Tankers and Feebs

March 10, 2018May 6, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

knee kick

Ran stood outside the hotel door, right at peep-hole height. Kaan opened the door, in a cashmere sweater and jeans, “You’re early.”

“Didn’t want you to brood,” Ran said, “Ferment in your own brine.”

“Was I interrupting anything?” Kaan asked.

“No,” Ran answered, “Alli went up to her parents’ house this afternoon. I was left with nothing to do, on a rainy evening.”

Kaan waved Ran in and closed the door, “She didn’t take you?”

“Well, we did just meet,” Ran said, taking in the room, glancing at the chefs on the television set.

Kaan opened the ice bucket and fixed them both two fingers of Fireball whiskey. They sat on the couch.

“How is Beth?” Ran wondered.

“She’s fine,” Kaan said, “She likes the cabin, and Maine. I admit, I’m shocked.”

“Yes, she was always more of a city girl,” Ran said, sipping her whiskey, “She studied literature in NYU. We were in the same Creative Writing classes together. We were the brat pack, with our first books published right out of college.”

“Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed,” Kaan said, impressed.

“You wouldn’t have put it past her, would you?” Ran grinned.

“No, no, I’m not that mean,” Kaan laughed.

Ran drank the rest of her whiskey and got up, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Kaan also stood up, “Yes, let’s. I’ve festered in here long enough.”

Out on the city streets, a light drizzle was falling. They caught a cab going Downtown, to Labyrinth.

It was Leather Night at the club. The place was packed with party-goers in black leather jackets and black leather police caps. Kaan and Ran were in the minority, wearing gray and navy-blue blazers, respectively.

At the bar, they ordered margaritas. Ran chewed on her slice of lime. On the stage, a chain-link fence and metal posts had been erected around an octagon. Two amateur female MMA fighters were going at it in a cage fight. The mosh pit of spectators roared their various notes of satisfaction or dissatisfaction.

“Alli’s been through a great deal,” Kaan began, “Are you going to do right by her?”

“Of course! I would, but -” Ran cut herself off.

“What?” Kaan asked, sitting up.

Ran turned to her, “She’s stuck on someone else.”

“Who?” Kaan demanded, and then closed her eyes, “Oh.”

“We look alike apparently,” Ran said, “She is with me, but her mind – her spirit – is obviously elsewhere.”

Kaan fidgeted, “Well, they were together in high school. First loves and all.”

“So, I’m the repeat,” Ran said, “I don’t know whether to be perturbed or flattered.”

“It is possible to hold two competing ideas in your mind, at the same time,” Kaan shrugged, taking a sip of her drink.

“Like her!” Ran said, spreading her hands wide, “Why do I feel like the cuckold here?”

Kaan gave her a look, “I don’t think you should.”

A swift kick to the face brought one of the contenders down. She did not get up. The other fighter stood over the fallen foe in victory, for a moment, before being pushed out of the way by the ref.

“Do you think that some of them throw fights, for gangs or whatever?” Ran said, facing the cage on her stool.

“Sure,” Kaan said, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Ran looked back at Kaan, “Do you think people throw relationships too?”

The corners of Kaan’s smirk turned down a few notches, “C’mon Ran. I imagined you to be a tougher soul than this.”

Ran looked back at the scene in the ring. The cadre of the two fighters were yelling at each other, as paramedics pulled the flattened fighter off the mat. The crowd in the pit ate it up, screaming for more.

Neo-Tokyo_Akira

Music:

Saint-Saens – Samson et Dalila, “Mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix”

The World City

March 7, 2018April 6, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

Do Not shake the Martini

Rainwater ran down the streets and pooled around the gutter. Kaan watched the downpour from the window of the bar and restaurant. The glass case of an edifice hung in the air, suspended a stone’s throw from Grand Central. The cars moved through the clotted street, thronging Midtown.

Kaan sipped her martini, stirred, not shaken. She sat in her usual black leather biker jacket, paired with ripped, distressed jeans. On her feet, she wore sandals.

Another woman, in a knee-length, pink chiffon dress, plopped down at the bar and ordered a vodka and cranberry juice. She swirled her drink with the cocktail straw. As she conversed with the bartender, her wavy chestnut-brown curls bounced with every exclamation of her bubbly personality.

The first drink was gone in no time, and the mystery woman ordered one more, again vodka, this time with lemonade. But instead of remaining on her stool, she now walked over to Kaan, drink in hand, heels echoing on the floor.

“Barefoot beatnik type?” she said, “Are you a punk rocker?”

Bleary-eyed, Kaan turned to her, “No. Who are you?”

The woman smiled, “I can see that you’re not on your first martini.”

Kaan’s eyes narrowed, “Did you escape from a debutante ball?”

“No,” she said, inclining her head, “What are you escaping from?”

Kaan turned away and looked back out the window.

Mystery woman let the stool spin until she was facing backward, elbows reclining on the glass table, “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Kaan glanced at her but said nothing.

“Where are you from?” the woman asked.

“Maine,” Kaan said, still looking out at the inclement weather.

“Originally?”

“No.”

The woman turned back around to face the same direction as Kaan, “You’re from here, aren’t you?”

Kaan nodded, taking a sip of her martini.

The woman in pink leaned over the table, to get a better look at Kaan’s face, “I live in Williamsburg, just a quick jaunt across the river.”

“Have a nice jaunt,” Kaan said, not moving.

“Be nice,” the woman cooed, “and I just might let you come along too.”

Kaan looked into her eyes, bright and sparkling, like a cat’s, “I just got done with a bad breakup.”

“How soon is ‘just got done,’?”

Kaan looked around for the waiter, “You know, maybe I should go.”

This new person cocked her head to the side, “Don’t be like that. C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”

“I think I’m far enough along already,” Kaan grumbled.

“Alright, well at least a club soda. My name is Beth, by the way,” she proffered her manicured hand to shake, a female handshake, with the hand descending from above, not extended from the side.

Kaan shook her hand, “My name is Kaan.”

“What a strange name,” Beth said, “Did you land here from Krypton?”

“Might as well have,” Kaan said, finishing her martini. She caught the olive with her teeth.

Outside, commuters whisked by silently. Somewhere, out there, Kaan thought, was Aspen, black heels clicking against the wet pavement.

“I want to say you’re one of the most interesting people I have ever met,” Beth said, as the club soda arrived.

“I wish I could say I believed you,” Kaan said, angling her stool to face her.

“I wish I could say I loved you, too,” Beth smiled, sipping her new drink.

Kaan raised her eyebrows, “You’re being awfully nice to me.”

“I’m a college friend of Ran’s,” Beth said. She ate the cherry in the cocktail.

“Oh, I see,” Kaan rubbed the back of her neck.

“‘Oh, I see’ indeed,” Beth grinned, leaning backward on the stool, re-crossing her legs.

“Well, I think you’re very nice,” Kaan said, putting the drink down, “but I don’t think I can be that person for you.”

Beth leaned back forward, soft dress crinkling, “You’re still beating yourself up, aren’t you?”

“How could I not?” Kaan shrugged.

Beth asked for a pen from a nearby waiter, and wrote her number on a cocktail napkin, “I’ll take a rain check Kaan. The night is still young after all.”

“Is it now?” Kaan smirked, taking the napkin.

“Don’t brood too hard,” Beth said, brushing Kaan’s hand with her own. She slinked off amid the bar, toward the hotel elevators.

Kaan considered the cell phone number, before looking back out at the congested street.

polygons