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.
