acknowledging me, of confirming my assessment, but it did nothing to stir the past —and allowed a very faint smirk. So faint that I realized I could’ve imagined it.
“God, I hope he’s not a banker,” I sighed. “They can turn into sadistic fucks in their old age.”
No smile, no smirk, not even an acknowledgement that time. That’s it, isn’t it? She sees what he’s become.
“When I first met Violet,” I allowed, “she wasn’t sadistic.”
I thought back to the silhouette in the bedroom doorframe four or so days ago, showing up a few minutes before my alarm woke me. A sign of greed, of want, of hunger and absolute dedication. A Jekyll and Hyde. Sort of.
Rinker was excessive, though, for sure his sadistic behavior was excessive and Lindsey knew it.
“No,” I went on, frowning at the memory. “I made Violet that way.”
“She wasn’t a banker,” Lindsey said, pushing the mop bucket back to the corner.
She doesn’t know. So it wasn’t excessive at all. It worked, it wasn’t a waste, these split nights and personalities and dramas and all the fights that cost so much we had wondered whether we would come out the other end in love or in hate .
“No,” I answered. “But I was.” I nodded at the door, the one that led to the stairs, to the stage, to freedom. “I worked with Rinker, in fact. At Quotient.”
Lindsey kept working, dumping the smelly water into the drain in the corner then running the water to wash the stench out of the mop bucket.
“I worked on the floor. In the branch,” I went on, speaking a little louder so she could hear me. Or not. I waited for her to turn off the faucet. “In the branch, I met with retail customers. Arranged loans, term deposits, everything and anything for the walk-in, low-end customer.” Big sigh. “And life was pretty good, I had a lot of opportunity. And then Violet walked into my life.”
I watched Lindsey approach the table. She didn’t look at me, not once. She opened a lunch box and produced a slice of whole wheat bread and a miniature bottle of water, the stubby bottle of a Dasani.
“I’ll take the bread first,” I said.
She nodded without looking up, then walked over to me. Her eyes focused on my mouth while she fed me. Like I might want to bite her, which I did. But not her fingers. I wanted to bite – nibble, that’s more appropriate – her ear lobes, her nipples, her lower lip, the eighth of an inch of body fat where her upper, inner thigh intersected with her crotch.
I know you, but not like that. So where, then? Show me, tell me, give me a sign, you crazy little bitch.
“She had an agenda, right from the start,” I continued, talking while I chewed. I didn’t care about the rudeness because my abbreviated time with Lindsey would end soon enough. And I needed to win her. Or risk spending more time underneath this stage than necessary.
Still un-won, she walked away after feeding me the bread, returning with the miniature bottle of water. Perfect. I sipped small gulps, and it was gone quickly, way too quickly. It tasted like life, and now it was all gone, leaving me feeling sad.
“We did what you do when you start dating someone. I didn’t realize it at the time, and neither did she, if you believe her. But she had a talent…a gift. She had a natural gift for the art of illusion.” I chuckled, blinking hard and slow because I could tell from Lindsey’s attentive stare that I had captured her.
We didn’t date, did we, Lindsey?
Staring down at the floor, where the mop water had begun dissipating, I continued talking with a weak smirk on my face. “She could kill me with a smile in one breath, and then bring me back to life with the most innocent of kisses in the next.” I remembered those days; they had come and gone like my recent taste of water. Days where the sky and trees and everything else radiated, where the air was crisp and it seemed no evil existed in the world. Eight years ago already, 2007.
“God, I hope he’s not a banker,” I sighed. “They can turn into sadistic fucks in their old age.”
No smile, no smirk, not even an acknowledgement that time. That’s it, isn’t it? She sees what he’s become.
“When I first met Violet,” I allowed, “she wasn’t sadistic.”
I thought back to the silhouette in the bedroom doorframe four or so days ago, showing up a few minutes before my alarm woke me. A sign of greed, of want, of hunger and absolute dedication. A Jekyll and Hyde. Sort of.
Rinker was excessive, though, for sure his sadistic behavior was excessive and Lindsey knew it.
“No,” I went on, frowning at the memory. “I made Violet that way.”
“She wasn’t a banker,” Lindsey said, pushing the mop bucket back to the corner.
She doesn’t know. So it wasn’t excessive at all. It worked, it wasn’t a waste, these split nights and personalities and dramas and all the fights that cost so much we had wondered whether we would come out the other end in love or in hate .
“No,” I answered. “But I was.” I nodded at the door, the one that led to the stairs, to the stage, to freedom. “I worked with Rinker, in fact. At Quotient.”
Lindsey kept working, dumping the smelly water into the drain in the corner then running the water to wash the stench out of the mop bucket.
“I worked on the floor. In the branch,” I went on, speaking a little louder so she could hear me. Or not. I waited for her to turn off the faucet. “In the branch, I met with retail customers. Arranged loans, term deposits, everything and anything for the walk-in, low-end customer.” Big sigh. “And life was pretty good, I had a lot of opportunity. And then Violet walked into my life.”
I watched Lindsey approach the table. She didn’t look at me, not once. She opened a lunch box and produced a slice of whole wheat bread and a miniature bottle of water, the stubby bottle of a Dasani.
“I’ll take the bread first,” I said.
She nodded without looking up, then walked over to me. Her eyes focused on my mouth while she fed me. Like I might want to bite her, which I did. But not her fingers. I wanted to bite – nibble, that’s more appropriate – her ear lobes, her nipples, her lower lip, the eighth of an inch of body fat where her upper, inner thigh intersected with her crotch.
I know you, but not like that. So where, then? Show me, tell me, give me a sign, you crazy little bitch.
“She had an agenda, right from the start,” I continued, talking while I chewed. I didn’t care about the rudeness because my abbreviated time with Lindsey would end soon enough. And I needed to win her. Or risk spending more time underneath this stage than necessary.
Still un-won, she walked away after feeding me the bread, returning with the miniature bottle of water. Perfect. I sipped small gulps, and it was gone quickly, way too quickly. It tasted like life, and now it was all gone, leaving me feeling sad.
“We did what you do when you start dating someone. I didn’t realize it at the time, and neither did she, if you believe her. But she had a talent…a gift. She had a natural gift for the art of illusion.” I chuckled, blinking hard and slow because I could tell from Lindsey’s attentive stare that I had captured her.
We didn’t date, did we, Lindsey?
Staring down at the floor, where the mop water had begun dissipating, I continued talking with a weak smirk on my face. “She could kill me with a smile in one breath, and then bring me back to life with the most innocent of kisses in the next.” I remembered those days; they had come and gone like my recent taste of water. Days where the sky and trees and everything else radiated, where the air was crisp and it seemed no evil existed in the world. Eight years ago already, 2007.
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