Something for you to read...

 

XV

 

She sheltered from the rain in the doorway of a broken-down shoe-store, lit by the glare of a streetlamp slashing across the night. Slender fingers posed to the side of her mouth, the caress of her silk gloves balancing a half-spent cigarette, a pale curl of grey-white smoke spiralling into nothingness above her pink pill-box hat. And as she fluttered the most exotic eyelashes known to man, her small, round face tilted upward, the peaches-and-cream hue of her flawless skin accentuated by the pale-amber lamplight glare. Like a china doll in a window caught in a spotlight, she waited for the connoisseur to seek her out.

A limousine swung into view, the tinted windows concealing the faces of those who preferred to remain unseen, easing to a halt at the other side of the street. The driver-side window slid down, releasing the bump and grind of some unintelligible kind of music, and the haze of something more than just cigarette smoke wafted on the air.

     “Hey, Dolores – how ya doin’, honey? You gonna treat me good tonight?”

     Dolores stared ahead, with not even the briefest of glances at the guy in the limo. So she always played it: cool and slow, until she was certain. She would decide, no-one else – the only way to stay ahead, at night where everyone plays by their own set of rules.

     “Aw, come on, Dolores babe. Don’t be like that. It’s my birthday. Let’s have some fun – you know I’ll make it worth your while.”

     Laughter sounded from the limo; a different voice, one Dolores recognised, and she decided to pass. She knew all about this particular guy’s idea of fun; and she knew, tonight, someone was about to get hurt playing by his own particular set of rules. She drew on the stem of the cigarette, smoke drifting from her lips, a cloud of indifference floating through the drizzle of rain.

The guy called out again. “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you love me no more?”

Dolores’ shining red lips parted, the blue-painted fingernails of index finger and thumb seeking out a stray sliver of tobacco perched on the tip of her tongue. She discarded  the offending object in a gesture of irritation directed with scant disguise at the guys in the limo, the glare of the lamplight capturing on her face a perfect expression of contempt.

     A moment passed.

     “Your loss, honey,” said the voice as the window slid back into place. The limo shifted away, swallowed by the night.

Dolores glanced up at the sky, at the endless columns of rain swishing through the clouds of mist swirling in the breeze and rolling down across the rooftops. She heard the pit-a-pat whisper of raindrops upon the sodden remains of a discarded newspaper, drowning out the headlines proclaiming today’s truths and tomorrow’s lies as it disintegrated in the gutter, and she knew that nothing else remained there for her now. It had been a fruitless night and it was time to leave.

Taking one last pull on the cigarette, Dolores ventured from the safety of the lamplight, the staccato clack of six-inch heels on the rain-slicked pavement shattering the silence in the deserted street. She stepped on the dying cigarette-end, stained red from the kiss of her lips, a flash of gold glinting from an ankle bracelet as she swivelled her foot to grind it into the ground. Unfurling her umbrella to the rain, she slipped out of sight; a stiletto princess of the secret world that is the night.