Angel of the Night, pt 6

Rolf bared his teeth in a victor's smile and wove his way to the smokey back of the hall.

"Now, Maxine," continued Bernard. "Where were we before the young Adonis leveraged his way between us."

"I believe you were holding my hand." Maxine artfully laid her claw on the gray polyesther pinstripes of Bernard's knee.

"Ahh yes." He took her hand with one of his, and with the other picked up the bottle of Extra Virgin olive oil and dribbled a few drops onto the withered back of her hand.

"My favorite emollient," he said. "Let me embrocate that for you."

Angel of the Night, pt 5

The threesome strolled into the dim recesses of the New York Gothic Italian Brownstone Shrine of Our Lady Fellowship Hall. The happy, busy hum of chit chat and noodle twirling blended with the smells of Ragu and garlic bread. Bernard found a tiny table unoccupied and drug three chairs up to it. Rolf pulled a sheet from the roll of paper towels between the salt and pepper shakers and wiped a spot of sauce from Maxine's chair seat.

Maxine gave a nervous giggle. "Thanks, Hon," she simpered.

From the other side, Bernard patted her hand with his plump paw.

"Signorina," he said in a fake Italian accent. "Letta me bringa you fooda."

Rolf puffed his chest out and gave Bernard a dangerous look.

"I'll get the little lady her food!" He gave one fond glance to her and then narrowed his eyes at Bernard.

Maxine quivered in delight. Men were fighting over her!

"I'm not interested in an affray!" Bernard reassured. "By all means, you may collect the victuals. And in doing so, if you don't mind, bring mine too."

Angel of the Night, pt 4

They had reached their destination, and as Bernard searched his pockets for some smaller coins to make the tip split equitable, Maxine swung her fishnet-clad legs out of the cab and stood up, straightening her dress. Looking up, she sucked in her breath and took a step back.

A sultry-faced young buck had moved in for the kill. He tossed back his wavy black locks away from his deep blue eyes and lowered his chin to look into Maxine’s eyes. His steamy glance made her feel flushed and a little sweaty. He parked one hand on his slim hip and pursed his sensuous lips.

“Hi, Doll,” he said in a masculine drawl.

“Uh, hi there, Sweetie.” She noticed how his shirt buttons were straining against the movement of his strength underneath the material. What a hunk!

Since he just stood there, sweeping his smoldering gaze over her coiffed and heeled person, she spoke again.

“Going to the fandango?” Maxine motioned to the Catholic fellowship hall, from where the aroma of garlic and scorched pasta emanated.

“I am if you are. I’m Rolf, Rolfie to you,” he whispered intimately.

“I’m Maxine,” she managed to croak out.

“And I’m Bernard,” Maxine’s date announced as he stepped from the cab, still counting his coins. “Shall we remove ourselves from this adumbral street and join the merry throng?”

Angel of the Night, pt 3

Maxine’s hopes for her blind date were high as she smoothed her dress and turned the corner into the lobby. The man turned to greet her.

Oh Lordy, not that fat little kobold! she thought.

“You must be Maxine.” He said, “I’m Bernard,” and held out a plump, moist palm. “I envisioned that we’d gravitate to the Knights of Columbus spaghetti festivities this fair eventide.” Bernard’s eye twitched as he smiled a toothy grin.

“Sure, Honey,” she said. Linking his arm to avoid the clammy hand, they headed towards the waiting taxi.
The other couple inside squeezed over to make room.

"I find it far more commonsensical to share the fare when utilizing this form of transportation, don’t you assent to my pragmatism?"

By now Maxine was becoming quite excited. She had always been attracted to men who leaned toward sesquipedalia.

Angel of the Night, pt 2

Washing out the taste of last night’s cheap booze from her mouth, she vowed to stick to whiskey this time. Whiskey didn’t make her dizzy and forget stuff. She had another date tonight, and it just might be that he was THE ONE.

A good 2 hour’s work later, the map of hard years and long journeys that had been Maxine’s face was smoothed, filled in, leveled. Cover Girl and Max Factor had done their best, and Maxine was satisfied. Laying a pink chiffon scarf over her freshly picked and sprayed curls she pulled on a baby blue polyester sheath dress and adjusted her cleavage, pushing things up and moving them around as needed. A touch of powdered peach blush at the crossroads, and she was done.

The buzzer sounded.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby, Honey,” she replied into the microphone, her cigarette voice husky and low. She hurried down the hall, swaying in her 3 inch stilettos, a meretricious apparition to the leering apartment manager leaning against the door jamb dressed only in his sweatpants and wife-beater.