a little Noir

We have been driving for hours. The relentless tedium   transforms monotony into a restless frenzy of short-tempered barbs and endless cigarettes lit one  from the other.  Pulling off the freeway, his  eyes are red spheres piercing the  slippery ribbon of highway, squinting  through streams of rain that slip around the wipers and drift into  his periphery, metronomes swinging from the rear view mirror to the road ahead.

Searching the dial for swing all  I retrieve is jazz,  giving up I listen to “Cottontail”, settle back  with my feet on the dashboard. He adjusts his  fedora , relieving his eyes with the godsend of legs propped  to the right of him.  I smile knowingly and look away, deliberately hiking  the hem of my skirt. He allows himself the luxury of a brief fantasy, quietly marveling at graceful arches and cattail limbs while I soothe myself with thoughts of  my take of the stash in the ratty brown suitcase cleverly camouflaged beneath old coats. We  both enjoy the brief reprieve from reality.

Spotting a neon sign,  he backs off the pedal and swerves down a side road to a cheap motel. Rushing to escape the downpour we slam the door behind us. I  remove my  shoes, sit at the flimsy dresser and apply fresh makeup, brush a blizzard of  platinum hair.  Leaning in to  him  I   press  my  breast against his shoulder  and with a  throaty sigh,   “fix me a drink, will you baby?”.

At the edge of the bed I slither from my slip, a smoky eyed toy in stilettos,  droplets sweat from my glass and pool in the hollow of my midriff  inviting the titillation of his tongue. Tortuously unbuttoning his shirt,  his breath is a hot prayer and he  lingers in all the right places,  precise and voracious.

Before daylight he is on the road again.  Rain still flickers at the windows, streaks of  red flames, reflection of  city lights. The world is asleep, unaware of the fire. The streets are empty but for a young whore sleeping in a doorway.    In the pink blush of dawn he is gray and bruised, repeating again and again there was no  other option. Burned into his, her lifeless eyes gazing into a different galaxy.  His hand throbs, slamming the  steering wheel. Dumb broad, she should have known she was not here for the long haul.


65 thoughts on “a little Noir

  1. Finally, I get to write…it’s taken me ages to be able to get to this box, so you know my computer isn’t any better. Anyway, this is wonderful, Holly. A pleasure to read. Sorry, I haven’t been leaving as many comments but it’s so difficult right now…the Reader is a mess. Love your work, and you know that. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. See, now I got to you through your comment to me. No problem. I can’t do it through the reader. This is amazing…LOL I can type and write to you immediately but only when you show up on my email. Hope all is well. We are freezing.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Loved it. You captured the spirit of the genre spot-on. I’m a sucker for pools of liquid collecting in midriff hollows. (Hmm, great name for a community of decadence: Midriff Hollows. ) 🙂 best —CC

    Liked by 1 person

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