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It's four o' clock in the morning.
What the hell I'm doing in this place at four o' clock in the morning is a complete mystery; nevertheless, here I am. It's just me, Louise, fast asleep at the register, Rochelle, and the late, great Miles Davis, gracing the satellite feed with 'Flamenco Sketches'. I can't think of any musical piece more appropos to the atmosphere in an all-night diner in the wee, wee hours.
We sit in a booth, facing each other, each of us with cups of coffee in front of us. We stare in each other's eyes.
"I guess I'd prefer having you here to any other customer at four in the morning," Rochelle says, folding her hands. "Marvin was in here last night, and he scares the bejesus out of me."
"Marvin?"
"You know, the dude with the long beard and the flannel shirt who always orders a chef's salad."
"Oh, that guy." Yes, he's scary. I truly believe that he did escape at one time from some institution or other. He's disagreeable, and unpredictable, and tempermental. The Palmetto Diner's in a very fortunate location: the police station's right across the street. Nevertheless, it only takes a few seconds for a potential wacko to become an actual one. "A good conversationalist he's not."
"Nope. Not at all. And Phyllis came in, too."
"I keep missing her."
"Aren't you blessed?"
I laugh. "I suppose I am!"
"She got frustrated because Donald didn't wanna discuss politics. All he wanted to do was hit up on Jennifer."
"Jennifer?"
"You know, the Korean hottie."
"Terrific."
"So, Phyllis left in a huff, Jennifer left in a huff, and Donald sat there and managed to get mustard all over his shirt because he shook the dispenser too hard."
"I love it. Other diners don't have characters like this."
"You're right. I think they come in here because you come in here."
"Uh, no." As I deny the veracity of that statement, Rochelle laughs. It's a rich, dark laugh that shakes the table.
"This is nice music."
"I know. It's Miles Davis." To me, the world stops on its axis for Miles Davis. I can find no adequate way to articulate the man's genius; it just is. "Would you like to dance?"
Rochelle laughs in shock. "What?"
"Really. I'd love to dance with you right now."
"But..." Rochelle's eyes are animated. "What if Louise..."
"Fucking earthquake isn't gonna wake up her big ass. Let's dance." I extend my hand. Her warm, large one clasps mine. We both now stand in between the counter stools and the booths, while 'Flamenco Sketches' fills the air. After a tense start, we both embrace, and slow dance, with our heads resting on each other's shoulders.
"I've been wishing we could do something like this, you and me," Rochelle whispers.
"Me, too. Very much so."
"Not even this fast," she says. "My feet are killing me."
"Gee, waitress work. There must be a link."
"I'm sure there is."
'Flamenco Sketches' is a long cut. Nine plus minutes. Rochelle and I continued to dance, slowly, our warm bodies, for so brief a time, becoming one. Finally, she had to sit. We returned to the booth. I noticed she was wearing soft sneakers. Sky blue ones.
"Got an idea. I need you to extend your right leg here, so that you're resting on my bench."
"Why?" The look on her face suggested that George is certainly a man of many surprises.
"I'm gonna try to improve things here."
Slowly, she did as I asked. I reached down, and tried to give her a foot rub without removing the sneaker. Seeing what I was on about, she enthusiastically complied. I massaged her tired feet, mostly through the top of both shoes. She visibly relaxed, her chest expending its wind. I think I actually heard her softly moan, although it would've been hard to hear above the upbeat Stanley Turrentine number that supplanted Miles Davis. "Wow, you do that so well," she cooed.
"I try."
"And, with my shoes on, too. I'm glad you didn't try to take them off, believe me, you don't wanna know what that's like."
"Actually, I'm very good at this. I have a great technique. It wouldn't have been a problem, in some other location, of course."
"That was so nice."
I peer into her eyes. "Yes, it was."
She sighed. "George."
"Yes?"
"We have our situations..."
"Yes, we do. We can do this, though, because we're totally comfortable with each other and we respect each other's situations. But, we both enjoy our company, and being able to express affection this way. No worries, no problems." I reach out, and take her hand into mine. It's very, very warm.
"George, what am I gonna do with you?" she asks rhetorically. Her eyes and her smile are as radiant as an ocean sunrise. I lift up her hand, and I give it a very loving kiss. She then reciprocates.
Finally, the door opens, and Marvin the Wacko comes in. Without acknowledging the presence of any other human being on Earth, he takes his usual place at the counter, close to the entrance. The noise of his entry has awakened Louise, who shakes herself awake, and surveys the establishment.
"Life intervenes," Rochelle whispers, as she gets up from the bench in this booth...
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Posted by Knoxxie03 on 2008-01-13 00:53:52 | Rating: | Views: 53
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that was nice. I could use one of those. My feet always hurt. You were thinking of me, werent' you? j/k
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Posted by crydun2004
on 2008-01-17 13:58:47
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