THE TOKEN by Tamara Blodgett

hesitate. Actually, the whole situation makes me hesitate, and I have a crazy urge to run off in the opposite direction.
    I don't.
    “Please.” He sweeps an arm forward and guides me by my elbow to the back of the limo.
    I'm so glad for my ten years of ballet before height stole my dreams. I glide down off the curb into the street and fold into the limo easily.
    It's empty. I turn to the limo driver. “Where is...” I don't know how to refer to him.
    The little old man inserts my missing moniker smoothly, “Mr. McKenna?”
    I nod.
    “He awaits you at our destination,” he replies and softly shuts the door.
    I survey him as he leisurely strolls around the front of the limo and opens the door to slide in.
    I realize I don't know his name.
    I lean forward and tap the glass partition, my rear in the air and my knee planted on the seat across from me.
    The glass opens, and his watery blue eyes meet mine. “Yes, Ms. Mitchell?”
    “What is your name?”
    A genuine smile spreads the deep folds of his cheeks to smoothness.
    “I am Henry.”
    He extends a palm through the open glass, and I take it. He gives my hand a brief squeeze before he lets go to turn back to the wheel.
    I settle again in my seat and smooth my dress down to mid-thigh. “Thank you, Henry.”
    His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “You are most welcome.”
    The glass closes with a silent hiss, and our eyes meet for a moment more. I think I see something in them that gives me pause.
    A sort of wise sadness remains as his eyes shift to the road. We’re on the same page but put in the book for different reasons.
    Henry pulls away from the curb. I watch him expertly navigate the busy lower streets of First Street. He avoids the storefront of Pike Place Market, still jammed with tourists. It's been dark for an hour as we close in on the restaurant. My face breaks into a grin. Thoughts of bucket lists crowd my head, and I remember I can take whatever is I wish for. My life is mine in a way I've never thought of before. There is no precedence for this night.
    For what might come next.
    We park at the base of the Space Needle, where Mick waits five hundred feet above the ground. Henry slips out of the limousine and walks to my door. I bend my legs in unison, tap my heels on the street, and take the hand he offers me.
    Henry lifts his chin infinitesimally, and I look where he indicates. People are walking toward the doors of the Skycity Restaurant and their dress code is not formal as Mick has told me. He requested I dress black tie formal, even though it's not required, and I frown as the mystery of Mick deepens.
    I move through the lobby, decked out in vintage 1960s space age décor, and look around with wide eyes. I've lived in Seattle nearly all my life, and I’ve never been here. I walk to the elevator, and a man in a suit presses a button and the elevator doors whisk open. A few people in various states of formal attire move inside and he closes the door with a press of a white-gloved hand.
    I ride the glass elevator up. The view is spectacular. City lights greet me in a twinkling crescendo of chaotic pinpoints of color. Puget Sound glitters back at me, the moon riding high and bright against the small whitecaps, as the press of winter lies ready to take hold with icy fingers. I fold my light shawl around my shoulders, feeling the fringe feather and tickle my bare skin. I'm wearing another borrowed outfit from Kiki. She's told me she's too hot to wear something this cool. I smile, remembering her comment when I tried it on in front of her.
    “I'm too hot for this sweet dress,” she'd said when I tried on the dress. She spun around me as she plucked and adjusted. Her eyes met mine in the full-length mirror. “But you, you're so cool in it you'll melt whoever sees you.”
    She stood and clapped when I spun, relishing who I have a date with. Unbelievable as it is.
    I don't know if I’m cool in this dress, but it makes me feel sexy. Free. A precious