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Ebony and Greenery

Bell had followed him home. After a night of forty year old leaches in polyester groping her through thick clouds of stale cigar smoke at the Howard Johnson on route 60, she followed this tall stranger home. She was on business travelling for this dot.com company that was about to fold at any moment.

She was reduced from nights at the Ritz Carlton to rooms that the bed rolled down sunken v-shaped floors to rest in the center on 45 degree angles. Her only hope was that the bed stopped rolling before she was flung off. But these rare stays, which have been lately saving her from the uneasiness of sleeping in rest stops on the side of the highway.

Dodging those midnight flashers that came knocking on her window and covering her ears from the moans of the men in the rest room. But here in lounge lizard heaven she wished for the ineptness of London fogs and the safety of the detestment of her sex. To tell the truth she did not mind the company of homosexuals, for her head could spin off her shoulders but she was guaranteed to be left solid standing on her feet. But the emotion this crooner had felt and permeated through the clouds of smoke to smote the loudness of green polyester and lard that jingled and mashed about this room through gold bands hurried into small tight pockets. The scotch was stiff and so was everything else in this sausage factory for retiries. But when he sang it all faded away, he was a man of heartache and compassion, one to be tender, but then be full of explosives.

I had little explosions going all night. The smoke from my ears just mingled with the rest around me unnoticed. So I had to follow this lone keyboardist. Then when he went for his keys and turned the knob, he did not make a last minute slide of gold band onto his finger. I was golden if he would just notice me before he closed the door. So I yelled and slipped down onto my ass holding unto my ankle.

He came running, a bit jostled he tried to catch his breathe amongst the words of "Can I help you" which sounded like "I love you" to me. I stood up and immediately fell down again pushing him away saying I am fine. He picked me up and insisted that I come in and get some ice put on my ankle. How could I resist with my foot in such agony, but little did he know the real fire was just abit higher. He carried me through the threshold and closed the door with his elbow.

He placed me down in his craftmatic lounger and maneuvered the buttons to raise my feet. "Hold on I 'm going for some ice." he said as I thought if he had one of those ice chest that they kept in the hall ways for those who raid the minny bar late at night.

For he was going to need two of them to cool me off. He came back with an ice pack and a towel and wrapped them un-top of my right ankle. I shivered a little when he touched me. He apologized for he thought he hurt my ankle, little did he know, Silly Boy. I started to go on and on like some corn bred fool in pigtails about how much his music moved me.

I told him it was real, real you know. He blushed and tried to hurry the subject. What subject, I am not sure about. But he was in a hurry to get no where I felt. And I needed him to be somewhere on top of me.

He kept looking at his watch as I went on and on about my job, my past loves (which I told him he was nothing like.), my parents, my interests, and how well he played that damn piano. I started to worry he might think he was talking to Charlie Brown's god damn teacher, so I shut up and got a bit sullen. He asked how my leg was doing and I started rubbing my left ankle and said it is going to take bit more to reduce the swelling. But he thought the leg looked fine. He apologized for being a bit distracted but he had a lot to think about and needed to wind down off the stage for awhile.

I told him I understood. So I just sat there for awhile starring into his eyes, but he kept blinking and looking away at the clock. We did not say anything much for quite some time when the dawn started to creep up on us.

He stood in a dash and insisted I had to leave now, that he needed some sleep before he began his day. I insisted that the leg was still swollen and I couldn't move it. Then he asked me which leg was it and I said it was my right! He snapped then at me and accused me that I could not keep my story straight and I was some kind of weirdo and he insisted I leave now! I blew up on him and started to call him one big conceited asshole whose ego was so over inflated to think I would fake an injury just to spend the night with him as I stood up and pointed him into a wall with my finger consistently jabbing into his chest.

As he hit the wall, a cloud of smoke appeared. Poof! My finger went into the wall and I quickly grabbed it in pain. He was gone. Then I heard a small little gaelic "Fuck" from below. Continued in Part Two .

By: Chris Dowgin


Ebony and Greenery - Bell had followed him home.

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