“Yes.” Slow motion city environment passed outside the window of the car. A gentle rocking meant movement. It was dark, then it was light, it had been another day. Towering buildings would appear in the distance and then pass, covering Elle in shadows and then revealing her into the light of day. It was the water boarding one becomes used to when you live in the city. “Naked.”
Elle’s mind went back to that night in the old man’s study. She and her mysterious lover had broken into a house in a fit of romantic passion. They would’ve sooner gone at it on the fresh grave if they had known. “Dead. Apparently for some time”. Now Mr. Fletcher “Pierce Fletcher. A writer apparently” wanted a go at her after his long retreat to Kentucky. Just her luck, when it rains it pours, and all she wants is an umbrella.
“Of course you’ve never heard of him. He isn’t published.” Writers were all the same. Each and every one was a Romeo. Young, stupid, brash… the Don Quixote’s of love. She was a windmill to be conquered. “Cute, I guess. A little foppish.”
Her mind finally honed back to reality. Another strip of shadow passed along her face allowing it to cool off. She was in the passenger seat of a red Buick Park Avenue. Its driver was another Quixotic writer but luckily a female.
“Writers are the best you know.”
“Best what?”
“Lovers.”
“I am sick of lovers and of love.” Nothing could be further from the truth but closer to her heart at that moment. Love blinded her mystery lover and made him cold and ruthless in his love. Love blinded Mr. Fletcher by allowing him to forgive her sunbathing incident without a second thought. Imagine if he had walked in on mystery man lying naked on the desk. Elle imagined an old fashioned western erupting between the two. For the first time in 24 hours she smiled.
“So that’s why you clearly need to get back on the horse… or even better… the cowboy.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. Could you repeat that?”
“Very fun Ms. Scardanelli. You know what I mean.”
Elle’s eyes shifted from outside the car to it. “Well Ms. Fu. I am sorry my hearing is so poor.” A shadow passed over her face from the outside illuminating her profile.
“What about Mr. Mysterious. We should really give him a nickname. Something fitting.” The car entered a tunnel.
“How about Holden?”
“A little too Catcher and the Rye, don’t you think?” Elle visibly detested her suggestion.
“The invisible Bellarmin would suffice.” She rebutted.
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“Well then you throw something out.”
“Odysseus. Master of Artifice.”
“You always had a thing for the Greeks. I think it’s a stupid name.”
“Well I am beginning to think that Kasmira Fu isn’t such a hot name either.”
“Well my parents didn’t get the memo that Chinese and Russians weren’t allowed to have children. At least I grew up learning the two best languages for literature.”
“Oh because the Italians and the English never wrote anything great.”
“Oh please. Writing is easy with Italian and English. Everything sounds pretty. Anyway back to young Odysseus.”
“He’s a writer. We made an agreement to not exchange names. I told him Elle was a fake name and told him to call me that.”
“And now you’re in over your head.”
“He said I was his key to immorality. He said that I was going to make his name echo through eternity.”
“Imperishable renown is cold comfort when you can only enjoy it in the tomb. He was saying those things to charm you. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Yeah. I guess.” But I wish he wasn’t.
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Veritas Ex Logos 