four nights each week. Their long-standing friendship persuaded Henry to ensure Wallace would have something to eat and that his needs were being met.

Henry instructed Wallace to sit on the bench while he ordered their food and coffee. Henry’s deep voice and commanding presence often seemed at odds with his obvious compassion.

Henry glanced at Wallace while he was standing in the short line waiting to be served. He could see the distant stare in Wallace’s eyes as he waited patiently on the bench. Picking up his hot dogs, he made his way to the bench.

Henry spoke as he handed the food to Wallace. Did you see the doctor today?

Wallace took a bite of the hot dog and nodded.

Well? Henry asked, expecting an explanation.

Wallace swallowed with some effort and replied, He didn’t have much to say. You know Henry, something don’t seem quite right to me. Most of the old Southern Crescent train cars were torn down for scrap and the rest of them was put in train museums. Yet, you said you was taking that train out tonight.

What did the Doctor tell you Wallace? Henry asked in a firm tone.

Wallace wiped his lips with his forefinger and thumb before he responded. He told me you should go on down to New Orleans… and not worry about me.

Henry took a bite of his hot dog before he looked away for a moment and then at Wallace. This time he looked directly in his eyes without speaking.

Wallace looked away trying to avoid the inquisition. He continued to eat and drink, but could feel the penetrating stare from his friend. Following his act of unsuccessful avoidance, he looked at Henry and then down at the sidewalk as though he was trying to summon the courage to talk. He raised his head and spoke. He told me it was time to get my affairs in order.

Is he going to put you in the hospital? Henry asked.

Come on Henry. When my papa died, they put him in the hospital in Harlem. They let him just lay there and die.

Wallace looked off in the distance as he continued. Back then a black man couldn’t get into a good uptown hospital.

Henry responded, Things are different now and sometimes all a caretaker can do is to help you die in peace.

Wallace turned to him with a determined expression. You mighty damn right things are different. It’s all about money now. That cancer doctor I was going to see don’t take Medicare. Henry, I’ll tell you right here before God; being poor now days is worse than being black back in my daddy’s days.

Wallace we can find the money to get whatever you need. Henry replied.

After taking the last bite of his hot dog, Wallace looked down at the street. Henry, you have always been good to me. Do you remember when you used to sneak me on the train when you was working the New York to Chicago run? We had some real good times.

A smile came to Henry’s face. You remember the jazz clubs we went to?

Wallace closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench. He paused for a moment before he spoke. Oh yeah. I remember them like they was yesterday. I saw the Count playing in Chicago. Imagine that Henry, you and me just sitting in that club listening to the Count. Even the good Lord was smiling that night. Nobody makes music like the old boys.

Those were good times Wallace. Henry added with a smile. Sometimes when I walk around the city I hear people trying to make the old Jazz sounds. But the truth is, they won’t ever sound like the boys in Chicago.

Wallace opened his eyes and looked at Henry while speaking with a voice of authority. You telling me. You can’t find any soul in an electric piano. The way I see it, if you has to plug it in then you might as well turn it off cause they ain’t no heart and soul to it.

Did you ever get down to Memphis or New Orleans, Wallace? Henry asked as he tossed his wrapper in a trashcan.

Wallace closed his eyes once again. There was a long pause as he recalled a previous trip. I went down to Washington one time. There was a young black kid playing a trumpet outside the Federal Triangle subway station. His mind drifted away once again.

Henry began to stare down Broadway waiting for Wallace to finish his thought. There were times in recent months when Wallace had to apply more effort to keep his thoughts together. Wallace would soon be eighty-one years old.

Henry, that boy made sounds come from that horn that was like the voice of an angel. It was quiet and cold that night. There was a little echo as the music flowed between the buildings. He was playing for money, but nobody was coming by. I told him I didn’t have but a couple of dollars, but he could have all my money if I could just stay and listen to him play.

Henry looked up from his coffee. He was good, huh?

Wallace nodded. He didn’t take my money. In fact, he gave me five dollars out of his basket. He played for about an hour. I guess he was pretending to be homeless, but this boy had heart and soul. In another time and place, he would have been somebody. He could have played with some big orchestra or something. Yes Sir. He could have been somebody Henry, but the cards was just stacked against him.

There was a long silence. Henry watched as Wallace sat on the bench.

There was a quiver in Wallace’s voice as he broke the silence. That doctor got no hope for me, Henry. It’s kind of strange. I got nothing to speak of. You know what I mean, like I ain’t got nothing fancy. Yet I ain’t ready to die. How long you going to be away Henry?

Henry could hear the fear and desperation in Wallace’s voice. Wallace stared at him waiting for an answer. During all of the years Henry had known Wallace, he had never seen this side of his friend. Henry did not give him a direct answer. Instead, he replied, You are going to be fine Wallace.

They say there is a big snow storm coming this way tonight. You got enough money with you that I can have another dog? Wallace asked.

Henry noticed that Wallace was still having trouble breathing. Each labored breath produced a wheezing, gurgling sound. Henry stood with some hesitation hearing each breath Wallace took as he walked to the cart. You bet I do

When he returned and sat down Wallace continued. Henry, I don’t want to die out on the street. If you not here, I ain’t got nobody. Somebody got to be here to tell the folks down at the city office who I was.

Henry considered his comment for a moment. Who were you, Wallace?

I was the man that made the floors shine in the Empire State Building for twenty five years. Sometimes late at night I would go up to the observation deck and look up in the night sky. There are so many stars out there. I could just imagine myself flying through space. I would go to far off places. I would see things folks ain’t never seen before. Things folks could only dream of. Wallace replied.

Henry looked down the street. I didn’t ask you what you did. I asked who you were.

Wallace lowered his head and replied after a long pause, "I guess I was just another dumb black man who walked the streets of New York City. When I was a boy, I always thought there was a chance I could be somebody. My daddy brought me up here from Mississippi. Said a black man didn’t have a chance in the south. I don’t see much difference Henry. Back then in the south they hate me cause I was black, and up here they don’t have no respect for me cause I’m