Rendezvous with Lucy V.
Angel, in a small office in heaven, sorted through the cards from people who came to his office. There weren't many of them today. Only five. From the whole world. Only five people prayed or wished, from God, to meet their match, in the section he managed.
The angel began to sort. The first wish: measurements of 90-60-90, passionate in sex... The angel smiled, crumpled the wish and threw it in the trash. Today will go smoothly. He opened the second wish: With never-ending desire, insatiable... The angel smiled, crumpled the wish and threw it in the trash. His mood began to improve. Yes, today will really go well. In a moment, he will be drinking from the fountain of abundance in the Divine Garden and lazing on a cloud.
He opened the third and fourth cards at once: Passionate lover, domina with a massive chest and tendencies towards sadism... Angel's smile widened even more. Great. Things are really going extremely well today. The third and fourth cards ended up in the trash and only the fifth remained. Angel was not lazy and quickly open it. However, the smile froze on his lips. It contained only one sentence:
"So that she loves me..."
and signed by
Martin Wheeler
The angel cursed: "To hell, burning." It was a sin, but a small one, and fortunately God did not hear him. This wish was feasible, so he had to give it a try. He could forget about drinking from the fountain of abundance and lazing around.
"Well, okay, let's get to it," the Angel hummed, lightly flapping his white wings to wake himself up, then took off and flew to the Divine File Cabinet. In it, on long shelves, were stored the records of all the women in the world.
"Okay, so what country is he from?" Anděl muttered to himself: "Oh, the Czech Republic? That's the small country in the middle of Europe? Well, I wonder who's waiting for him there..."
And then Angel also compared his age. "How old is he? 35? Ok, and does he say what kind of woman he wants? No - okay, then we'll give him.... hmmm, not too young, not too old, and one who will still give him children. Or maybe a divorced woman with children? He doesn't care. He just wants her to love him sincerely."
Angel was delighted. It seemed that there would be a lot of women to choose from. But he was deeply mistaken. He went through one file after another and put them all away. One wanted a rich man, another one wanted someone who was above averagely handsome and muscular, a third one who could fix things at home, another one someone with an expensive car... Unfortunately, our applicant did not meet any of these requirements.
Angel frowned: "YEAH, boy, I probably won't choose it for you. I think I don't want to search the whole world because of you. My duty is almost over. Then I'd have to connect you too, and that would be a lot of work. You're probably out of luck, Martin Wheeler."
And suddenly he saw that he was flying past, playfully flapping his wings, the Angel Lucy.
The Angel cheered and called out: "Lucy, are you flying now, down to Earth?"
"Yes," Lucy answered cheerfully: "The day is beginning, the night is ending, it's time to Angelize again!"
"And you're in charge of Bohemia, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes," Lucy called cheerfully.
"Would you take care of Martin Wheeler for me there? I will give you the records. He has a modest request. He wants someone who will love him. Can you find him something?"
Lucy happily flapped her wings, circled under the ceiling of the Divine File Cabinet and swooped down in front of the Angel: "Okay, give it to me. But you owe me a kindness, right? I must fly now," and then she quickly took off and when she flew out of the large golden doors of the Divine Archive, she headed down, through the heavens and clouds, and swooped over Europe to land in the Czech Republic, in her usual place, that is, in the villa where she lived. The angels of love who walk among us look like ordinary people, but it works with them in such a way that they fly away to the heavens for the night to rest, so that in the morning they return and walk among people.
Angelic Lucy took on the role of a singer and actress. She chose the name Vondráčková. Lucy Vondráčková. Yes, why not? It's a nice name, isn't it. And she sang and played for people and also fulfilled other tasks given by God or the Heavenly Authority. Like right now.
All Martin Wheeler had to do was choose someone who would love him. It didn't sound impossible. Lucka thought about how to do it – and then she just snapped her Angelic fingers and that was it.
Martin Wheeler fell madly in love with her.
😇😇 💘 😇😇
In our little story, we now shift to a slightly different scene. Two characters will be talking on the phone. One of them is Petr, an artist who moves in the world of show business and knows quite a few people. The other is Martin, Petr’s good friend who works in the IT business. He is doing well, and paradoxically—though he lives in the world of computers that provide his livelihood—he remains an incurable romantic. Perhaps one of the last romantics in this world.
Attention – the phone call 📳 begins:
Petr picked up the phone.
“Hey.”
“Hi there! Did you read my email?” Martin asked eagerly.
Petr sounded a little caught off guard.
“Not yet. When did you send it?”
“An hour ago.”
“Is it long?”
“No.”
“Alright, I’m at my computer, hang on… I’ll check it right now.”
Still talking, Petr launched the app, scrolled quickly through a few incoming messages, found Martin’s, clicked it open, and skimmed it. It was short. Straight to the point.
Martin waited patiently on the line, but when the silence stretched on too long, he blurted out:
“So? What do you say, man? Will you do it for me?”
Petr was stunned.
“Jesus, I don’t know, man. That really caught me off guard. Is this some kind of mistake? Are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk. I’m more clear-headed than ever. Will you do it for me?” Martin pressed.
“Man, you really caught me off guard. We’ve known each other for a long time, I know you’re a romantic, but I never would have expected this from you. Have you completely lost your mind?”
“Lost my mind? Why? I mean it seriously.”
“But you’re fifty!”
“I’m not fifty. I’m forty-six. Same as you. You know that. We’re the same age.”
“Don’t say young. Say we’re the same age! And at almost fifty you want to be doing this kind of nonsense, yeah?”
“What’s wrong with it? I don’t get it. Seems fine to me. So will you do it for me? It’s no big deal…”
“No big deal…” Petr smirked. “I can’t just do that. I have to think about it. You can’t just…”
“What’s there to think about? Do you have it or not?”
“I have it.”
“Then send it!”
“I don’t know, man. It just seems ridiculous…”
Martin got offended: “Ridiculous? Why?”
“That’s how it seems to me. Let me read your email. Maybe it’ll snap you out of it. You must have written it drunk.
You wrote: Hi, do you have Lucie Vondráčková’s phone number? Send it to me. I love her. I want to pursue her and invite her on a date. Martin.
Is this supposed to be a joke, or have you really lost it?”
The phone fell silent, and after an awkward pause Martin said: “I mean it seriously. I love her.”
Petr didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or pity his friend. As crazy as it sounded, it looked like Martin really meant it. Seriously.
“Fine, let’s go through this: You love Lucie Vondráčková. The actress, the singer?”
“Yeah. So what? What’s wrong with that?”
“Man, you’re almost fifty and she’s the same age, just coming out of a split with hockey player Plekanec, a former NHL star — she’s got two kids or whatever, she’s dated other celebrities, the skater Werner — now she’s with some MMA fighter or whoever — and you want to hit on her? Dude, have you totally lost it?”
“I don’t give a damn what you say. Will you give me her number?”
“You’re crazy, man. The last romantic on Earth, an endangered species.”
“Save the talk for the pub. Send me her number and don’t worry about it anymore…”
“Man, you really surprised me. And if I give you the number, what are you going to do?”
“Ask her out and win her, because I love her. Simple plan. In love you don’t overthink details,” Martin said firmly, as if he were talking about what to order for lunch at a restaurant.
“Whoa, buddy, wait. We really need to talk this through. I know you’re an obsessed romantic, but it’s all a bit more complicated than you see it. Much more complicated. Your world of plush teddy bears might bump into harsh reality here. Look, I’ll overlook that your idea is totally crazy. I know you, so okay. You’ve fallen in love — like a hundred times before — and we know your crush will pass soon, that’s clear. The problem is you’ve picked a bit too high — an unrealistic target. I get it: you’re alone, you’re not married, you’re not divorced, you’re the last single romantic on Earth and you’re looking for a relationship. But, for God’s sake, do you really think Vondráčková is waiting for you? Wake up! That’s simply an impossible target for a guy like you.”
On the phone there was another pause, then Martin said:
“I love her, and I believe I can win her. She’s not married anymore. She divorced that hockey player, Plekanec…”
“Man, I’m telling you, she’s with someone. She always has someone. A beauty like her has ten admirers on each finger. What do you expect? That I give you her number, you reach out, she happily goes on a date with you, and your love blossoms into heavenly heights? You’ve completely lost it. That kind of script doesn’t even work in the movies.”
“It works,” Martin insisted stubbornly. “Have you seen the movie Kvaska?”
“Of course I have. It was directed by Landa’s wife, and Landa did the music for it. There’s a hit song from it—Touha.”
“Well, and Lucie plays the lead role in it. It’s about a famous actress loved by some nobody off the street. Actually, an escaped prisoner. And it works out for them. In the end, they run away together.”
“God, you idiot. That’s just a movie, don’t you get it? A script cooked up in the head of some romantic nut just like you! Some dreamer. But we live in the real world! We don’t live in a film. A guy like you could never land Vondráčková. Sorry, man. I’ve got to open your eyes and bring you back down to earth. I can give you the number, sure, but she won’t want you. She won’t even text back. It’ll only end in disappointment for you. Put your energy, time, and money into another woman. I’m giving you good advice. With her, the door is closed.”
On the line, another long silence. Another awkward pause.
Martin’s heart clenched under the cold hand of reality, but eventually it started beating with love again—because people in love see the world through different eyes.
“Give me her number. It’s my way to her,” Martin finally said, determined. “Look, that Landa film isn’t far-fetched. Why couldn’t I believe something like that could happen to me? It worked out for you with Landa’s wife. I love how people who found their own happiness never wish it for others.”
“You don’t even know how it really was with her.”
“But was it good?”
“Yeah. I’d wish it for everyone.”
“Then prove it. Wish it for me too. Give me a chance at a miracle. That’s all I’m asking. Just the chance…”
“Fine, okay. I’ll give you the number. But there’s one condition. And it’s a logical one. The number is directly to Lucie. Her personal number. So you have to promise me you won’t call her. You’ll only send her text messages—one a day at most. I’ll tell you why. Vondráčková just recently had a problem with a stalker. Some nutcase was camping outside her fence. Then he climbed over and wandered around her house. Pretty intense. Luckily, there was some bricklayer working at Lucie’s place at the time, fixing something, and he managed to handle the guy and throw him out, but still, it was an unpleasant situation, you get it. It happened recently. So you need to be careful. Look, I’m giving you a celebrity’s private number, without her knowing. So only decent texts, and at most one invitation for a date per day, okay? That way, you won’t overwhelm her with a flood of your romantic outpourings. I really wouldn’t like that. I already feel bad about passing along this contact, but I know you—and I know you’re really the last harmless romantic on this planet. So don’t ruin your chance.”
“Okay, thanks, man. I accept the rules. Just SMS—one a day max.”
“That’s it,” Petr sighed in relief that his longtime friend understood, shaking his head at him. “Look, Martin, I’ll send you the number, but since I don’t want your little boat of feelings to crash against the rocks of sheer indifference and brutal rejection, I’ll give you a couple more pieces of advice.”
“First piece of advice—listen, I believe you when you say you love her. Even though it’s crazy, it can happen. But it will pass. Sooner or later. She probably struck you with some music video where she lures the birds with her open desire. But I have to bring you down to earth. That desire isn’t for you. It’s just a game with all of you. Sure, sometimes it can cross the line, and you get convinced by the suggestion, the barrier breaks, and you fall into love. But that’s a glitch in the Matrix, and it will be brutally, mercilessly corrected. You’ll see for yourself. Lucie just won’t respond to you. And that’s where it ends.
Why am I giving you the number then? Because those few texts you send her will buy you time for your love to fade. For the little flame to flicker out and eventually die completely. It’ll be smothered by other impulses. But unfulfilled desires hurt, so I’ve got advice for you. We’re both grown men, both 46 years old, damn it! I’ve been through a lot, and here’s what I’ll tell you. It’s not the best advice, but for you, it might work. You know I move in the world of celebrities. It’s a rough world. Strip away the glitter and you’ll find dirt. Lots of dirt.
You, even though you’re paradoxically the last romantic on earth, work on IT business projects. You’ve got a good, responsible job, lots of money. You’re set. You sit in your office all day and grind away, not much fun in your life, and then your imagination goes looking for some celebrity to fall in love with—because you’re that romantic type. Try to ground that desire of yours. You know how it goes. Honestly, you romantic fool, in your case—single, childless, still restless—I could recommend and set you up with an interesting companion. An intelligent girl, a college grad with the body of a goddess and a sharp mind. She’s a great companion. Empathetic, sensitive. She’ll talk to you about anything. She’ll do whatever you want. At your place, at her private flat, in the sauna, by the pool… the fantasy is yours to write, romantic. Sure, you’ll pay, and it won’t be cheap, but you’ve got the money. Plenty of it. She’ll fulfill everything. She’s classy, healthy, clean, fragrant. I vouch for her. She’ll be a doll for your pleasure. If you want, she can be the shy, hesitant one you conquer—or the wild tigress who takes you down instantly, and then you can lie side by side and talk. She’ll be your cure for this madness called Lucie Vondráčková. You want her number? She’ll know what it’s about. Everything will be easy.”**
There was silence on the line.
“You’re kind, Petr, it’s a great offer, but I believe in miracles. Thanks for the number for Lucie.”
😇😇 💘 😇😇
Martin got her number and then began writing to Lucka. According to the agreement—really just one text per day. Lucka didn’t reply. She had plenty of her own things going on. It wasn’t arrogance. It was busyness. A lack of time and energy to deal with things that weren’t essential. And so she handed these texts over to her manager, Anna Krásná, to handle.
But Anna had no idea what to write back to the sensitive messages of a lovestruck romantic. She didn’t want to hurt his heart.
And then one day Martin sent an ultimate text, inviting Lucka on a romantic date at Vyšehrad. He chose the spot by the Rotunda and set a crazy time—one o’clock in the morning. To him, it felt romantic, mysterious. Through the rose-colored glasses of a man in love, he couldn’t see the harsh reality.
Meeting at the Rotunda on Vyšehrad was a crazy idea.
It only really dawned on Martin once he was pacing in the cold night on the little path right by its entrance. He wrapped himself in his jacket, rubbed his frozen hands, and cursed himself: What kind of mad idea is this? Would a star, a celebrity, one of the best singers in our country, really come out into the freezing night just to meet some IT guy from the border of Pankrác and Budějovická?
And in that moment he realized just how foolish and cut off from reality he was, how much of a hopeless dreamer. He finally understood why his friends called him the last romantic, an endangered species on the verge of extinction. His world collapsed in that instant.
The revelation was brutal. Like a train crashing into a wall. He even grasped that to the world, he was ridiculous. And that hurt.
He searched for something to hold on to, as weakness in his knees began to knock him down. He slid onto the stone steps leading to the Rotunda, and he felt like dying—or, and this frightened him—crying.
The steps were cold, but it didn’t matter. He took their icy touch as a punishment for his own naivety, his own foolishness.
He buried his head in his hands, and tears of despair welled up. He was as close to breaking into a cleansing sob as two lovers on the brink of their first union.
And then came the surprise. When he lifted his head from the grip of despair and looked toward the street in front of the Rotunda, his heart stopped. He saw a small figure walking straight toward him.
His heart leapt, and he breathed: Lucka!
But it wasn’t Lucka. The figure came closer, and he could finally make out her face. It was beautiful, angelic.
In that moment, Martin forgot all about Lucka—because he fell madly in love. Yes, that is the power of Vyšehrad at night. He wasn’t the first, nor the last, to experience it.
"I’m Anna Krásná," the figure said. "Lucka’s manager. She apologizes—she couldn’t make it. But I had something nearby, and since I was walking through Vyšehrad, I thought..."
She never finished the sentence. Her eyes got lost in Martin’s. She lived alone, she was alone, and this lonely, shivering wanderer sitting on the cold steps suddenly struck her as so romantically irresistible that she gave in to it all—and despite her mind screaming No! her heart whispered Yes!
And there’s no need to say more, because the perceptive reader can surely imagine the path these two now set out upon: from the first shy words, to the fleeting touch of chilled hands, an offer to walk her home so she wouldn’t be afraid, the exchange of phone numbers, a soft thank-you and a quick goodbye kiss, the first real date, the first night together, the first union of love—and then, since everything was so beautiful, the continuation of it all with the feeling that there was no need to search further, because this could last a lifetime.
And how did it all end? They became a couple, and within half a year they were married. An IT guy from the edge of Pankrác and Budějovická married the manager of a famous singer. Chance brought them together, and they were happy.
Yes—that is the power of a night-time date at Vyšehrad. That is the power of Vyšehrad. And if you don’t believe it, try it yourself. The author of this story might know something about that...
😇😇 The💘 End😇😇
