I thought I would post this one here. It is a bit different, much more of an artistic peice, and not a traditional story. I had started writing this one primiarly for myself. It is still a work in progress, and in rough draft form.
Juliet Immortal
She was the kind of girl that was meant for tragic love, the kind who could not know any other kind, and I should have known. Correction, I did know, but I fooled myself into believing I could change fate. What could I do? I was hooked the moment my eyes first laid eyes on her. Nothing could make me forget that night. Sometimes, I almost want to, but it will always be there with me. You could say, haunting me.
It was ten o’clock and night when she would first enter my conciseness. I remember the time clearly, because I could not get to sleep. I had to work early, so I need to go to bed early, but it was one of those nights that sleep eluded me and I could never forget those big blaring red numbers facing me from the clock on the table near the bed. The sheet were twisted around my body from my efforts of trying to get comfortable to find that perfect spot that would send me away into sub-conscious paradise, but it never came.
I do not know what made me do it, perhaps it is what the gods had planned all along, but I rose from the bed. In nothing but my boxer shorts I dragged my feet over to the window. I would not say I was a particularly attractive man, though I do not suppose I was unbearable either. I liked to think of myself as being average. I never had any complaints and now and then I could even get a pretty girl to smile.
I happened to live on the 3rd floor in a typical apartment for a guy living alone, though just old enough to be past his bachelor bad years, and yet not quite crossing the dreaded threshold of the middle aged. Still just old enough to fool myself into thinking I was hip and could hang with the cool kids, yet with enough arrogance and experience to believe I would no longer succumb to their mistakes. Perhaps she was wrapped up in all that, there is no doubt she was too young for me, though do not get me wrong, it did not border on criminal. But being with her maybe it proved I was still susceptible to those mistakes, that the moment you think you have past that point, they can come back up on you. Perhaps she was a way for me to try and hold onto my fading youth and vitality.
She was outlined in a flicking dingy glow of artificial light, standing beneath the streetlamp. She has a gypsy face and dark flashing eastern eyes, with chemical blond hair and she was every bit as toxic as the dye. I would be lying, or only trying to fool myself if I did not say that my eyes lingered upon the swell of her generous breasts which could be made out against the tight material that she called a shirt and clung succulently to her body and accentuated every curve. Long shapely legs jetted from under the barely a skirt, jean skirt which she wore, tempting one to wonder just what lay beneath it. Her legs were fitted into a pair of red and black stockings and there was no ignoring her come hither boots.
She was one of those girls, that when you saw her, you wanted to protect her form the world. You wanted to erase everything everyone has done to her, and protect the innocence you fooled yourself was there, even when ever other sense told you, that there was not a shard of it left. That was her enchantment, and I fell for it headlong.
I do not know how long I stood there watching her, but I could not look away, time felt suspended in that moment, yet what could I do? I could not just walk up to her, coming from the shadows in the dark of night like some predator and I feared that if I took my eyes from her, if even I blinked she would disappear and it would fade away like a dream. I needed to hold on for as long as possible.
Did she leave? Vanish into some passing car? Walk away? Or did sleep finally get the best of me; did I give up my silent vigil to the greater calling of Lord Morpehus? I do not know. All I know is that in the morning I was awakened to a great metallic and artificial cry blaring in my ear without mercy. My eyes slid open and I looked to those flashing red numbers. Somehow I was in bed again; perhaps the whole thing had been a dream? There was nothing left behind to prove otherwise. I killed the alarm, and superstitiously I looked to the window. In the early gloom of morning light, with the noxious fog caused by chemicals that hovered in the air, she was no longer there. Rationally I could not expect her to still be standing there. The yellow light flickered still. It had not yet gone out for the day.
The next time I saw her, it was raining. There was a coffee shop down on the corner which I often attended, it was one of those open all night kind of places. One of those places you wonder just how it stays open, and cannot help but to feel as if you are some sort of hero, that you attendance day in and day out makes a difference, you are the reason they still keep their doors open. It is true, I often attended Jenny’s Café, and they knew me by face and name. Whenever I walked in, the little bell above the door ringed, there were always two or three other people there, sometimes the same people, sometimes different people. One of them always was reading the paper, another sitting at the counter, no matter how many empty tables were left inside, and my table, was always available. Like most living things, human’s included, I am a creature of habit, so I always without fail walked to the same corner by one of the large square windows that faced the street outside.
Long trails of water slid down along the windowpane while the sound pattered against the roof above. The weather changed nothing, it did not drive more people in off the streets, nor did it drive a way the few whom still attended such archaic places in the day and age cappuccino’s, mocha, frappuccino’s, prestigious fanciful names, with piles of whipped cream served in cups with cute little sayings. Here it came one way, black, with your choice of sugar or cream. Some of us still clung to the simplicity, and the familiarity.
Judy, doesn’t a café always have to have someone with a name like that, set the steaming mug upon the table in front of me, I did not have to ask for it, you never really did in a place like this. For me it was always the same thing. I did not even have to look to know it was her. Who else could it be? My gaze was transfixed by the rain blurred images outside the window. When it happened! The little bell above the door dinged. It was enough to get my attention, as that was not the sort of thing one expected. In my long years of coming here, never once had that bell rang while I sat in my corner, to let anyone in or out.
So naturally my head turned. There she stood, my little streetlight goddess. She dripped with water, and mascara streaked down her cheeks giving her the appearance of a Harlequin gone wrong. It was dreadfully alluring. She did not seem to belong in a place like this.
No one else seemed to notice her, which seemed impossible, how could they not? And yet it made perfect sense. She was my vision, so why should any of the others, the unworthy, see her the way I do? She was dressed in a pair of stylishly ripped jeans, and a black t-shirt with fishnet under that. What was she? Goth? Punk? Rock & Roll? Did she even know? I wanted to go to her, but I felt I could not move, my eyes were glued, enchanted as I took her in. Time seemed to stop in that moment, everything, everyone, else froze around us. There was only me and her, and the rain dripping outside when it happened, perhaps by the sheer force of my will, or the call of fate, or just pure luck. For good or bad? Perhaps is yet to truly be known. She turned her head, and I know I ought to look away, I should not be caught watching, yet my eyes were riveted and I was powerless. She looked right at me, and to this day I still never really know, if she smiled then of if it was just a trick of the light, but she began to come this way. In that moment our fates were sealed.
“Can I sit here?” She stood just before the chair across from me and her voice was mesmerizing. I could not command my speech, but dumbly only sat there and stared. She was really here, standing before me. My vision in the flesh and blood. My head rattled up and down in what I assumed was a nod before I was able to pull my thoughts together once more. “I..uhh…yes.” So I was no James Bond, but I was still stabbed by disappointment that all my pretenses of thinking I was at least decently cool and aloof were washed down the drain in that floundering moment. Could I ever make up for it? At any rate she hardly seemed to notice or mind, perhaps she was just being polite. She smiled like an angel, and her face instantly radiated with light, though if I had my senses, perhaps I would have noticed the shadows crawling on the edge making it an unholy light.
With rather unclassical grace she pulled out the chair and sat down. By this I mean, I could hardly call her a klutz or even the bit gawky and awkward, and yet, there was a lack of sophistication to what she did. It was not as a swan dance but she was an urban ballerina.
Judy made a reappearance at the table as her dark brooding eyes accessed my new found companion. So she really was real, I thought as the proof lay in front of me, did this delight me or disappointment me? I could not yet tell. “Can I get you anything?” She stated plainly without ceremony.
“Just a coffee,” my angel whom had yet identified herself by any name would chime in, not to say her voice was ethereal, or even faintly musically, however it would weave a spell around me.
Did I detect a look of distraught and disapproval upon Judy’s face? Still to this day I do not know if it was there, or what the cause might have been. In her years of experience could she see the little vixen for what she truly was? Did she smell the failure in the air? Is it egotistical of me to think that she would have any stake in my existence and the state of it, that I meant something more to her then just a cup of coffee every night? Perhaps her disdain was for purely selfish reasons, an envy of this fresh youth, whom was wasting it away in a place like this. A place in her fading years she had been condemned to, and all the things she could imagine doing if her vitality was restored to her. Or mayhap it was nothing but an over active imagination and bad lighting.
I knew there were a million questions I should have asked this enchantress, beginning with where she came from and what she was doing here, but perhaps somewhere in the reaches of my mind I knew that might destroy everything. So much would have been preserved in such knowledge and yet at what cost? We would sacrifice are Adam and Eve bliss. Our careless frolicking and I would be forced to confront reality. “I have not seen you around here before” I settled on. “A person tends to notice new faces in a place like this.” I left it at that, open for interpretation, so she might do with it as she pleased.
“No, I am not from around here, I only just got here.” Was her response as she glanced around the café for a moment before looking back to me, “do you come here often?” She asked, in what I suspected was an attempt to prevent me from delving further into her whereabouts, not that I would have asked.
“Yes” I was nearly on the verge of asking her just what had brought her into the café when I was saved or perhaps doomed in that moment, as fate would play its hand for us again, and it came in the form of Judy as she arrived at the table to set the coffee down before my mystery guest. Would you believe if I told you later I found out her name was Juliet? That is what she told me, at least and I did not question it, it seems all to fitting really, though I suppose I make a poor Romeo in the end. Once more I thought I envisioned a look about Judy before she made haste away. I offered a brisk “Thank you” some how feeling it was owed for bringing her such displeasure or so I imagined it. She gave no response or indication of hearing me.
“The rain is pretty bad out, and it is getting late, do you have a place to stay?” Perhaps it was too bold, but it was also much too late to retract. I was never very good at playing suave and I was not the wooing type, but she did not seem to mind, and somewhere in the pit of me I think I already knew that she wouldn’t. Perhaps it was because I saw her standing on a street corner in the middle of the night, not that I would presume anything.
She did hesitate a moment as if she did not already know the answer to the question, and perhaps she did not as unlikely as that may seem, one could never quite tell with a girl like here, it was perfectly possible she did not know if she had a place to stay or not. The coffee so conveniently presented did make an excellent staller but at last the coarse mug would be settled on the table again. For just a brief moment I limboed between agony and ecstasy as I caught a glimpse of her sweet pink muscle darting from between those ever so kissable rose red lips as a few stray remains of the drink were captured and taken back in. I could almost swear that she did this deliberately, timed, perfected as if I was not already thoroughly hooked and reeled in.
“No I have not had the chance yet,” was her belated reply. In that very moment I did not know what to say. Was that not the answer I had secretly hoped for, and yet now, it was have I had just the slightest glimmer of reason return to me, the moment when I could have just walked away. A window opened and I almost stepped through it. I do believe that for everything that happens to a person, for everything they do, there is always that one moment, where a choice is presented to them, and they knowingly decide their path, so this was mine and I let it pass me by. Thinking back now, do I wish I had taken it then? Honestly I still do not know, as crazy as that sounds.
“I could take you back to my place, just temporarily until you can get settled in. I hate to think of you staying out in the rain.” Somewhere I heard the strike of a clock, funny all these years I never even noticed that the café had a clock, and there it was. Clear as could be the defining tick toc seeming to resound within me ears, almost as if some final hour had been struck and indeed after that I did not hear the clock again, maybe it was all just in my head.
After our coffee, I do not think she really finished hers, we headed out together. Of course, I did not have a car, some date I was, but I was able to hail us a cab so at least we did not have to walk home, not exactly the romantic mood to set, but then, I do not know how much romance there really was between us. Though truly I do not think we were all about lust either, if it was that I don’t think things would have happened the way they did. We were something even if I cannot say just what. Most of the rise was silence, not an awkward uncomfortable kind of silence, an almost knowing silence. A fated silence. I listened to the slosh of the tires against the wet rode, while drops strakes tails down the sides for the window. For just a moment, once more I always remain in doubt of myself in what I really remember, in what really happened and what I only imagined happened, I thought I felt the brush of warmth of her hand passing just over the back of mine. My head turned to look to her, I could see her profile flashing in the passing street lights the cab glided under down the dark street. An angel, I thought. Truly she must be some fallen angel sent down to me, not that I was an overtly religious person but there was no other word I could use to describe her in that moment.
All too soon the cab came to a stop and I saw my dark looming building rising up from the window. The spell that seemed between us during the ride would be broken now. I dug my wallet out of my pocket and paid the fare then stepped out of the cab. Like a gentleman, though I might not strike you as the gentlemanly type, I offered her my hand to help her out. She accepted.
Once within my oh so humble apartment, which really was not much to flaunt or impress, but served me well enough over the many years I have been here, panic and fear began to surge through my blood. I suddenly became convinced to the core of my soul that she would know. She would happen to look out the window, and see that very corner I first watched her from, and somehow she would know. Some instinct would rise within her and she would know I had stood there watching her from the darkness. She would think I was some stalker, that it was not only mere chance or kindness which led me to bring her here, but some twisted plot.
And perhaps, it was true, I began to think, it did not matter that I had no idea she would appear in that café and that I have visited there every single night for as long I have been here, what if I was waiting for her in my own right. I certainly could not feign that it was complete innocence which led me to bring her here.
Yet all my fears were unfounded, she did not lay any accusations at my feet. I was realized of this, but perhaps almost stabbed with guilt, once again the overwhelming need to tell her everything surged over me. Once again mundaness dropped me back into reality like a rock. “Nice place!” Was all she said when she turned around to face me after her inspection, completely unmagical and completely unmalecious. It never occurred to me then that perhaps she was the one stalking me. That she had deliberately stood at the corner knowing I would watch her, and then followed me into the café with every intent and knowledge that I would bring her here.
I could only smile at her words, too stunned that I had escaped some dreadful fate to say anything at first before my voice would find me again. “Now I know you must by lying,” was my reply at some attempt at humor. Good or bad she seemed not to notice and simply dropped down upon the couch.
I watched her consciously in the glow of the electric lights as I slowly moistened my lips. It occurred to me then, that I have never seen her in the sunlight. When I did try to imagine her in the day time, I could not; it blinded me to do so. She belonged to the night I realized, to the artificial yellow humming glow. The sun could not touch her. It did not know her, and she did not know the sun. They were in opposition to each other. I could imagine that when the night passed, and dawn began to emerge she would simply vanish. Like some mythological goddess. I wondered if I just stood here all night and watched, what would happen? Would she disappear before my very eyes when the day rose only to appear sitting just as she is now with the next moonrise? No I could not see here in the daytime. Slowly my trance lifted from me and I began to drift, yes I felt as if I was drifting, not walking with any well of my own, any deliberation, but being drawn, and following where I was lead, to the couch where I would come to find myself seated beside her.
It was a rather dull couch, not a fitting throne, for my Queen of the Night, even if she did not complain for she was every bit a part of this world, she was a modern Aphrodite, my urban Venus, the romance and glory of the past was just as lost upon her as it was on me. But I have moved off track, I was telling you about the couch, to give you a better picture of everything. You might want to know a little more about my dwelling place and less about my ethereal downcast angel, at least for now. It was an old, plain dull couch of coffee brown color, it was used when I bought it, and it sags badly in the middle. It has been due to be replaced for years now, but I never got around to doing so. The cloth which covers the arm rests is worn smooth and threadbare while there are blotches of stains here and there. Some which the couch came with, others my own addition. The wood of the legs of the couch were scratched, and chipped, I think the former owner had cats which used it as a scratching post. When you sat upon it, it did not offer much in the way of comfort but sank down upon old cushions that have lost all their oomph and were now flattened with age and use. It was an unattractive eyesore. I did not have any true sentimental attachments to it, the idea of going furniture shopping just feels so unlike the kind of thing I would do. I could not imagine myself wandering among the aisles by myself sitting here and there trying to weigh and judge these things while someone followed me around the store. It was an appalling idea. Couch something was the kind of thing couples did. It gave it more of a purpose that way. “You should come with me to get a new couch,” I found myself suddenly saying.
She did not seem startled by my words, nor upset in the least by the offer, rather she seemed to consider it a moment before her eyes flashed upon me with the faintest glimmer of light, almost joy. “Okay,” she said though betrayed no real emotion in the affirmation. So it was decided, we would do this.
I did not in fact own a TV, not that I was one of those whom had anything particular against TV, I just could not picture myself sitting down and turning it on to watch it, I could not imagine anything on the TV that would be of interest to you, but I assure this is for purely ennoble reasons, and has nothing to do with any conceptions that it is better for you not to watch the TV. I rather not have your applause or you scorn for the wrong reasons. There were a lot of things I did not have only because in my mind I could not visualize myself using them and could not understand what I personally would do with such a device. I did however have a radio, it was an old radio, not that I listened to it very much, but a radio seemed like a good thing to have. It might surprise you to discover I did not own a single CD, but I did have some old cassettes lying around.
I did read the paper, as evidence of such could be seen laid out upon the coffee table, which was perhaps the most unkempt part of the room. Scattered upon its wooden surface were various papers, and old tidbits of mail. You must not be fooled by the nature of my couch and my loathing at the idea of furniture shopping as an individual; I happen to be a very neat and tidy person as it so happens. I like to keep things in good order, not that I have very much for the keeping. The floor was of wood, something about carpets and rugs disturbs me. I find them cumbersome.
In addition to this rather plain living space, there is also a small kitchen, though it is a wonder it ever gets used considering how much time I spent in the café, as well there is my bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom I am proud to say is immaculate. Perhaps the cleanest room in the house, I do have very picky hygiene habits. It is rather unoriginally white and having only the bare minimum basics, but not a single towel stands out of place, and not the slightest hint of anything offensive can be found.
My bedroom is another matter; I have allowed it a bit more slack then the rest of the house. I must say I never have understood the concept of making the bed. Why put something together every morning, if you are only going to take it apart every night? So yes my bed is unmade with blankets and sheets thrown back as if I just rose form it 5 seconds ago. Various items of clothing litter over the floor remaining where they may have been dropped. I cannot say why I have turned a blind eye to the state of my bedroom but I could never be bothered to tend to it.
It was in my bedroom that we would find each other; do not ask me to tell you how we had moved from the couch into the room. I really could not tell you. Perhaps it was the lack of any other real entertainment within my apartment, that it seemed only the natural course of things. I cannot tell you what it is we discussed that led to the moment; I have no recollection of the words which passed between us then. I can only tell you, that I led her into my room. Of course it was in my room that the infamous window was located so my previous fears would start to stir again. My heart beat quickened as I stared in horror at that window, from which I could just make out the lamp post where she once stood in a halo of light. I just knew she was going to make some remark upon it. I was breaking out in a sweat. I knew at this very moment I would be discovered. I should have covered the window I thought and I wanted to grab her and pull her away from it, but I could not move. I was rooted where I stood, my eyes opened wide and unblinking, but once more all my drama, and I do shudder to use such a word in attribution of me, but there is no way else to put it truly, would come to naught. Nothing dire befell me; she did not go fleeing out of the room or throw accusations and violence upon me.
“Hey! David? Hello? Are you alright?” Finally her voice drew me out of the nightmare and I turned o her a bit startled and could not help a slow smile. I hope you were not expecting a Romeo from me, I cannot claim such in either name or eloquence of either speech or action. I fear not. “Sorry….I was just remembering something” Was my witty reply.
Her lips came against mine, so soft and succulent, that they truly must have been the lips of an angel, they tasted of drops from heaven, or perhaps more accurately, a perfumed flavor of cherry from the lipstick she was wearing, but the fires of Prometheus were awakened within me. For I knew then in that moment, I must be one of the damned, there would be some grave punishment for my transgression. She was Persephone whom I had stolen from her right seat of divinity.
But in truth it was I who was the captive, I was the hapless one, not that I can now blame her, her memory in my mind is still as euphoric as ever, for I know that were I given the chance to start over again I would do nothing different. A perhaps clique as that may sound, it is only the truth, though perhaps, I would never really be given a choice, perhaps I never truly had a say to start with. I was under a power greater then me. But I digress, I am sure you wish to know more about my angles lips, and the flesh of my Venus.
She had a natural scent to her, well natural that is for an urban queen. She did not smell of roses, or jasmine, but nor was she masked in something distinctly chemical. It was the smell of the smell of the city, and perhaps some trace clues of where she had been, who she was, things that seem to cling onto the skin and the clothes. A hint of smoke that I do not think was quite strong enough to have come directly from her, fading shampoo to say she had perhaps washed her last two or three days ago, a whiff of the rain from which we had just emerged with offered certain freshness. I drunk it in as if it were a drug, and perhaps for me it was, one that I would fast become addicted to.
Her fingers blazed a trail of fire upon my skin; wherever she touched it was like liquid fire. I could not contain myself; I lost any effort of the slightest bit of restraint. I was transformed into some carnal savage creature while I began to rip and tear away her clothing with rabid disregard. I was like and Adonis rising, so fueled by this internal burning fire. I felt life as I had never known it before, became so acutely aware of each one of my senses. I was a man newly awakened, or a man touched by the divine. I felt as if we were both floating somewhere far above the world, perhaps perched atop Mt. Olympus, in a way no drug could ever acquire. In the frenzied confusion of blind desire we would become as one.
I can think of no better way to touch heaven and get close to God then through the carnal knowledge of a woman, but when that woman is divinity incarnate, there are no words to describe. I lived for a moment in the Garden of Eden, with Lilith as my guide. We walked with her hand in mine through the tropics of the trees. Blissful in our nakedness the grass was spongy and soft beneath my feet. She brought me along beneath the shade of big cool leaves, where I felt the touch of a gentle breeze. Here we were sheltered from the accusing burning eye of the sun, and yet never cold without his bearing upon is, trying to burn or sin into us. We kept each other warm with the own beating of our hearts and flow of our betwixed blood.
In this state we were perfected, with all flaws erased, even innocent, for all the knowledge he had of each other, for all the desire that burned deep into our souls, somehow now, here, it seemed removed from the taint pressed upon us by the world. We would feast upon the most succulent and sweet of fruits. The sky was always blue, and yet filled with stars galore. The only sounds were those we made, like the sirens song or angels chorus. A place a person could get lost in forever, while thinking that only a second, minute, hour passed when it had been all eternity.
The vision was interrupted as it seemed the furies were bound to peruse me for my sin and screamed within my ear endlessly until the image of my Goddess incarnate began to fade away and pleasure left me. The cool shade of the trees evaporated into an intruding fire blazing across my face. W were as Adam and Eve, who ate of the forbidden fruit and now exile was upon us.
I opened my eyes to the alarm clock and found it was daylight out. With a groan I reached over to shut the thing off and pushed myself up, with a glance at the clock I realized I was running light but somehow that world did not seem to matter to me and I felt in no real rush. Juliet was gone. Just as I had suspected the daylight was not for her. I felt no anger in this, nor any pain, sense of loss or being used. It felt this was the only way it could be. Perhaps the whole thing had been a dream, from the moment I first saw her.
Now I must apologize for the sense of mystery I lured you into about my daily activates in my avoidance of speaking of them up until this point. I fear there is nothing interesting, or even mildly intriguing about what I do. I sit within a cubical all day long taking calls from angry customers, and I do my best at appeasing them while giving them as little as possible. It is the job of any company to be as accommodating as possible while saving as much money as possible. We really don’t want to help you, we just trick you into thinking you do so you continue to pay us. Not that I myself actually make anything off your dollar. I make enough to get by in a relatively comfortable lifestyle considering I have no inclination toward any real extravagance and no one to support. Not even a cat.
I cannot say I have any real friends at work, no one whom I would really hang out with. Gary Larson is a slick talking sun of a gun sleaze ball. I cannot say that I care for him much, though I also do not believe I am a person tied to a very high sense of morality, that is I am a law abiding citizen, but what is it my business if someone else lets themselves get suckered? I do not like the way he dresses, I don’t like the way he struts around with that shit eating grin on his face and likes to act like he is everyone’s best friend. He could charm El Diablo himself, the kind of guy that could sock you in the face and leave you thanking him for it. But he is decidedly not cool and does not even have the dignity to know it.
“Hey my man, I see somebody had a little too much fun last night, Your 20 minutes late.” His voice was as oily as the goo he sloped into his hair. I was not his man, in fact last time I checked; I was no one’s man. I always silently swear to myself that the next time he called me that I would walk over and pop in the face, though I do not consider myself a naturally violent person, and perhaps the fact that every morning he says the same thing and every day I tell myself it will be the last time it says it, and yet nothing has changed, is proof of that. I usually say nothing to him. What explanations or excuses do I owe him? I just walk on by to my desk and sit down. Does he ever get affronted by my refusing to acknowledge his existence in even the most basic civility? He seems oblivious to this fact.
“Don’t pay no attention to him,” Renee, she always liked to try and act as the immediacy between us, though why I cannot say, to the best of my knowledge I never do pay any attention to Gary. Renee was a wannabe red head. Her hair died in such a starkly unnatural color of red. She sat just between me and Gary. I suspect she once slept with Gary, and I suspect she would sleep with me if I ever showed the slightest inclination toward the notion, but I never did, why I could not honestly explain. She was an attractive woman by most standards.
Renee currently was leaning back in her chair, with her feet up on the desk, wearing a pair of thigh high black boots, and fishnet stockings, with a too short black leather skirt and silver chain belt slipped around it. Her top was too short and skin tight, while the ampleness of her bosom was pushed almost completely out. She was holding a nail file in one hand while she whisked it back and forth across her fingers, her jaw constantly moving in a motion that made me think of a cow chewing cud. She always had a wad of gum in her mouth at work. Whenever she got a call she would tuck the gum wad into a corner of her mouth with her tongue and then as soon as she hung up she started chewing once again. Her technique was pure seduction. Some poor sap will call in about a malfunctioning product, or his insurance police, and by the time he hangs up all he can think about his the boner he has.
Jack sits on the other side of me. Jack is strange, I do not think that Renee ever slept with Jack, but no doubt Jack would sleep with her. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps he is not all there. I do not think he is the dangerous sort, and he does not really bother anyone, but he has some particular habits that are less then pleasant. For one thing everyone wonders about his bathing habits. I suppose over the years I have just grown use to the odor. In the beginning people tried to find subtle ways to tell him, but to this he was oblivious. He would also come to work several weeks in a row wearing the exact same clothes on and by the look of things one would thing he had not once during that time span taken the clothes off.
Some suspect he is in fact homeless, and no one knows just how he got the job here, and how he manages to keep it. He has the tendency of not watching what he says, and he often makes very poor jokes, I suspect these are things that he merely repeats like a child without truly understanding. Maybe that is way he is still here. To avoid any possible discrimination suits, company’s are so gun shy these days, though I do not think Jack would sue, nor do I think he actually has anyone, any family or friends that could try and stand up for him, but better safe then sorry I suppose.
So this is my life. I sit here with this motley crew in this dingy rather plain, and stagnant building, the phone rings, I pick it up, get my head screened off and pretend like I really am so very concerned. I do not have any special tricks like the others, Gary with his slick talking, Renee with her sweet talk, and Jack, well Jack just flat out does not care, nor does he try to. He must get a dozen complaints a day. I just grin and bare it, recite the lines that need to be said cliqued phrases, without making any real promises and hang up, probably leaving them pissed off, of unsatisfied half the time, but still they cannot say I was rude. And of course the four magic words. “Sorry, it’s company policy” always come in handy.
When I came home, Juliet was standing there in my apartment, with a duffle bag on the floor beside her. So I knew she had to come from somewhere, there had to be somewhere she had been staying but I did not question this. I was happy to see her again, perhaps even a bit relieved, at least it had not all been a dream. I did not ask her where she had been that did not seem to matter. I did not feel any anger at her presumption to inviter herself as a more permanent guest within my apartment, nor did I feel the moment was monumentous as many couples do. I did not feel any dread at the thoughts of commitment, nor fear or anxiety, nor as if this was some sort of stepping stone with us. We never played by the same rules as the rest of society, and everything with her always just felt so natural, so expected, even as it came as a surprise.
We lived apart and yet together. I did not question what she did with her day, when she was not here with me, and she did not question what I did during the day. For us the moments that mattered were the ones when we were physically together, whatever else happened, was not truly apart of this world we created for each other, outside the world at large where their rules did not apply. There was almost an innocence to our love. I do not wish you to get the wrong idea, though we did not live in the fashion of a couple and did not try to involve ourselves in every aspect of each other’s lives, what we had was about more then just the sex, but I do not want to get ahead of myself just yet, so let me bring us back to the moment.
There she was standing there waiting for me, it did not matter how she got in or where she came from. I walked across the room to greet her. She slipped her slender arms around my neck and our lips joined. It was hell and heaven rushing together in collusion. A rush of fire consuming my body, and yet it was pure paradise. Time ceases to exist until I cam crashing back to reality as her lips parted from mine. I picked up the duffle bag, and without a word as none was needed I began to make me way back into the bedroom, she followed behind me.
Juliet hopped up on top of the bed in childlike fashion. Her legs hanging over the side of the bed kicking back and forth as she watched me. Her smile was radiant, and her eyes gleamed with an almost painful innocence. Innocence I knew better then to believe yet was still moved by. I dropped the duffle bag on the bed beside her and unzipped it. It seemed almost mechanic my doing these actions. I had no thought of doing them. Like a puppet with my strings pulled I simply acted. She gave no protest while I began to move through her personal affects and really all there was to be found were clothes. Nothing to speak of her identity or who she was. She carried no wallet, nor was their any sight or sign of money, but do you think I would give this any thought? No, I simply began to place her clothes within my closet. My own wardrobe was scant and unimpressive. You might begin to think of me as being very dull and perhaps I was. Or perhaps I have just been dead most of my life.
Once I finished with unpacking for her I tossed the duffle bag on the floor at the bottom of my closet and fell back upon the bed. She lie beside me, her hair spilled out across the bed spread, like a halo while our fingers interlocked and we gazed at the ceiling as if star watching. We were content, happy, carefree in those moments. Like fresh young lovers, which perhaps we were in our own right. “We should paint the walls,” her voice chimed suddenly.
This proclamation did not seem odd to me, nor did I question it, beyond to ask. “What color should they be?”
“Blue” was her reply.
“Alright!” I said, and so it was decided. I begin to think that perhaps the walls would look good painted blue, and I had no real attachment to their current form which was fretfully unimaginative.
This is how things were between us, everything just flowed together with us, as if the rest of the world did not matter, did not exist, outside of us nothing truly existed. I still had to attend to my daily duties of going to work in the morning, and every evening when I returned she would be there. She never asked me how my day was, or questioned what I did, and I never inquired as to how she spent her time when I was not there. What were these things to us? Slowly but surely with her time here, the apartment began to transform itself, to become more alive you might say, in the way in which I myself was becoming more alive, or perhaps more awake.
I let her create the apartment in the way which suited her taste, perhaps I was just horribly uncreative, but still everything we would do together. She would make a suggestion, I would agree and thus we would see to it. Perhaps I should tell you first about when we went couch shopping. After all, that was the first changed to be made. The first decision we came to together.
We went to the furniture store together on the weekend. So much like a young couple we appeared, walking together, with her fingers interlaced within mine. The salesmen like a predator could already taste the fresh blood, and was ready to pounce as soon as we stepped through the doors. To him we must have surely appeared, a pair of newlyweds ripe for the picker, looking to happy to have spent any real time together. Presuming we were in the midst of perhaps moving into our own house, and ready to make it truly our own. “Can I help you with anything?” His voice caressed, barely able to hide his excitement with the smarmy smile spread thin upon his lips. I judged him a smoker for the flash of yellow of his teeth that showed when he spoke, but as luck would have it, I was no match for him.
“We are only looking, we will let you know if we have any questions” I was not by nature confrontational, but nor was I one easily moved by others, I made my stance and flashes the most charming smile I could must, which would send him slithering back into the shadows to await my summons, he knew when to push and when to withdraw.
So we wandered the jungle of couches laid out before us. Some were regal, elegant, exquisite. Some made to look vintage, others crisply modern, and even a few retro. It seemed there was a couch for near every personality, every possible decor, a flow of patterns, colors and textures. Yet even so, as each couch appeared to have its own characteristics, there was a blandness to them all; they all seemed the same in their differences. It was as if each one was trying too hard to stand out from the rest.
Then Juliet happened to plop herself down upon the most hideous couch I have ever laid eyes upon, it had horrid plaid upholstery, the sort of thing you would picture an old man spending his last days upon. She looked ridiculous upon it, so in contrast it was to her majestic posture, and shining beauty, it was no fit throne for my queen, at first it was done as a joke. Our eyes met, and we both began to laugh, but then in that moment, we knew. Neither one of us had to speak it, it was understood. It was fate calling. Strange fate.
“We will take this one” I said. At once he had appeared like an apparition, though his eyes betrayed him. It was not what he had expected, not what he wished for. A fresh couple like us, he hoped to sell leather too, or something grand, but he did not dare question for my mind was set and it was known I would not waver, best just to make the sale and cut your losses then send us somewhere else.
“Yes, of course, please this way” So we followed in his wake, filled out the needed paper work, and made arrangements, a truck would come, to pick up and discard the old couch, and insert the new. The money was of little consequence for me. Not to say I made any grand amounts doing what I did, but because I lived a simple, or perhaps bland life, and was not one to give into extravagance I had enough to spare.
After the business with the couch was taken care of, we went out to lunch, to some place where we could have burgers and a milkshake. I could them, the people there, trying to judge us, to puzzle it out as they passed such in the way of people. As I have mentioned before I was older then she, but not scandalously so, yet those that passed, they did not at first take us for a couple, father and daughter was too far of a stretch, sister and brought perhaps? But we resembled each other not in the least. I gave no head to them and Juliet seemed perfectly oblivious. This was the first time we have let our own world come in direct contact with the world at large. I felt as if we were moving in a sort of bubble still so far removed from everything around us, but we were happy there.
It is strange in a way, how long have I lived as if dead to the world, or the world dead to me, and now, I am more removed from it then I have ever been, I have entered a new realm all together, it is in this that I am revived, in this I can actually move within the world while I am so much less a part of it all. She was my world, she was my link my connection. She breathed life into me.
