Noir, Revisited

         Greetings, faithful readers who are still sticking around even though I said I'd write more and haven't! 

         (Yeah, yeah, we know. Work, kid, other writing gig, blah blah blah. What have you got for us?)

         Well, I was flipping through my archive at lunch today and came across this entry I'd written a few years ago. I'd always wanted to take a stab at writing something in "film noir" style, so I'd tested the waters with the beginnings of a story I shared with you in March of 2016. Well, I read it again. And, in typical "me" fashion, the act of reading the words stirred in me the need to write more. I'm not sure but I think this one's got potential. So, give it a second read, if you would. I've edited the original entry and added a couple more pages of typed text, so hopefully it will feel fresh. Let me know what you think, and if I should keep going with it. 

Enjoy!

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I could hear my mother's voice in my head the second I pressed my thumb down and made the tiny blue flame dance.

"You're gonna give yourself cancer!"

Yea, I know ma, I thought to myself as I drew in a breath and pulled the flame to the cigarette dangling between my lips. The acrid smoke burned my lungs. I didn't care. How long had it been since I'd last had one? A year? Maybe two. It didn't matter. After the week I'd had, I needed a smoke.

"Thanks," I said to the hipster kid who let me bum one from him as I handed him his lighter back. He nodded and went back to his little group of hipster friends to, I don't know, talk about their beards or Bernie Sanders or something. Whatever. I got what I wanted. And I appreciated it.

Muscle memory kicked in and I held the Marlboro Light the hipster gave me in the same hand I always used to use to smoke; I put it at the same corner of my mouth, and blew the smoke out of the other corner without moving the cigarette from my lips. I think I saw James Dean do that in a movie once. Maybe I thought it was cool. I honestly don't remember; I just needed something to calm my nerves and the copious amounts of whisky I'd already consumed did nothing to smooth the edges. So I turned to an old vice. Maybe that night would have turned out differently if I hadn't. Maybe I should have just gone home. But I didn't.

The patio where all us smokers went to poison ourselves was small and enclosed on three sides, so it was relatively sheltered from the wind. It was a breezy night and the lake was restless. The waves slapped at the shored and kicked up the fine mist that filled the air around us, making the smoky stench cling to us like death shrouds. Some hipster's girlfriend complained that she was getting cold, so they all went inside.

So long, I thought. Thanks for leaving me in peace. I don't know why I went there in the first place. Mazzy's Beachside Bar had changed. It used to be full of bikers who rolled in after cruising the shore all day. Now, most nights, the bar and the tables outside on the beach were littered with all these young kids who paid less attention to each other than they did their goddamn phones as they tried to Instagram the sunset. Like there wouldn't be another one the next night. They annoyed me.

The sun just dipped below the horizon as I took my last puff and flicked my butt out into the sand. Everything was cast in crimson and made the spray that the angry waves kicked up around the rocks look like blood. It was as if the lake was trying to cleanse itself of some murderous deed. To some extent, I could relate. I could use a cleansing. I could use a lot of things, not the least of which was a good night's sleep. I might as well have asked Wells Fargo for a billion dollars, such was the likelihood of that happening. I gave up on sleep a long time ago, but that didn't mean I didn't still desire it. I needed rest…. yeah, I'm not the resting type.

Part of me wished I hadn't bummed that smoke; now I wanted another. After what had happened, I found myself quickly slipping into old habits. It's funny how the span of five short days can turn your life upside down. And it wasn't as if it was just one thing that sent my existence into a frenzy. No, this was like the universe saying "your life needs to be shittier, right now, immediately. And then it's going to get even shittier tomorrow. And the day after that. Thursday? Yeah, then too. Just wait for Friday."

So there I was, drinking watered down whisky and bumming smokes from hipsters at Mazzy's and wondering what I could have possibly done to warrant my life getting so colossally fucked in the ass. No one even had the courtesy to buy me dinner first.

I was about to slug back the rest of my Jameson when she walked out. There wasn't anything particularly extraordinary about her, but I couldn't stop staring. She wasn't thin; she was… about the only way I could describe her is "softly comfortable." She wore a pair of well-worn running shoes with no socks, tight black leggings, and a white halter top covered loosely by a blue and green, plaid flannel shirt that was barely buttoned in the middle. I'll admit, I noticed the boobs first; they were hard to miss and she clearly had no problem showing them off. Those eyes, though…. She had piercing blue eyes. And there was just something angelic about her face, round cheeks, and slightly upturned nose. I couldn't tell if her hair was long or short as she had it bobbed up in the back. Whatever color it was, I could tell by the highlights that it wasn't natural. I was mesmerized.

"You want one?" she asked as she pulled a pack of smokes from her purse. My staring had been obvious and she was kind enough to offer me a cigarette to break the tension. She could have just ignored me or called me out on my gazing.

"Sure, thanks," I said. She even lit it for me. I cupped my hands around hers to keep the wind from blowing out the flame, and I couldn't believe how soft the skin of her hands was at my touch. I held on longer than I should have and took a couple extra puffs pretending to make sure the cigarette was lit. She didn't seem to mind.

"Haven't seen you around here before." I regretted the words the second they left my lips, thinking I must have sounded like some moron trying to pick her up. In reality I was just desperate for conversation.

"I moved in to the cottage a few doors down about a week ago. I'm Ellie."

"Mike. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand and I shook it, again marveling at the smoothness of her flesh. Lucky girl; those hands had never known hard work. Mine must have felt like sandpaper in comparison.

"Nice to meet you too. You a regular here?"

"Occasionally. The beer's never cold enough and the whisky's watered down, but it's near the water, so there's that."

Ellie laughed. "Well, I don't drink beer, and I don't drink whisky."

This time I chuckled. "Honey, you're drinking in the wrong place then."

That really got her going. "You're funny, Mike. I like you. And I know they serve Vodka here. Buy a girl a drink?"

"Name it."

"Martini, extra dirty."

I liked her. "Be right back." I sifted my way through the hipsters and nudged my way between a couple of the other regulars at the bar. They were already three sheets to the wind and neither noticed nor cared that I forced my way between them.

"Another Jameson, honey?"

"And a vodka martini, Mazzy. Extra dirty."

Mazzy rolled her eyes at me, knowing fully well that the martini wasn't for me. She probably thought I was trying to get laid. To be honest, it wouldn't be the first time Mazzy watched me take someone home from that bar. And if we're really being honest, if I did end up taking Ellie home, it probably wouldn't be the last time, either.  But… that wasn't my intention that night. Mazzy brought the drinks and I went back outside. The hipsters were back out there and one of them was desperately trying to pick Ellie up. I was about to step in, but this girl didn't need saving. I almost dropped both drinks when I heard her say to the kid "sorry, but I don't date men that wear women's clothes." She nodded down to his skinny jeans and tennis shoes I would swear were a pair of ladies' Ked's. I really liked this girl.

"Here's your drink, babe," I said, stepping in anyway before Mr. tighty-pants had an inclination to get nasty.

"Thanks darlin'," she answered, with an unexpected kiss on the cheek. When she did that, the kid rightfully shut his trap and moved on. The kiss told me I'd just been used for that purpose; to drive away the idiot in the leggings. I'd been used for worse.

"Seriously, what kind of girl finds that attractive?" she joked before talking a long sip of the martini.

"You're asking the wrong guy." I just happened to be wearing paid of faded, straight cut Lucky's that fell across the tops of my Dingoes. She noticed them, too.

"Nice boots. You a cowboy?" she asked with flirtation.

"Nah. I just play one on Friday nights to pick up women."

Another laugh.

"What's your deal, Michael?"

No one had called me Michael since my mother died. I hated being called Michael. But from her pouty lips, with her voice, my name danced in the air like a melody.

Sister, you really don't want to know, I thought to myself. "It's long and boring tale. You don't wanna hear it."

"Listen," she said as she poked a finger into my chest. "I'm new here, and in the ten minutes I've known you I've already learned that you're the only guy worth talking to in this whole goddamn joint. So come on. Let's go inside, grab a both, get some food, and tell each other our life stories."

I'd certainly accepted less lucrative offers, and Ellie intrigued me. I've met some forward women before, confident, but there was something different about her. Something mysterious. I wanted to find out it was, and let's face it; at that point I had nothing to lose. She winked at me and grabbed my free hand to lead me back into the bar. That soft touch did something to me. She did something to me. For the moment I thought maybe, just maybe, my luck was changing.

It wasn't. Of course I wouldn't know that until much later. Still, in that moment, a pretty girl with electric blue eyes and tits until next Tuesday wanted my company. Who was I to refuse to oblige? So in I went, holding her hand as she led me to an open booth at the far wall. Mazzy sent Jessica over to take care of us. Those nights Mazzy watched me take someone home from that bar? Yeah, Jessica had been that someone on a few occasions. It was casual, and though I wasn’t proud of it, Jess never begrudged me for it. She was looking for something too; it's not like I forced her. Hell, a couple of times we never even made it out of the bar.

Still, what past we shared didn't stop her from raising an inquisitive eyebrow when she saw me sit down with Ellie. Perhaps she was curious because if it. Maybe she still carried a flame. Or maybe I'm reading too much into things. I do that when I get nervous. Ellie? She made me nervous. For the first time in forever I was afraid of disappointing someone and I'd buried that emotion after… let's just say I buried it some time ago.

"Hey Mikey," Jess said as brought us menus. "Usual?"

"Yeah, and another vodka martini, extra dirty."

"Extra dirty, comin' right up," Jess said with a wink. She playfully smacked me in the shoulder with her notepad as she turned back to the bar.

"Occasionally a regular, huh?" Ellie teased me in a way that made me feel… something. I can't exactly describe it other than to say I just felt something. I hadn't felt anything in a long time.

"I live a couple miles up the bay from here. This place is convenient," I said truthfully.

"Fair enough," she replied. Just then Jess came back with our next round and set them on the table.

"You guys eatin'?"

I raised both eyebrows and extend a hand in Ellie's direction. "Lady's choice," I said. It sounded a lot smoother in my head.

"Nachos, extra jalapenos, and a side of guac?"

"What the lady said," I told Jess and handed her our menus. I looked back to Ellie as Jess walked away and she was just sitting there, smiling.

"So, cowboy, what's your deal?"

She was direct. I liked that. Honestly, this girl was growing on me more and more, and it kind of scared me. I barely knew her beyond her name. Time to find out more. If I had to give a little about me to learn more about here, so be it.

"Well, when I'm not slumming at the local dive bar, I'm a writer and part-time pilot. I have a pair of Great Danes named Zeus and Apollo after Higgins' dogs from the original Magnum, P.I., and I have had the shittiest week known to man until some pretty girl gave me a smoke on the patio."

She blushed. The lights were dim, and frankly the bulbs were dirty, but even in the bar's dark and musty atmosphere I still could tell she blushed. She leaned over the table and glared at me. When she did so the fabric of her halter stretched and her breasts looked like they were about burst through. She caught me looking but, one again, didn't seem to mind.

"I was hoping for a little more detail."

I blinked. Oh what the hell. What have I got to lose at this point, I thought to myself. "Okay, so, I had a friend staying with me for a couple of weeks. I come home from my office on Monday the find that the son of a bitch had cleaned me out and taken off. Stole a couple of expensive watches, couple pieces of artwork, and even a vintage, autographed football jersey. Shoulda known better than to take him in off the street in the first place. There's a reason his wife kicked him out. I found out the hard way.

"Ouch."

"Yeah, I'm a sucker that way," I said. I probably shouldn't have admitted that, but, well, those eyes. "And that was just Monday. Tuesday I found out the publisher screwed up my new book and shipped it out missing three chapters. Not really my problem but it's my name on the cover, you know?"

She perked up. Saying you're a writer is one thing. Any idiot with a Twitter account can call himself a writer these days. That I actually wrote books, and sold them, seemed to intrigue her.  At the time I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. I still knew nothing about this girl. She could have been playing me. Maybe she targeted me because she knew I was a successful writer. She hadn't, it turned out, but I wouldn't find that out until later, either.

"More shit from the publisher, some family crap, and a bad phone call this afternoon and, well, that's when you found me."

"What was the bad call?"

I hadn't even noticed that Jess had brought the food until Ellie had plopped a chip full of guac into her mouth. Suddenly my stomach rumbled. I'd barely eaten all day and now those nachos were calling me. I ate a few, washed them down with my whisky, and replied.

"That one I'm not ready to talk about. So how about you, miss new in town?"

For the first time since I'd met her, Ellie withdrew. All of a sudden I could tell that, behind her flirty and cheerful exterior, sadness lurked like a demon in the shadows. Perhaps she didn't want to play this game of "tell me yours, I'll tell you mine" after all. I give her full credit though; she was full-on honest with me.

"The truth is I'm no one special. I run the second-hand shop in the village, and up until about three weeks ago was in a long-term relationship. That is, until I forgot something at the store. I went back to find the "back in ten minutes" sign hanging on the door. When I went inside I found my boyfriend fucking my teenage salesgirl in one of the changing rooms."

"That's messed up," I said. What else can you say in that situation?

"Right? But because I was living in his place, I had to leave and find a new place to live. So I lose my boyfriend and my home in the span of about twelve hours."

"I'm really sorry Ellie."

"Eh. In hindsight I guess I'm not. I later found out he'd been cheating on me all along. So before I left a dumped a bunch of raw shrimp in all the air ducts of his apartment."

I nearly snorted my Jameson. Now I really liked this girl.

"And here you are."

"And here I am."

We sat there and stared at each other awkwardly for what felt like way too long. She reached across the table and took my hand.

"I'm not really hungry anymore," she said. "You want to get out of here?"

I should have been smarter. I should have said "no, I really need to get home." I should have done or said about twenty other things. But that face, those eyes… I'm a weak man; I admit it and I don't apologize for it.

"Yes, I think I do."

I dropped two twenties on the table and followed her out. Jess winked as I went and I sneered. Once outside, Ellie and I walked the short way to her cottage and I stood behind her as she put the key in the door. Before she opened it so turned and planted one on me. Her lips, her tongue… she felt like home. Again I felt something, as if my senses had gone dormant and were suddenly startled awake. I pulled her closer, kissed her harder, felt her breasts press against me. Any chivalrous guilt I'd felt for wanting her melted away. She broke off from our embrace just long enough to open the door and pull me inside.

And that's right about when everything went to hell in a hurry.