Currently Untitled, Chapter 1

 Chapter 1.

It was only a few hours into the morning, the sun had awoken, and it was beginning to blanket the earth in its’ warmth.  There were only a few random souls meandering about the streets in the early hour and the air and the ground had the kiss of dew from the night before.  Amelia proceeded through the door I held open for her only after making it a point to face me and thank my action with a kiss.  Her short kisses were promises about secrets to be kept.  Her long kisses were those secrets.

In the calm air of the café she took my hand and we began to survey the population; it was not crowded and would prove more than agreeable.  The hostess, a petite and pretty girl, took a step out from behind the podium and revealed that she was, indeed, ready to assist us.

“Two, please.”  She said to the hostess.  Amelia was an overt girl and with my reserved persona, she filled the vacancies naturally. 

“Outside, if you could.”  I added.  I could never recall a time where I did not enjoy sitting on the outside of the café, so it quickly became my preference.

“Oh, you’re right, the weather will be perfect today.  Yes, definitely, let’s sit outside!”

The hostess nodded and we followed her long black hair out through the wood framed glass door and onto the balcony.  As soon as we walked outside we were greeted again with the crisp, chilled smell of spring air.  The balcony’s wooden deck was stained an espresso brown and it perched over a sharp embankment that looked out at a rather small river that ran through the city.  The table we were led to stood at the edge of the balcony and we took our seats.  We requested coffee, water, and mimosas. 

In her current and final semester at university she had begun to take life more seriously and was busy with the wrapping up of a Bachelor of Arts degree in graphic design.  She wanted to work for the Mexico account of a high fashion magazine, preferably Vogue.  I had graduated quietly in the fall semester with a Bachelor of Arts degree in journalism.  I simply wanted to write the truth.

“Listen, baby, I’m going back to Monterrey at the end of the semester.  You knew that, right?”  She said.

“Well, yes, I knew it was coming.  I guess I just didn’t expect it to come so soon.”

The waiter appeared and he displayed great skill in his balancing act as he placed our drinks and vanished.  I took a large drink of the mimosa.  The orange juice tasted fresh and the champagne was of decent quality so it was enhanced by it and the after taste was sweet and bubbly. 

She made a solemn face, “You are going to come see me in the summer, right?”

I imagined the scene of her leaving like something out of a romance novel; a heavy downpour in the cold at the train station, tears washed away in the rain, a passionate kiss, and one long final embrace.

I chuckled.

“Yes, of course.  I’ve nearly finished working on the bike and Mack wants to visit.  We could take our motorcycles down there together.  He’d like that.  It’ll be a lot of fun and even better when I get to see you again.”

A bright smile overcame her warm face, “Mack?  Oh, he’s funny.  It would be great for him to come, he could meet my friends and he could stay on the couch if needed.  The apartment isn’t very big, but we’ll make it work.  Oh, sweetheart, I miss you already.  I can’t believe there’s only a month left.”

“You know what; I’m going to throw you a proper going away party.  You can’t leave without one.”  

“Oh honey, that sounds wonderful!”

The waiter stooped over and interjected, “Are you ready to order?”

Startled, she stopped to gather her thoughts and then spoke, “Oh gosh!  I’m sorry, we were just talking the whole time.  We didn’t get a chance to look at the menu, but I’m fairly certain we know what we want.  I’ll have the eggs benedict.” 

 “And I’ll have the spinach omelet with goat’s cheese.  Thank you very much.”

Nodding his artfully unshaven stubble, he spoke, “You’re very welcome.  I’ll have that right out for you.”

When the waiter had left, she looked again at me with her eyebrows high, big eyes and laughed, “He scared the hell out of me!”

I smiled.  I could frighten her just by being around a corner that she was going past.  I love the look on her face when she would figure out she had only scared herself.  She would look up, breathe in deeply, and then sigh as she shook her head, bringing her eyes down to meet mine, and then she would laugh loudly, and exclaim “I always do that!”

“You poor girl.  I won’t let the bad man hurt you.”

“Oh hush.”  She looked off, and turned back, leaning forward with a grin, “So when is my party?”

I paused and tasted my coffee before taking a deeper drink.  It was hot but did not burn, bold in its upfront flavor, and only slightly acidic on the finish.

“Well, let’s say next weekend, that gives me a little bit of time to plan and tell everyone.”

“Oh, honey, I can’t wait until you’re there with me for good.  I’m just so anxious about all this.”

“Let’s just enjoy our moments together now.”  I said.

“Okay.” She lamented.

The waiter appeared now with our food and set it down.

“Anything else?”  He asked.

“No, thank you,” we both responded.

“Very well.  Enjoy.”  He was gone again.

We began our meals and were quiet as we savored the food.  The café was a favorite for amongst many reasons; the coffee, not just for its novelty and caffeinating abilities, but its strength and wonderful flavor.  The minimalism was another, very different than many of the other downtown cafes that were distractingly adorned with random uninspiring art.  The balcony, a third reason, was a spot that seemed to welcome friendly conversation with its sheltering trees and elevated stare onto the passing river, a metaphor for the world that we observed studiously from the outside.  It was also quite good for hiding from the crowds or even enjoying a cigar with a comrade.

The river below streamed quietly along but loud enough to be a pleasant distraction when actually listened for.  I took note of three turtles sunbathing on a log in the middle of the river where a single beam of sunshine poked through the trees like the spotlight of a stage.  I pointed them out to Amelia and she smiled.  A bird called softly in the distance with a sharp melody in his voice.  The trees, straddling the riverside, casted cooling shadows on everything and kept the balcony from being uncomfortable in even the hottest and most humid weather.  The shade proved easily supplemented by the light breeze from steel-caged fans. 

There were a few university-aged couples scattered about the cafe.  A young mother near the door was distracting her toddler with a game of peekaboo.  In a far off corner a familiar gentleman was busy writing with a cigarette in his mouth and a single cup of coffee across from him.  I knew that I did not like to be disturbed during my writing so I extended him the same courtesy and only lifted my glass to him when he looked up.  He smiled and did the same, then immersed himself back into his work.

Amelia reached her hand out across the table with her palm up.  She looked into my eyes as she smiled her usual, mischievous little smile.  I placed my hand into hers, it was soft and I held it gently. 

“Penn, I love you.” 

She brought my hand to her cool rosy cheek and her emerald green eyes looked into my depths.

“And I love you, Amelia.”

She had said it before, a few times.  Never did I feel it more honestly than there and then.  It would cut through to my soul, down deep into my heart, and sow the everlasting seeds of truth.

We finished our meals and I paid the waiter.  He was always more than adequate so I tipped him well. 

It was the final time I would see her before the weekend. 

I came back to my empty loft every day quite tired.  Each day, early before work, I would go to my writing before the sun rose and the birds began to chirp.  After a couple of hours writing I would help new tenants move in and old ones move out for a small fee.  It was good exercise and I enjoyed talking to the many and different people.  They were usually happy; happy to find somewhere to move into in the crowded city, or happy to be leaving that same crowded city behind.

 After that, I would go back to my loft, have what was left of the coffee I had brewed earlier that morning, and then head into work at a cigar lounge downtown in the business district. 

During the week I managed to notify all of our friends that Amelia was to leave soon.  None of them took the news well, but they were more than happy to celebrate. 

Mack was one of the last I notified, a few days before.

He opened his door and I shook his hand heartily.  He motioned for me to come in and I walked through the entryway.  Mack’s apartment smelled distinctly of old coffee, tobacco, liquor, and motor oil.  We had many similar interests.  He was too much of a bachelor to hold a permanent girlfriend, which afforded him the luxury of having a home that also served as a garage.  There was an engine part, very distinctly a carburetor, on his kitchen table next to a penciled diagram of an engine that he no doubt had copied from a manual.

“Amelia is leaving for Monterrey at the end of this semester, in a few weeks.  I’m throwing a party for her this weekend, everyone is coming; Alice the Accountant, Jackie, Tenaha, Blair, and all of her good-looking friends.  You’re coming, right?”

“You’re damn right.  Her time’s up already, huh?  Jesus, seems like yesterday we were all in English together, making fun of Mrs. Hayes.”

“Doesn’t it?  Good old Mrs. Hayes.”  I responded with a sigh.

“Oh don’t get all depressed on me, Mrs. Hayes will still be around.”

I continued.  “Anyway, I’m having the party for her this weekend at my loft.  I plan on taking the bike down there this summer, want to bring yours and ride along?  It’s going to be a hell of trip, if you’re man enough.” 

I knew a challenge would prompt him.

“Man enough?  Ha!  Yeah, I’m man enough.  Think your junk heap can keep up?  I’ll set the pace with British engineering all the way.”

“Oh, ha, yourself.  We’ll see who ends up in tears on the side of the road, cursing the English Deities.  You know, the Japanese just won the Isle of Man, with my particular bike.  Well, with a few mods.” 

“Maybe your bike with an Italian engine.”

“Hmm, you know, I like the other way around, Italian beauty with Japanese reliability.”

“An Italian girl with a Japanese brain?  She sounds beautiful and intelligent.  Where can I get one?” 

He chuckled and then reached for his black leather humidor that lay beside the carburetor on the coffee table.

“Want one?” He offered his humidor after he’d opened it.  The cigars were all neatly lined up inside the cedar box like shells in a rifle magazine.

“Don’t mind if I do.  Nicaraguan? Cuban?”

“Nope.  Best Dominicans they make, though.  Who needs Castro’s crap.”

“I know that’s right.  Listen, I’ve got a map here of the route to Monterrey.  It’s quite a long way.  With no problems, I see us making it in a couple weeks.  It runs through the Rockies.  You remember how to adjust a carburetor?”  I asked, only half-joking.

“Probably better than you.  We’ll need to pack some extra tools.  Needle gauges, chain breakers, spanners, sockets, pliers.  The ones we use the most.  Lots of tobacco.  Oh, and a flask of Scotch or two.  This will be quite an adventure, I will certainly need my camera.”  He paused, looking back at me with great concern, “Say, you’re coming back with me, right?” 

He was worried; we had made week long trips before but never anything this far and never alone.  I did not blame him for worrying; neither had I.

“Well, no.  I’ve been working so much lately to save up to move in with her down there.  She thinks I’ll be coming back around fall, but two trips is too much.  I’ve told my family.  They’re not taking it very well.  I’m taking what little I have with me.  You’re free to have whatever I can’t take, though.  This is why it’s so important that you come with me; this is our last hurrah for a while.”

“You’re serious?”  Mack looked off at the wall calendar with notes scribbled on it.

“Well, just the same, I saw it coming a mile away.  You’re usually too much into your writing to care about working any extra hours.  We haven’t been out drinking in a good while so I knew you were saving your damn money for something foolish.  You fool!  You’re going to leave me with these pretentious university chumps?  What the hell am I going to do?  Bah!  Well, oh well.  I’ll have to tear the town up with you in Monterrey a little bit before I come back.”

He opened the door to his patio, “Go have a seat, I’ll bring us some whisky.”

I stepped out into the cold night and flicked the flint wheel of my lighter, putting the flame up to the rusted lanterns at each end of the balcony.  I wrapped my cashmere scarf around my neck, tucking it into my jacket, and then sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs and took out my cigar cutter.  I clipped the end of the cigar precisely and drew on it to see if the cut was adequate and it was.  Outside it was quiet and there was a view only of a small courtyard in front of us, just beyond that the other balconies and patios, mirroring.  It was late and people had to be asleep and up early for work the next day.  The courtyard before us was dimly lit at the center and there was a couple sitting closely on the lone bench a few yards away.  As soon as they saw the lantern’s light they stood up and sauntered away.  A breeze began to blow that made the tight corridors howl softly and it blew very cold.  Drink was the answer to cold weather and lonely hearts. 

“I can’t imagine living in Mexico.”  Mack spoke as he came through the door with two glasses of an amber colored whisky in his hands.

“What’s wrong with living in Mexico?”

“No, I mean, I can’t imagine it.  I don’t really know a whole lot about it, other than what I’ve read about and heard from others.  Some say it’s dangerous.  It sounds fun, though.  I’d like a little danger in my life.”

“Danger is subjective.  Here, if you go to the bad part of town, it’s dangerous.  But if you step a foot across the border into Mexico, they say you’re in danger.  Common sense keeps you safe.  Amelia said Monterrey is about 5 hours across the Texas border from Laredo.  From what I’ve heard, the road is long but very scenic with mountains and deserts.  They say that highway is one of the areas you might have to watch for bandits.  We’ll be on motorcycles so we’ll have to make sure we’re not showy or anything.  Think about it, though, who’s going to mess with a couple of scraggly guys on old motorcycles?  What could we have worth stealing?  Nothing, I tell you, because we’re not going to look like we could own anything of value.”

“My mind is at ease now.  Except for the part where I’m thinking that after they get us onto the side of the road and we don’t have anything worth taking, they just shoot us and take our motorcycles.”  He chortled.

He took a dark cigar with a gold band from his shirt pocket and sat down in a chair across from me, looking out across the courtyard.

“Now, good point.  I suppose in that case we’ll just carry pistols.”

“I suppose so.”

He clipped the end of his cigar and I offered him my lighter.  He took the blunt end of it and rolled it slowly just outside the tip of the flame, it was always nice to see a properly lit cigar; it lights across the end evenly and will burn correctly.  I followed, lighting mine and taking gentle puffs as I did.

“Thank you, buddy.  This is very good.”  I released a gentle puff of smoke.  The taste was earthy, a bit nutty, and there was a certain spice on the finish that I appreciated.

“I’m glad you enjoy the finer things in life.”

“I do.  You know, Hemingway enjoyed cigars.”  I mentioned.

“Well if Hemingway liked cigars, and he was a good writer, then maybe the more cigars we smoke, the better writers we’ll be?”

“Plausible.  I heard he also liked to drink.  So by that token, if we drink more, we’ll be better writers, too.”

“Sounds to me like we’ve already written a best seller.  Cheers to us.”  He smiled and raised his glass.

I laughed and tapped glasses with him.

We smoked our cigars and enjoyed our whisky quietly on into the night.  We made lists of tools to bring and conditions of the ride to be prepared for.  I discussed with him what I knew of the way, I had been south as far as Texas and knew only that it could be hot any time.  We talked about the going away party and what we would do.  We decided that the best thing for us to do was just what we’d always done and bring liquor for the guys and wine for the girls.  It would be a perfect going-away party because we were well-versed in our wine and women. 

I left the map with highlighted roads to Monterrey for him to study and thanked him for the cigar and drink and wandered home.

In the night the whisky had taken affect and the cigar amplified the feel of it all.  I walked home and the breeze was cold on my face but I did not feel cold.  I took out a picture of Amelia that I’d had in my jacket and brought it to my nose.  She had dabbed French perfume on it and it smelled like her; sophisticated, exotic, and wonderful.  I thought of our times together and was sad that she was leaving.  I had to remind myself that I would see her soon enough afterwards but I still could not help but be sad. 

I realized the alcohol had made me even lonelier and I continued to walk.  I passed a corner café where a burly man in black was flipping the chairs onto the tables outside.

Gathering his attention, I spoke, “I see you’re closing, but could I trouble you for some coffee for a drunken fool in love?  I would be glad to pay more than twice the price.”

The man laughed and straightened his cap as he looked at me.

“Come in, come in.  My daughter, Audrey, will be glad to serve you.”

He opened the door and a marvelous young lady with her brunette hair in a pony-tail and black, soulful eyes looked up at me with a rag in her hand and a bottle of cleaner from behind the counter.

“Audrey, serve this drunken lover here some coffee.”  The man said, lightheartedly.

“My name is Penn,” I said.  “Nice to meet you two.”

“My pleasure, I am Vincent and this is my daughter, Audrey.  We make the best coffee around.  Welcome to Café Noir.  You will see.  Sit, sit.”  He gestured largely with his big arms and boisterous voice.

The young lady stepped around a corner and then appeared with a large black coffee mug and saucer in her hand.  She was very tall for a woman, and my guess was that the family could be French or Italian. 

“You are tall.”  I said, clumsily.

“Oh, thank you, I hadn’t noticed.”  She spoke with the air of someone who was raised locally as a nonnative. 

She placed the coffee on the round cherry wood table I was at.

“I am a bit drunk.  Tall is a compliment, not an insult.”  I said, generally.

“She is every bit as tall and beautiful as her mother was.  Beautiful women, both of them!”  He lifted his arm and tilted his wrist back toward his mouth, “Have a drink!  Tell me how you like it.”

I sipped on the coffee and drank two more large swallows.  It was unremarkable.  I lied, not wanting to insult the man’s generosity.

“It’s wonderful.”

He laughed, “A noble lie!  It is probably old.  I will serve you fresh coffee and you will see!”

“Thank you very much, but I must go.  I needed only a momentary reprieve and you have served me well.  I will come by again soon and will have more.  How much do I owe?”

“No, no, no.  Old coffee is free.  You will come again and I will have fresh coffee for you and Audrey will not be sharp.  You must go so I will not stop you.  Be brave, drunken lover!”

I thanked them for their kindness and continued down the road much more clear-headed.  The stars were out and proved for good light on the dull grey sidewalks.  I reached my loft and opened the door, I could only see by light of the moon; I wandered into bed and it was there I fell asleep.