tango for tea

 

on the stripped to cement floor of the penthouse living room and my old quilt as the magic carpet beneath us, as if this is so natural to sit here with him. so natural that I can stretch myself to reach my toes to him ….after years 

no place now to even hide but the shadows of the room that keep us under the illusion of safety until I think— of the glare of the morning

he suddenly says

“I have discovered something about you I never knew,” he tells me now with that impossible lilt from his native land that dusts everything with magic 

“What?” I ask and start to feel the color rise to my face 

He reaches across the floor beside me where lies my mobil. He taps it,

“when you got up before ….you really should put a passcode on your phone tsk tsk .”

I reach for my phone but look at him, I just keep my hand there

“I’ll keep that in mind —while you’re here.”

But he is just watching me,

“I always had the feeling. But—now it’s confirmed—so—that website—you’re not as —vanilla as you liked to pretend in —the past?”

“Did I ever pretend that?” I ask but no, I’m already standing up and grabbing my phone and wondering 

“You’re angry.”

He says that. 

I think I’m meant to ask:

“what are you playing at?”

But, instead, I look at him and slowly so as to seem quite bored with the game, walk in the direction towards the kitchen

do I know the answer to that? and the reply that is in the no reply

He follows me 

and as he does so I say, waving my hand in the direction of New York City,

“and while all that is at my feet….” and here I stop to peer out at the city street of the city that never sleeps, “it could be on the other side of the universe for all the good of its charms —when I can’t even afford a hot dog off the corner stand,” I say

But then I say,

“maybe I didn’t have the vocabulary to speak of more complex flavors like black sabbath raspberry ginger snaps so you only heard vanilla —but I don’t remember you complaining of me that time in the telephone booth, but I guess you forgot about that?”

it is half past midnight. tick tock tick tock tick tock. he walks into the room.and with every step he takes possession with his eyes.with just his eyes.at first.and with first his eyes and then his mouth 

devours

stepping out 

pulling on the second hand snakeskin 

left shed for anyone’s empty drawer of celves

—today we can be 

                               …..someone else.out there.

later for now 

where are the dreams from wherein we first were sprung 

at the end of the day I find 

our true north; our center 

it is well 

       ….and alas 

         always appears 

 

you see, I am not interested in shallow encounters, I am so bored of that. bored of the propositions that are designed to both impress me as well as shock me. so bored of that. you think I can’t be slutty? write slutty? you think I can’t bend in every position any sick fuck might Ai me? and look like I am enjoying it?—and yes, I could too —if it were my mood to; when I choose and —it’s boring if there’s no actual mind behind the mummery

so fucking bored 

side street baskerville a party for tea

 

But by the end of the day, Faun did not want to reflect upon the meeting with the two authorities which, mostly was tedious and all about the fact that Monsieur Pierre Reaux was not kept abreast of the ongoing details of the case. It was a wasted hour of listening to and watching him exclaim and strut over the documents and the paper trail of how Sullivan and she and third party had left him in the dust. 

It just buried Faun under more stupid nonsense. 

Sheila did not see Faun again until after closing time when she handed Faun the cash till,

“What did Inspector Clouseau have to say?—sheeze —you look like you’ve not see daylight in a year! Did you even eat anything all day?”

Faun took the till and quietly started counting the drawer down 

Sheila cleared her throat,

“hello?”

Faun looked up in mid count,

“thirty-seven….” her eyes focused on Sheila and for a second or two it seemed she seemed to go blank. Then she said, “I’m sorry …. yeah—Clouseau needs a clue—I don’t want to get into it, he’s an idiot —but, it’s just more stuff they need—paperwork—total waste of my time….sorry…. I can’t believe it’s so late—I never even saw the sun today….sorry I left you out there on the floor all day.”

“It was your day off, and I wasn’t alone, the girls took a shift today —so, the change might be off—“

Faun dropped the pennies back in the coin slot and looked at Sheila—six foot two black trans beauty wearing one of her usual imaginative ensembles, this one involving a red tartan kilt with a matching hat 

“Oh…. I didn’t realize ….” Faun again looked blank 

“Ill do the till— sweetie, why don’t you go home?”

After about a minute of considering and nervously rearranging the objects of the desk in front of her Faun sighed in defeat,

“yeah….” and stood up and reached without looking for her hand bag and coat but paused by the office door. She looked into the office and back at Sheila, “King Leopold?”

“Oh! We have him—I meant to tell you, can we drop him off tomorrow? Gary and he seemed to have hit it off—“

“So, who dropped him off? Who was the guy?”

“Guy,” Sheila said, “his name —that’s his name—“

“But—“ and yet as Faun wished to press for more info on this little mystery her phone alerted with the dismal tone of Pierre Reaux —asking her to fetch yet one more piece of paperwork —this one from Arthur’s office.

It was awhile before Faun finally arrived back at her place in the freezing cold, fumbling for her key hardly noticing any of her surroundings except for the cold and all the snow and so it was with a start that she looked up from removing her boots inside the entrance via her kitchen, by the door that she noticed ….Grant standing there looking at her —still inside the partition between her place and the other side that lead out to ….the other kitchen and —to salmon sofas

“What….” the words seemed not to come to Faun as she stared up at him 

He looked ….terrible ….it was clear he had been traveling but it was not just a look of travel weary, it was something deeper. 

He stared at her. His dark hair and face were groomed as usual but something was obviously wrong; he appeared slightly crumpled in his woolen pullover and gray trousers 

“Something’s —wrong….” Faun said it looking at him as she carefully approached him in her stocking feet 

Slowly his eyes met hers; red veined and tired but it made the green of one of them almost brilliant 

“Don’t ask me,” he said and just stared at her. His eyes took a deadly serious look. “Don’t ask,” he said again 

Faun took a step back and started to turn away,

“all ri—“ but he reached for her as she started to move away. Faun stumbled and let him steady her as she looked again up at him. She stared into his eyes and said again, “all right ….” as she took a deep breath, “would you like tea?”