Beyond Homer. Benjamin W. Farley
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Название: Beyond Homer
Автор: Benjamin W. Farley
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9781621890034
isbn:
“Ahhh! I’ll make it myself,” she laughed. “It’s an old Hungarian secret. You’ll need a taxi to get home. What about Monsieur?”
“A dry martini, with lots of Vermouth and olives.”
“I’ll bring you some poppy-seed bread, a little cheese for the Mademoiselle, Oui?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.”
The woman brushed her braids across the back of her neck and suddenly clapped her hands. Two musicians, with violins, came out from somewhere and began playing a Brahms folk dance. It was quick and lively, sad and melodic, all at the same time. It was the first in a medley of other Brahms folk tunes they played. I took Christine by the hand and kissed her right ear. One of the violinists came over to the table and began playing a soulful, Bohemian piece, just for Christine. He laid into the strings with his long bow and swept the hairs gently across the wires with artistic grace. I knew that would mean a huge tip, but I was hoping that Christine would soothe that empty pang I carried and still the restless flames that wavered within. I handed him a hundred franc bill, which he tucked miraculously in his coat pocket without missing a single sweep of his bow.
“What is that story you were going to tell me? Remember?”
“Oh, that! It hardly matters now.” She rested her head on my shoulder and reached for my hand. “Will you love me tonight, like last time? I feel very, very needy.”
“You know I will. I was afraid you’d never come back.”
“I had to slip off to England. I had to know if Tobby still loved me. I went to his mother’s home in Wales. “‘He ain’t livin’ here no more, ma’am’ she said. ‘But you’ll find ’im at this address,’ she handed me a postcard of a pub. ‘He rooms in an upstairs loft, with his drunken sweetie. Ahh, the humanity of it! The shame! I raised ’im better than that, you know!’
“I found the pub pictured on the postcard near a rail station. Bloody fools were drunk all over the place. But not Tobby. He was sitting at an oak table, drinking ale with a rather remarkably pretty woman. She was dressed in a dark green skirt and white blouse and had shimmering red hair. On her wedding finger, she sported the largest gaudy diamond I have ever seen. Tobby looked shocked when he saw me. He knew I suspected where that ring had come from. He rose awkwardly and addressed his fiancée with a shameful smirk. ‘Dearest Elaine, there’s an old friend I want you to meet.’ Need I say more?”
“I’m sorry for your sake.”
Just then, our Gypsy hostess returned. “For you, Monsieur, and for you, Mademoiselle,” she smiled pleasantly, as she set our drinks in front of us.
“Let’s drink the past away,” I proposed, as I picked up my martini.
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