9.00 pm In The Orchid Room

F. slammed the glass down on the piano. “Where’s Bootsy?”

Boots is off pursuing some claim.

“Bugger. I gotta job for him. What are you up to?”

uh uh, don’t look at me,

“C’mon. Be a trusted pal of a salty old sea dog,” he said, putting his thick hairy arm around my shoulders and squeezing, just a little.

ahhh, alright, what is it?

“I need a new canvas, something extra pale, ghostly white. It’s for the Kitano boys. They want an Orchid Tattoo.”

now, that is some mad wierd mojo juju, what do you do with all those tattoos?

“Don’t worry about that, son. I need Bootsy for that,” he said hitching his pants and straightening his belt buckle. “I mean you got them nice piano player hands, but,”

“Now, F.,” she said, appearing from nowhere next to the piano, “Stop annoying the piano player. He has work to do. There are some Russian gentlemen over there you must meet,” and leaned across in her customary pose. “F. has promised me a new tattoo,” she whispered tracing the line of her throat with her fingertips and staring up at the lights, “but I am unsure…”

why?

“Not why,” she said. “But where…”

The old man appeared at her side. “Are you ready, my dear? Immaculate, as ever. Piano player, play that Scott Joplin waltz again,” he said, throwing me his watch and sweeping her onto the floor,

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11 Responses

  1. Ahaha, double double reversi, simultaneously posted in gingaTao!

  2. beautiful, atmospheric…….

  3. Oh! hello again… two for the price of 1. Perfect.

  4. Round and round in a merry twirl across the floor and back again,

  5. Haunting notes tinkle on brick. The last rays of treacherous light give way to sodium glare; all except here, here at the door. I raise my bruised knuckles to knock, too slow, swinging open on oiled hinge, Mamu examines my face. Large hand, I flinch then still as he traces my history. A nod, a subtle shift and I am there, inside, again; to what end?

  6. lovely, Rose, to what end, then?

  7. Must there always be an end? You have seen, more than I, the travesty of hope. Why dance, when prolonging merely causes more pain?

  8. One dances for the moment, to escape hope and fear and all projections into the future, to be fully overtaken by the rhythm. Cheer up, have a frilly cocktail on the house,

  9. A couple of things hit me here…You introduce “Bootsy” or did I miss him earlier? And the way you have the character throw his watch near the end. I love the way they’re carried away with the dance. Always, always a joy to read your work. Your writing seems effortless, but I know each element is intentional. It feels as though we’re being led on a “magical, mystery tour” called the Orchid Room. A literally literal time machine.

  10. I used to go out with a guy who would take his watch of and hand it to me, but it wasn’t to whirl me around the dance floor, it was so he could deck some guy he was jealous over…he was sicillian however.

  11. the throat, such a perfect place for trust
    beautiful glimpses

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