Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
The Dancer, the Door, and the Ordinary Stain
Friday, March 27th, 2009
The door strains to open with a groan worse than the metal fatigue of countless fathoms pressing on the hull of a submarine down too far, its man-made shell barely restraining the force of the deep.
A silver, ethereal tang mingles with perfumed soap from the bathroom and crisp clean linens. Mara sits on the huge bed, the room service next to her untouched.
She thinks of Christoph from Prague who stayed only as long as the money flowed. His touch, everything about him- his chiseled form, gentlemanly demeanor and beautiful boyish face- was titillating. But the thrill faded minutes after he departed, as she knew it would, leaving her unsatisfied and hollow as ever.
She considers calling another young plaything. Maybe the rock and rollers in Bonn. Or the captian of industry in London. She knows they desire her not just for her physical presence and charm, but for her razor mind that answers thier questions and unties the complex knots of thier lives, like no other.
She considers returning to her family and to her many friends. She hears her sister telling her the life she despises and berates as a life so oridinary is really a life fit for a Queen; and that the love she has is a rare thing to be cherished and nourished. And she knows her sister is right.
Mara wonders why she yearns for this chaos. But she has no answer, only the knowing, the gnawing in that hollow that wants to two-step into oblivion, and rub her ordinary life out like a stain.
Beyond the etchings on the floor, past the blood and ritual items of summoning, water slowly drips into the tub. Something about the sound, and the smell of clean reminds her of home and how the embrace of luxary feels. She thinks she will pick up the telephone to call her sister.
Yet she wants the deep water. She wants to feel the pressure on her hull as she is crushed.
The air rumbles and fills with that awful groan. Mara knows when the door opens fully and the thing on the other side says, “shall we dance?”, she will say yes and take his hand as he steps through.
– END-
Lulu at the Blue Note
Thursday, March 26th, 2009
The same guy comes to see Lulu sing every night. She never looks at him. He never looks at anyone else.
She’s been singing here a month when I get stupid. She’d walked in one Wednesday, sung one song and been hired. I’d been playing horn twenty years and I’d never heard anyone sing like that before. Sang like she was scared to stop.
After a week, I asked her, “What are you doing here? I know I’ve missed my break, but you…?”
She didn’t speak. Never did. Only sang. But the next night she looked at me as she crooned, “Some dreams are nightmares, some dreams are for fools. We’re never careful what we wish for, and sometimes dreams come true.”
Never speaks a word to me, but I still I get stupid. Normally I only get stupid over blonds. But that voice and that guy. So I hire a PI and a month later I’ve got an envelope full of photos—Lulu at different bars. And every time the audience is in a photo, I see that guy.
Next night, I catch him at the back door and we go at it, shouting back and forth ’til Lulu appears.
“What’s he got you scared for?” I say. I’ve got my hand on the guy’s throat.
She looks at me, and then she starts singing, and it’s more beautiful that I’ve ever heard her sing before, and my heart breaks at the sound.
“Some dreams are nightmares, some dreams are for fools. We’re never careful what we wish for, and sometimes dreams come true.”
And suddenly, I don’t know why, but part of me gets scared. I’m scared I’ve got the devil himself by the neck, and I’m scared right down to my soul. The man stares at me, then at Lulu, and I’m trembling like a child.
Then she speaks to me for the first time. “No Steve-o, it’s not that,” she says “You got it backwards. All backwards. He’s keeping me…” she pauses, “away from temptation.”
The guy shakes me off, puts an arm around Lulu and they walk off. And for a moment, just an instant, I could swear he has wings.
Lulu doesn’t come back to the Blue Note after that. But I keep on playing, and my break keeps on not coming. And part of me is glad.