Monday 19 July 2010

Entry 7 - Dark city

It was a cold night, and the wind kept trying to steal my hat. I had one hand over it, pressing hard, as I walked up the street. This was my first time in the city in many years, but noting seemed to change. The little coffee at the corner was still there, empty but for the police inspector and the waitress, on their eternal game of attraction. Her face had couple new wrinkles, his hair a few more whites, but they were there just like they were when I first met Her.
It was a night just like this one. I had just arrived and I was sitting on the corner table, a bottle of vintage Brandy next to me, a glass in my hand. I was smoking a cigarette, and unsure of what to do next when she entered. She wore a short dress, firehouse red like her lips. The long blond hair fell on her back, slightly curly at the tips. My eyes caught hers, pale blue eyes like a clean sky, and her lips twisted with half a smile as she walked towards me.
She sat, silent, took one of my cigarettes form the pack on the table and waited for me to light it. I fumbled taking the metal lighter from my pocket and my hand shook while she inhaled, making the tip turn as red as her dress. She smoke half of it and stretched for the ashtray. What do you do with a cigarette after you've finished it? Do you put it out? Kill it? Mutilate it? What she did was love with it. And then she threw it away into the ashtray, not ever to see it again. At that moment I knew I'd be in love with her for the rest of my life.
She grabbed my glass, drank it, and walked to the door. From the door she looked at me and said, in a voice angels could only dream to have "I'll see you again next week" and left me there, alone with the bottle and my cigarettes once again. Hours or days or maybe years later, the waitress asked me to leave. I walked the streets until I found a motel. I got myself a room, paid for a full week and spent it looking at the ceiling.
That week went by slow. I found things to do by day, working for food and money for a bottle at the coffee by night. I'd be there everyday from 9pm until the waitress signaled me it was time to go. The police inspector was always there too, having his scotch. He'd sip it slowly and make it last all night.
One nigh, a full week and two days after the day I first saw her, the inspector wasn't there when I arrived. The waitress was less friendly, and almost broke the bottle after serving my first glass of the night. I paid and was left alone, waiting.
She came that night, wearing a black party dress, lips of a deep blood red, the color of the jewel in her black pearl necklace. Once again she came to my table, took one of the cigarettes and smoke it. She then smiled and said : "Let's go dance".
She moved like a cat, and we danced for hours, in the little ballroom down the street until it closed, and we stepped outside into the rain, still dancing. We watched the sun rising on the sea shore, my coat on her shoulders, my arm around her waist, her arm on my shoulder, her mouth on my mouth.
That's my last recollection of the night. Next day the sun shines down on my eyes, head aching with pain, and I am on my motel room alone. On the night stand, I see a paper shred with a lipstick kiss on it, that I carry on my wallet to this day.
I went to the coffee again that night. The Police inspector was back, telling the waitress of a case he had to attend the night before. The owner of a jewelery shop called the police after waking up on the floor. He had seen a stunning blond woman wearing black walk in. She asked for the Heart Of The Night, a necklace with four tiers of extremely rare natural Black Pearls, and two gold hands holding a ruby the size and shape of a newborn baby's heart. The shop owner gave it to her and all went black. When he came back to his senses, both the lady and the Heart Of The Night were gone.
I knew who had the necklace, she told me it was a family heirloom, a memory of her mother, "the last one I have" she said, "I've had since she died".
She never showed up again, and the Police Inspector never found out what happened to the necklace. A few days after I left that town, swearing never to return.

Last week I saw a old lady, a duchess of somewhere, wearing a necklace with four tiers of black pearls, and a pair of golden hands holding a heart of ruby, and I came back, looking for Her.