throwback – Page 7 – A 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

Music

Ravel – Pavane pour une infante défunte, for piano (or orchestra)

Chopin – Prelude for piano No. 15 in D flat major (‘Raindrop’) Op. 28/15, B. 107/10

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

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It was winter. Thin city snow sprinkled black trash bags and the green-yellow dead grass of dormant lawns. It was mostly a clear night; the moon was high in the sky and surrounded by a blue-white halo of ice crystals in the upper atmosphere. Alli was out on an evening walk after work with her dog. Her dog was a German shepherd named Rufus. She liked to think the brown parts of his coat were the color of ginger ale.

Back at home, she sat down in the downstairs living room to watch the evening news, Jeopardy and some of the gossip shows. The moonlight coming though the drapes of the bay window had dimmed. She got up to get some water and looked out. The moon was lost in voluminous dark gray clouds, its lighthouse beam reduced to a faded and fuzzy signal that strained as if shining from underwater or from behind heavy cloth. Even with the clouds, the moon and the sky were still beautiful. Alli got herself a glass of water and sat back down on the couch.

Alli noticed Rufus was in an interesting mood. He normally lay near her feet when she watched television. He was lying near the window looking up at it as if with his supersonic hearing he could hear something rustling that she couldn’t. Maybe someone was outside putting out trash and traipsing across their lawn down the street. Or maybe there were cats outside who were going to trigger the motion-sensor light around the back of the house near the garage. Her dad used to chase them away, along with the squirrels that ate up the birdseed in the backyard’s birdhouses. Whatever it was, Rufus soon lost interest and came to lie across her feet.

Or perhaps whatever it was had come inside the house, because movement flickered in Alli’s peripheral vision. She naturally turned her gaze toward it and froze, a familiar and unwelcome pins-and-needles feeling spreading over her arms, neck and shoulders. Sitting near the doorway to the foyer, was another dog, a black dog with white eyes and fur that seemed to move and wiggle, like fire or smoke. Otherwise it looked like a normal dog and was just sitting there panting. Other than its ghostly appearance it did not look frightening but Alli still felt terrified.

It did not disappear or lunge or do anything. Alli became more puzzled than terrified. She didn’t want to look away from it lest it move or attack or disappear, but she had to glance at Rufus. He had not done anything. He hadn’t leapt up or barked or even shifted from his position of lying across her feet. Alli naturally took this as a sign that Rufus was not frightened or angered. But he could see it. He was looking at it – placidly, even perhaps in boredom or out of a strange sort of familiarity – but he was looking at it, which made Alli feel tense. Unless Rufus was hallucinating too, she wasn’t the only one seeing the ghost dog.

Alli reluctantly dragged her eyes back in the direction of the foyer, hoping it was gone, had disappeared in the fleeting seconds she had taken to observe Rufus’ reaction. It was still there. Alli felt a sinking feeling of dread like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. Still she could not move. And before her eyes the dog transformed. As if it were made of mist it changed into a human form – a human outline drawn by pencil thin lines filled with what looked like white-gray campfire smoke. The human form was not a monster – it was pleasant to look at, normal even, a young woman around her age in a sweater and jeans, bespectacled with long, light-colored gray-scale hair. In Alli’s peripheral vision, Rufus had not reacted at all. In fact, the figure had taken up enough of his time and he gone back to watching television.

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