It's one of those nights.
The day must have been so cloyingly hot the air has stayed thick with it for hours after sunset. I'm restless right through to my bones tonight.
The wind picks up, hissing through the thirsty trees on the square. Fat drops of rain hit the asphalt. In the center of my chest I feel a distant roll of thunder long before the flash. The air chills as the rain falls harder. What a relief. Should be for someone, somewhere anyway.
I spark up a smoke, standing in the lee of a big old brownstone. Sounds of pots and pans and male voices carry through the open door of the restaurant kitchen. Divine scents of focaccia and ragu carry too, simple things thrown together with enough skill to make a tidy profit for me. I have my fingers in many pies, this restaurant being one of my more honest ventures.
I hear the woman's step before I see her. Tap tap tap, high heeled sandals on concrete. She runs past the alley where I'm smoking, her purse held up to protect her curls from the rain. Her filmy red sundress clings to all her curves. No bra. No panties. My oh my.
"Hey!" I call, doing my very best to sound concerned and non threatening,
She looks back at me, her punk frown melts when she sees I'm just a woman, smaller and weaker than herself.
"You can wait under here til it passes? If you like?" I say.
I stub out the cigarette on the brickwork, toss it into a bucket of sand overflowing with dead ends.
She's shivering, arms and shoulders soaked. I duck into the kitchen and grab her a clean rag to dry off with. She dabs gingerly at her dress, which leaves nothing to my imagination. Her nipples stand out so well I can see the texture of her areolas.
"My damn phone is broken," she sniffs, "piece of shit."
"Want me to call you a cab?"
She says nothing. She catches the sweet scent of garlic and sun-dried tomato sauce, her stomach clenches in hunger and it takes her a second to process what I said.
"Sure. I guess."
"You far from here?"
She shrugs. "I got a friend I can stay with in Charlestown. Fuck it, I could walk."
"Up to you. See that window up there?"
She cranes her neck to look behind the iron fire escape.
"That's my place. It's not the Elton, but you can warm up 'til the rain stops. That is if you don't mind the stairs."
The corner of her mouth curls up in bemusement, "Huh?"
"Beats running through the streets with no clothes... I mean no coat on in this weather."
"Right. I guess." She crosses her arms, too little too late, her shoulders slump with embarrassment she seems to shrink a little.
"You like seafood? Pasta?"
"Yuh huh, but this place is waaay over..."
I lean through the kitchen door and shout for Giuseppe, the junior chef. He tips me a wink when I order a take out lobster ravioli.
"Sure boss. Want me to bring it up?"
"Nah, they need you down here tonight big boy. Send Leo up in half an hour or so?"
I see the resentment in his eyes as I return his wink.
I lead the way up the wobbly iron stairway, the poor girl clambers up in her high heels clinging on with both hands. I can hear her heart racing over the rain.
Third floor.
Of the many places I call home, I prefer a cozy little garret; unassuming, safe, isolated by the effort it takes to get up there.
Inside I flick on a reading lamp and toss the girl a dressing gown. For her comfort I turn up the thermostat.
"Want me to toss that dress in the drier?"
For the first time, she hesitates. I try not to dwell too much on why. A sixth sense maybe? A hang up on what this place really is? I don't live here of course. I don't
live
anywhere. With careful appraisal, anyone would notice, though most people don't look, or they don't want to see.
"Can I use your bathroom?"
"Sure. Take all the time you need."
That seems to set her at ease. I hear everything as she takes a piss, washes her hands, splashes some water on her face, sits back on the porcelain throne and has a little cry.
I dig a bottle of merlot out the back of one of my sad kitchen cupboards, wipe the dust out of a glass and set a place for her at the coffee table. I spark up another cigarette, and make myself a hot chocolate to hold. It's funny how those little things help. The warmth of the cup takes the chill off my fingers, the cigarette helps me remember I should breathe.
When she comes out, I'm sat on the couch, feet curled up under me, normal as could be.
Her face is puffy, but she's reapplied her makeup. Gorgeous lipstick. Big long black eyelashes. She has the wet dress bunched in a fist, and she's wearing the silk robe I gave her.
"God, I needed that."
I smile and offer her the glass. "You want me to open it?"
She drops onto the couch with a sigh.
"What's with you? What's with," she glanced around my sparsely decorated rooms. "I mean, y'know? This."
A flash of lightning blurs my eyes, and thunder tears through the air. The roof vibrates with the intensity of the downpour. I hope Leo has the sense to wait a few more minutes. I wouldn't want to stand on a cast iron fire escape in this.
"I'm nosy I guess," I try to break the ice. "I saw you running and I wondered why. Something upset you."
She takes a long sip of good wine. Now that's magic. Her brow smoothes out and she sighs as it hits the spot. "Bad date is all. Rough ride. I'll pay you back just as soon as I sort out my bank cards and shit."
"You're a working girl, right?"
"Abbie. My name's Abbie." She rolls her eyes. "Jesus. 'working girl'? It ain't like that miss ah... what did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. Obviously I don't mean that you're a street walker, but please don't insult my intelligence. You do sell yourself. Fancy making a quick fifty?"
She looks at me carefully, sizing me up. The color rises in her cheeks and she sips the drink again. "You don't seem the type. Ma'am."
