Secrets Black as Midnight
I’m the guy in the corner, my features shrouded under the cover of a hat brim, nursing a gin and tonic on the coldest night of the year. Came in the side door, no cover, no minimum. Seems I owe the doorman a favor, or he owes me one. We’ve both forgotten what for. Do I carry secrets in my overcoat? Yes, secrets black as midnight, and dark as those 5-mile-deep trenches in the middle of the ocean. Getting a gin buzz and listening to the 3-piece combo do an extended performance of So What is a good way to kill part of an evening. The other part? Rendezvousing with a lady for a meeting of the minds. Most likely a no conversation type of conversation, in a setting where such things aren’t so unusual. A few more songs played, and the set ends. She saunters up to my table, wearing dark sunglasses and a black trench coat, pauses, then clicks a long fingernail on the shiny wood as she slides into the chair like a bird of prey. Her dark hair contained a few wisps of gray, and her upturned lips were just this side of cruel. She lowered her nighttime shades, peered over the top, then pushed them back up the bridge of her nose. Dark mascara smudged around her cat-like eyes, and a sharp breath exhaled from her mouth. A waiter appeared from out of nowhere; she pointed at my drink, and he nodded. I pulled my hat brim lower. No doubt she put a spell on other guys within moments. Maybe I used to be that guy. Could be I’ve learned a few things as I’ve lived my version of this thing called life. She investigated her hand-held charcoal gray purse, reached in, pulled out an overstuffed envelope. Slides it over. I thumbed through the bills. Never get tired of seeing Benny Franklin’s face, with his retro-cool glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. We leaned over and pretended to whisper into each other’s ears. Within minutes she slips out the backdoor, into the wind. After giving my pal the doorman his biggest tip of the night, I put on my cloak of invisibility and made my exit into the red brick alleyway.